The sunset red Giga Light designed by Mandalaki in Milan, during the city's famous Salone de Mobile. Photograph: Marco Menghi
Milan Design Week is a bustling hub of creativity and innovation, among the standout exhibits at the Rosanna Orlandi Gallery was the work of Italian studio, Mandalaki. Their new collection, Artifact, showcases how they merge sculpture and lighting, redefining the boundaries between art, design, and illumination, writes Isabella Lancellotti
The team in Milan that make up Mandalaki's studio,
Photograph: Marco Menghi
MANDALAKI'S harmonious fusion of sculpture and light is epitomized by the Italian company's new designs Hypersun and an associated table. The slim and linear forms are highlighted by the use of shimmering, hand-polished brass.
The fine craftsmanship and innovative design of each piece are enhanced by minimalist lines and plays of light from the shiny surfaces. Form and function are beautifully integrated. The Halo Edition developed sophisticated optics that are technologically advanced, combining high-powered LEDs and a form of thermal dissipation,
The Giga Light, another, more refined iteration of the Halo Giga which the team introduced in 2021, was also launched in Milan. It has a slender and compact design and merges powerful optics that maximize light projection.
Mandalaki's engineering optimizes heat dissipation and allows for precise adjustments in light intensity through a mechanical dimmer. The projection of light creates an enveloping sun, in warm, graduated hues. Like an art installation, the light washes over the viewer, engendering an experiential effect of being bathed in illumination.
Projections of light create an enveloping sun, in warm, graduated hues like an art installation, the viewer is bathed in illumination.
Halo edition, Hyper Sun table by tthe team.
Photograph: Marco Menghu
The studio embraces art, technology and sustainability with their holistic approach to design, from modular micro-houses to electric cars. Their interdisciplinary approach and experimentation aim to bridge the gap between these various sectors.
Founded in Milan twelve years ago by Enrico De Lotto, George Kolliopoulos and Giovanni Senin, they added Davide Giovannardi as a partner in 2013. Each member of the studio has a different background, from product design to economy and art.
More recently, Mandalaki have been working on lighting. Instead of seeing it as a source of illumination, they imagine it as all-encompassing projection. Yet one that comes from a well-designed physical object. The studio has exhibited work at galleries, fairs and institutions around the world.
Taylor Swift album drops have become cultural moments – whether or not you are a fan of her music. Each album in the Swift catalogue seeks to open up new themes, discussion, sounds and ideas, while retaining a sense of familiarity that doesn’t alienate fans.
Lyrically, The Tortured Poets Department is a euphoric rejection of societal expectations. It embraces all the Taylor-isms her fans have come to know and love, from her one-note melodies to her recitative delivery (sung in the rhythm of ordinary speech). And it features her signature frank and open autopsies of relationships, delivered with maturity not only in the choices of language and obscenities (“fuck you if I can’t have us”) but in Swift’s outlook on her life and relationships. This is accompanied by the rich electro-pop production of longtime collaborators Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner.
The first striking thing about the album (including its title), is the many references to poetry. The title track declares: “You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith”, pointing to other famously troubled (or “tortured”) lyrical poets.
This track sets the tone for an album where lyrics are the central feature, with Swift choosing developed imagery over catchy pop hooks. The title track is also a clear rejection of any notion that Swift is presenting herself as a bohemian, and asserts that she does not struggle for her art. In fact, she appears to mock those who do, sneering: “Who uses typewriters anyway?”
Tortured melodrama
One of the unapologetic lyrical themes of the album is Swift’s intense commitment to love, relationships and their aftermath. To help convey this, Swift uses melodrama as a narrative device. Melodrama is a genre of performance that uses heightened and often over-the-top expressions of emotion.
In Down Bad she evokes fantastic celestial imagery of “cosmic love” and being “heavenstruck”, but balances this with discovering the harsh realities of a relationship. She asks: “Did you really beam me up / In a cloud of sparkling dust
/ Just to do experiments on?”, perhaps suggesting that her passionate love is being taken advantage of.
Swift tempers this with the extreme assertion that: “If I can’t have him, I might just die”. This melodrama pervades the rest of the album to celebrate emotional vulnerability as she shares her innermost thoughts.
