A woman holding a ball
A woman holding a ball

Physicist Laura Aguale

New environmental arts charity Platform Earth launched at a star-studded event in London. Jude Law and astronaut Nicole Stott read to the crowd, who bid on works from the likes of Rachel Whiteread and Shezad Dawood, in aid of marine carbon capture

Guests included physicist Laura Aguale, members of the Platform Earth team George Butler, Mark Sanders, Florence Devereaux, Petroc Sesti and Richard Wadhams; as well as Ruth Ganesh and Mollie Dent Brocklehurst.  Ben Okri, Jude Law and former NASA astronaut Nicole Stott were among those who gave an ocean-themed reading.

A group standing by a wall of pictures

Members of the Platform Earth team George Butler, Mark Sanders, Florence Devereaux, Petroc Sesti and Richard Wadhams

Jude Law giving a speech

Actor Jude Law

Nicole Stott wearing a black dress reading a speech

Former NASA astronaut Nicole Stott

Ben Okri giving a speech

Jasmine Pelham, Saskia Spender and Richard Hudson

A woman taking a photo of a wall of pictures

Artworks on sale made entirely from captured air pollution

Ben Okri giving a speech

Poet Ben Okri

A man giving a speech in front of a staircase

Ruth Ganesh, Petroc Sesti and Mollie Dent Brocklehurst

Find out more: platformearth.com

This article appears in the Summer 2022 issue of LUX

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Reading time: 4 min
man standing in jeans and a cowboy hat
a man with his arms folded

Portrait of Henry Lohmeyer by Maryam Eisler

American photographer Henry Lohmeyer is not only renowned for his powerful photography but also his use of words to accompany each work of art. Here, Lohmeyer speaks to Maryam Eisler about the impact his art and poetry have had on his audience and himself

Maryam Eisler: Whose work speaks your language and has impacted you most?
Henry Lohmeyer: I can’t say certainly. Your sensibilities change as you are exposed to life. To begin with, I wasn’t really struck by photographers as much as I was by painters and sculptors. Bresson, absolutely; I think all roads lead to him—so fascinated that he saw himself a drawer first. The other artist who has really hit me hard is Arbus. How she was able to squeeze out of that tight space she fit into, as probably most women artists were at the time, and are still… her work is masterful in that she saw beauty and humanity in almost anyone. She was able to show both physical and emotional scars in the most powerful of ways. And through these scars, we are made to see our own differences, commonalities and identities.

Follow LUX on Instagram: luxthemagazine

Maryam Eisler: When did your first camera click take place?
Henry Lohmeyer: We had a cabin growing up, on a little fishing river, and my mother would give me a camera to play with (as well as crayons to draw with). It was a plastic camera but it took 120 film, and as you know on 120 film you were only allowed 10 or 12 photos. I was given that for the week and you learn to shoot very sparingly. That’s when I remember taking a photo with thought. I also learned to see the charm in those ones that were missed and somehow turned out beautiful.

A man wearing a hat crying into a handkerchief

Lohmeyer says: “May we just talk about hurt and love? The hurt you feel when you know you can’t help. The kind of love when you beg to understand.”

Maryam Eisler: As I discovered you on Instagram, I realised that not only your photos are poetry but so are your words, a powerful marriage of the visual and the intellect. Have you always approached your art in this manner?
Henry Lohmeyer: When I got sober twelve years ago, I needed a way to express myself. I went to art school and I often fancied myself becoming a painter, a sculptor, a print maker. It just wasn’t feasible at the time to do that, but what I had was my IPhone. I would just take photographs of anything and everything. In all honesty, they were terrible shots but I really appreciated them, as much if not even more than any photograph I take today, because they served as foundation for my work today. It was a means for me to express myself, process stuff, figure out where I was headed without including another person into this whirlpool of emotions. It was something I could do every day and there was no cost. A year into it, I started incorporating a sentence or a word and I found this to be a great way, as a diary does, to journal, to share my experiences. I love it when people respond to what I write or photograph, but on a more personal note, it’s a source of accountability. Even at my age, I’m still trying to figure so much out, as we all are. I like the childlike quality of that process. My fear, however, is that I may box in the photo when I write what it’s about, rather than opening it up to interpretation.

Read more: The LUX Art Diary: Exhibitions to See in March

Maryam Eisler: Through your words and your images, you unveil yourself to your viewers and connect with them- your feelings, your scars. Do you enjoy this connection with ‘the other’?
Henry Lohmeyer: I like to believe that what I’m feeling is a shared experience. I think we all want to be normalised, not to say that we don’t want to feel unique but … We don’t want to feel like a pariah. We want to be received, accepted. It is nice when someone connects with what I’m saying. It makes me feel good, it helps me too. I receive way more than I could give on that regard. With that said, it’s an exercise in vulnerability and opening myself up, connecting. That’s something that photography and my words have given me: a connection that I was so quick to discount, deny or run away from so many times in the past. I do it because it keeps me healthy. I’ve been able to ride the ship many times because of my words to myself and of myself.

