Magpie and I

New portfolio site

2011-08-01T10:07:00.003+01:00

All my articles are now available to view and download over here at www.laurasnoad.co.uk.

Goodbye

2010-07-15T17:16:00.003+01:00

So I've well and truly retired this blog now, but you can read my recent scribblings for Design Week here. They'll be a new portfolio site coming soon, in the meantime contact me at laura dot snoad at hotmail dot com.

Top of the Shop

2010-05-24T20:04:00.008+01:00

If you like weasel astronauts, throwing the V at little dogs, and voluptuous ladies with cat tattoos, then Mr Bingo is your man.

As well as being a genuinely nice chap, Mr Bingo is a brilliant illustrator, who has produced work for the likes of Esquire, Wired and even Microsoft. Humour and kooky line drawings are his sought-after trademarks, both of which won him plenty of admirers at Somerset House's recent illustration fair Pick Me U p.

Bingo has just launched his own online print shop, so you too can own a chick with a dick. Check it out here.

Buff-ting

2010-05-22T09:51:00.004+01:00

Probably the best use of QR codes that I've seen so far. Berlin-based artist Sweza captures graffiti with his camera then once the work is buffed, puts a QR code where the piece once was. Passers-by can then use a QR reader on their iPhone to take a picture of the code which will link to images of the original graffiti.

The internet is changing the permanence of graffiti and creating an online palimpsest of the streets we live in. As Sweza's QR code gets buffed another work might be written in its place, then another code, ad infinitum.

Take a look at Sweza at work below.

Big bang theory

2010-03-08T22:12:00.013Z

I can't wait for the Alternative Fashion Week in April after seeing this stunning collection from Sini Moilanen. Her cosmology-inspired outfits are surprisingly wearable and will make up just one of the shows that clothes-loving hipsters can feast their eyes on at Spitalfields Market next month.

Check out below for a preview of her star-studded work.

The Alternative Fashion Week will run from 19-23 April at Spitalfields Maket, Crispin Place, London.

Re-Design week

2010-03-04T20:40:00.007Z

This week Design Week has a new look, thanks to DW art director Sam Freeman. Not only has the new layout freed-up the pages to accommodate... well, whatever we like, it looks bloody marvellous too.

All of the web content has gone behind a subscribers-only paywall. But don't worry, if you're too tight to invest, you still get treated to our brand new blog.

The design of the times

2010-01-11T19:31:00.005Z

I’m currently flexing my journalistic muscle at leading industry weekly Design Week. A hybrid between a trade and consumer title, the magazine covers news and features from the creative industries, especially graphics, packaging, web, architecture, branding and advertising.

Read some of the news stories I wrote during my first week below:

Nokia seeks designers to raise living standards in developing world
Fudge works in Creative Islington website
Antony Gormley chairs Brit Insurance awards jury
300 Million retunes Paris orchestra logo

And keep your eyes peeled for my feature about designers in residence in the UK’s leading cultural institutions, which will be posted later this week.

The singer not the song

2009-12-02T23:16:00.000Z

No, the ‘Father and Son’ hit-maker hasn’t renounced Islam and started taking pictures of indie-rock royalty. Instead his namesake exhibits her wealth of musical portraits, including Joanna Newsom and PJ Harvey, at Rough Trade East this month.

The former Plan B picture editor has shot some of the most exciting new artists of the last five years and her playful photographs have been snapped up by record companies and magazines alike, including Island Records and Vogue.

Ranging from theatrical musician-in-a-dressing-up-box shots to simple expressive portraits, Stevens’s work shows an extraordinary sensitivity to her subjects and captures the magic of music making.

‘The Singer not the Song’ runs at Rough Trade East, Dray Walk, Old Truman Brewery, 91 Brick Lane, London until Jan 30th 2010

Know Hope on Great Eastern St

2009-11-20T23:34:00.000Z

Branded

2009-11-09T23:17:00.004Z

Even if the name doesn’t ring a bell, there’s no doubt that you’ll already know the distinctive figure of Grayson Perry. The 2003 Turner Prize winner, whose transvestite alter ego Claire was courted by a bemused press at the time, uses traditionally ‘safe’ media such as ceramics and textiles to communicate shocking modern issues.

This month’s exhibition at the Victoria Miro gallery features Perry’s largest work to date, a 3m x 15m tapestry, which was designed specifically for the gallery’s top floor exhibition space. Depicting a life that stretches from womb to tomb, the Walthamstow Tapestry is scattered with numerous brand names that have been stripped of their distinctive logos. Paired often with incongruous scenes from daily life – a folk art hair hops over a scribbled ‘durex’ – the tapestry demonstrates how heavily branding is woven into everyday life. How alien they look without their emblems, alone, a bizarre collection of letters.

Striking lime greens and a scarlet and fuchsia umbilical cord anchor the piece firmly in the 21st century but its naïve style draws upon the folk art of eastern Europe and the Arts and Crafts movement. It’s an impressive piece both in size and detail and, from ex-hippies to hoodies, chronicles contemporary life in all its triumph, anger and inanity.

Alongside the tapestry, a large body of Perry’s new work is on display including a number of large etchings and ceramic pieces. Despite dealing with dark subject matter such as child abuse, political hypocrisy and environment apocalypse, Perry’s work is also delicate and beautiful. Sumptuous glazes, graffito drawings and decoupage photographs cover his curvaceous pots, luring viewers close before confronting them with uncomfortable ideas.

The winning combination of a Turner Prize artist, a crowd-drawing hit piece and the gallery’s stunning views over the east London rooftops, meant that this was always going to be a monumental exhibition. But smartly calculated to coincide with the release of a major new book (Grayson Perry by Jacky Klein, Thames and Hudson, £35), it’s also an interesting admission that even artists are not above branding, consumerism and well-timed self promotion.

Grayson Perry – The Walthamstow Tapestry runs until the 14th November

Prenez soin de vous

2009-11-02T20:03:00.000Z

Sophie Calle at the Whitechapel Gallery
Until Until 3 January
www.whitechapelgallery.org

After being unceremoniously dumped, most women reach for the Kleenex and ice-cream and call around an army of militant friends – but not Sophie Calle. The French photographer, celebrated for her documentation of engineered social interactions, instead opted for an altogether more public affair. Asking 107 women to respond to a heartbreaking email sent to her by her lover ending the relationship, she then transformed the results into an exhibition for the 2007 Venice Biennale.

The premier of the English language version of Prenez soin de vous (Take Care of Yourself) is just part of the Whitechapel Gallery’s larger Calle retrospective. The entire downstairs space is filled with photographs, films and physical relics, where the seemingly empowered women have used their professional skills to interpret her ex-lover’s sentiments. A film of a soprano voice belting extreme grief with operatic facial gymnastics sits alongside the framed and bullet riddled email. Each usage of the word ‘love’ has been precisely targeted and eliminated.

The scale and variety of the responses is overwhelming. Varying from an unemotional accountant’s tottings up of the total assets and total liabilities to the melodramatic performance of actress Miranda Richardson with her seemingly unimpressed tabby, the work as a whole demonstrates different and complex responses to loss.

As a piece of work, it cleverly functions much like a grieving woman. Surrounding herself with a circle of mirror identities, Calle almost compulsively over-analyses the email’s every word to the point of obsession. Except from the initial missive, there is no opportunity for the offending party to explain himself. He is now, a separate body without a voice, detached and internalised.

The exhibition is at times cruel and self-deprecating, such as when an employee of the Libération news desk refuses to publish the email on premise that the “letter interests nobody”. But many of the interpretations – Brenda the parrot’s beaky destruction of the email for example – are humorous. It’s selfishness and sense of revenge element may make many viewers uncomfortable, but it is this raw honesty that makes Take Care of Yourself a confession worth hearing.

Image from lipsticktracez.com

SNAP to it

2009-10-10T14:55:00.006+01:00

The fruits of my screen printing efforts at Bristol's SNAP gallery.

It's all so quiet...

2009-09-21T10:39:00.002+01:00

Well, I've moved to London and started studying my heart out so things might get a bit quiet here on Magpie and I. But never fear, when the work cloud ascends they'll be plenty more news and reviews of all the art, music and films I can get my grubby London paws on.

In the meantime, feel free to email with your comments: laura dot snoad at hotmail dot com

Let me see the colts

2009-09-02T12:46:00.003+01:00

A review of Billy C's show at the Thekla last month via Suit Yourself Magazine.

For a long time, fans have watched Bill Callahan skulk quietly at the sidelines – sometimes literally at ex-squeeze Joanna Newsom’s gigs – always threatening to break into mainstream notoriety but never quite making it, but not that he seems to mind. A self-styled lo-fi outsider, Callahan has commendably remained in the shadows even when relationships with high profile songstresses Chan Marshall (Cat Power) and Newsom could have propelled him into mainstream stardom and has instead let his understated and extensive discography do the low and hushed talking.

It’s this same Maryland dark horse that greeted an audience at Thekla for a series of live dates to accompany new album Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle – the second recording since dropping the Smog moniker. Beside admissions to be glad to be on a boat, rather than in one of the series of churches that this tour had led him into, Callahan’s banter with the crowd was kept to almost unbearably tense minimum; the electric silence between songs providing each musically offering with spine-tingling intensity.

A reverent audience watched the silver-haired anti-hero work through a varied set, including many tracks from the impressive new album as well as past Smog classics such as Cold Blooded Old Times and The Breeze. When doe-eyed and silver-tongued support act Sophia Knapp joined Callahan for a particularly intimate rendition of The Wind And The Dove, both his words and presence gave Knapp a gravitas that her own tender but clichéd set had evaded.

Callahan’s signature deadpan baritone was matched by an almost disparaging expression, broken only by the often comic cries of an over enthusiastic fan. But it’s perhaps the aloofness, this guarded and disappointed persona, that gives Callahan’s tales of the natural world, rivers, birds and relationships such weight and a hint of only half-convalesced pain. Constant melodic and lyrical repetition, borrowed heavily from American country music, and a refusal to comply with verse-bridge-chorus song-writing makes for powerful listening. It is this cumulative richness, as well as an impressive ability for vivid picture making, that sees Callahan rightly celebrated as an anti-folk heavyweight. Once again, slow and steady wins the race.

New Kids on the Block

2009-08-19T10:25:00.001+01:00

Bristol has been blessed with a new free music and art rag this month in the perfectly formed shape of Crack Magazine. Inspired by the likes of Plan B and The Wire, Crack attempts to take on the Bristol art and music scene with a elegant combo of strokably expensive matt paper, large helpings of literary-style prose and a good deal of youthful cockiness. The current issue features interviews with urban artist Hollis and undulating jazz maestros Portico Quartet, among album reviews, gig previews and a mini-festival guide. Pick up your very own copy from one of the many independent retailers on Gloucester Road or Park Street or download the PDF here.

Back to the Future

2009-08-18T20:17:00.001+01:00

My review of the Arnolfini's latest exhibition 'Sequelism Part 3: Possible, Probable or Preferable Futures via Suit Yourself Magazine.

Even before entering the Arnolfini’s whitewashed innards, I’d already discovered that this exhibition’s title alone required a hefty amount of brainwork. Sequelism is a made-up term that has been constructed to mimic the recent phenomenon for moulding new words from hybrid mutants of already existing and quite sensible terms – think ‘synergy’ – to represent emerging concepts and movements. In this case, the title is intentionally void of a concrete meaning and anticipates definition in the future. It might seem a little odd to name an exhibition with a seemingly meaningless moniker but for a show that is all about what our visualisation of the future say about present social identity and fears, it makes a certain amount of sense for a future date to allow us to define a current exhibition. Lost yet?

As often happens when an exhibition is dictated by a concept rather than a particular artist or movement, Sequelism is a motley crew of very different pieces. Immediately visible is Haegue Yang’s Holiday For Tomorrow, whose rainbow coloured blinds and lattice panels give the impression of forming an intimate chamber within the gallery space. Light and not entirely solid, it houses a film featuring images of Seoul during the Korean harvest holiday Chuseok. Using a rather miserable sounding female voice, the piece explores both the emotional anticipation of holidays and the oddness of experiencing socially contrived days of rest.

On the opposite wall, Graham Gussin’s Hypnotic/Dystopic/Optic is a kaleidoscope of whirling science fiction novels where – the original cover indecipherable – the books form hypnotic blurs of colour. The way that the artwork has been supplied with power means that each sunflower-like head has an electric stem, which all join on the floor in a tangle of cable and socket roots. For me the strongest work of the show, it almost acts as traditional landscape painting made from modern technology and unidentifiable fictions of the future.

In the second room a taxidermy fox head stares blankly at the viewer, suspended by wrought iron supports. Somewhere between a voodoo fetish and a mechanical altar, it seems to hark back to the primeval animal deities and yet draws on present day controversy over the hunting ban. Another piece by Romanian Victor Man sees patent black text on wall reading “we die,” crossed out with wiggly neon cross. The use of a comma rather than full stop anticipates future syntax, and perhaps the afterlife, but is instantly negated by the gaudy neon tubing.

Sequelism is a challenging exhibition that was at times thought provoking but often alienating. Although this is often an intentional feature of both sci-fi and futurology, much of the work felt cold and introverted rather than awe-inspiring. It’s important, however, for galleries to put on difficult shows like this to avoid becoming crowd-pleasing, art-for-postcards merchandise factories and even if this one wasn’t entirely my cup of tea, I’ll definitely be back to see what boundaries the Arnolfini are crossing next time.