On I Can Do it With a Broken Heart Swift declares: “I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day”, before proudly owning her emotion, declaring: “I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it’s an art”. Here, she claims that she can use heartbreak as a stimulus for creativity, rather than allow it to dictate her everyday life.
In his book Melodrama (1973) author, James L Smith draws on philosophical critiques and analyses of music, poetry and theatre to help define the core characteristics of the genre. “In melodrama,” he explains, “man remains undivided, free from the agony of choosing between conflicting imperatives and desires”.
Swift often exhibits this in her lyrical retellings of past relationships, either positioning listeners at the beginning (Enchanted) or end of a relationship (We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together).
Smith also asserts that “melodrama presses its own extreme conflicts to extreme conclusions”. This speaks to the extremes of emotion explored in The Tortured Poets Department, including frequent references to death. “I might just die, it would make no difference”, Swift opines on Down Bad. “Lights, camera, bitch, smile / Even when you wanna die” is how she describes her emotional state during the recent Eras Tour in I Can Do It With a Broken Heart.
Art forms like songs and poetry can be extremely valuable for artists to process and channel their emotions. Not only does this seem to hold true for The Tortured Poets Department, but the album functions as something of an invitation for listeners to process their own grief and heartbreak alongside Swift. An “alchemy” that turns for her own “tortured” nights into communal therapy.
Samuel Murray, Lecturer in Music, University of Liverpool
When Amy Winehouse died at the age of 27 in 2011, many felt the world had been robbed of one its greatest stars who had barely shown us the extent of her talent. The new biopic Back to Black – directed by Sam Taylor-Johnson and named after Winehouse’s seminal second album – attempts to make sense of her tumultuous life and musical output.
The film follows Winehouse – played by Marisa Abela – from the early days of her career in early-2000s London, through to global stardom. In the process, it reveals the ways in which female celebrities are objectified in contemporary media and celebrity culture, even after their death.
At the height of Winehouse’s fame, gossip tabloids still ruled the media. They created what became known as “trainwreck celebrities” – predominantly female stars who were portrayed as publicly promiscuous and frequently intoxicated. The most famous from this period include Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Lily Allen. These female celebrities were regularly shamed in the tabloid and gossip press on both sides of the Atlantic.
Winehouse shot to fame with her first album, Frank, in 2003, and was quickly considered one of these “trainwrecks” for being outspoken, performing intoxicated, and stumbling out of north London bars with her on-off lover and future husband, Blake Fielder-Civil.
Throughout her life, Winehouse tried to resist this form of control and commodification. She was seen fighting with paparazzi and resisting rehab when her record company tried to get her help (she even wrote a song about it).
Abela’s ability to imitate Winehouse’s voice and mannerisms is often impressive. However, while in the early stages Back to Black tries to counteract Winehouse’s tabloid image, it ultimately fails to shift this widely accepted narrative surrounding her chaotic lifestyle.
Amy’s distinct style
The beginning of the film centres on Winehouse’s songwriting talent and musical performance, which is swiftly followed by the offer of a record contract.
Abela’s Winehouse doesn’t tire of reminding her family and the viewer that she’s not in this for the fame or money. Indeed, the film both begins and ends with her telling us that all she wants is to make music that helps people forget their troubles, and only wants to be remembered for being a singer and for being herself.
Winehouse’s distinctive personal style is central to the visual storytelling of the film. The singer became known for her trademark beehive and eyeliner, as well as a signature Fred Perry polo and skinny jeans combination. She was also known for wearing pink satin ballet flats, which gained notoriety in paparazzi photos that showed them bloodied in the public aftermath of a fight with her husband in August 2007.
The film uses Winehouse’s distinctive style to communicate changes in her health. Instead of showing the unglamorous and often visually disturbing realities of bulimia and drug abuse, the progressively more torn clothes and dishevelled hair come to signify Winehouse’s physical and mental decline.
Many of these style moments used in the film were not inspired by looks she wore in her performances, but instead were captured through paparazzi footage. While the use of these visuals amid the dramatised scenes serve as a reminder of the relentless media chase Winehouse had to endure, the film ultimately reinforces this sense of media exploitation.
