Orlando Bloom Reacts To Katy Perry And Justin Trudeau
The two made headlines last week when they were seen dining at a restaurant in Montreal, followed by Justin's appearance at the Montreal stop of Katy's Lifetimes tour. A source subsequently told People that "they are interested in each other" — however, "it will take a while to see where this goes."
"She is traveling around the world, and he is figuring out his life now that he is no longer prime minister of Canada," the source said, "but there is an attraction. They have a lot in common." Among their shared interests are "music" and being "idealists" seeking to make "improvements" to the world.
"[The] timing seems good for them," the source added, although they clarified "a romance is in very early stages."
Well, amid the rumors, the Onion poked fun at Katy and Justin by joking that Orlando had struck up his own romance with another politician — namely, former German Chancellor Angela Merkel.
In an Instagram post containing a digitally-made photo of Orlando and Angela seated together, the outlet wrote, "Just weeks after announcing his split from fiancée Katy Perry, English actor Orlando Bloom was photographed Friday dining with former German Chancellor Angela Merkel. 'Angela kept Orlando laughing all night—he couldn't keep his eyes off her!' said an insider source who spotted the pair sipping wine, slurping oysters, and splitting a decadent piece of chocolate layer cake at a Michelin-starred restaurant."
Orlando, who split from Katy in June after nine years and one child together, took to the comments to react, sharing a series of handclap emojis.
It's no surprise to see Orlando joking around, as he's said to have a friendly relationship with Katy in the wake of their split. According to a source, it was especially important for them to remain cordial so they could be around their daughter, Daisy, 4, "separately or together."
"Katy has every intention of maintaining a positive and respectful relationship with Orlando," one source said. "He's the father of their daughter and that will always come first for her."
The source added, "They've been through a lot together and while they've decided to go their separate ways, there's still a mutual respect between them. They're still very much in touch and co-parenting Daisy together. For the sake of their daughter, they're committed to keeping things amicable."
Honestly, good for them, and shout out to Orlando for being a good sport! Let me know your thoughts in the comments.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Chicago Tribune
30 minutes ago
- Chicago Tribune
Octogenarian busker brings bold, brassy sounds and culture to Chinatown
With a slight inhale, 81-year-old Zhen Jinling brought the short, ridged horn up to his mouth. He pursed his lips and blew into his suona — the sound part birdcall, part trumpet fanfare. From a bench outside Chinatown's library branch, the chirpy melody and fast descending riffs of 'Whipping the Horse that Transports Grain,' a Chinese folk song composed in the 20th century, buzzed across the street to the nearby CTA station. Since 2022, Zhen has spent Saturday and Sunday afternoons busking outside Wentworth and Archer avenues. Rotating between several instruments, Zhen shares a taste of traditional Chinese music with locals and visitors alike. '(I) entertain the community, entertain myself,' Zhen said last month in Mandarin Chinese. Zhen, originally from Taishan in Guangdong province, said he came to the U.S. at least 15 years ago. He often played in Chinese opera and folk music companies in Chicago, New York and other areas, focusing on Cantonese opera music, he said. 'Private opera companies don't have much money,' he said. 'I've spent my life learning music — giving myself to it.' Zhen set down his suona and put his erhu, a type of Chinese violin, in his lap. As he drew the bow along the upright strings, a mellower tone floated into the air. It's nowhere near as loud as the suona, but turned heads nonetheless. A young man and woman stopped to watch Zhen play. 'May I see it?' The woman asked Zhen in English after he paused, gesturing to the erhu. He scooted over to let her sit downand handed her the instrument. Zhen guided her right hand as she pulled the bow back and forth, the sound shifting from an initial croak to something more sonorous. After about a minute, the impromptu lesson concluded and the woman stood up. Zhen pointed to a cup in front of his instrument cases. 'Yi kuai qian (one dollar),' he said. She didn't seem to understand his words exactly, but dropped in a bill anyway. Zhen started learning music when he was 15, he said. Much of his training came in the Chinese military, where he also performed, he added. Over the years, he's learned ways to save money while playing music. While suona reeds are traditionally plant-based, Zhen flattens segments of plastic straws to fit into his mouthpiece. He keeps extras in a small tin, and it's 'all about habit,' he said. Zhen plays the jinghu and gehu, two bowed, upright string instruments that are in the same family as the erhu. He's also started learning Western instruments in the past few years, collecting violins, saxophones and guitars, he said. 'If other people can, I have to be able to play as well,' Zhen said of learning different instruments. 