Exhibiting between Saturday 8th July until Sunday 20th September 2009 @ Arnolfini, Bristol

Bear Necessities

2009-08-12T19:03:00.007+01:00

A few weeks ago I decided to give myself a 3-month clothing challenge of ditching high street brands and buying only from local boutiques and independent designers. So far, it's been pretty easy. Mainly because I'm incredibly skint and haven't bought anything at all. Not even lentils. But after I received a few shiny pennies for a writing job I did yonks ago, I thought I'd dust off my debit card and see what local gems I could discover.

Bristol's a wealth of creative talent and many of the city's top-notch graffiti artists and illustrators also have their fingers firmly caked in various fashion industry pies. Gloucester Road's new hip-hop paradise Avalaan, Park Street's My Yard (formerly BS8) and queens of urban patchwork, Shop Dutty, all stock pieces from local creatives as does a number of the city's smaller galleries, like Weapon of Choice.

After a lot of indecisive flailing, I finally invested in a sweater from Bristol label Grizzly Nights. Their gorgeous current collection features delicately penned line drawings of some of nature's most fearsome creatures... and some pretty birds. Menacing tigers, open-jawed bears and a rather mashed looking owl were all up for grabs but in the end I settled on two wolves howling at the... well, at my face. I love their simple but charming designs and thanks to their online shop I'll be back for more, even after the London move.

Whether I can afford to explore Bristol's indie threads any further in the coming months still remains to be seen but one things for sure - I won't be crawling back to Topshop.

The End of a Supergiant

2009-08-10T16:09:00.006+01:00

To my delight I stumbled across the very fine handiwork of illustrator Ashley Le Quere when passing the window of Start the Bus this morning. She's intricately penned a herd of now defunct Woolworths shop fronts in all their different and charmingly wonky incarnations. Maybe it's just my magpie-like nature but I'm really drawn to art that hinges on collecting things, especially if it has some sort of social-historical slant. I wonder what will come to fill all these empty shells.

Gardener's World

2009-07-31T17:18:00.011+01:00

Here's my Review of the magical mash-up that was Secret Garden Party 2009, via Suit Yourself Magazine and my favourite photo of the weekend - a tribe of angry santas.

An elf, a robot and a barn owl walk into a bar… No, it’s not the beginning of a surrealist joke but an average spectacle at Cambridgeshire’s flamboyant celebration of all things wacky, Secret Garden Party. At few other festivals will you stumble upon mobile bicycle-come-piano concoctions, a main stage modelled on a snake’s ferocious jaws, shabby chic wonderland houses in the woods and more bizarre art installations than you could shake a kag-in-a-bag at. Audience participation is the name of the game so, whether it’s tag-team mud wrestling or early morning opera, sitting passively at the sidelines is never an option.

Not quite as secret as last year, the capacity doubled for 2009 to a still petite 12,000, but the head gardeners worked hard to keep the atmosphere of discovery and individual expression intact, as well as again providing plenty of green space for gardeners to relax, romp and rave. Once inside the site’s stunning landscaped gardens - complete with streams, woods and hillocks galore - rules are few and far between, meaning the duck-filled waters were ripe for swimming, boating and generally adding the aroma of pond to your fancy dress.

Opposing sides of the lake were this year separated into the two zones: the sensuous, hedonistic Babylon and the enlightened Eden. Either Edenite or Babylonian, festival-goers were encouraged to look the part, leading to plenty of appropriately, or in most case inappropriately, arranged fig leaves, a tribe of Babylonian whores, lions of said Babylon and in one case a bizarrely seductive lion-whore cross. Not ones for theme fascism, life size cornflakes packets, zombies, a mob of angry Santas and woodland creatures of every kind pranced throughout the festival, happy as Larry. Well, apart from the Santas.

In Eden the weary could rest their partied-out bodies with plenty of massage in the healing fields, enrich their brains by watching crazed professors attempt spellbinding experiments or explain astrophysics and get creative with life drawing classes. Entering through the back door of the conspiracy tent, you would find crowds of twitchy theorists preaching the gospel of underground plots. Over in Babylon, the Feast of Fools stage introduced many the compelling musical genre of Medieval-core – despite its wiki-absence it does exist, promise! – while the main music stages provided more conventional entertainment. A Saturday night fire extravaganza harnessed the primeval power of the feast, as everyone stopped to witness a wicker man inspired ritual conflagration. The lake’s central tower of Babylon was burnt to ashes, whilst a giant writhing snake led a procession of fire jugglers and drummers whilst fireworks whistled overhead and Chinese lanterns floated into the sable black.

Although SGP is never reliant on a one-stop-shop line-up to draw in the crowds, focusing more on the idea of festivities and artistic ‘action camps’, there’s always titillating new music to be heard alongside the squeaky breath of nox balloons. The bendy one himself, Mr Jarvis Cocker, performed a particularly energetic headlining set, while invisible handed Rodrigo and Gabriela strummed, plucked and drummed at the speed of light the following evening. For most, the festival hinges on abandoning a time table-wielding mindset and simply stumbling upon smaller talents - highlights this year included Caribou, Portico Quartet and Peggy Sue – listening to them if they capture you and moving on if they don’t. A party rather than a music festival, SGP will never rival other festivals for music. Instead the head gardeners have a charmingly genuine dedication to artistic expression, physical freedom and pure fun that most festivals forget about in their eagerness to book big names. It’s this exploration of the true sense of ‘festival’ that’s the secret to Secret Garden Party’s success.

Tick, tick, tick... JUNE!

2009-06-19T12:01:00.001+01:00

Suit Yourself vs. June now available online here.

Here's a tantalizing taster (... and my Carniville review) below.

Come on in...

2009-06-13T11:51:00.003+01:00

A review of The Jamaica Street Artists Open Studio via Suit Yourself Magazine.

Like many on the Gloucester Road to City Centre shuffle, I trudge by the unobtrusive mass of the Jamaica Street studio nearly every day. Despite its size, it’s easy to pass its scarlet and green frame and abundance of windows without realising it’s the diamond in Stokes Croft’s creative rough. Sometimes a paint-covered overall with a fag and a cup of tea in hand reveal its secret, but you’d rarely guess that inside this discreet building there’s a frenzy of activity as a community of artists go about their creative business.

Last weekend’s open studio was a chance to wander through this usually unseen warren of art, natter with the artists about their work and purchase their skilfully crafted wares. Selling in a mid-recession market has been tough for many of the studio’s artists, but economic downturn hasn’t affected the incredibly high standard of work found within these walls nor the overwhelmingly friendly atmosphere.

After venturing up the narrow staircase beside a decidedly rickety-looking iron elevator, punters were met with room upon room of treasure-filled studios. The range of media that the building houses is as varied as it is impressive. The hidey-holes of more traditional fine artists sit comfortably aside those of illustrators of children’s books, edgy ceramicists, machine embroiderers, poster-makers and jewellers. Highlights included Sophie Woodrow’s beautiful porcelain mutants that combine cutesy fauna with urn-like menace, Karin Sabine Krommes’ intricate paintings of aircraft mechanics, kooky characters and visual puns from Bjorn Rune Lie and the playful and exquisitely embellished textile pieces of Louise Gardiner, among many others.

The Jamaica Street creatives were well aware that all work and no play makes dull artists and the opening night was just as much of a wine-fuelled celebration as a serious exhibition. An electric after-show party at the nearby Croft saw cracking sets from the strangely attractive Dagger Brothers – tiny t-shirted electronica meets performance art that must be seen to be believed – and plenty of DIY athleticism from loop peddle champion S J Esau.

No doubt there was many a headache when then studio opened it doors bright and early the following morning but these guys are professionals and the show must go on, hangover or no. It was once again a pleasure to have brief glimpse into a studio that is at the epicentre of Stokes Croft’s creative and cultural identity. As the builders begin to encroach, let’s hope that this gem is kept well and truly away from the property developers’ greedy paws. To ensure the studio’s future, the artists within need to raise the money to buy the building themselves and so please donate and support them in whatever way you can.

Jamaica Street Artists Open Studio 2009

2009-06-05T16:40:00.002+01:00

A bit of footage to whet your art-loving whistle ahead of the Jamaica Street Artists Open Studio this weekend.

Fantasty-tastic

2009-06-04T14:49:00.004+01:00

A review of Canadian fiddler extraordinaire Final Fantasy's St George's gig last week, via Suit Yourself magazine.

Last time Final Fantasy, aka Owen Pallatt, was in town, he persuaded a mesmerised audience to forget the Louisiana’s sticky, beer-soaked floor and sit child-like before him and his violin. Back once again, his well deserved success has meant an upgrade to the bigger venue of St George’s but the intimate atmosphere, civilised seating arrangement and the audience’s youthful wonderment was still very much intact.

The Canadian string-arranger to Arcade Fire has developed a reputation for technical brilliance, quirkily-looped soundscapes and touching lyrics that has inspired almost fervent worship in fans. Fitting then, that a hushed St George’s should be host to his choirboy-like vocals and violin’s soaring heights. Support was provided by the caped Castlemusic whose delicate vocals were accompanied by such minimalist and rawly played guitar riffs that it was sometimes uncertain how long she’d been playing. At times powerful, at others utterly vulnerable, her ditties formed impressionistic sketches using old folk emblems. Tales of sea-faring wives and leafy forests were entangled with more modern touches, the best of which saw Castlemusic abandon her guitar, using her voice alone to fill the church’s lofty heights.

After a brief interval, Final Fantasy treated a now fuller nave to a mammoth set of new tracks, many of which Pallett endearingly excused for not being quite polished enough. Heartland, which looks set for release at the end of the year, is not a giant departure from previous records: lyrically marrying the fantastic and routine and musically forming entire arrangements from bass and percussion to melodies using his trusty fiddle. Yet there is perhaps more confidence seen in the tentative first performances of these new tracks than before, or maybe this is just Pallett’s ease at playing not only in a venue more frequently used for classical musicians but also a former place of worship, harking back to Pallett’s formative years performing alongside his church organist father.

Almost the entirety of Pallett’s set was accompanied by a silhouette artist who transformed coloured scraps of acetate into kooky audio-visuals using a clunky overhead projector. With the help of a mirror, aeroplanes soared across the ceiling, lace-gloved hands played piano and a mass of flowing locks were trimmed to form a face resembling Final Fantasy himself. Although at times the DIY aesthetic felt a little bit stilted, the final projections on to St George’s balcony and roof, which saw glittering stars brush Pallett’s face and violin in the darkness, were particularly enchanting. Two encores later, a bewitched congregation finally filtered out into the Bristol night, filled with awe at such a beautiful and seemingly effortless set. Praise be to Pallett, Hallelujah!

Sea Sew

2009-06-04T14:45:00.006+01:00

A review of Irish songstress Lisa Hannigan's debut album via Suit Yourself magazine.

Even if her name doesn’t sound familiar, only those hiding under a rock the size of Dublin will have missed the distinctive voice of Irish songstress Lisa Hannigan. Her velvety vocals weaved their way through Damien Rice’s hugely successful 2002 album, O, and the more recent 9 like a sultry ghost, winning both musicians much critical acclaim. After a rather hasty departure from Rice’s side – to her surprise, Rice announced that he no longer required her services whilst they were on tour in Munich – Hannigan, with several years’ worth of songs in her head and notebook, returned home to start work on her debut.

The eagerly awaited result, Sea Sew, not only exudes Hannigan’s familiar, fragile and beautiful wheeze but also showcases her talent for orchestral arrangement. Horns, strings and classical piano tussle with folky guitars, whilst Hannigan undulates between fragile child and jazz vixen. It’s a playful album – echoed by the kitsch needlepoint artwork knitted and embroidered by the singer and her ma – that shows that being taken seriously as an artist doesn’t mean taking yourself too seriously.

Aquatic opener Ocean And A Rock begins the album-long sea metaphors and showcases a breathy and guttural richness that cradles the listener back and forth in the wave-like rhythms of Hannigan’s phrasing. Sea Song has a similarly strong sense of movement this time employing salsa rhythms and entangling violin wails to provide something sexier than some of the more Radio 2 suited tracks. The haunting Keep It All is where the record becomes really interesting, with heady twangs of bass strings and a dark Portishead-like vibe. Tender and commercially successful Lille provides a spectacular finale, complete with plonky xylophone, pizzicato violin and some elfin intonation that would make Joanna Newsome proud – in fact Hannigan enunciates the word ‘arguably’ in eiree similarity to the pixie-child herself.

Although the album shares a lot of similarities with Rice’s work – slow building crescendos, minimal production and heart-wrenchingly raw vocals – Sea Sew clearly shows Hannigan heading in a different direction to her previous collaborations. Hannigan isn’t always the most profound lyricist, teetering at times towards the twee: “cup of coffee, splashy splashy,” but then if Kate Bush can write an emotional voyage inspired by a washing machine, perhaps the kook can be forgiven. It’s a strong and confident debut from a justifiably assured artist, whose previous experience will no doubt yield stunning live dates.

Catch Lisa Hanningan at live on Tuesday 14th July 2009 @ The Fleece, Bristol

MAYFEST: A Review

2009-05-19T00:07:00.008+01:00

The end has come!

Some snippet s from behind the scenes of Mayfest, via Suit Yourself magazine.