Rather than offering a complex visual portrayal that goes beyond the “trainwreck” images the viewer may be familiar with, Back to Black almost banks on how recognisable they are. It relies on the tabloid media’s damaging visual narrative instead of venturing to create its own.
Victim narratives
As a biopic, the film attempts to reclaim Winehouse from the victimhood often ascribed to her. However, the story it tells reduces Winehouse’s complex character and her life to a series of episodes of suffering.
Take a scene set in the wake of her beloved grandmother’s illness and death. Winehouse’s husband is presented as the villain who exploits her trauma as a moment of weakness, to introduce her to the same hard drugs she rejected early on in the film. This sets Back to Black’s story on a familiar trajectory.
In the film, her bulimia happens in the background, with scenes briefly showing Winehouse in front of the toilet. The only somewhat explicit discussion of it appears when her flatmate complains about the flushing noises that wake her up.
These brief moments serve as markers of unhappiness, but offer no exploration of where this unhappiness may come from. They eschew the complexity of Winehouse and her mental health, and don’t offer more than the shallow broken artist shaped by tragedy and the love of a bad man – a narrative we already know.
When Back to Black does look for causes of unhappiness, it settles on odd territory. At one point, it seems to suggest that her suffering stems from an unfulfilled desire to be a mother – a take that has garnered deserved criticism.
Ultimately, Back to Black is unable to capture what made Winehouse so special: the grain of her voice, and her ability to craft stories of female experience that reject simplistic narratives of suffering.
Nathalie Weidhase, Lecturer in Media and Communication, University of Surrey
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.
Eva Herzigová and Mariacarla Boscono at a historic palace in Rome for Pucci's SS24 collection
Set against the backdrop of a 16th century Roman palazzo, Pucci's new Spring/Summer 2024 collection, added a touch of brilliant colour and pattern to the historic building. Artistic director, Camille Miceli, brought along Nineties supermodels Christy Turlington and Eva Herzigová to wear her new designs. Isabella Rossellini closed the runway show in a vividly hued confection that exuded a bold, modern style capturing the designer’s skillful fusion of heritage and innovation, writes Antonio Visconti
Designer Camille Miceli with models from
her show, including Christy Turlington,
Eva Herzigová and Mariacarla Boscono.
In the world of Italian fashion, Emilio Pucci signifies audacious pattern and a certain louche midcentury aesthetic that is particularly in mode now.
The latest collection, shown in Rome, called Very Vivara, not only paid homage to the brand's iconic Vivara print but also marked a significant milestone with Camille Miceli's second runway show as the house's artistic director.
The setting at Rome's historic Palazzo Altemps, added a note of grandeur and history to the occasion. Christy Turlington opened the show and brought a dash of natural glamour wearing little make-up except a dark, burgundy lipstick and sporting a long, black caftan embellished with Pucci motifs. Overall, the eclectic fusion of heritage designs with contemporary interpretations set the tone for a collection that exuded both chutzpa and an urbane modernity.
Isabella Rossellini's return to the runway in another historic Pucci print was a moment of nostalgia and celebration. Her connection to the brand, dating back to a photo shoot in 1990, resonates with the Italian label's enduring legacy as a favorite among celebrities and fashionistas.
At the finale of the show,
Isabella Rosselllini with
Pucci's artistic director
As the rippling waters of the Mediterranean inspired the Vivara print, the collection echoed the organic and geometric beauty of nature, intertwined with Pucci's signature vivacity.
The print is a symbol of Emilio Pucci's connection to the sea and the picturesque island of Vivara, near Capri. Miceli's reinterpretation of the design breathes new life into the motif, infusing it with an allure to captivate a new audience.
From designs that would work in the city to beachwear, the collection demonstrated a masterful remix of classic motifs, accentuated by three defining prints of this season: Cigni, Bersaglio, and Chiave. These prints, along with the enduring presence of Pesci and Iride, painted a vibrant spectrum of colors and patterns, from aquatic blues to floral hues.
