Last week I was in London for an interview, I passed the first round, and I’ll be back there on the 3rd of December for the last round.
- While I was in London this weekend I saw the unbelievably powerful poster for Francis Bacon at Tate Britain.
- Homelessness in Manchester.
Ex-footballers and activists work together to help rough sleepers whilst the council announce that they will sell all 18 empty properties they are currently renovating
- The Manchester Left Writers have issued Precarious Passages 3 and a declaration of a real state of emergency.
Coleman’s was a Hobbesian, paranoid vision, replacing ‘utopia’ with a mean, pinched model where Bromley or Bromsgrove were the highest we could ever hope for, and beyond that lay dystopia. People could not be trusted to move around in open, unfenced, flowing spaces without robbing or harming each other. Housing was best if introverted, heavily gated and defended. Estate dweller was wolf to estate dweller.
- For a while I’ve had a poster up in my room by an artist whose name I couldn’t remember, the other day Natalie Bradbury reminded me that it’s Bryony Jackson, who incidentally has an exhibition on at Nexus.
Without sounding too dramatic, you don’t want to live in a world where there isn’t ice cream vans at the end of the day. It would be a shame. There’d be a tremendous guilt in me if they were gone. You know, if you suddenly realise that they’re gone for good while you’re sat there staring at a freezer, thinking,
I could have done more, chucking the supermarket stuff out into the street and… crying for the demise of a Mr Whippy
As exemplified by Copenhagen International Documentary Festival 2015, the doc film genre is finally getting the artistic credit it so deserves
Galli’s impressionistic images from the fast moving, colorful California rodeos are able to communicate before being understood - the viewer hears the pounding of horses’ hooves, the braying of the calves, the rage of the bulls…
In the 1940s, they melted vinyl records down to puddles to gather shellac for the war. Just last month I fleetingly considered smashing my computer, mining my hard drive for its mineral contents, scraping the tantalum and coltan into vials with which to poison every man who has ever made me compromise.