As part of Bristol Old Vic’s front of house team, I seem to witness some pretty wacky things. I’ve spent shifts hunting for dinosaurs in the Studio along with gaggles of excitable children and I even once served a coffee with a shot of gin in it – yes, it did curdle – but nothing has come close to delight and frenzy that has been Mayfest.

The fest has been a two-week whirlwind adventure of ground-breaking theatre, a fun-loving atmosphere and seemingly never-ending bar shifts. As soon as the influx of reclaimed chairs, kitsch tablecloths and dusky lampshades arrived, we knew we were in for enchantment. The downstairs bar was transformed from wipe-clean chic to a vintage cornucopia. This prop shop-come-folk den provided some unusual finds, like a telephone box once frequented by Daniel Radcliff that “smelt like magic and horses,” according to one FOH joker. The joyous soundtrack to the Old Vic’s temporary makeover was provided by Mayfest co-producer Matthew Austin’s ipod, Beirut and Bat For Lashes making each lonely bar shift (it’s pretty lonesome when you guys head inside) that little bit more inspiring.

At the launch party we worked like speedy bar squirrels to make sure we kept up with your insatiable thirst but also played the part of ushers-come-maiden aunts, preventing the more inebriated punters (and staff) from initiating a health and safety nightmare. Live music and reviews floated back to us throughout the night and we felt like disco-Nazis when, after time was finally called, we had to heart-wrenchingly shoo out all the merriment. The usual perks of the job applied, like being to ask the actors all those niggling questions over a post-performance pint, but during Mayfest every query seemed a tad more bizarre. From “which character suits you best: dog, penguin or walrus?” (Polaris) to “how’s onstage nudity treating you?” (Kellerman), it all felt like pub banter between friends rather than pretentious hob-knobing.

Not only was there camaraderie behind the scenes but the audience too seemed far keener to get know the folk that tore their tickets. Whether it was the charming Mayfest regulars or hip, young things that hadn’t lingered about the theatre before, there was more post-play chitchat, complete with loving, loathing and liquor, than ever before.

One of the best parts of the festival was sharing with the you some of the Old Vic’s stunning and secret enclaves that we have the pleasure of wandering through every day. We led you backstage to our paintshop, an intimate space with an arty warehouse feel, perfect for animated puppetry of The Paper Cinema and playful DIY aesthetic of Our Father’s Ears. During The Weepers, you saw the exquisite and historically invaluable Theatre Royal from an actors-eye view and had a chance to witness the charming mechanics of lowering the iron. Kellerman may have sparked marmite-style reactions, but most agreed that the visually stunning blurring of the cinema/theatre divide helped to see a very old space in a startlingly modern light. And ushering for My World Is Empty Without You tested my commitment to contemporary theatre to the limit – I stood alone on a Clifton corner for several hours in squall and high-viz, like a weathered neon hooker – but I pulled through and was still smiling, mainly because my features had frozen that way.

Amongst Mayfest’s packed programme of shows, workshops and events, we were all entertained, inspired, touched, educated, provoked, impressed, intrigued, offended, excited and challenged. We shared drinks, opinions, ideas, debates, fish and chips, cycle rides in the rain and bacon sandwiches. We made new friends, made new discoveries and some were quoted as having had life-changing experiences. What more could you ask for from a theatre festival?

MAYFEST: Polaris

2009-05-17T16:36:00.007+01:00

A review of my Antarctic pilgrimage with Czech physical theatre company Adriatic, via Suit Yourself Magazine.

White-coat-clad scientists and relationship gurus alike have been telling us for years that up to 80% of human communication is nonverbal, but somehow it still seems astonishing when physical theatre – a form of drama that uses the body as a storytelling vehicle rather than the voice – can be just as, if not more, expressive, exploratory and touching than its talkative counterpart. Polaris, the creation of Czech company Adriatic, is one such breathtaking piece. A wordless pilgrimage to the harsh and eerie landscape of the Antarctic, Polaris transforms the black canvas of the sparse Old Vic Studio into an unforgiving wilderness, conjuring the Antarctic’s threatening and fragile geography through a number of charmingly performed tableaux.

Once surrounded by a hostile and otherworldly environment with nothing more than brotherly companionship and a whispering gramophone, the two explorers wearily struggle to survive the desolate climes and their frostbitten hunger. We witness their world seen and unseen, from their often thwarted attempts to find food to the moans of the women in their cold-inspired hallucinations.

But it is not just man’s interaction with the South Pole that Polaris captured; actors Vojta Svejda and Jan Benes-McGadie metamorphosised before our eyes into boisterously dancing walruses with their guttural calls and heavy blubber. Penguins waddled almost matronly about the stage, cheeping at each other in a shrill duet and at one point feeding a vulnerable fluffy-headed chick by mouth. Gulls swooped and dived through the sable black and the ice, imbued with Rime Of The Ancient Mariner style menace, rolled and roared as if alive. Comic and touching, each creature was rendered with such astute observation that one almost expected the dulcet articulations of David Attenborough to drift into the studio.

Although the piece was without words, it was anything but silent. The growling ice and the fauna’s cheeps, howls and wails were accompanied by a poignant score, complete with rich orchestra stirrings and occasional gypsy flourishes. The lighting and set was minimal but carefully chosen; glowing orbs and red hues brought out the delicate loneliness of the environment and ragged skin suits spoke of an empiricist past hinged on nationalistic pride and perilous scientific endeavour.

Without the safety net of language to express a thought or emotion, there is a dangerous tendency in physical theatre to stray into over-acting. Polaris however, felt entirely natural, honest and unpretentious. After waiting for rescue that never comes, the final moments of the play provided a tender communion between the human and animal kingdoms. The explorer’s frozen body sinks majestically to the bottom of the ocean accompanied by a tentative Lou Reed melody and is gently investigated by a lone fish. It’s a moving end to an awe-inspiring journey, made even more perfect as snow magically issued from the Studio’s heavens.

MAYFEST: All the fun of the fair

2009-05-11T18:54:00.010+01:00

A review of the tremendous Carny-ville courtesy of Suit Yourself Magazine.

Sinister magicians, bearded ladies, pox-infested nightwalkers, a cage fight between a seal and lion: it’s probably not your average Saturday night out in Broadmead. Existing in a dream-like realm between a party and a play, Carny-Ville was an old-fashioned circus-style romp masterminded by the overwhelmingly skilful Invisible Circus, a now Bristol-based collective of circus and street performers. Complete with Dickensian rogues, popcorn stall-lined dance floors and oozing faded gypsy glamour left, right and centre, Carny-Ville offered a night of devilish entertainment that encompassed a variety of circus treats from fire dancers to old-school fairground games. Over 200 volunteers came together to transform the former Police and Fire Station, now a collection of studio spaces known as The Island, into a giant den of debauchery for three nights only. Roll up, roll up… the circus of your nightmares has come to town!

In the vast outdoor area gypsy beats, dance troops and many a weird spectacle could be seen on stage, as the entertainment only paused for breathtaking sets from trapeze artists – who incidentally seemed to get more androgynous as the night went on – and death-defying tightrope walkers. The master of ceremony, a captivatingly belligerent bearded lady, teamed up with a drag queen DJ to keep the party alive and caused clouds of fire to spew from the twisted Victorian lampposts at moments of intense excitement. In the main theatre glitzy showgirls performed flamboyant cabaret and seductive hula tricks, whilst others gracefully entwined their athletic bodies in trapeze ribbons before swinging dramatically from seemingly perilous heights. Performers sinisterly mingled with the crowd, although many punters got into character so well it was often hard to distinguish your average ne’er-do-well from the actors.

Dotted around a warren of delight-filled rooms was an assortment of other wonders. Put your pennies in his slot and the human jukebox would issue you with a charming rendition of any tune from an extensive list, including his own covers if you asked nicely. Behind an unmarked door, noticeable only on account of incongruous sack of peanuts outside and the excess of shifty characters about, was the animal brothel.

After a tentative knock, you were led to meet a menagerie of creatures, including the feline king of the jungle, a vain peacock, hyperactive and mischievous ape, child-like seal and a bolshy pimp, who would ask punters in a indistinguishable eastern European accent whether they wanted to ‘spend time’ with some of his ‘pretties’. After propositioning your beast of choice, you arranged a price (mostly in monkey nuts) and then ventured into the caravan, yes caravan, to get your money’s worth. Inside portraits were penned, philosophy was discussed and no doubt many an animal lover was worked into a frenzy by some heaving petting, if you’ll excuse the pun.

For the spectacular finale, ghost-like maidens abseiled from the building’s heights as another seemingly peddled across the outdoor arena on an imaginary bicycle immediately above the audience’s heads. Meanwhile a mass of fire-dancers gyrated and performers cackled; captivated onlookers had no choice but to pinch themselves in disbelief. After the main acts were over, revellers danced late into the night, pausing to rest their weary bodies on a lush collection of sofas, beds and the odd coffin. In the taxi queue a charming gentleman fresh out of nearby Syndicate asked me where the hell we’d come from. I simply answered, ‘another world.’

May I?

2009-05-08T10:29:00.010+01:00

The super-cool, super-beautiful, super-super May issue of Suit Yourself Magazine is now available online here.

Look how smart and shiny they've made my Antony and Cleopatra review, the clever things.

2009-05-06T18:06:00.009+01:00

The June issue of the super chic, vintage-tastic BBC Homes and Antiques magazine is now ready for your reclaimed and lovingly restored coffee table. Check out my One-Minute Guide to French porcelain masters Sevres on p. 21, along with more beautiful interiors than you can shake a Georgian, whalebone heirloom at.

Pattern.one

2009-05-06T10:16:00.000+01:00

A review of the launch night of audio/visual treat Pattern at Start the Bus, Bristol via Suit Yourself Magazine.

Mayfest is here!

2009-05-01T16:44:00.005+01:00

Mayfest, the brainchild of University of Bristol graduates Matt Austin and Kate Yedigaroff, is a manic two-week romp though some of most exciting and challenging contemporary theatre of the moment, taking place at numerous venues around the city. Ranging from intimate one-on-one perfomances to ambitious theatrical endevours, whatever you see, it'll be anything but ordinary. Visit the Mayfest website to find out more.

Wild Young Hearts

2009-04-19T10:00:00.002+01:00

Retro warbling and disco beats from the Noisettes, reviewed in Suit Yourself Magazine.

"The nobleness of life is to do thus"

2009-04-06T09:54:00.006+01:00

My review of the second installment of The Tobacco Factory's Roman season, the magnificent Anthony and Cleopatra, via Suit Yourself magazine.

Dumb Founded

2009-03-30T18:57:00.003+01:00

Head down to the Stokes Croft's Here Shop and Gallery this month and you in for a... well, chaotic suprise.

Here's my review of London illustrator David Shillinglaw's latest exhibition via Suit Yourself Magazine.

Getting messy

2009-03-19T16:46:00.003Z

A review of charmingly named Bristol club night Shit the Bed 8 via Suit Yourself Magazine.

My latest love: Bruno 9Li

2009-03-13T14:53:00.005Z

A dozen snakes encroach around a deathly tribal mask, as a wretched spectre issues from its lips. This is the distinctive vision of Bruno 9Li, the young Brazilian illustrator whose bold handiwork and eerie characters have made an equally striking impression on a host of recent admirers, Amelia’s magazine and Creative Review included.

Despite its limited palate, the cryptically titled Doze Segredos (Twelve Secrets) channels vibrant energies. Heavily-penned serpents writhe for attention against a delicate wilderness. Haunted by ancestral ghosts, 9Li’s apparition conjures both Aztec and African facial representation as well as the spine-tingling aura of Tutankhamun’s funeral mask. The choice of pastel hues and a bold style may have kitsch appeal but the image threatens ancient voodoo. Whether the Medusan warrior is aided or destroyed by its serpentine mane, viewers shouldn’t hang around to find out. Medusa may paralyze but Bruno 9Li has the power to hypnotise.

Introducing...

2009-03-11T14:41:00.002Z

... another tasty installment of Suit Yourself's On the Sly, featuring, among many other delights, my thoughts on The Lasting Days' initial EP-age.

Lands End

2009-03-09T10:53:00.003Z

Intergalactic budgies via Suit Yourself Magazine.

The Lasting Days

2009-02-25T18:11:00.003Z

A review of The Lasting Days EP via the delightful Suit Yourself Magazine.

Your hair was long when we first met.

2009-02-20T09:55:00.005Z

A glowing review of the Bristol Old Vic Young Company's adaptation of Samson and Delilah via Suit Yourself Magazine.

On the Sly

2009-02-05T13:26:00.004Z

The first issue of Suit Yourself's On the Sly monthly online mag has just been uploaded, much to the delight of paper cut victims everywhere. Flick through its ethereal pages here.

Goodbye H&A

2009-01-31T10:02:00.004Z

Well, my stint at H&A is over and apart from honing my writing skills no end it has taught me that there is such a thing as too much free cake. All my lovely clippings will be up as soon as they are published/I plug in my scanner.

Next stop, the glamorous world of Bristol's top glossy, AREA Magazine. Time to power dress!

Weapon of Choice

2009-01-21T22:13:00.005Z

My review of WOC's big birthday bash last week via Suit Yourself Magazine.