A child wearing a fury hood and scarf

For the women who care for each of us

Maryam Eisler: You speak of scars. Do you think that an artist needs them in order to produce?
Henry Lohmeyer: I do not believe that. But I do know that if you are scarred, art can help. Expressing no matter what your medium can be an asset. I don’t know if this is true and it’s probably my narrative but I feel like I can tell when work is derived from a really sore spot and I don’t think it necessarily makes it any better, but I do admire those that can rely on it and turn it into something that others respond to. There’s a saying in recovery that “you’re only as sick as your secrets” and I do think that it’s important to live out loud.

a barn

Lohmeyer says: “Like love, hope is a rather subversive ideal.”

Maryam Eisler: For an introvert, you are incredibly expressive!
Henry Lohmeyer: It’s a need. I also know that I create my best work, living on that edge. I’m not Evel Knievel but I am living in that idea of pushing myself. Vulnerability is a moving target. I can remember the first time I wrote alongside my images and still today, like many, I feel fear before sharing.

Maryam Eisler: But doubt is necessary for an artist- is it not?
Henry Lohmeyer: Yes, doubt is a constant for me. My writing never stops, but visually I haven’t opened myself up as much as I would like to. I’ve been in a place where I close down the things I see. I see a photograph in the making and it’ll be like falling out of a boat into water- that easy!

Read more: Shahrzad Ghaffari: “Where Curiosity Stops, the Creative Process Ends”

Maryam Eisler: I suppose it’s like writer’s block… you get visual block. I guess, in your case, you need that balance between both sides of the equation.
Henry Lohmeyer: More times than not, one picks up the other. There’s sometimes a photo, where what I saw really captured me. You know how it is, you’re not just capturing visually what it is but also how it made you feel and that’s the hard part. How many times, have you seen that old mary-go-round horse… tattered, broken, chipped… but then you see the beauty in it.

trees in the snow

Lohmeyer says: “If I were a boy king, more command than competence, with all the valour in my heart and any army at my disposal, to what length would I go to conquer love? To what depth would I go to honour both her heart and mine? What lines would be drawn in the sand to mark each prayer, each hope, each noble act? If I were a boy king, to what end would I be measured, to what time would I embrace and to what distant shore would I sail to join hearts?”

Maryam Eisler: When I think of your work, I think of wide open spaces, I think of solitude, I think of isolation but also time. There’s huge sentimentality in what you portray.
Henry Lohmeyer: Well a continuous theme in my work is that of a hero’s journey, the fall and the rise. I think that the lone figure is very appealing to me. I connect with it very easily. I think that we all feel sometimes alone and I certainly don’t want to relish in that moment, but I do think that there is a lot of beauty in that space. It certainly doesn’t feel beautiful when you’re in it yourself but it’s hard not look at it with some admiration, and to find honour in that moment when you rise out of it. There is that song from Les Miserables where Fantine sings, “there are storms we cannot weather”, and I do think that when someone says it’ll get better, we don’t necessarily feel that, but I do know that when we step out of it and start to rise, there is great reason to celebrate and embrace the moment. That is something that gets lost on many of us. We feel like we deserve the harshness, and yet when we are victorious or when we thrive, we somehow think it’s Grace. That we didn’t earn it. I think that again we don’t need to experience bad to understand good or feel despair to understand hope.

A close up of a black man with a moustache and beard

Lohmeyer says: “I don’t know where he is now. I know we hugged. I know he liked his tea sweeter than mine-that’s very sweet. I know he couldn’t sing. I know that he looked at me the way son looks at a father-baba, he would say, I know we trusted one another and I know I miss him.”

Maryam Eisler: Speak to me about Love.
Henry Lohmeyer: I understand the idea of love and I do love. I’m capable of love … my children, my two grandchildren. I love my brothers and sisters, my nieces and nephews and my friends. I know that I have many shortcomings in this area, and that I am constantly working on it. It’s not the idea that ‘forever’ scares me and I don’t necessarily equate ‘forever’ with love; we can love for a day. In fact, I think love is probably our greatest gift. I hope that in my photography and through my words, I show how I love people. I have not necessarily been very good with the romantic kind of love. I laughingly say I have one great love affair left in me, and I say that tongue and cheek in a way because I’m just going to keep trying to get back on the saddle. I do love the idea of it.

A man wearing a white shirt with his hands together sitting on a chair

Portrait of Henry Lohmeyer by Maryam Eisler

Maryam Eisler: You are very well read. We have spoken a lot about your favourite authors and I’m assuming that it’s from that passion for literature where your love of the ‘word’ comes from.
Henry Lohmeyer: I like Hemingway a lot. I like his style. I know he’s controversial regarding his views on women and life, and there is no denying all of that. I do like how he can say things in such a pithy manner. There are many lines I really love. “Why did they make birds so delicate and as fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?”, comes to mind. I love when J.D. Salinger says “She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.” Jonathan Safran Foer’s writes in Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, “Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.” This line kills me.