The silhouettes presented a harmonious blend of sophistication and playfulness. Foulard-style silk dresses, ensembles in gabardine with print inlays, and asymmetric tops and skirts reflect a novel spirit.
Embellishments such as all-over paillette embroidery, leather accents, and chain details add a touch of luxury. The accessories complemented the collection's themes such as the sandals outlined with leaves and elegant bags, featuring Pucci scarf detailing and chain straps.
Camille Miceli's long design experience plus her fresh creative vision ensured this Pucci collection was a successful blend of reinvigorated historic prints and a cosmopolitan, contemporary aesthetic.
Scroll down to see the full SS24 Pucci collection in Rome
By Leah Henrickson, The University of Queensland; Catriona Mills, The University of Queensland; David Tang, The University of Queensland, and Maggie Nolan, The University of Queensland
Australians are nervous about AI. Efforts are underway to put their minds at ease: advisory committees, consultations and regulations. But these actions have tended to be reactive instead of proactive. We need to imagine potential scenarios before they happen.
Of course, we already do this – in literature.
There is, in fact, more than 100 years’ worth of Australian literature about AI and robotics. Nearly 2,000 such works are listed in the AustLit database, a bibliography of Australian literature that includes novels, screenplays, poetry and other kinds of literature.
These titles are often overlooked in policy-driven conversations. This is a missed opportunity. Literature both reflects and influences thinking about its subjects. It is a rich source of insights into social attitudes, imagined scenarios and what “responsible” technology looks like.
As part of an ongoing project, we are creating a comprehensive list of Australian literature about AI and robots.
Here are five Australian literary works of particular relevance to national conversations about AI.
The Automatic Barmaid
The Automatic Barmaid is a short story by Ernest O’Ferrall, who wrote under the pen name “Kodak”. Like his contemporaries Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson, Kodak was best known as a writer of comedic bush stories.
Ernest O Ferrall (1881-1925).Robin M. Cale/National Library of Australia, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
This particular story was published in The Bulletin in 1917 and is available for online reading through Trove.
The story concerns an automaton named Gwennie, who at first seems too good to be true, as she is cheaper and more efficient than a human barmaid. But Gwennie soon causes trouble by getting stuck on problems that humans could easily solve, like not realising a bottle is empty.
The Automatic Barmaid is a humorous depiction of robots as tempting and cheap but not always suitable replacements for human labour. It is no coincidence the story was published in 1917, just before the Great Strike: the culmination of waves of strikes that occurred during the first World War.
One of the triggers for the Great Strike was the use of time and motion studies, especially by rails and tram companies, in which workers’ activities were timed to evaluate performance. Gwennie would have performed perfectly in these studies.
Today, most Australians do not trust AI in the workplace, particularly when it comes to HR tasks like monitoring, evaluation, and recruitment. The Automatic Barmaid shows how persistently sceptical we have been about our technologies over the last century, and how much we value human workers’ adaptability and resilience.
Most Australians do not trust AI in the workplace.Shutterstock
The Successors
A. Bertram Chandler was a sailor turned science-fiction writer, who published prolifically from the mid-1940s, particularly in his Rim Worlds series.
His 1957 short story The Successors begins with a general and a professor meeting while their planet – presumably Earth – is under attack from an unknown race of invaders. These two characters initially seem to be humans at some point in the future, but they are later revealed to be part of a race of robots that overthrew humanity.
The robots have enslaved the humans who once enslaved them. The professor muses that, in the end, the humans and the robots are not so different after all.
A. Bertram Chandler (1912-1984).Hachette Australia.
The Successors explores an as yet unachieved scenario. It imagines Artificial General Intelligence (AGI). Most current AI systems are what we call “narrow”, and can only complete a limited number of tasks in specific areas. For example, a chess-playing AI could not be expected to make investment recommendations.
We are, however, moving towards AGI: AI systems that can complete a wide range of tasks across various areas. A robot that can walk around, speak and overthrow humanity would be an example of AGI.
Australian MP Julian Hill has spoken openly about the risks and benefits of AGI, arguing that “action by governments to grapple with the impact of AGI is now urgent”.