Happy birthday to you

2009-01-14T19:18:00.001Z

Kai and Obese ink-up Mr Wolf's back wall for Weapon of Choice's first birthday last night. Review to follow.

Crunched

2008-12-26T12:05:00.008Z

Oh dear, I've been a bad, bad blogger. September (and India) seems like such a long long time ago. I wish I could say I've been busy but like so many of us semi-unemployed I've been scrabbling together pennies from a bit of writing here and there, a range of bizarre temping "opportunities" and constructing as many ill-tempered complaint letters as humanly possible in the hope some will amount to physical goods. A pair of boots, £54 worth of rail vouchers and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps later, I'm convinced all the OAP spleen-venting was worth it, however a guaranteed income would be pretty nice.

Anyway, in an attempt to get back on the straight and narrow here's some doggerel that I contributed to feature in Venue earlier in the year. Written when the credit crunch was a bemusing topic of pub conversation rather than an ill that spelt 1.8m employed, please forgive the playful tone.

Mr. Ambassador, you are really spoiling us

2008-09-18T13:07:00.000+01:00

So I lost my purse and passport. Well, in fact they were probably stolen my one of two sneaky women with babies whilst I was on the bus. This sounds like an unlikely suggestion but apparently it is common for thieves to be women with babies in India, with even the Lonely Planet warning against these mothers.

After cancelling the cards (via the best of Dads), Lil and I ventured to the police station, anticipating an “uphill struggle” to quote the Rough Guide. Our expectations were swiftly met. Some kafuffle later, we were told that we’d have to go to a different station to make a statement as it didn’t fit into that police station’s area. So, off to a different station, where I had to give a statement to everyone from the cleaning lady to the Head of Police. The bureaucracy stereotype is so true. Forms are ridiculously meticulous, have to be filled out four times and have to be signed my twice as many people again. There were cops galore in the station, all curious about are relationship status and none fighting crime. It took a good three hours to get a police report, which I had to write three different versions of, each in a different room. The Police station was shabby chic indeed. All the signs were handwritten, mug shots sat next to celebrities on the peeling walls and all the clocks have been knicked from various institutions around Bangalore. You can just imagine the scene: “Hands up, we have a warrant”,
“But Officer, why the clock?”
“Shush, it’s evidence.”

The officers themselves were very kind, made us tea and smiled with glee when we let them flick through our copy of Grazia. The report is a piece of photocopies A4 with a few signatures on it; I really wouldn’t blame my insurance company for thinking I’d made the whole thing up.

Next stop the embassy. But wait, despite Bangalore’s gargantuan spread, the UK don’t camp out here, so off to Chennai (Madras) the capital of Tamil Nadu. We made the eight hour journey the following evening, in a bus that has come straight out of the 70s. The chairs were adorned with kitsch teapot patterned covers, and the curtains previous life had been on the set of a moustache-tastic B movie. After a witnessing a fight, some frightful undertaking and another passenger being biscuited (see Gulbarga’s post), we arrived in Chennai’s main bus station at 2am. Weary passengers were sleeping on every available floor space, so we had to tip-toe about not to disturb the unconscious bodies.

Checking into the hotel was more problematic than I’d expected. Our light luggage equated to “scanty baggage”, which frankly made me feel as though I was carrying a rucksack of thongs. Unsure as to whether we were being accused of being prostitutes or prime candidates for racking up the room service and doing a runner, the dispute was swiftly settled, like most, with a wadge of notes.

We left the hotel early the next morning in search of passport photos, and ATM and the UK High Commission. Finding all three was the ultimate test of our wits and nerves. After eventually discovering a shop that was open, I was photographed, photoshoped and issued with a new and improved version of myself. A fruitless search for a working ATM later, we were then faced with the challenge of getting a cabbie that would take us to the Commission. Place names, an address, and a map could not provide enough information for these poor drivers, so we were left to walk it, despite the urgency and increasing heat.

The Commission was a haven inside the busy city. The Commissioner’s assistant was the nicest women alive (I was tempted to call her ‘Aunty’ at one point), and instead of the disapproving looks I was expecting, I was met with condolences and smiles. I was somewhat disappointed that the nationality interview wasn’t finishing Monty Python quotes and coming up with suitable insults for the French, but I suppose she only had to take one look at my neon-white legs, peeling nose and sheepish grin before confirming my Britishness. I might as well have had a knotted handkerchief on my head. I was told that I’d be issued an emergency passport within the week and asked to fill out a customer service questionnaire, yes, another form. As I was leaving the receptionist had to call a security guard down from his office upstairs to switch the TV channel back to BBC, obviously an issue of national importance!

With no reason to stay in the bustle of Chennai, we legged it back to the station and caught the 1.30pm bus with seconds to spare. Returning to Bangalore certainly felt like a homecoming. This city drives me nuts, but for now at least, it’s home.

Bricks and Trees

2008-09-04T11:36:00.002+01:00

This week we’ve visited Chikballapura to see how the construction of the orphanage is coming along, as well as talking to the villages about what they would like to see from the project. Demand for non-formal education and English lessons seem pretty high up on the agenda and it was really encouraging to hear that the community wanted this kind of support rather than merely hand-outs.

Kirana aim to make Brinn’s Nest as self-sufficient as possible so they are planning to use the land surrounding the building for a vast veg patch and orchard. This will also be a great way of teaching the children how to cultivate their own food as well as getting them involved in their environment.

On Sunday we visited Brinn’s nest with the whole of Christina’s family to plant some of the first trees in the orchard. Lil and I plunged two different varieties of mango in the soil, aptly chosen for us by Dominic. One variety possessed long, thin leaves and the other has shorter, curvier foliage. I hope I’ll be able to come back to taste its fruit.

Here’s some pics of the work in progress and the family getting down and dirty!

Mass-tastic

2008-09-01T14:34:00.001+01:00

When asked if I wanted to go to mass at 5am in the morning, the answer would normally be a pretty solid ‘no’. But as the people who were asking were my lovely hostess Christina and her eager family, a hestitant ‘yes’ issued from my lips.

When the alarm went off at 4am, I dressed alone, as Lilith had chosen to sleep and face divine retribution, and wearily stumbled into the living room. Everyone but Christina and her sister Chandra was asleep. Even the nun was missing mass! Hoping that Jesus would give me some serious kudos for getting up so early, I got into the car somewhat disgruntled.

As it was a feast day we went to Bangalore’s biggest church, St. Mary’s Basilica. The city felt ghostly without its trademark traffic but the strange atmosphere was soon lost as we entered the busy basilica. Negotiating the crowd in full sari was pretty tricky for a newbie like myself, especially as many people went out of their way to have a good look at the rather graceless white girl.

Nowhere does religious kitsch like India. The church was adorned to the eyeballs with fairy lights and polyester flowers, whilst the plastic saints and gigantic neon iconography would have made Baz Lurhman blush.

First on the itinerary was what I affectionately call ‘danger praying’. Equipped with a wreath of flowers and a candle, you have to fight your way to the front of the chapel before the candle burns to the bottom, sets fire to the flowers and leaves your hand a molten mess. Further hazard is added by young children (also given candles) and Indian women’s traditionally long hair. I made it, just, to the front of the chapel, where my candle was swiftly put out by the hand of a fire-retardant priest and the flowers were offered to a sari-clad statue of the Virgin Mary.

Next up was the scrum for the Eucharist. Services were going on back to back in Kanada, Telegu and English and it didn’t seem to matter that we hadn’t listened to the mass, it was all about the prize. Hitching my sari up to my knees, I followed as Christina disappeared into the crowd at break-neck speed. We elbowed the less pious out of the way and eventually received our holy reward. How people think about Jesus during such sport is a bit of a mystery.

Looking back, I’m certain that my efforts were noticed. We’ve been in some near-death traffic situations since and every time we’ve survived. So far.

Majestic Mysore

2008-08-31T11:04:00.002+01:00

Yeah, we might have pissed off some monks, broken two tuk-tuks and got sunstroke but it made for great photos. Here’s some snaps from our weekend in historic Mysore; land of palaces, dusky hues and mausoleums to die for.

Life in the Slums

2008-08-29T16:54:00.001+01:00

There are two types of slum in Bangalore city; those that are temporary and those that are not. The distinction is instantly recognisable by the materials used to make these tent-like abodes. The city’s short term economic migrants use plastic advertisements and carrier bags to shelter from the elements whereas the generations old shanty towns are made from leaf thatch roof, mud bricks and occasionally corrugated iron.

Much of Ruthlina’s time is spent undertaking social work, as she provides non-formal education and counselling for Bangalore’s poor and has established women’s saving groups in four of the city’s largest slums. We accompanied her on several of her visits to Bande slum to help her collect profiles on vulnerable children who are candidates for places at Brinn’s Nest. Bande slum exists because of its near proximity to a granite quarry. Nearly all the occupants of the slum, including women and children, are employed in backbreaking and dangerous quarry work. Accidents are frequent and there is little opportunity to break free from the cycle of poverty. Tuberculosis, worms and water-borne diseases are highly prevalent here. Only last month eight children died of something as common as chickenpox because they didn’t have adequate access to basic healthcare.

Despite their desperation, everyone we met welcomed us joyously into their homes. All were eager to share their stories as well as the little food they have. One woman, a widow, who thorough Ruthlina’s saving group had managed to acquire a few goats, made us sweet chai, using milk straight from a buffalo. Even success stories like hers were tainted with sadness. One of her goats was stolen by a much richer woman from the neighbouring village, and despite her appeals to the police, nothing has been done.

Castism plays a major role in much of the poverty we witnessed. The system means that it is incredibly difficult to better your situation, as well-paid jobs, education and even necessities like clean water and healthcare are denied to the low castes. The dalits or untouchables have little hope of improving their lives and are often forced to sell themselves and their children into bonded labour. They are seen as polluted, and are not allowed to even enter high caste villages, let alone use the same streams or wells. We too were accused of polluting high caste houses, just by walking through the village on our return from the slums. It is hard to imagine how the poverty like this will ever disappear whilst there is such mentality. This is not just social stigmatism; the system is both politically and religiously sanctified.

It would be unfair to say that the only problems that dalits face come from members of other castes. In India widows are regarded as social outcastes and are often particularly vulnerable. Most are sexually harassed by men with their own community (who are often themselves married) and problems with abandoned children and botched abortions are rife. One of the most disturbing points of our visit was when we met a young widow who was being continually raped by several men in her community. One of the men was there as she told us of her traumatic experience. He even had the nerve to philosophise that it ‘wasn’t natural’ for a woman to be alone and could ‘see it in her eyes’ that she wanted his company. I couldn’t look at him I was so furious.

Many of our visits have been more light-hearted. We taught ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ to the kids at the slum near Christina’s house, as their parents looked on horrified (as the photographs later showed). One of the boys from Bande slum delightedly entertained us with his pet parrot, some escapades on buffalo-back and by climbing a tree at the speed of light. Visiting the slums, sitting in peoples houses and listening to their problems is the first move towards breaking down castism. I just wish that it weren’t down to renegades like Ackhar to make these baby steps and that religious and political leaders supported rather than opposed her.

Our Home in Bangalore

2008-08-27T13:45:00.002+01:00

Bangalore is not a city that you’d visit for fun. Despite the bars and nightlife, most tourists wisely choose to avoid the city, using it solely as a gateway to other Indian attractions. Karnataka’s capital boasts a population bigger than London but none of the infrastructure to support it. The massive industrial boom here, especially in the IT and business sectors, has meant that the city has shot up at an uncontrollable speed and is at present suffering from substantial growing pains. The traffic is insane and the narrow and potholed roads simply can’t cope. Economic migrants flock to the city by the bus-load, but cannot afford the steep living costs and so are forced to into the slums. The difference between these houses and the swanky offices of big business is made more pronounced by their proximity to each other. Unlike London, poverty is not restricted to certain areas of the city. Instead skyscrapers sit next to shanty towns and family homes next to the slums.

The reason Lilith and I have ventured to the “Garden City” is to research and carry out a project with a newly formed NGO here and to assess whether it will be compatible with the aims of Bristol student charity BVDA. For the next five weeks we’ll be staying with Christina, head of the NGO Kirana, and her family. Kirana, which means “ray of light”, works with underprivileged children from both the rural and urban slums of the Bangalore area. The Children growing up in the slums have very little access to education, electricity or clean water and face a future of bonded labour, performing dangerous quarry work. The trust is currently in the process of building a home in the village of Chikkballapura for the most vulnerable of these children. Our aim is to establish whether there is a project here for future BVDA volunteers and well as to give Kirana some assistance in getting off the ground.

Christina herself has just turned thirty and is a lively and modern Indian woman, with a permanent twinkle in her eye. Her husband Dominic is also quite unorthodox, helping with cleaning and cooking as well as man-tasks such as driving, hunting down the best fish (albeit from the market) and cockroach removal. He has a mop of dark, thick hair and a fine moustache. He is a man that knows that in a crisis only a ridiculously overpriced pizza will do. Their daughter Catty is confident beyond her four years and is at times a bit of a madam. She’s always full of beans and is a born entertainer.