'If I can't, it's a little embarrassing.' At his age, though, the effort Zhen puts into learning new instruments varies. On the violin, he's a 'lazy' learner — his neck can't take the strain from playing for too long, he said. Yunlong Zhang, who goes by John Lone, is a recent music school graduate. He said he admires Zhen for his depth of musical knowledge and commitment to performing despite the limited financial gain. Lone, who moved to the U.S. from China for school, also said he was glad to hear the suona and erhu — 'Chinese sound' — in Chicago. When two women told Lone one afternoon he should fall back on information technology or computer science in case music doesn't work out as a career path, he said Zhen chimed in. 'He said, 'You shouldn't tell him this, you'll impact him. You have to respect his personal decisions,'' Lone said in Mandarin Chinese. 'His personality is pretty interesting.' After a weekend of thunderstorms and other severe weather, Zhen was back to busking July 27. His performance coincided with the Chinatown Summer Fair, which saw increased foot traffic in the area — and past the corner where he plays. Hearing Zhen play was 'really captivating,' said University of Illinois Chicago student Nabharun Bhattacharya. He had seen social media posts of buskers in Chinatown, but this was his first in-person experience, Bhattacharya added. 'A movie without background music is just frames passing through your eyes, right? Similarly, if there's good music and ambience, it heightens the whole experience,' Bhattacharya said. Eric and Jennifer Burpee, a married couple who went to Chinatown after church earlier in the day, also stopped by Zhen's post to listen and donate money. The couple also played instruments growing up — Jennifer Burpee learned clarinet and Eric Burpee the trumpet. They said Zhen played 'confidently,' and Jennifer Burpee recognized much of his music as built on the pentatonic, or five-tone, scale. 'I'm pretty awestruck that he can play three instruments,' Jennifer Burpee said. Jennifer Burpee is part Chinese and grew up in Bridgeport. While she frequently visited Chinatown when she was younger, Burpee didn't recall seeing street performers around the neighborhood. Now, in part because of more frequent organized cultural performances in the area, Burpee said she hears more buskers on the streets, including those playing traditional Chinese music. She and her husband hope there are more buskers around the neighborhood and city. Public performances add to the 'culture and experience of the city and Chicago as a whole,' Eric Burpee said. The third instrument in Zhen's rotation was the xiao, a Chinese flute made of bamboo. Holding it sideways, he played a wistful tune, the tone soft and almost hoarse. 'My strength no longer matches my heart,' Zhen said. 'I'm out of breath now.' Still, Zhen said he doesn't plan on stopping his street performances any time soon. His hope? 'That people hear my music and are happy,' Zhen said.
Los Angeles Times
30 minutes ago
- Los Angeles Times
A morning with Takako Yamaguchi, the L.A. artist we should've already known
'Time is the most important thing right now,' says Takako Yamaguchi. The artist, who at 72 is having her first institutional show with MOCA, suggests she has a limited number of active, working years. But this realization doesn't bring her down; instead, she's been having the most fun she's ever had. Her mind is clearer than when she was in her 20s, and she is eager to paint every day, all day, in a white-walled room, on the second floor of a gray-blue apartment building in Santa Monica. Minutes into sitting in our wheely chairs beside her drafting table, it becomes clear that Yamaguchi's preoccupation with time points back to her parents — her mother is going to be 96, and her father just turned 100. She is prepared to take a plane to Okayama, Japan, where they live and where she was born, at a moment's notice. Over the last few years, she's been gradually bringing objects from her parents' home to Los Angeles, like ceramics, and has most recently been debating what to do with her mother's collection of kimonos. Yamaguchi's apartment, which is just across the hallway from her studio, is minimally furnished. In the living space, there are just three artworks on the walls: two paintings by L.A. icons William Leavitt and Lari Pittman (she traded artworks with the latter), and hanging over Yamaguchi's white couch is one of her own paintings of a naked torso, a breast pressed against the neon-yellow plexiglass. She tells me that for a long time, she was hesitant to acquire things. She was moving around frequently, almost every two years. Settling in L.A. was unplanned, unexpected. She has now been here for the better part of 47 years. For our conversation, I've asked Yamaguchi to share an object with me that is meaningful to her. She's picked a pair of wooden dolls, a girl and boy, that her father gave her when she was around 5. She remembers she was sick when he gifted them. It was a true treat — at the time, in postwar years, they had little money and few special possessions. Yamaguchi shows me a black-and-white photo of her as a child, clutching the dolls on her lap in the sunlight. The dolls, Yamaguchi says, don't relate to her work as an artist, as she doesn't draw on her childhood. I point out the lovely kimono patterns on their round bodies, patterns that you also see in the artist's painted landscapes. I think, but don't say, that this is an artifact of a time before she left home, before she