What Remains
A pink scarf he bought that first Christmas together. Not that she ever wore scarves, which was why he’d bought it in the first place, and why he shouldn’t have bothered. (It snowed that January – more sludge than snow, really, the kind that produces muddy, misshapen snowmen – and sh
Interview with Rebecca Salter
Lucy Thynne and Deputy Editor Claire Ion spoke to the first female President of the Royal Academy of Arts, Rebecca Salter, during the lockdown of early 2021. In this interview, they chat about keeping galleries afloat during the pandemic, moving to Japan as a young artist and what inspires her famou
On Jean Jones
Centered in Pembroke JCR’s Jean Jones exhibition, disrupting the otherwise conventional gallery layout, is a glass case containing an array of memorabilia. The case is unlabeled, and only a single exhibition leaflet from the 80s clues the viewer into the fact that these are all items from the arti
sonnet for the new age
before contemporary verse meaning was contained in a frame solidified by ruling rhyme and iamb. we feared weaning poems off their infant structure defied all comfort reason and tradition raised into being an unbound form of word doomed to non-meaning only to be praised by howling radicals wit
LOOKING BEYOND BORDERS WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED
By virtue of its own hybridity as a manifesto, invitation, and poem, Gloria Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera reimagines political borders; it observes their artificiality and porousness. Written in Spanish and English, Borderlands is perceptive and analytical; deconstructive and didactic. Anzal
JESA
We invited our ancestors to dinner for a feast too good for the living a low lacquered table lay immaculate and swept — a week’s worth of preparation on smooth wooden platters porcelain cups metallic bowls; a different clack thud and tinker at each spare movement — and
For a Mourner
If I’m in the right frame of mind, I can still picture the old Whitechapel. Back then, there were no sleek walkways as there are now, and the current, chic, steel arches were made of sandstone brick, darkened by soot and grime. My father lived in the area from when I was seventeen to twenty-four,