Read more: Darius Sanai’s California Diary

Books to me are magical, because I had a lot of trouble reading them as a child due to my dyslexia and ADD, so they were kind of a burden at first; when I was able to sit down with them eventually, it was kind of magical.

Two doors and stairways

Lohmeyer says: “My father would describe things, places, etc, “It’s the same, but different.” He spoke of love in this manner too. Maybe we seek a mirror, one that holds, not what is peculiar to us, but rather what reflects the best parts of ourselves. The same, but different.”

Maryam Eisler: Camus is an author you hold close to your heart and “Vivre au point des larmes” (‘to live on the verge of tears’) is tattooed on your body.
Henry Lohmeyer: I believe that emphatically; it’s a thing I aspire to, but am not always successful at. It’s scary to be on or over the edge of the boat, but I do believe that is the place to be. It’s fear, it’s hope, it’s glory, it’s exciting but it’s also sad and you’re easily broken there. For me, to be happy and satisfied, I need to be on that edge. That doesn’t mean life- risking. I have no desire to skydive or bungee jump; I’m not a thrill seeker emotionally, and I don’t thrive on the loss of anything, but I do know it’s necessary to be there, on the brink.

man standing in jeans and a cowboy hat

Image of Henry Lohmeyer by Maryam Eisler

Maryam Eisler: What’s on the horizon for you now, artistically?
Henry Lohmeyer: I’m excited about what’s coming next. The word “Shadows” come to mind. I’ve done a good bit of witnessing and recording those we’ve chosen to place on the edge- refugees, immigrants, the homeless, and the abused. And, during this time I’ve come to realize that it may not take a catastrophic event or events to cost us our safety and security—our rights as humans. My art, going forward, will take a much softer approach at witnessing and translating. While the images may be more measured, the words will not. As you know, my words mean as much to me, if not more, than my photographs—so, I’m going to incorporate them directly onto the images. Might be many words, might be one. I’m hoping it will be a more expressive reflection of what is seen—it’s a vulnerable space for anyone to allow for an open interpretation of self and an imperative for any artist.

Find out more:

henrylohmeyer.com

@henrylohmeyer

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Reading time: 12 min
artist in front of mural
artist in front of mural

Artist Shahrzad Ghaffari in front of her work-in-process at Leighton House. Photograph by James Houston

Leighton House, the former home and studio of British artist Frederic Leighton, was once a lively meeting place for artists and writers who would gather beneath the domed ceiling of the elaborate Arab Hall (named after the vast collection of Middle Eastern tiles adorning its walls) to converse and listen to music. Now, a major renovation, including the construction of a new wing, seeks to reestablish the house as a creative hub by inciting a dialogue between its Victorian heritage and contemporary visual culture through a programme of events, exhibitions and artist collaborations. Ahead of its reopening later this year, Millie Walton visited the museum to speak to Shahrzad Ghaffari, the first contemporary artist to be commissioned by Leighton House, and preview her work-in-progress

LUX: Much of your work is inspired by Persian poetry. How do you see the visual medium of painting interacting with poetry?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Painting has been my passion since I was a child. Everybody always knew what to buy me: paper, crayons, paints. Then, slightly later on, I became interested in poetry and started to read a lot but the two came together when I was experimenting with trying to find my own style in painting, an honest way of expressing what’s within.

Follow LUX on Instagram: luxthemagazine

artist at work

Ghaffari at work. Photograph by James Houston

LUX: Oneness, your mural for Leighton House, is based on a poem by Rumi. What was your process for coming up with the composition?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I started with the poem in mind, but the shape of the composition took some time to develop through sketching. That said, I had a clear idea of what I wanted to do when I walked into the space. I chose silver for the background, for example, because there’s a lot of gold in the old wing of the house and silver responds to that in a modern way. In a way, I think it also works as a kind of mirror, reflecting the heritage of the house just as the shape of the form mimics the spiral movement of staircase. The textured surface, however, makes reference to the notion of history. I built it up in layers of acrylic paint mixed with mediums, but nothing is scraped away. Each layer is applied on top of the next and has its own story. Then, the turquoise I’ve used for the abstract form is traditionally the colour of hope in Persian culture, but it also pays homage to the turquoise tiles in the Arab hall while the bits of burnt orange that you can glimpse through the background are supposed to represent the red bricks of the building’s facade.

LUX: Have you painted a mural of this scale before?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: No, I haven’t and it has been quite challenging! I originally intended to project the calligraphy onto the wall, which is what you would normally do with a mural so that you can then trace it, but I couldn’t because the space is so tight. Instead, I made a grid and did everything by hand. That said, it has been a lot of fun too, especially painting the upper part near the skylight at the top of the stairs.

wall mural

A render of Oneness by Shahrzad Ghaffari. Courtesy of Leighton House

LUX: In a more general sense, what role do you think public art can, or should play?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: As the name suggests, public art is for the public so it must be able to connect with its audience, which, in this case, are the visitors to the museum. I also think it needs to be loud enough or perhaps, unusual enough to make people pause in front of it, to pull them out of their everyday life and to convey its message in just a few seconds. In a way, public art acts like a bridge between architecture and the public because it echoes what the architecture wants to convey but often, in a more accessible way.