Christina’s sister Ruthlina is also a semi-permanent feature of the household. Ten years senior to Christina, Ruthlina (who we fondly call ‘ackhar’ or ‘sister’) takes on the role of nagging but comic aunty, famous everywhere for her constant chattering. Ackhar is also a nun, but not in any traditional sense. She cares little for the church, doesn’t believe in an afterlife and holds the most progressive social and political views of anyone I’ve met in India. She’s smiley, plump and always full of energy. It doesn’t take much to see who Catty takes after. The last member of the close family is Leena, Christina’s niece. Having lost her father when she was a baby and her mother just two years ago, she splits her time equally between Christina’s house and the family home which she shares with her two elder brothers. Leena is a 21-year-old master’s student and so in many ways is our Indian equivalent. Far more innocent and romantic than most British 21 year olds, she doesn’t quite get our rather dry sense of humour but despite this has become our instant friend. I can’t really imagine what it would be like to emerge as an adult without ever having heard the Beatles, punk or anything better than poor quality pop.

The house is situated in the predominantly Christian suburb of Marianna Palaya, which is, rather accurately, called an urban village. Although the office blocks of central Bangalore loom in the distance, cows and goats wander freely and the roads are narrow and dusty. The house is only two years old, and is a beautiful concrete construction (contradiction as that might sound) complete with all mod-cons. A generator means that we hardly notice the frequent power cuts and the only sounds that can be heard are winds in the trees and the shouts of children from the nearby school. The roof provides views of the surrounding coconut trees, as well as the nearby slum and distant city.

We’ve already had an induction into Bollywood, been taught a few classical dance steps and had our hands hennaed by the talented Leena. After the first few days of being overfed to the point of discomfort, we’ve engaged in a food war as we try to keep our calorie intake to less than 3000 a day. The food is amazing; tasty flatbreads, sumptuous curries and the most inventive rice dishes I’ve ever seen, but at present there’s just far too much. Taking tips from Channel 4 documentaries on Anorexia, we’re utilizing distraction techniques, as well as smuggling biscuits to beggar children and receiving apples gratefully only to sneak them back into the bowl at a later date. Always choose a pomegranate over a banana; they take ages to eat (hopefully you won’t be given anything else in the meantime) and they’re not filling in the slightest. More seriously, it’s been pretty difficult to reconcile this kind of hospitality with the poverty that we see just outside our doorstep.

At times I feel quite trapped by the lack of freedom, both in what we are allowed to do as well as how much we eat, but I think I am getting a pretty accurate picture of how it is to grow up a young woman in modern India. Here women are children until they are married, and must make the transition more or less overnight. A combination of overwhelming hospitality and fear for our safety means that we are heavily dependent on Christina and her family. It will be interesting to see how this changes during our stay.

Fix Up, Look Shark

2008-08-25T13:39:00.002+01:00

Arriving in Cochin felt like heaven compared to our rather traumatic departure from Colombo. Check in and customs were disorganised to say the least and it took us nearly two and a half hours to get through the system. In

India

we arrived to chirpy customs officials, smooth passport checks and a taxi system so efficient it even printed the cab’s number plate on our ticket. It had been raining so the coconut trees were glistening, as were the romantically retro white ‘Ambassador’ cars, an elegant Morris Minor type affair straight out of the 1940s.

Cochin is a large town that sprawls over several peninsulas and islands, each connected by rather ropey-looking ferries and a swish new toll bridge. Fort Cochin is the oldest part of the area and acts as little tourist enclave away from the hectic city across the waters. After being shown photos of our hotel proprietor’s grandchildren, we walked the short distance to Princess Street, the tourist hub of the sleepy district. Fort Cochin is famed for its delightfully chic cafes, and the first we visited, aptly named Teapot, was one of the best the town has to offer. The interior was a mix between colonial cool and shabby French farmhouse, and one wall was adorned with teapots of all shapes, sizes, material and colours. Even the tables were made out of old tea chests. We drank sweet, spicy chai from terracotta beakers and had our fill of creamy coconut curry and ‘death by chocolate’ cake.

We were due to leave Cochin the following evening so decided to head to Ernakulam Junction train station to book a sleeper train for our journey to Bangalore. We took a rather rickety ferry across the harbour, and on finding the station, proceeded to fill in the most comprehensive form imaginable. Quite why they needed my mother’s maiden name, occupation and distinguishing features to book a train seat, I’ll never understand.

That evening we dined at one of the many outdoor restaurants, but one of the few that sells alcohol. Our beers were served in white china, prohibition-style teapots, making us feel like we were not only the height of 1920s cool but dead sneaky with it. We were sat next to the restaurant’s tandoor with a perfect view of each naan being rolled, seasoned and being gently baked inside the hot, drum-shaped oven. Fresh fish, prawns and marinated chicken were also flung inside and left to sizzle away.

The next morning we strolled along the shore amongst giant Chinese fishing nets. These ancient contraptions yield a variety of different fish, which are all for sale still half alive from stalls that line the coast. We were made to promise five different salesmen that we’d be back at dinner to eat their fish, none of which we honoured. Lil got up close and personal with a little shark, much to the amusement of the surrounding fishermen.

Our next stop was the Dutch Palace, and home of the Cochin museum, just along the coast at Mattancherry. The palace was nothing to look at from the outside, but held some real gems inside. The highlight was a small room that was entirely decorated from scenes from the famous Hindu epic, the Ramayana. In this tale the heroic Rama, struggles against the odds to rescue his wife Sita, who has been captured by the demon kind Ravana. With the help of monkey god Hanuman, and some other colourful sidekicks, he pursues and slays Ravana and rescues his grateful lover. The paintings were exquisite. Each face was so expressive and costume so ornate that it felt as though the story was happening in that room. The rest of the building was rather typical of Indian museums; full of objects with explanations of varying quality. The disorganisation and inconsistency is no doubt due to their current revamp and when the additions have been made I’m sure it will make a very fine museum.

After a brief lunch back in Fort Cochin, we collected our bags and headed to Ernukalam station. I’ve never seen a train as long as the one we caught. Although slowed by our rucksacks, we had to walk for at least five minutes to reach our designated carriage. The blue leatherette seats were sparse but comfortable and would later unfold to create three bunk beds for the overnight leg of the journey. Chai-wallahs, jewellers and booksellers flashed their wares to customers, braking up the journey along with beggars, shady ne’er-do-wells and dancing children. It’s not difficult to see how the midnight’s children of Salman Rushdie’s novel of the same name formed in his imagination.

Some eleven hours later, we arrived in bustling Bangalore, tired but excited about the next leg of our two month trip.

Temples, Mountains and Holy Teeth

2008-08-24T08:12:00.002+01:00

Traveling to Kandy was not quite as pleasant as our journey down the southwest coast. The Galle-Colombo leg was smooth enough but just like us, thousands of Sri Lankans were making the pilgrimage to mountainous Kandy for the Perahera. Three hours of sweaty jostling later, we arrived to be promptly searched as we left the railway station. I felt pretty sorry for all the commuters stuck behind the two farrang girls as our giant backpacks were rigorously checked and medication scrutinized. The atmosphere in Kandy couldn’t have been more different to soporific Galle. Traffic screeched past at break-neck speed, the air was heavy with pollution and we were constantly hassled by people wanting our business in some way or another. The number of tourists attending the Perahera has fallen dramatically this year, leaving many guides and shopkeepers desperate to make some money from the few that had ventured to Kandy. We soon tired of being followed down the street by rather threatening tuk tuk drivers, and our polite ‘No’s quickly morphed into more aggressive utterances.

The Perahera itself was truly spectacular. The ten day celebration comprises of a nightly procession, culminating in the Maligawa Tusker carrying the Buddha’s tooth through the city streets from the Temple of the Tooth to Adahanamaluwa. Today the tooth relic stays safely within the Temple and only a replica can be seen for the procession. The big man himself is accompanied by 70-100 other elephants, dressed in velvet clothes and adorned with fairy lights and flowers. They share the streets with a menagerie of whip-crackers, dancers, fire throwers, stilt men and musicians. All manner of bizarre trumpets and pipes were on display, as well as painted dances clad in feathers, bells, tassels, bright silks and, by the end, plenty of sweat! Nearly three hours later the procession had finished and we returned to our room exhausted, narrowly avoiding being followed home.

The oppressive atmosphere was starting to take its toll. The constants hassle of the previous day had turned us into quite the sceptics and made us suspicious of everyone we met. This was further amplified on our ill-advised trip to the bus station to find out bus times for our journey back to the airport via Negombo. When we finally found the correct bus stand, we were told that the bus waiting there was the last to Negombo that day and that we should get on it quickly. This outright lying in order to get our immediate business was just the icing on the cake. We struggled through the mayhem of the bus station (an area the size of a football pitch clogged with hooting buses, fumes and no order whatsoever) and found a suitably up-market hotel to do some investigating for us. Relieved in the knowledge that there were plenty more buses that day, we headed for the quiet solitude of the Temple of the Tooth. The outer chamber was ornately carved and painted with scenes from Siddhartha Gautama’s transformation into Buddha as well as a menagerie of Sri Lankan flora and fauna. Moving upstairs we approached the home of the tooth relic itself. The vestibule was a Russian doll affair of different sized boxes, with only the gold-plated outer case visible to the public. Nearby the Perahera elephant’s coats were being prepared for another night of the procession, as temple staff threaded lights into the embroidered cloth. In the temple complex the Maligawa Tusker was enjoying his daily bath, flashing his gold-plated tusks at a crowd of spectators.

Reluctant to leave the peace of the temple, we headed back to the guest house to hastily collect our bags before the journey to Negombo. The mountain views were absolutely stunning; little temples were nestled amongst the trees and iridescent lakes lined the valley floor. Pleasantly surprised that we survived the Schumacheresque negotiation of twisting roads, we arrived amongst the neon lights of Negombo. We swiftly headed to bed, ready to recharge for our 6am flight to Cochin.

2008-08-22T08:11:00.000+01:00

Going Up

- Frequent Frisking: want some love? Then head to a security check point.

- Olive Green knee-high socks: lady policewomen take tips from Miu Miu.

Going Down

- Hail [Mary] a cab: tuk tuk drivers are just as erratic as their Thai counterparts; the roads, however, are far worse.

- “I don’t like cricket”: disappointed faces as I reveal my non existent sports knowledge.

- Hustle, hustle, hustle: M.I.A. doesn’t lie, everyone has hustle on their minds.

- Missing a chance to try Smak (a soft drink with a difference?)

Adventures in Sri Lanka

2008-08-20T07:53:00.000+01:00

After no sleep, some dubious plane food and a medical mishaps (swooning and ballooning), Lil and I finally set down on Sri Lankan soil. We had just five days to explore the country before moving on to India. Equipped only with a seriously outdated guide book and our jet lagged wits, we negotiated our way through taxi touts, money exchangers and other hustlers to locate a cab that wasn’t asking $85 and our kidneys to take us into Colombo. We had decided to follow the Foreign Office’s advice and head south, thus avoiding the near constant blasts in the country’s capital and the conflict in Tamil heartland of the north. Over a million people have been displaced by the conflict since the 1970s, and the escalation of violence between Sinhalese nationalists and the LTTE (Tamil Tigers) has dramatically influenced the country’s tourist industry. The military presence was immediately noticeable. Khaki-clad soldiers seemed to outnumber the airport staff and our journey to Colombo was punctuated by road blocks, searches and passport checks.

We were dropped at Colombo Fort railway station from which we were planning to head to Galle, a costal fort that had been a stronghold for Dutch, Portuguese and British colonists since the 1500s. With three hours to spare before our train’s arrival, we searched the station for a place to rest our sleep deprived bodies. The station café was our first port of call. The modest room was lit by light from high windows and the coloured fairy lights adorning a wonderfully gaudy image of the Buddha. We sat down to a coke, choosing not to indulge in the neon soft drink ‘Smak’, and drifted between exhausted silence and mild hysteria. Soon we acquired a fan club with a penchant for mimicry, so we moved to the ladies waiting room- a hangover from the railway’s colonial past. Safely in the maternal nest of this preening zone, we watched with interest as women rearranged their colourful saris and fixed their hair. The building itself possessed the faded glamour of run-down Victoriana, mixed with exotic foliage and bright modern alterations. Cats strayed casually on to the tracks, as did passengers, who, eager to get a seat, would race to the train to board it whilst it was still moving at some speed. The trains were heavy diesel-powered monsters, and despite their various states of cosmetic disrepair, looked like they would keep trudging on forever. Platforms were crowded with suits, vibrant saris and bizarre vehicles, such as steam powered three-wheelers loaded with chicks and vegetables. When our train pulled in there was a scramble, but we managed to find seats, thankful of somewhere to sit down for the next three hours. Inside the train, sellers of endless sugary delights made their way through the crowded carriages, each with their own song to advertise their wares.

The journey was spectacular. For the most part the track was some ten to twenty metres from the rough waves of the south-eastern coast. Children were playing cricket on the sands and well as splashing in the sea. Colourful boats were lying unused on the shore whilst others were just visible, bobbing on the distant horizon. The coast was also haunted by previous tragedy. Pre-tsunami houses were visible only by their ruined foundations and had been abandoned in favour of concrete bungalows some meters further away from the shore.

Arriving at Galle was a huge relief. The humidity had morphed my jetlag into pain in places I didn’t know could ache, top jaw and collar bones included. We found a guesthouse right by the rampart walls and so close to the sea that the noise of the waves infiltrated my rather aquatic dreams. Galle itself is sleepy little place. The Portuguese fort walls enclose the old town, which is made up of about 200 houses. The town’s architecture owes a great deal to the many nations that have controlled the area. It’s a strange mix of colonial splendour (dark wood fans, wicker steamers, and china tea cups) and the domes and intricate lattice work of the Middle East, due to the large influence of Arabic travellers and a substantial Muslim community.