acquired another language and country. Yamaguchi moved to the U.S. for college. It was a hopeful time of possibility, and she describes her parents as encouraging of her decision. She got a scholarship to Bates College in Maine, and while her parents expected her to return home, she sensed she would stay. At school, she tried studying political science or journalism but was daunted by the number of papers she'd have to write, especially as she was still learning English. She took an art class, just out of curiosity, and discovered it was much more enjoyable than writing papers. Becoming an artist, she says, was a total 'accident.' She committed to the craft partly as a means to stay in the country — she needed a visa, so she applied to UC Santa Barbara, where she got her master's in fine arts in 1978. Los Angeles, too, was an accident. Yamaguchi thought it would be a stopover on her way back to the East Coast, where 'serious' artists moved. 'In L.A., you are free to do whatever you want to do, no one cares — it's scary. It didn't seem to have that much structure. So it was fascinating in that way. But because of that, I thought, 'You can't stay.'' And yet she did. At one point, she started dating a man who lived in Paris, and she found herself split among France, the U.S. and Japan. She recalls a friend telling her: 'Takako, you need to pick two countries.' She heeded his advice and dumped the boyfriend, choosing the U.S. and Japan. The friend later said he was surprised by her choice — he was suggesting keeping the boyfriend and losing Los Angeles. But she couldn't give up this city because, she realized, 'L.A. was my identity as an artist.' In Los Angeles, Yamaguchi can do her own thing. She is 'happy to be left alone.' There is less information overload than a place like New York City. L.A. has the appeal of not being at the center of things; it has allowed her to do things at her own pace. Because even as time is a limited resource, Yamaguchi savors working slowly, gradually. Sometimes her husband, the gallerist Tom Jimmerson, will come home at the end of the day and be puzzled — the canvas Yamaguchi was working on that morning doesn't appear all that different. But she sees a transformed picture in the smallest of adjustments, like the deeper tint of a shadow. Yamaguchi speaks of her slowness as something almost naughty. In an interview with Leah Ollman this summer, she described 'wasting' time as 'a perverse pleasure.' It's her rebellion against capitalism and the expectation to produce at a high pace. No other series embodies this more than her close-up self-portraits of her bust, waist and torso, as she painted each white stitch on a crochet top, each blue wrinkle in the pleats of a skirt — which, like many things she owns, including the black button-down jumper she's sporting for our interview, is a hand-me-down that she wears to this day. She painted these just a decade ago, but, she tells me, 'I wouldn't be able to do the garment pieces now.' They'd probably take too much out of her. Yamaguchi is now focusing on making paintings that already feel familiar to her, using forms she's repeatedly traced and painted over her career: braids, cones, columns, mounds, loopy waves. Together these shapes make what she calls 'abstractions in reverse' — abstract pictures that engender natural landscapes of their own. She references Wallace Stevens, who wrote in his journal: 'All of our ideas come from the natural world: trees equal umbrellas.' But what if umbrellas, instead, equaled trees? The world of color and shapes — of art — is just as real and lived. At MOCA, Yamaguchi has 10 whimsical seascapes on view: oceans with golden curtains for skies and purple waves for waters; oceans that look like they could be the backdrops to the Ballets Russes, bands of red and white shooting up from the horizon. A month before, I had seen a different body of work from the late '80s at her gallery, Ortuzar, in lower Manhattan: five large paintings featuring allegorical women drawn from the Renaissance artist Lucas Cranach the Elder, each cast in a Yamaguchi landscape of dizzying swirls and gold leaf. When I ask Yamaguchi what she thinks ties her works together, she says, 'They're incredibly time-consuming and exacting,' and, she adds with a smile, 'they have a contrarian streak.' Her work has often been off trend — always of the future or the past, but never of the present, she says. 'What could be more fuddy duddy and out of step than the seascape?' Anna Katz, the curator of the MOCA show, rhetorically asked at the opening. Yamaguchi delights in her difference and defiance. She is inspired by the Romantics from the late 18th century who painted seascapes, but she's 'not romantic.' She admires spontaneous, expressionistic artists, but she has more of 'a cool side.' She tries to 'avoid' emotion — 'keep it away, out.' When I ask her why, she says maybe she feels 'self-conscious,' 'kind of inadequate.' She prefers to be in control. But what stays with me after our hours together in her Santa Monica apartment is a softer side, a side that thinks of the passing of time and has held on to her childhood dolls — a side that she keeps private and presumably separate from her work, though even she knows this distinction isn't realistic. 