Read more: The Best Exhibitions to see in March 

LUX: Which artists or movements have influenced your practice?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: When I was younger, I was quite heavily influenced by Impressionism. When I was studying art they would make us copy classical works and so, when I first encountered the looseness of Impressionism it felt very freeing. I think that had, and continues to have a big influence on my work. Also, the light! I always try to incorporate something that reflects light, like the silver I’ve used in Oneness. I remember first seeing Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss and feeling so drawn to it for that same reason.

LUX: What is it about paint, as a material, that appeals to you?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I use paint for two reasons. The first is to create something very visually strong. I want to engage the viewer, to captivate them. But I also use it to reflect my emotions. I used to mainly paint with oil and I recently changed to working with acrylic for the practical reason that I live in Canada and oil takes ages to dry, but using acrylic has also changed the way I work because you have to paint very quickly.

artist portrait

Photograph by James Houston

LUX: Do you have to be in a particular state of mind to create?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Yes. I can’t just sit and start painting. For me, [the creative process] starts with a strong feeling. It could be happiness, for example. Then, I take the brush and I start to act upon that feeling, usually very quickly. The mural is different because the composition is planned, but usually I have  three or four canvases that I’m working on simultaneously and that helps me because I might not be in the mood to work with red paint, for example.

LUX: Do you paint every day?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Even if I’m not painting, I show up in my studio every day. Maybe, I’ll write something down instead, but I have to show up. That’s very important.

LUX: What else do you have coming up?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I have a show of my works here at Leighton House, when then museum reopens, and I’m also looking into exploring NFTs – mainly out of curiosity. I think as an artist, you should always be open to everything, to exploring all the tools that are on offer. That’s what it’s all about it, it’s what motivates you to keep making. Where curiosity stops, the creative process ends.

To find out more about Leighton House, visit: rbkc.gov.uk/museums/

Follow Shahrzad Ghaffari on Instagram: @shahrzadghaffariart

 

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Reading time: 5 min
Woman standing amongst tyres
woman in car garage

Ruth B. photographed during making of her video for the single ‘Dirty Nikes’, 2020. Image by Gabriel LN.

Is Canadian singer-songwriter Ruth B. the new Tracy Chapman? She has a soulful voice, thoughtful and concerned lyrics, and a growing wave of followers around the world. She also has some of the most creative videos around. Oh, and she speaks fluent Amharic. LUX speaks to her about the music business, social media, BLM and whether playing the piano matters

Ruth B. is a musician very much of her generation. Born Ruth Berhe in 1995 in Edmonton, Alberta – her parents had emigrated from Ethiopia to Canada – she started posting short videos on the now defunct Vine platform in 2013. One of these fragments of a song gained thousands of likes and eventually became her bestselling single ‘Lost Boy’, which in turn has received over 500 million plays on Spotify alone. That song features on her album Safe Haven, released in 2017 on the Columbia label.

Follow LUX on Instagram: luxthemagazine

This kind of rapid rise in the music industry is one that has been made especially possible by social media. But it has also been made possible by Ruth B.’s own skills as a singer and keyboard player – her warm, soulful voice and subtle piano style have won her fans across the generational divides – and by her dedication to her art and her ambition to have artistic control over her songs and videos.

Like most musicians, Ruth B.’s career has been put on hold during lockdown brought about by the worldwide coronavirus pandemic, but it hasn’t stopped her working entirely as she continues to write songs at her home in Edmonton, where she was living when LUX spoke with her.

LUX: When did you start being interested in music. Was it when you were very young?
Ruth B.: I think for me music was always a really prominent part of my life. I just naturally gravitated towards it. I loved singing; my mum sang a lot around the house. I just really loved to make noises with my voice or make sounds with pots and pans, or whatever it was.

LUX: And were your parents musical? Did they encourage you down that route?
Ruth B.: My mother sang in a choir. No-one was particularly musical, but my whole family appreciates music, and they were always very supportive of me, and put me in piano lessons.

Woman on the phone

Image by Gabriel LN.

LUX: You’re a very contemporary singer, but there’s something very classical in the way you play piano and sing. Are you aware of this?
Ruth B.: I don’t know if I’m aware of this, I just think that’s the type of music I love listening to and love making. When you start to get more into the music world you get to know what kind of production you want, but I’m aware that I want to keep it organic and stripped back.

LUX: When you were young, playing around with music, did you think you would end up as a global star? Was it an ambition of yours?
Ruth B.: I kind of always hoped I’d end up in music. I didn’t know in what capacity or what that meant, but I certainly knew that music was going to become the focal point of my life.

Read more: Prince Robert de Luxembourg on wine, gastronomy & storytelling

LUX: Do you feel that you have succeeded? Or are you on the path to other things?
Ruth B.: Yeah, I’m always working towards different goals. I’ve definitely had successes… I think in the beginning I was always super critical and hard on myself, but now I think it’s important to celebrate wins and the good things that happen. But I think I still have a long way to go, and there are still things I want to accomplish.

