Bosch: Hypnotic Degeneration
I have always called myself an atheist, but this spring I found myself on a pilgrimage. Desperate for cultural enrichment on my short holiday in Madrid, I stood in front of the neat white steps of the Prado. My friends and I, vaguely hungover, flinched at the packs of European schoolchildren queuing
After Hogarth
Chalked up in white, his plans ran all in Cool blueprints: our house was just too staid. Then lines curved under my tools, sweetly Etched into edges that became snake-like. Right-angles baulked. We hooked fingers in Mingling Cs and recut hard doorframes Into shapes more sinuous. But then, Beh
On Asphalt and Satin
Sei allem Abschied voran, als wäre er hinter dir, wie der Winter, der eben geht. Be ahead of every leave-taking as if it were behind you, like the just-departing winter. Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus II, XIII I live in Berlin and study in Oxford. Every time I come back to Oxford, it
Fashioning Decline
“It is quite consummate, is it not!” cries the Aesthetic Bridegroom of his new teapot, in a Punch cartoon of 1880. “It is, indeed!” replies his Intense Bride. “Oh, Algernon, let us live up to it!” Let us surround ourselves with beautiful things, and let those selves live up to them. The
Complaints from the Chinese Boudoir
“At daybreak, I pace idly in the courtyard with a silk fan. Cold autumn is at hand, and I know the fan will soon be discarded. A crow flits by and secures its position on the palace roof. The croaking bird is no match for my complexion, smooth as jade. Yet why is it able […]
Rosalía – Motomami – Camaleona
“¿Oye, ya has escuchado el nuevo disco de la Rosalía?” my mother asks, shifting gears. We’re driving home from the Bilbao airport, where I have just arrived for the Easter holidays. After months away, everything looks unfamiliar – the trees, the mountains, even the blue sky seems oddly off
Dandy
Mr Guillaume brought Paris to London His fingers anchored him to earth with their varicoloured jewels – He told me he once found a pearl shucking oysters And had it mounted on his littlest finger. When asked “how do you like your eggs?” he replied Fabergé. And his fizzing champagne chuckle ho
Everyone is scared of the guillotine these days
But if I had that kind of money, let me tell you – I’d burn it. A new Dior gown every morning. A different pool boy every afternoon. You bourgeois folk and your mid-century shite – you’ll never get it, sucking marrow from warm bones all light and delicate. Me, I’d gorge. Retch and [