The next day we strolled around Galle visiting the Mansion ‘Museum’ (rather a collection of nick-knacks owned by British grannies nationwide and a large gem shop), several churches the clock tower and government museum. No matter where you were in the town, there was always a sign pointing to the dubious Mansion Museum, usually in the wrong direction. The Dutch church was particularly beautiful. The whitewashed walls were covered with the names of the many foreigners who perished here whilst Galle was under foreign control. Many of the Dutch graves were carved with oddly stylised cartoons that, despite their age, could have come straight out of an issue of Le Gun. Death cheekily danced around podgy cherubs and was surrounded by all manner of strange creatures, each with faces like Mexican Sugar Skulls. The caretaker told us with delight that the stones were not just memorials to these foreigners but that their skeletons lay beneath each stone. The man showed rather too much delight to entice us to stay for longer

During a dinner of sweet aubergine curry, dhal and rice, we were informed that one of the most extravagant Sri Lankan festivals, the Esala Perahera, was taking place during our stay. On a whim we decided to move north to Kandy the next day, leaving peaceful Galle behind.

Crocheted Coral @The Hayward

2008-08-11T10:35:00.002+01:00

Gocco, Stock and Two Smoking Flashbulbs

2008-08-03T22:34:00.000+01:00

Rarely do I get to obsess over Print Gocco, and hardly ever on one of the hippest magazine blogs about. Check out what BAD IDEA put up with, as I get excited over some of the Gocco work sent into the office and mourn the end of the road for this cult craftengine.

Also... click here to see my first attempt at Gocco printing earlier on in the year. Oh deer!

Artwork by Ella Tamplin-Wilson.

Dear Mr. Editor...

2008-07-31T22:01:00.002+01:00

The blog has been a bit Latitude/BAD IDEA heavy this past fortnight, but I simply couldn't help posting this marvelous video of us doing our thing last weekend.

Check out the tune- it's almost as though it was written for us!

There's a New Mag in Town

2008-07-30T22:21:00.002+01:00

This is not the post I had originally intended. Initially I had desired to rave about a new free mag Susology, that has appeared on the shelves, well surfaces, of London’s trendiest shops this week. There’s a glut of free publications at the moment, and although they vary in quality and independence, you can’t really grumble, they’re free after all. But this beauty, it delighted me. It was slick, stylish and most importantly the editorial was innovative and well written. Here's an approximation of my original ideas:

"Wow, this looks good. The paper’s such high quality; that beautiful matt stuff that oozes luxury. With articles on guerrilla gardening, Blek Le Rat, and skateboarding in China, they’re targeting the young hipster market, but the journalism isn’t too obvious. Actually, it’s rather good.

The editorial team have had some pretty smart ideas as well. They’ve commissioned some fantastic artwork, including stand alone pieces from Monorex and Le Gun. Each editor has created a soundtrack to the issue, which they’ve displayed as a double page spread of individually hand-written cassette tapes. It feels personal, and you start to see the magazine as a project, and a labour of love.

Damn it, they’re even championing creative writing, as each issue will feature the work of a blossoming new writer/poet. The layout and typography is so innovative that it makes The Face look as dated as Cross Stitch Monthly. And the tag line is perfect: 'All that we ask is that you pay attention.' I certainly am."

But then it hit me. No adverts. A free magazine, with no advertising? Impossible. So then I started digging. It turns out that Suso is actually a soft drink, and although there is absolutely no mention of the beverage in the magazine, I guess the company's aim is that the reader's newly made association between 'susology' and 'cool' will help to shift more stock.

I admit, I was disappointed. It's cunning branding, truly inventive, but almost too sly for me to feel comfortable with it. As soon as I associated Susology with a product, other than the magazine itself, I immediately became suspicious, doubted it's editorial independence and felt duped. My vision of a team of young, creative editors listening to some hefty tracks as they nurtured their baby into print was shattered.

This doesn't mean I don't think Susology is a quality read. I still maintain that the writing is excellent (especially the pieces from BAD IDEA's Jean Hannah Edelstein) and the art direction is really exciting. I'm just wary that it's trying to sell me something, especially as they were doing it without my knowledge and consent. I'd love to think that I was just being cynical and that the editorial team (also responsible for an edgy blog) were supported by a forward-thinking and somewhat philanthropic corporation. But with suspicions that the "independent" Art & Music Magazine recently bought by the Saatchi gallery may have actually belonged to Saatchi all along, it's difficult to know where a branding agency ends and an objective publication begins.

Whether you feel Suso's methods are pioneering or just plain devious, the articles themselves are definitely worth a look. They'll even send you one for free! Just email iwantyou@susology.com

Artwork by Oliver Hydes for Susology.

Blogger's Delight

2008-07-28T08:40:00.003+01:00

Ahoy there! My contribution to the BAD IDEA blog is now available to read here.

Good things come to those who write

2008-07-25T21:45:00.003+01:00

Voyeurs of the world unite. Here's a copy of Issue 6 of BAD IDEA's Latitude confessional magazine (edited by yours truly) to satisfy your sneaky desires. It was a dark shift that produced this zine. Alcohol and the cover of nightfall gave shape to admissions of the blackest kind. Get help guys, or at least write a sordid autobiography!

If you like this one, you can read the other five editions on www.badidea.co.uk. Keep your eye on the BAD IDEA blog for my account of the Saturday night shift. Fun times.

Dirty Secrets @ Lattitude

2008-07-24T22:05:00.016+01:00

The BAD IDEA team donned our wellies and bravest countenances for Suffolk’s Latitude festival last weekend. Sun-worshiping, band-stalking and boozing aside, we were there to produce a confessional magazine for the festival’s ne’er-do-well writers. The Printing Press pumped out six issues over the weekend, filled with the kookiest, crudest, and funniest confessions that were scribed. We didn't offer advice or absolution, just bloody hilarious reading matter!

As far as the punters are concerned, the Printing Press works like this. They place their writing in the machine’s IN tray, a speedy hand snatches it away, and a few hours later, their dirty secrets are published in the zine, which they lovingly collect from the OUT tray. Little do they know (ha ha!) that behind the scenes were a team of chain-smoking, sleep-deprived editors, a laptop, a photocopier and a giant stapler. As the cogs of the press turned, we swiftly selected the choicest submissions, edited them up, laid them out, and then printed and bound the magazine.

The rag’s reception was phenomenal. Contributors came back every couple of hours to check our progress and when a new issue came off the press (often hours late!), we had to do our best to prevent a small scale riot.

Bad Idea’s photo maestro Sebastian Meyer captured the magic of the press in these snaps. Check out more of his amazing work here: www.sebmeyer.com

BAD IDEA

2008-07-14T22:48:00.004+01:00

Your faithful pseudo-hack and procrastinator extraordinaire ventures to the big smoke this week to begin a month's internship at BAD IDEA magazine. Check back for fuck-ups, commuter moans and maybe some insight into the making of one of the hottest mags on the market. A bad idea? I hope not.

FFI: www.badidea.co.uk

The Story of India

2008-07-10T16:08:00.003+01:00

Telling the tale of a country as ancient and massive as India is no easy feat. But distinguished TV historian and housewives’ crumpet, Michael Wood has succeeded in doing just that for his BBC series and book, The Story of India. Dressed in his trademark fuchsia shirt, Wood delighted the Chichester Festivities audience who came to hear him speak this week. The veteran travel broadcaster took an entranced audience through his favourite journey in India; the trip from the Kerala coast across the mountains to Tamil Nadu. His enthusiastic and sensuous descriptions were accompanied by his down to earth holiday snaps, taken during numerous trips he has made over the last three decades.

Wood’s narrative confidently married opulent descriptions of his Indian experience with details of the country's history and culture. He recounted dates, figures and names with such ease that his speech was more like a relaxed conversation rather than academic lecture. Enthusiastic at all times, most of the audience left with seriously itchy feet. Or maybe it was Michael rather than Mumbai that captured the predominantly female audience!

The book that accompanies the series delivers a portrait of the county in an equally fluid style. His text follows the very first nomadic inhabitants of the country all the way though to growth of India’s bustling cities. Wood’s rambling style of asides, anecdotes, myths, anthropological facts and vivid description make the book difficult to categorize but incredibly enjoyable. It flows like the monologue of an old friend. A pleasant journey indeed.

The Story of India is published by BBC Books, £8.99

Lucha Libre

2008-07-09T22:25:00.006+01:00

My pen's been a-wandering this week, straying from 'work' towards all manner of strange things. Too much Oddbox, methinks. Here's one of the places it ended up:

Anthologenius

2008-07-03T10:09:00.012+01:00

Ellie and I ventured into deepest, darkest Broadmead last Saturday night to witness the launch the Bristol Short Story Prize Anthology. The book is a collection of the top twenty submissions from the Prize's first year. The winning story, 'The River' is a moving account of the relationship between a granddaughter, her grandfather and the third party in their lives, the nearby river. Here's what Rebecca had to say about receiving the prize.

"The whole experience was terrific. Someone told me I did a double-take when my name was called out. I felt as if I was a character inside one of my own stories. Or, as if I was in one of those dreams we sometimes have that make us feel comfortable and at peace when we wake up in the morning. And I had the chance to see my daughter’s face in the crowd, all aglow and smiling, and that was very special to me.

Because I love teaching creative writing, and because Bristol is full of creative people, I’m hoping that more people who want to write, but just need a hand to get started, will join my course and begin their own journey into fiction writing."

Congratulations to Rebecca and to the lovely Joe Melia, the champion behind this literary adventure. To read my interview with Joe click here.

(Unfortunately Ellie and I drank too many glasses of free wine and arrived at Mother's Ruin ruined.)

Interview with Irvine Welsh

2008-06-30T22:32:00.012+01:00

Irvine Welsh really doesn't deserve his reputation as an awkward and hostile interviewee. I found him enthusiastic, thoughtful and clearly moved by the difficult research he has undertaken for his ninth novel, Crime. It was torturous turning a half hour conversation with this engaging writer into just 600 words. Here's my attempt.

Irvine Welsh Author of ‘Crime’ (Jonathan Cape Trade Paperback, £12.99)

What’s the book about?
Crime deals with an individual coming to terms with his past without any real support. The main character, Lennox, is isolated from his community, his colleagues, and he’s also eventually isolated from his fiancé. He’s forced to negotiate between rescuing a girl who he fears is being abused, and recovering from a breakdown provoked by horrific child murder case that he’s recently worked on.

What originally motivated you to tackle such challenging subject matter?
Because it was difficult. Like everybody else, I find paedophilia so harrowing and so hard to get my head around. I almost stopped twice. I was finding it too much. The first time was when I just finished the first draft and the whole Madeline McCann thing kicked off, and I just had to stop for six months and do something else. The case made the novel too real.

How do you feel about the media’s relationship with child abuse cases?
I think the media are so interested in paedophilia because it’s the one thing that unites everybody. It seems to be something that we can all agree on, as evil in its purest manifestation. It’s true there is something about reality TV and voyeuristic culture that’s very unsettling and disturbing. This is an issue that I wanted to flag up. But we are complicit in the kind of society that we create. You’ve got to see it as an empowering thing that we’ve created this world. We can change it and modify it for the better.

Ray Lennox is a secondary character in the novel ‘Filth’. Why did you decide to go back to this character?
In Filth Lennox is a quiet but sly and manipulative cop. I always thought he was a character that had secrets. I started thinking about his motivation for being in the police

The novel presents an ambivalent relationship with the police. Is this something that you share yourself?
The state is always going to be a necessary evil. Like any form of bureaucracy, it’s human and so it’s going to be flawed. If we lived in an ideal libertarian world, we’d all get on without any argument. We don’t, so we need cops to protect people. But then we also get the kind of police we deserve in the kind of society that we have. I’d happily see a time when we didn’t need a police force. I admire the work the police do, I couldn’t do it.

Crime is your ninth work of fiction, is writing getting easier or harder?
It’s different. The earlier books, like Trainspotting, were very much driven by my own experiences or the experiences of people around me. Whereas now I’m reaching out a bit more, I’m doing more research now. It becomes less about you and more about what you’re trying to write about.

Have you felt that you’ve had to be true to the testimonials of the sex abuse victims that you’ve met?
I think the thing about writing novels is that it’s a selfish thing. You try to tell the truth as you see it but it’s not always the truth for everyone. That’s the whole point of the novel. I found that all the victims’ experiences were very different. Some of the people I met and thought ‘how did you survive that?’ It was inspiring because they actually came through it all in a very positive way.

CRIME IS OUT ON 3RD JULY. IRVINE WELSH WILL TALKING ABOUT THE NOVEL AT BORDERS, QUEENS ROAD, 7 JULY, 7PM. FFI: http://www.blogger.com/WWW.IRVINEWELSH.NET

Bristol Comes Out to Play

2008-06-30T21:58:00.007+01:00

I went to Southville on Thursday to meet two men passionate about wine. Chris Scholes and Mike Cardwell are the brains behind the Bristol Wine & Food Fair that will grace the harbourside next month. We're in for a treat.