LUX: Like what?
Ruth B.: One goal that I always tell people about is to put out an album that I write, produce, engineer, all by myself. I’ve done the writing, and the production a bit, but all the other stuff I’m still learning. So that’s my biggest goal, to put an album that’s just, you know, completely me.

LUX: Are you releasing an album or some more songs this year?
Ruth B.: Yes, I brought out a new single this summer, and we shot the video for it it in my hometown. And an album towards the end of this year or the beginning of next. It’s been in the works for the past three years now.

LUX: Your videos are very dreamlike and artistic. Do they come from your ideas, or is there someone else who directs them?
Ruth B.: For most of my music videos have been made by different directors, but I’m pretty heavily involved in everything I do. So, I write up my ideas for the video of a song and send it out to three or four producers, and whoever’s vision matches mine is who I’ll go with. I’ve been lucky to work with some really talented people.

LUX: Some of the ideas in your videos are quite surreal, aren’t they?
Ruth B.: They really are. I like to focus on the little details and surprises here and there. I’ve always been into fantastical and magical stuff since childhood, so it’s seeped its way into the videos for my songs.

surreal image of woman floating

A still from Ruth B.’s ‘Lost Boy’ music video.

LUX: How important are the videos?
Ruth B.: They’re very important. A visual alignment with what you’re hearing is important, especially for a lot of people, and it can sometimes make or break a song. I’ve had songs in the past where we’ve shot an entire video and spent three days and a lot of money on a video, and it just doesn’t work, so we end up not using it.

LUX: Looking on, it seems you’re just doing what you love, and that’s it. But is it difficult?
Ruth B.: Yeah, it is, like any job. But with music it’s hard because sometimes people forget that just because you love music, it doesn’t mean you’re like this super outgoing, big personality. For me, that was the hardest part – getting used to being at the forefront of things. Even being on stage at the beginning was super hard, because growing up I was pretty introverted, but I think over time I’ve got used to it and grown a love for it. It comes with its hardship. You pretty much give your whole life to touring. But I think at the end of the day, if you really love it, then it is worth it.

Read more: Penélope Cruz on designing jewellery for Swarovski

LUX: And what are the biggest challenges?
Ruth B.: I think for me it’s the being away from home and family. Being from Edmonton, Alberta, I spent a lot of the early years, at 18 and 19, away from home. That was difficult – just always being on and ready to go. Shows can be really tiring, and that whole thing of being on stage for an hour or two every night can be hard, but again, you’re doing the thing you really love, so in the back of your head, you’re thinking this is amazing, regardless of how tired you are.

LUX: Do you find it difficult being a young black woman in music?
Ruth B.: Yeah. Being a young black woman in general is difficult in our world, but in music I’ve definitely faced some adversities, but it’s kind of always been that way. It’s not new. It’s stuff I’ve faced in workplaces before now, or in school. It’s certainly there, which is unfortunate.

LUX: Do you think things are changing with Black Lives Matter and recent developments?
Ruth B.: It’s inspiring to see people talking about it and it being at the forefront of a lot of conversations. That inspires change, and with the people I work with, talking about how we can change the industry for black people.

LUX: Do you experience any ageism as well?
Ruth B.: Yes. I think in the beginning I had a hard time with it, because I would always be like this 18 or 19-year-old girl walking into a room of older, usually white men, and it can be a little bit… ergh. But I think for me, at least in my experience, the older I got the more confident I became in my ideas, and more married to the idea of executing things in the way that I wanted them done. Over time I’ve grown a thick skin.

LUX: Thinking about ‘If I Have a Son’, did you write that as a reaction to BLM?
Ruth B.: Yeah, I wrote that after everything happened with George Floyd. I mean, those feelings were always there, but I never thought to put them in a song, just because I never thought I’d get that honest or deep in my music. But when you’re faced with such a hard pill to swallow all you can do is try to channel it, so for me that’s always been music. It’s my go-to therapy, just writing out everything I’m feeling in response to what’s going on.

woman being filmed

The singer on set for ‘Dirty Nikes’ 2020. Image by Gabriel LN.

LUX: Do you have a good idea about who your fans and listeners are? Is there a single type?
Ruth B.: You know, I don’t think it’s one type of person, because at my shows it’s such a diverse mix of people. That’s like my favourite part, you have little kids and older people and different races and backgrounds. It’s really nice.

LUX: Do you have plans to direct movies or anything beyond pure music making?
Ruth B.: I’ve always been really interested in a lot of stuff. I love to read; I love to write. Eventually, one day, I would like to write a book. I don’t know what kind; it’s always been on my bucket list.

Read more: American artist Rashid Johnson on searching for autonomy

LUX: What kind of books do you like reading?
Ruth B.: Growing up, it was very much fantasy, magic, dragons. As I got older, I got to like mystery. I like poetry, that’s where my heart is now. It goes hand-in-hand with music.