'Emotion has a way of sneaking back in.' After our interview, I stick around Yamaguchi's apartment while photographer Jennelle Fong takes the artist's portrait. She asks Jennelle to make sure she looks good, but she is already beautiful: elegant in her understated Gap jeans, round black eyeglasses and neatly trimmed bangs. Jennelle, who has overheard much of our conversation, wonders what Yamaguchi does to relax, given how intensely time-consuming and focused her work sounds. 'Baths. And stare at Japanese TV. And wine!' Any cheap wine, she clarifies. I wander back toward her studio and examine a board pinned with various bits of paper and pictures. There is a news clipping of Yamaguchi when she was younger, posing with a cigarette in front of her painting of a smoking woman. There is a photo of a winding road, and several photos of seascapes. When I ask her about these, she says her husband cuts them out from newspapers whenever he sees them and gives them to her. I think of three paintings from the MOCA show that appear to have smooth, paved roads in the middle of their oceans — oceans to be traversed, traveled. I think of how the only thing separating Los Angeles from Japan, Yamaguchi from her parents, is a long stretch of Pacific Ocean, and how she's been journeying it most her life. When I ask her if living between two places and languages has impacted her art, Yamaguchi says, 'I felt like wherever I was, I was an outsider and wasn't able to fully integrate. And even in my own country, I felt very foreign too.' She adds, 'It must have affected something in my work.' When I think of what ties Yamaguchi's work together, I think of being suspended in time and space, of being nowhere in particular, but of also being pressed up close to the moment. I think of being pulled into focus: before a human body or the patterns of an otherworldly ocean. I think of the embrace of colors and textures and shapes. I think of how accommodating her work is, how she doesn't stick to a single aesthetic or mode of expression. There is no one way to be. I tell Yamaguchi that next time she needs a bigger show, one that has all her works side by side, to showcase her multiplicity. The MOCA show is just one room. It is part of the museum's 'Focus' series, exhibitions reserved for showcasing emerging artists. '72 and emerging,' Yamaguchi wryly says. Of course, she's been here — it's the institutions that are catching up. As we say goodbye, Yamaguchi says how nice it was to spend time with 'young people.' I thank her for sacrificing the hours from her precious workday. As we walk down the staircase, she waves and calls from the railing: 'Enjoy your long lives!' A reminder of the gift of time.
Hypebeast
31 minutes ago
- Hypebeast
Jobe Burns Breathes Life Back Into a 300-Year-Old Farmhouse
You might knowJobe Burnsbest through his work with Samuel Ross, which (formally) began back in 2017, when the pair launched the homeware label 'Concrete Objects'. Since, Burns appears to have been on a mission to explore all facets of his creative practice, he has designed small objects, monolithic signage, and squishy furniture. Now, he's revealing his latest work: the restoration of a centuries-old farmhouse in the English countryside. The project came to Burns unexpectedly, through a conversation at his graduate show from the spatial design course at London's Chelsea College of Art. The new owners had bought the property set in the heart of the rural West Country, and it needed some TLC. Using the home as a studio of sorts (Burns has also just recently finished a sculpture degree at the Royal College of Art), he spent time getting to know the property. Details unearthed themselves as he looked around, including – but not limited to – a blocked-up doorway tucked behind a cupboard. 'I took the cupboard down, removed the floor, knocked through the breeze blocks, and uncovered two hidden, brick-arched rooms,' he said. 'It was like the house had been holding something back, waiting for the right moment to be seen.' Turns out, this single moment would go on to inform the rest of the design concept: 'it reinforced the idea that this was less about redesigning and more about uncovering what was already there.' Across the whole property, soft curves have been reinstated to create a sense of tactility. Rooms are designated by subtle color and material shifts – from the bright and airy off-white kitchen walls to the rich terracotta bathrooms. Some elements from the original property have been retained and restored, with others, namely dead trees becoming furniture and roof tiles becoming part of the fireplace, turned into something new. Burns has injected modern moments through the use of contemporary furniture. In the living room, Andu Masebo's Tubular Chair is paired with a table from Burns' labelOrbe. Similarly to his ability to shape-shift across disciplines, Burns can adjust his aesthetic project to project too. In fact, at first, you wouldn't necessarily be able to detect this as one of his projects. But dig a little deeper into the process, and you uncover his signature: taking time to understand whatever the medium is that he's working with, and applying a humanist approach to the process. 'You choose the building to adapt your behaviour to it – it's a shift from the external world,' Burns says. 'This farmhouse draws you back into a time when things were slower, and gives you more time to let thoughts linger. The architecture holds a kind of stillness, a patience, and, in turn, it asks the same of you.' Take a look around the house above.