“Food is the new rock’n’roll”, says Mike Cardwell with a smile. “There’s been a revolution in the nation’s eating and drinking habits and events like this have been at the forefront of that. So many people now are really interested in where their produce comes from. One of the most important things about the Wine & Food Fair is that people will be able to come down and chat with the experts behind the stalls. These are the people directly involved in the making of the produce or the specialist importers.”

“Most of us drink a glass of Chablis or Rioja and probably forget that it’s actually an art form” says Mike. “It’s a very tricky craft and getting it right is difficult. I actually picked Champagne grapes when I was a student. I remember cutting my fingers and the cold, damp mornings. It gave me an insight into what it’s like to actually be a grower and to work on a farm. You realise that, as humans are involved, there are so many variables that can go wrong. It makes the process exciting but very scary!”

“We’re also ex-traders. Four years ago you’d find us down in Glastonbury by the pyramid stage running a coffee and patisserie stand. So we’ve been through the mud together. Being a trader you get insider knowledge. You quickly recognise what makes a good event and what makes you happy. We want to give good service to our traders, our exhibiters and the public.”

The Wine & Food Fair is shaping up to be the culinary treat of the year, with a huge array of things to see, do and taste. “There’s going to be a Chef’s Theatre, where you can watch top level chefs in action and get great tips to impress your friends when they come round for a meal, says Mike’s equally enthusiastic business partner Chris Scholes. ”We’re also hosting eighteen tutored wine and cheese tastings. This is a chance for people to learn more about cheese and wines in a relaxed environment. They’ll be plenty of talks and demonstrations and everyone can also taste any of the 350 wines on sale for free.”

“There’s going to be some amazing chefs in the chefs’ theatre. I was taking to Mark Evans at Café Maitreya and he was telling me that he’s considering cooking a whole menu with flowers, that really blew me away. We’re talking about working chefs here, not people that just write columns. These are the people that toil away in the kitchens, serving up some fantastic food.”

“Our main message is keep it local,” Mike declares. “We’re all aware of our environment and food miles but also we recognise that there are a lot of people that earn their living through local fairs. It really is a lifeline for these producers because they can sell direct to the public thus taking a bigger share of the profits. It enables them to sustain their way of life and helps them continue bringing fantastic produce to our tables.”

“There’s been massive leaps in the quality of British wine in the last ten years” asserts Chris emphatically. “Some of the sparkling wine producers are even beating Champagne in wine tastings.”

Both Chris and Mike have wine flowing through their veins. “I lived in Italy until I was three,” says Mike, “so I was introduced to wine at a very young age. We’d just be given a little glass to sip with the rest of the family, and then spend the afternoon sleeping it off!”

“My dad was from Blackpool,” says Mike “so one of my earliest memories of food is him frying his black pudding for breakfast. He really loved his red wine. He was wine-maker as well. He was famous for his strawberry wine. It was ridiculously strong though, just a glass would make you really tidily!”

“Most of all we want to demystify wine, make it simple and fun” laughs Mike. “We want to encourage people to use their taste buds and senses. We like to think about the fair as Bristol coming out to play! There’s food and wine, so it’s a bit of a no-brainer really!”

EXPLORE THE BRISTOL WINE & FOOD FAIR AT BRISTOL HARBOURSIDE, 11-13 JULY. FFI:WWW.BRISTOLWINEANDFOODFAIR.CO.UK

Venue Clippings Number Two

2008-06-29T22:32:00.012+01:00

More cuttings from my first week at Venue Magazine. There's another 'Reply All' and 'On the Job' as well as my contribution to Venue's bumper camping special.

I spoke to author Jonathan Knight about his new book Cool Camping. Jonathan has pitched up at some of the UK's best campsites and has collected his favourites in this charming book. The photography is stunning as is his insightful and friendly prose style. We chatted about his top ten sites in the southwest and what made them especially memorable.

Another (slightly dull) 'Reply All' from Acker Bilk and a lovely smidgen of Jobs editorial courtesy of my housemate's dad Peter.

Venue Clippings Number One

2008-06-29T22:15:00.005+01:00

Here's a 'Reply All' that I put together for Venue in my first week of work experience. Plenty more to come!

I also interviewed Andy Council in an attempt to spice up the jobs section with a bit of editorial.

Helicon hits the shops

2008-06-29T21:25:00.010+01:00

The summer issue of Helicon hits the shops this week. It's on sale at Here Shop, Waterstones (Bristol Uni), Blackwells, Bristol University Student's Union, Cafe Kino, The Cube Cinema and Oppo. Buy it, go on.

Helicon is a chance for the creatives of Bristol Uni to show off their poetry, prose, features, photography and artwork. The quality of submissions has hit an all time high this issue, with some magical prose from Ed Morgan, hilarious limericks from Adam Hanna and even a Bristol dinosaur from Helicon's inspiring uncle, Andy Council. I've loved every paint-covered minute of my time as the magazine's arts editor. Goodbye little glossy, and good luck to next year's editorial team.

Here are some of the pages I designed for this term's Wonderland themed issue.

Jamaica Street Open Studio

2008-06-27T21:02:00.016+01:00

Hand-painted monsters chasing punters into the open studio.

This post is seriously behind the times but I feel the open studio was far too good to neglect on account of laziness. On Friday the thirteenth I nipped down the road to the Jamaica Street Artists' open studio. Wandering through the rabbit warren of art-packed rooms felt like traveling into a hidden, magical world. Some really superb artist work away in this unobtrusive building. Here are three of my favourite:

I'd seen Chris' posters around Bristol for months so it was great to finally meet the hand behind the pen, so to speak. He's working on some wonderful children's books that document what actually goes on underneath tortoise's shells.
Ffi:www.myspace.com/kisswright

I fell whole-heartedly in love with Sophie Woodrow's ceramic creatures. So much so that I was seriously considering blowing £240 of my overdraft on a bearded monkey/bear.
Ffi: www.sophiewoodrow.co.uk

I love Bjorn Lie's characterization and wacky ideas. There's something really retro about his colours. This one has made me reconsider piscine head gear.
Ffi: www.bjornlie.com

Emma Moxey at Centrespace

2008-06-25T23:04:00.009+01:00

Settlement: A Drawing Out From Place

Viewing the work of multi-disciplinary artist Emma Moxey is akin to spiralling down a rabbit hole into contoured landscapes and clouds of colour. Her beautiful map-like creations inspire a heady experience similar to internet marvel Google Earth. The intricate details of her brushwork allow you to mentally zoom in on miniscule areas of canvas and imagine existing in her dizzyingly vibrant worlds.

For her recent exhibition ‘Settlement’ at the Centrespace gallery in Bristol, Moxey has created an entire body of work inspired by one particular visual and subtextual wonderland. This ‘post glacial semi-wilderness’ complete with Iron-age barrow lies beneath a noisy flight path and is embedded with many of Moxey’s childhood memories.

The womb-like ring of the barrow repeatedly features in many of the works on display, and her use of earthy colours and primitive marking techniques also help to conjure the site’s ancient history. The ghostly outlines of the original settlement have been overwritten with futuristic schematics and astronomical imagery. The fusion between two contrasting realms provides viewers with a giddying sensory adventure.

Unusually, Moxey describes herself as a ‘drawer’ and is interested in the mechanics of her art as well as its final product. Many of the exhibition’s images are concerned with what is lost and gained by translating a place to paper and question whether it is possible for art to accurately reiterate spatial experience at all. By using a combination of very different artistic techniques, as well as leaving areas of paper completely untreated, her work acquires the partially finished feel of a sketch or diagram. We are reminded that what we see is not the place but its pencil-formed double.

The exhibition is a den of mystery and riddle. ‘Settlement’ invites observers to puzzle their own interpretative reading from a rich nexus of symbols. Branch-like imprints double up as veins, and outlines of fences become molecular diagrams. As well as drawing on cartographic methods, her paintings are filled with hints of other systems of marking. Constellation maps, anatomical drawings, space-age architecture, DNA coding and topography all haunt her artwork. Some of these emblems are explained, such as the reoccurrence of the site’s geographical reference ‘57’ and the asymmetrical boxes, which represent the treasure the artist dug into the burial mound as a child. Others are left to float on the periphery of the observer’s comprehension.

The audience’s experience is at the forefront of Moxey’s creative process. Her Centrespace show works more as an installation rather than a straight-forward exhibition, with each piece carefully sequenced for maximum impact. Patterns are picked up, developed and are dropped as you move through the gallery and follow Moxey’s thought processes. To further the installation experience, Moxey commissioned four musicians to create a soundtrack for the show based entirely on their interpretation of the pieces. The tribal rhythms and gentle melodies created by the quartet have a hypnotic effect, and add the aura of an ancient religious ritual to the already intoxicating visuals.

Moxey’s ultimate aim for this project was to create a range of work that explores the difference between what she terms a ‘space’ and a ‘place’. Her drawings and paintings are not just aesthetic representations of the site (the ‘space’), but blend the visual with a mythological, mnemonic and sensory interpretation of the wilderness. This fusion of a location with its cultural and personal significance transforms it into a ‘place’, and mimics the creative process that we all undertake, perhaps unknowingly, as we journey through our environment.

With such a rich heritage in Bristol, the city is prime ground for stimulating interesting experiences of ‘place’. Next time you have a few moments, whether it be beside an historic building or in the chippy, take time to experience your own settlement. You may not spy Iron-age barrows but there are plenty of other topographical ghosts just waiting to be unearthed.

FFI: www.emmamoxey.co.uk

Interview with Joe Melia

2008-06-25T22:18:00.005+01:00

Joe Melia is the mastermind behind the first Bristol Short Story Prize. An anthology containing the best twenty entries is released next week. I caught up with Joe to ask him about the prize and why he thinks the short story is the next big thing.

Joe Melia
Prized Possession

"I’ve always thought that short stories have always had a raw deal. I’m a big fan of the form and so is everyone else involved with the prize. Working in the bookselling world, I see a lot of single author collections and anthologies getting published but sadly they never leave the shelves. They’re not marketed properly by book shops. Instead they’re tucked in a corner and left to gather dust.

A short story is an excellent way to discover new authors. You can just sample their work; explore the writer’s style and then move on to something different. It’s perfect medium for those with hectic lives as you don’t have to invest the same amount of time as you would in reading a novel. When my first child was born about four years ago, I started reading a lot of short stories. They’re almost exclusively what I read now, as with young children it’s all I can fit in.

The prize started as an offshoot of the Bristol Review of Books Magazine. We were looking to diversify a bit and to raise the profile of the magazine and we thought a competition would be the most interesting way of doing that. I’ve been overwhelmed by how well the prize has gone this year. I thought it would be successful but it has traveled a lot further than expected. One submission winged its way all the way from New Zealand. We also received stories from unexpected locations like Sri Lanka, the United Arab Emirates and Iran.

The judges were searching for originality above anything else. They wanted a convincingly tale but also something that you could tell the author had spent a lot of time on. Short story master Raymond Carver, said that in constructing a good piece of work every word and every comma had to be sweated over. We were looking for narratives that had generated buckets of the stuff. The quality of the entries was surprisingly high considering it was the prize’s first year. Many really strong stories that didn’t make it onto the longlist, let alone the shortlist. There are so many talented writers out there; the whole process has been very inspiring.

We were really worried at one point that we weren’t going to get everything done in time. Nearly all of the people involved in the project are working for free. We’ve all got other jobs to provide us with food and shelter so we’ve had to fit in organising the prize in our own time. The Anthology has been a real labour of love, I hope it shows.

The prize is all about providing undiscovered authors a leg-up towards bigger things. In the future we’d like to get to a point where we can fund local creative writing projects for young people, whether in schools, young offenders’ institutes or on other creative programmes. We aim to get more cultural and educational establishments involved next year. The cover for this year’s anthology has been designed by Femke De Jong, a final year illustration student at UWE. Many of the students there gave us advice about the design of the book. These kinds of partnerships are something we’d really like to build upon in the future.

Next year it’s going to be easier to enter, as we’re going accept submissions via email as well as online payment. We’re going to have to buy a giant printer. It would be nice to see some entries that really challenge the traditional prose format next time or even some graphic novel-style short stories. There’s a little hint for authors that want to enter next year! Most of all we really want to make Bristol the home of a massive literary project. It has been this year but next year we want it to be even bigger. The project is going to go global with Bristol right at the centre."

THE BRISTOL SHORT STORY PRIZE ANTHOLOGY IS OUT NOW. FFI: WWW.BRISTOLPRIZE.CO.UK

Interview with Luke Jerram

2008-06-25T21:39:00.003+01:00

After months of neglect, I'm back in blogland! For the last two weeks I've been pressed to the warm and ample bossom of Venue Magazine for a smidge of journalistic work experience.

Last week I was lucky enough to speak to one of Bristol's finest conceptual artists, Luke Jerram. We talked pianos, street art and parabolic flight as well as enthusing about his ambitions to shine towers of light into the Bristol Clouds. Find out more about Luke's plans below.

Luke Jerram
Artist of Ideas

‘Play me, I’m yours’ started because of Birmingham’s bad weather. I was asked to perform ‘Sky Orchestra’ (an artwork that involves playing specially composed music from hot-air balloons) in the city but the weather wasn’t right so we had to come up with another idea that would reach the same amount of people. I was thinking about what I could distribute around the city and a piano was just sitting by me in the house. I thought “that’ll do!”