LUX: What poets are you reading?
Ruth B.: I read a lot of Maya Angelou, I love Robert Frost. I also really love Pablo Neruda. I think for me it just helps with my song writing, and garnering inspiration for that. Poetry is really just music without melody, so it’s inspiring when I’m trying to write my own music.

LUX: Do you see yourself as a businesswoman? Is making money a goal or just what happens?
Ruth B.: As you get older you start to think more about business, and you get more on top of your stuff. It’s never been that important to me, but I have my friends and family who tell me I need to keep on top of that. So, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to become more business oriented. In the end, though, the main priority is making music, and I’m happy to be where that can be my main focus, just creating art.

LUX: You came to prominence through Vine. How important is social media?
Ruth B.: It’s really important. And I say that mostly because I’m from a tiny little city in Canada that not a lot of people know about. It’s such a great tool just to get your voice out there in real quick time to spread the word fast. You know, ‘Lost Boy’ started off as a six-second Vine and if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

LUX: Has your use of social media changed?
Ruth B.: I’m not as active now as I once was. I don’t plan things out as I used to. In the beginning I would post a cover or some kind of lyric every day. It’s really important when you’re trying to get your foot out. Now I use it to tease music, when I’m about to put something out. Or I’ll tweet lyrics, and I won’t tell people that they’re lyrics, over a few months, and then the song will come out and people will say, “Oh, I remember when you tweeted this ages ago”.

Read more: Designer Ali Behnam-Bakhtiar on bringing dream worlds to life

LUX: I guess you’ve been at home in lockdown like the rest of us. What’s that been like?
Ruth B.: It’s been a challenge, for sure. There’s been some good things, spending time with friends and family. Returning to my roots, and being in my bedroom just writing and with my keyboard. I’ve been so lucky to work with different producers and writers all over the world, but now it’s back to the very beginning, in my room.

LUX: Outside of lockdown, what is a normal day for you?
Ruth B.: A normal day for me… I was living in New York and I would probably spend somewhere between nine and twelve hours in the studio, and then come home, eat dinner, go to bed. And it’s probably my favourite part about all this, being locked in to create music and getting to do that every day.

music studio

Ruth B. in the studio. Image by Marc Offenbach

LUX: You once said that you weren’t a big party person, but do you still feel like you have to be on the scene to keep up your image?
Ruth B.: Erm, no. I think you can be whoever you are, whoever you want to be. It’s easy, when you’re young, to get caught up in who you should be and what you should want to do, but I’m 25 now, and I have a good idea of who I am, and where I’m going… I’m still figuring it out, but I’m OK with being who I am, and with the fact that I don’t like to go out. I do, from time to time, but it’s not my thing, and that’s OK. There are people who are the same as you and who can be your clique or group. The older you get, the more you’re just like, “Hey, I’m me”.

LUX: Looking forward 10 or 15 years, what would you like to have done by then?
Ruth B.: I guess by then I just want to have made music that means something to me. With everything going on over the past few months, with ‘If I Have a Son’, it’s really inspired me to use my voice and my platform to do good, and to talk about things that actually matter. I just hope I will have done that in some sort of way, and stuck true to who I am. That’s the most important thing to me.

Read more: Get to know the marine biologist pioneering coral conservation

LUX: The reflective and spiritual nature of your songs remind me of Tracy Chapman.
Ruth B.: Well, thank you, that’s so kind. I love Tracy Chapman. That means a lot. I’m a very spiritual person, and very into what I love (which is music), and if people feel that, that’s always a really good feeling for me, so thank you.

LUX: How have you managed to stay grounded as your career has exploded?
Ruth B.: In the beginning it was a lot to handle, because you’re whisked away from home and it’s not like you can call up your friends like you used to. It’s a whole new life. For me the hardest thing was just feeling misunderstood, even by friends and family. You know, as much as they wanted to, they just couldn’t really understand what was going on in my life. They could be there and support me, but I couldn’t go to my best friend and say, “What do I do here?”, because she just didn’t get it. But I’m so thankful to them for keeping me grounded. I think it’s just about keeping those people close to you, and keeping those things the same, because it’s not easy staying yourself when the whole world is changing around you. I think if you make it a priority to not lose yourself in all of it, it’s doable.

LUX: You’ve said that you’re filming a video in your hometown soon. Why is that?
Ruth B.: Mainly because I’ve been isolating at home with my family. I didn’t go to New York when all this started, so I’ve just been in Alberta with my family. To be honest, I’ve always wanted to shoot something at home. I think it’ll be cool for people to see where I’m from and where a lot of these songs have come from.

LUX: How do you write a song? Does it come to you quickly, or does it take months?
Ruth B.: It’s become very abstract. When I started writing two years ago, there was a method to everything. I’d sit at the keyboard, and have a lyric, and I’d write around that. Now it’s all over the place, and I prefer it that way. I could be having a conversation with a friend, and something they say could stick out, and I grab my phone and write a note. Lately I’ve been into coming up with new melodies and writing around that. Life inspires me, really, so whatever feelings I’m feeling – happy, sad, mad, in love, heartbroken – that’s the main focus.