Although many people believe that AGI is still a long way into the future, thinking about extreme future scenarios, like the one in The Successors, can help us identify where we might need to mitigate risk. These scenarios can also give us insight into our present concerns about technology, inviting us to consider what we are afraid of and why.
Moon in the Ground
Keith Antill’s novel Moon in the Ground was published by pioneering Australian science fiction press Norstrilia in 1979. It is about an extraterrestrial AI that can adapt its physical form to its environment.
This AI is discovered near Alice Springs by American FBI agents, who try to train it for militaristic use on a nearby base. A struggle between the Americans and the Australians ensues, with both trying to harness the power of the AI for their own political aims.
The novel is a response to the political climate of the time. When it was published, the Cold War was ongoing. In the story, the US is depicted as paranoid about communism and desperate for global power.
Moon in the Ground speaks to the longstanding connections between defence and robotics, autonomous systems and AI – connections that Australia is now looking to strengthen.
It also illustrates the connection between technology and political power: a connection that Antill, formerly of the Royal Australian Navy and later a public servant, would have seen firsthand. Access to the newest, most advanced technologies can help a country gain power over others. However, as Moon in the Ground shows, chasing that power too keenly can be destructive.
The Tic-Toc Boy of Constantinople
The Tic-Toc Boy of Constantinople, a short story by Anthony Panegyres, was published in 2014 as part of the steampunk collection Kisses by Clockwork.
The story centres on Phyte, a robot who looks and acts like a human boy, apart from having a metal plate on his chest and occasionally producing steam. He is feared by everyone except his human creator, who intended him to be a test site for the creation of artificial organs that could be transplanted into humans.
It turns out people are right to be afraid, as the human-clockwork hybrids (of which Phyte is one) have a primal urge to kill the humans that help them.
The Tic-Toc Boy of Constantinople encourages us to think about how bodies are central to our experiences of the world. Like many steampunk works, it emphasises the long history of biomechanical enhancements and adjustments to human bodies.
As Australia works towards integrating AI in healthcare, we need to think about how technologies interact with our bodies, and ensure that commercial interests do not overshadow public benefit.
AI technologies can help us better care for our bodies by complementing the work of medical professionals. However, as wearable and implantable technologies become more common, reflecting on the ways we are augmenting our bodies will ensure that we are more than just test sites for other people’s plans.
Clade
James Bradley’s 2015 cli-fi novel Clade follows a family from the near future living in an increasingly precarious and unpredictable world faced with ecological collapse. AI plays a relatively minor part in the narrative, but when it does appear, it is represented ambivalently.
Dylan works for a company called Semblance that builds AI simulations, also called sims or echoes. These are virtual recreations of the dead assembled from as much data as available.
The sims can read and mimic the responses of people who interact with them. “They’re not conscious, or not quite,” the narrator explains. “They’re complex emulations fully focused on convincing their owners they are who they seem to be.”
Initially something of a gimmick, the sim business becomes very lucrative as more people die in the book. Over time, though, customers want to tweak their sims. The customers start making the dead less like they were and more as they would have preferred them to be.
Dylan’s dad thinks his son’s work is exploitative, profiting as it does from vulnerable people. Dylan faces his own ethical dilemma when he comes across a request to build a sim of an ex-girlfriend’s brother.
As the Australian Government works towards policies related to AI, and generative AI more particularly, attention to ethical development is becoming more prominent.
Clade encourages us to think about where our boundaries might be and why. The technology Dylan works to develop already partially exists. Does this technology best serve Australians? If not, how can we make it so?
Making sense of the world
Humans tell stories to make sense of the world. Literary representations have much to tell us about how we understand and respond to the rapidly advancing and seemingly unpredictable technology of AI.
To develop AI and robots that best respond to the needs of Australians, we can learn a lot from reading our own literature.
Leah Henrickson, Lecturer in Digital Media and Cultures, The University of Queensland; Catriona Mills, Content Manager, AustLit, The University of Queensland; David Tang, Research assistant, AustLit, The University of Queensland, and Maggie Nolan, Director of AustLit, Associate Professor in Digital Cultural Heritage, The University of Queensland
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