I’m interested in revealing hidden communities. Here in Bristol I go down to a laundrette and each week I see the same people. They sit in silence waiting for their underwear to be washed. Often it’s the same people day after day. People know each other but they don’t talk to each other. We’re hoping that placing pianos in public spaces might act as a catalyst to get people talking in Birmingham’s bus stations, laundrettes and hospitals. This project is not about my ideas, and my desires and wishes and ambitions, it is about everyone else’s creativity.

‘Play me, I’m yours’ is a way for Birmingham’s citizens to claim ownership over the public domain. The idea was that the pianos would stay on site for as long as the community wanted. A few have been vandalised and others have been loved and cherished. We thought that a couple might be stolen and sold on eBay but that hasn’t happened.

I’ve got slight hang-ups about galleries and theatres. They don’t seem to do their job properly in bringing in a broad audience. Even I’ve got reservations about going to the theatre and I come from a white middle-class background with an arts degree, so I don’t know what it’d be like for other people. I try to make artwork that works for everybody, so my gran can appreciate it but so can an academic, or even a small child.

In July I am going to Star City, Russia to create a number of artworks on a parabolic flight. The plane goes up to 20,000 feet and then falls for 23 seconds and for that time you experience weightlessness. I’ve got five artwork ideas that I’m hoping to accomplish whilst I’m on the flight, one of which is a tribute to the 200 jumpers of 9/11. I want to recreate Richard Drew’s emotive ‘Falling Man’ photograph that captures a man falling from the Twin Towers before he died tragically at the bottom. The man in the photograph is almost like a fallen angel. He’s not flaying his arms about but appears quite relaxed as though he’s come to terms with his position. That is what gives that image such power. Responding to contemporary events is part of an artist’s job. I don’t tend to create artworks instantly in response to a certain moment. I give it time to digest and for ideas to emerge.

My next project has been inspired by the birth of my daughter. In Bristol there are twelve babies born every day so again there’s that hidden group of people connected by a shared experience. To reveal that community and to celebrate that moment, I am going to create an artwork called First Breath. For each new baby we’re going to erect a huge searchlight that will create a tower of light. You’ll look across the city and there will be twelve searchlights lighting up the clouds. Each day the lights will be moved to a new set of locations for the next night’s declaration. The piece will run for perhaps two or three weeks. Like much of my work, it is an intimate and personal moment but also a spectacular public display that spans right across the city.

LUKE JERRAM WILL BE HEADING TO STAR CITY, RUSSIA FOR HIS PARABOLIC FLIGHT ON JULY 6TH JULY. FFI: WWW.LUKEJERRAM.COM

2008-05-24T09:32:00.000+01:00

Gocco print number one

2008-05-09T22:45:00.005+01:00

Gocco printing machines are very exciting. The screens and bulbs can only be used once so there's a lot of pressure to do everything right. My first attempt went quite well, despite my problems trying to understand the instructions, which were a mixture of bizarre diagrams and Japanese captions.

The printer's popularity in Japan has waned somewhat in a recent years, and Riso have stopped producing them. They were originally marketed as a family printing machine for cards, wedding invitations and the like. Now a PC and printer easily beats the messy inking process and fiddly paper sizing for convenience. Like most obsolete machines, they have developed a cult following in Australia and America and a strong online community who share tips and help each other locate diminishing supplies. Check out www.savegocco.com for further information.

China Article in Epigram

2008-05-09T22:37:00.006+01:00

To read my article on the growth of Chinese contemporary art in Epigram, click here.

Made in China

2008-05-04T11:06:00.005+01:00

Inspired by the V&A's China Design Now exhibition, I have written an article for Epigram on the current 'Made in China' arts frenzy. Here it is:

Chinese art has never been as exciting as it is in 2008. The emerging superpower has been as prominent in art sections in recent months as it has on the front pages. From Pei Zhu’s circuit board inspired Olympic building to underground music fanzines, every savvy critic has their eyes glued to the county’s arts scene, for something big is happening.

The last few years have seen the demand for work by contemporary Chinese artists grow monumentally. The Hong Kong branch of international auction house Sotheby’s sold a colossal $69.9m worth of modern Chinese art last year as opposed to just $2.9m in 2004. The demographic of buyers has also changed radically. In 2004, over 80% of consumers where foreign nationals, now nearly 80% are from inside China.

This extraordinary transformation is due largely to China’s economic fortunes. A recently formed urban middle class has provided a fertile market for modern art and design products. International buyers are also showing increasing interest. Many are making calculated investments now in the hope that they will be able to sell the work back to Chinese buyers later for a considerable profit.

The UK art world is exploring and celebrating this cultural explosion by hosting China Now, a festival of contemporary Chinese arts that will take place throughout 2008. At the forefront of the numerous events is the V&A Museum’s China Design Now exhibition that runs until mid July. The remarkable exhibition explores the effect that the recent economic boom has had on contemporary design, and offers a snapshot of over one hundred designers responsible for this creative frenzy.

The exhibition is arranged geographically, starting in China’s manufacturing capital Shenzhen, which is renowned for its thriving graphic design industry. It then travels to vibrant fashion city Shanghai and finishes with an architectural view of the country’s capital Beijing. China Design Now succinctly showcases the wide variety of creative industries flourishing in China, from Wang Xu’s beautifully intricate book design to the surreal and quirky fashion photography of Maleonn.

The most recognisable image from the exhibition is Ji Ji’s ‘Hi Panda’, a trio of chest-high vinyl pandas that are a far cry from the conventionally cuddly Chinese emblem. Their demented grins, sinister eyes and gunshot-wounded foreheads are simultaneously cute and intensely creepy. Artist Ji Ji has said that the three are portraits of ‘the generation of the people born in the 1980s’, a period that saw General Secretary Deng Ziaoping declare that 'to get rich is glorious'. It seems poignant that mini versions of these deranged creatures can be purchased from the V & A’s gift shop.

The China Now festivities are not just contained to the capital, but will be will be reaching Bristol in the Arnolfini’s ‘The Far West’ exhibition in July. Here too the emphasis is on cultural geography and the economic exchange between East and West. Consisting of five of the Arnolfini’s gallery spaces, the installation will look to mimic the model of a trading company, complete with factory area, in house supermarket and an online shopping service. The exhibition will be unlike anything the Arnolfini has ever hosted before.

The speed of the creative boom has caused some critics to worry about the impact that the influx of cash may be having on China’s fledgling art scene. The rush of wealth into Beijing’s famous art district 798 for example, has pushed many of the smaller artists out of the area and put small workshops out of business. Others worry that the market could potentially stifle creativity, as artists keen to make a name for themselves as well as a living, will begin to produce work that will sell rather than attempting to break new ground.

Although China’s artistic future is uncertain, its present is just phenomenal. Check it out for yourself at China Design Now, which runs until 13 July at the V&A Museum, South Kensington. ‘The Far West’ starts production at Bristol’s Arnolfini from 21 July - 31 August.

Them Lot in Epigram

2008-04-29T19:15:00.004+01:00

The article I crafted from my interview with James Bourne (of Them Lot) was published in Epigram this week. To read it and other journalistic forays by Bristol University students visit the Epigram website.

Bourne's enlightening and witty reflections on his work and membership of Them Lot made writing this piece easy work. I hope it encouraged hoards of people to descend on the Here Shop, as the exhibition was fresh, thought-provoking and really amusing. I think the beauty of Them Lot is their marriage between the familiar and the new. Their work is presented in such an everyday manner (some painted on the back of envelopes and scribbled on walls) that one feels a sense of closeness, "I know these objects, I could belong to this." And yet each artist's view of the world is so novel and bizarre that each piece feels like a journey into a very personal and magical imaginative nook.

To keep up to date with Them Lot check out www.themlot.co.uk

Wonderland

2008-04-28T10:39:00.003+01:00

Here's a polaroid of Stokes Croft for Summer edition of Helicon, the University of Bristol Creative Arts Magazine. This term's theme is 'Wonderland', which is how I see this vibrant and creative community.

If you live in the Bristol area and are interested in submitting prose, poetry, features, art or photography to Helicon Magazine, email us at helicon.magazine@gmail.com.

Them Lot

2008-04-14T01:14:00.002+01:00

Birmingham-based art collective Them Lot are anything but ordinary. Born from a meeting of like-minded artists at the New Art Birmingham Fair last February, they have wowed punters with their imaginative style and outlandish characters.

I was Lucky enough to interview Them Lot's founder James Bourne. Here's his thoughts on his work, belonging to a collective and his latest exhibition at Here Shop and Gallery, Bristol.

LS: How did Them Lot get started?

JB: I was invited to sell some work at the New Art Birmingham Limited Edition Fair at the Bond in Birmingham in February 2007. There were plenty of local artists like myself wanting to exhibit their work. It seemed logical to stay in touch with the ones that were on a similar wavelength. From there, we hooked up for drinks and chats and Them Lot was born. I invited other artists from around the country that I'd worked with before. Artists like Andy Council and David Shillinglaw who I really admire because of their enthusiasm to create. We had a big exhibition in Birmingham in the Summer, and the wheels keep on rolling.

LS: What does being a member of a collective mean in practical terms? Obviously you do shows together but how else do you support each other? Do you give each other constructive criticism? Do members ever collaborate?

JB: We're a very positive group. We try and encourage each other rather than pick away at each others work. The time we spend together is more about having fun than analysing each others work. It's important that the collective is an enjoyable experience for each member involved. It's not about makng money, or trying to prove ourselves, it's about coming together and creating a visual experience for everyone to enjoy, including ourselves.

LS: Would you say that you all share concerns/themes in your work?

JB: Yes. We all come from different backgrounds and have differing outlooks on life but we all try and convey these thoughts visually. The majority of our work has humour to it, but it's not comical. It's about relating to everyday life and using our imagination to feed our drawings. LS: Although your members are mainly based in Birmingham, a few of the artists are based elsewhere such as here in Bristol and even as far away as Norway. How often do you all meet up? What topics do you discuss? Is there a long term 'vision' for Them Lot?

JB: Some of us meet up every week. Others we won't see for months. Having the internet is an important tool for us. We can write to each other as well as see what we are up to. The conversations we have are generally about the future. What we can do to make peoples eyes turn to us...books, exhibitions, animations, markets...we try and get involved with all of them.

LS: Do you think that the desire to be part of a collective is a response to an occupation that is primarily solitary?

JB: Being an artist is hard work. Promoting yourself, expenses, staying confident about what you do etc With a team of like minded artists around you, it's much easier. Costs are smaller, ideas are more varied and you generally feel more confident about being an artist. Were all in the same boat. The little Them Lot boat with the funny flag.

LS: Your work seems to be a mix of the everyday with the magical and extraordinary (I'm thinking of the men falling from the sky into Spar lined streets and pencil-headed boys with rainbow eyelashes). Where do you get your inspiration from?

JB: My work is generally a respone to a narrative. Pencil Head Fred is a character from I story I wrote a few years back. He went on a school trip to a stationary factory and got his head caught in a giant pencil sharpener. Me, Daniel and Paul are currently developing this into a horror exhibition. We want it to be the scariest thing people have seen. Lots of puppets and dark corridors. I think having a narrative to work with offers you constraints that you don't have with expressive art. It stops you from going off the rails. Saying that, going off the rails can be good sometimes, it just seems to mess my work up.

LS: As well as working as an artist and illustrator I notice that you are also a teacher. What do your students think about your work?

JB: Ha! They laugh, which is good. The kids I teach have an amazing enthusiasm for art. They love Andy Councils work. David recently invited them to exhibit their interpretation of the Sun at his gallery Nowhere North in High Barnet. They loved it. They don't understand why I draw penis's on my characters though. I don't think I do though?

LS: The artists that make up Them Lot have very different styles and work in various media, with some members creating installations and sculptural objects rather than two dimensional pieces. Do you feel that your work has developed differently as a member of Them Lot than it would have done working as a lone artist?

JB: Yes. Only yesterday Dan was saying that our work is merging into each others. This is a very strange feeling. We all want to be individual and create things that are very much personal to ourselves. It's tricky though. The sub-conscious is a powerful thing. I find myself drawing some of David's symbols without realising. I think it's healthy though. We're making each others work stronger. I like the idea of Them Lot being one person. It'd be interesting to see what he/she/it created.

LS: One of Them Lot’s current projects is based on the theme of confessions. Did you decide to develop a theme to create more cohesive work from the group? Or is it more of an exercise in individuality, as it showcases the different direction that each artist has taken the theme?

JB: The theme of confessions was something we tackled on a smaller scale in Birmingham last year. It was to try and open up to each other. Although we were all on the same wavelength regarding art, we didn't all know each other very well. It was good to hear some of the confessions each of us had. We then decided to get them from other people for the show at the Here Gallery. Some of the text we've obtained is pretty nasty. Other bits are more civil. There is a mixed bag in there, so be prepared. Perhaps best not to bring your Grandma!

LS: What does the future have in store for Them Lot?

JB: Fun and drawings. The horror exhibition. We all have projects lined up. David is holding a bicycle exhibition - KING OF BIKE at his gallery Nowhere North, Andy is always drawing or painting something for someone in Bristol, I'm off to Amsterdam to draw on some shoes for the launch of CUSTOM KICKS, Gareth has his own night of Art in Birmingham called CAMEL TOE...lots ands lots going on...were always updating the news on the site - www.themlot.co.uk