Find out more: ruthbofficial.com

This article features in the Autumn Issue, which will be published later this month.

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Reading time: 15 min
fine jewellery
fine jewellery

L’Arbre aux tourmalines (1976) by Jean Vendome © MNHN/F. Farges.

The heritage of Parisian jeweller Van Cleef & Arpels is being honoured by an exhibition at the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris, in which their gems from across the years are being shown alongside the raw stones that such jewels are made from. On the eve of the show’s opening, LUX meets with the maison’s CEO, Nicolas Bos
Red carpet photograph

Nicolas Bos & Cate Blanchett. © Dimitrios Kambouris/Getty.

LUX: How does seeing the raw beauty of stones extracted from the earth affect your appreciation of fine jewellery?
Nicolas Bos: The aim of this exhibition is to show alongside each other the raw minerals, faceted gems and finished jewellery creations. This juxtaposition really emphasises the stones’ journey from the depth of the Earth into the craftsmen’s hands that will reveal their beauty. In front of raw minerals, we cannot but be humble and admire what nature can create. It is also with great pride that we can see what we are able to accomplish today with these treasures through our know-how.

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LUX: The exhibition shows that humans have always been drawn to adornment. Is the lure of jewellery today different to ancient times?
Nicolas Bos: Since ancient times, both men and women have enjoyed adorning themselves with precious and rare materials. Over the centuries, jewellery and lapidary techniques have evolved, new materials have been found and new sources of inspiration and artistic movements have forged new creations. Society has also significantly evolved, with changes in how jewellery is perceived.

blue and diamond necklace

Cravat necklace, 1954. © Patrick Gries.

Jewelled bluebird clip

Bluebird clip, 1963. © Anthony Falcone.

LUX: Jewellery companies seem to be doing ever more exhibitions – why is this?
Nicolas Bos: Exhibitions are a great way for a centenary maison such as ours to reveal the evolution of its style across the decades. Furthermore, for Van Cleef & Arpels, transmission, education and culture are fundamental values. That is why we conceive or participate in exhibitions (be it patrimonial or even contemporary). We display creations not just by the maison; we also focus either on the spirit of a particular era (the 1970s and Alhambra, for example), or on a source of inspiration, or on a particular material such as gems. The maison has over several years initiated relationships with great cultural institutions such as the Musée des Arts Décoratifs or the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle, both in Paris, to encourage thoughtful and pertinent dialogues between jewellery and other fields such as mineralogy or the decorative arts in general. The collaboration with the American artist Bob Wilson, in 2016, with a scenography based on Noah’s Ark’s highlighting a high jewellery collection, also expressed this wish to link our creativity with other arts. Another example, in 2017, at the National Museum of Modern Art in Kyoto, paralleled traditional Japanese craftsmanship and Van Cleef & Arpels jewellery expertise in the exhibition ‘Mastery of an Art’.

Read more: How Gaggenau is innovating the ancient art of steam cooking

LUX: How would you summarise the brand or aura of Van Cleef & Arpels to a new client?
Nicolas Bos: I would say that the maison puts poetry and enchantment at centre stage in all its creations, be it high jewellery or jewellery or timepieces. Over the years, Van Cleef & Arpels keeps reinventing itself while always staying faithful to its original DNA. Its sources of inspiration range from nature and couture to dance, astronomy and imaginary worlds.

vintage jewelled brooch

Eucalyptus seed clip, 1968. © Bertrand Moulin

LUX: The ‘Gems’ exhibition includes modern recreations of significant historical jewellery, such as the Toison d’Or worn by Louis XV. What does a piece of historical jewellery tell you about how the wearer once lived?
Nicolas Bos: I’m not a history expert and the maison did not participate in these recreations but it is true that they are impressive. The Toison d’Or underlines the magnificence in which French monarchs used to live and it highlights their taste for exceptional stones and adornment in general. I would like also to mention a special piece that belongs to the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle collection and is of real interest – the tourmalines mobile/tree created by Jean Vendome. This is a real masterpiece that exemplifies the fine work bringing together jewellery, sculpture and design.

LUX: Are lab-grown gems a threat?
Nicolas Bos: We do not consider them as such at Van Cleef & Arpels. They are another type of material which has nothing to do with our idea of jewellery. They are industrial objects which don’t have the rarity, the preciousness or charm that natural stones gain after spending millions of years in the depths of the Earth.

vintage decorative jewellery

Gladiator clip, 1956. © Anthony Falcone.

LUX: Does learning about the origins of gemstones in an exhibition such as this teach us about the earth from which they came? Does it influence Van Cleef & Arpel’s attitude towards provenance and sustainability?
Nicolas Bos: Sustainability is a core value of Van Cleef & Arpels: we are a certified member of the Responsible Jewellery Council (RJC) which has the strictest standards of responsible practices for the jewellery industry. We also ask our suppliers to be certified with the RJC in order to promote good practices in the supply chain and we audit them as well. All diamonds purchased by Van Cleef & Arpels are compliant with the Kimberley Process Certification Scheme which has worked since 2003 to put an end to the trade in conflict diamonds. We also work with multi-stakeholder initiatives on responsible sourcing and supply-chain due diligence, in particular for coloured gemstones.

LUX: Can you describe the Van Cleef & Arpels high jewellery piece that is inspired by the exhibition?
Nicolas Bos: In order to fit in with the central theme of the exhibition, the maison imagined a unique high jewellery object comprising stones, gems and jewels, some faceted, some polished, some raw. Through the work of craftsmen’s hands these stones speak with each other, adding a highly original piece to the history of Van Cleef & Arpels. It provides a fittingly precious and poetic conclusion to this exhibition.

The exhibition ‘Pierres Précieuses’ runs until 3 January 2021 at Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle in Paris 

View the collections: vancleefarpels.com

This article was originally published in the Summer 2020 Issue, out now.

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Reading time: 5 min
Sculpture of hands in a bridge
Sculpture of hands in a bridge

Building Bridges (at the Venice Biennale 2019) by Lorenzo Quinn

Italian artist Lorenzo Quinn has been commissioned to create artworks for the likes of the Vatican, the State of Qatar, and the Venice Biennale. Here, the sculptor speaks to Charlie Newman about poetry, the symbolism of hands, and durability.

Monochrome portrait of man holding his head

Lorenzo Quinn

1. Can you talk us through your creative process from the conception of an idea to the finished piece?

Once I feel the inspiration, I begin by drawing a sketch of the idea. This sketch might change many times until I feel it is right. Then I make a model in my studio, this model could also vary from the sketch as I go. Finally, when I am satisfied with the model, we proceed to cast the piece in metal.

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2. How does your approach differ when you’re working on public art compared to smaller sculptures?

The approach is the same, apart from when we are considering a sculpture with large dimensions, we also have to consider the public safety implications, engineering and durability. We might choose different materials or different ways of constructing and engineering the sculpture.

3. What compels you to sculpt the human body, and specifically, hands?

I choose hands because I want to have a dialogue with the public, to have a conversation, and we have to do [this] through a common language. If I did abstract art, it would be a monologue, not a dialogue. The hands allow me to get closer to the public through a language that everybody understands and relates to.

Sculpture of hands against a building

Support by Lorenzo Quinn

4. Do you have a preferred medium to work with?

Metals, especially bronze because of its durability.

Read more: Knight Frank’s 2020 Wealth Report focuses on insights for UHNWIs

5. You often pair poetry with your sculptures. How do you feel this contributes to the work?

I don’t conceive of one without the other. I need poetry to make the artwork or else it would be just a three-dimensional piece. I have always believed, nonetheless, that my sculptures need to go beyond that and into the fourth dimension, which is connecting with people and with the actual artwork. It’s about finding something beyond the physical, and poetry does that very well for me.

Sculpture of a woman pulling a globe

The Force of Nature I by Lorenzo Quinn

6. Which artists have been most influential on your practice?

The classic masters such as Michelangelo, Bernini, Rodin as well as Salvador Dali and my own father…

For more information visit: lorenzoquinn.com

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Reading time: 2 min
the rolling mountains of the swiss engadine in summertime
the rolling mountains of the swiss engadine in summertime

A view across the Engadine valley from Muottas Muragl, above St Mortiz

Switzerland’s Engadine region has been the enchanted holiday home of the likes of Friedrich Nietzsche, Gerhard Richter and some of the world’s most discerning wealthy. LUX takes a summertime tour of this romantic paradise

Landscape photography: Isabella Sheherazade Sanai (@sheherazade_photography)

There was a moment in the evening, a point in the flow of time each day, when the colour on the mountain was perfectly balanced. Just below my balcony, the larch forest rising out of the lawn was an almost vanishing green, turning to black. The same forest was a dark emerald high up the mountainside. The high pastures above, a thin carpet of melded brown and dry, light, green. And the peak of the mountain, that minute, was just straining to catch the last of the day’s sun, emanating from behind the hotel, on the west side of the valley. It was the colour of a tarnished gold ring, glowing with the pride of being in daylight, today, while the rest of us had fallen into tonight.

Out of the trees and grass around me, the image was accompanied by a rising smell of damp, green, earthy life, its textures matching those in the glass of wine that would always accompany this ritual, a glass of pinot noir from two valleys away, in what the Swiss call the Bündner Herrschaft.

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The Waldhaus Sils, where my room and balcony were, is known for its magic. Artists, writers, musicians and poets are guests there, sometimes invited by the hotel for the inspiration they bring. Gerhard Richter, arguably the greatest living artist, unarguably one of the most expensive, was staying while I was there;  as were others from these worlds, whom I won’t identify as I didn’t spot them personally (the Waldhaus is very discreet about its guests).

The hotel sits on a forested ridge (thus the name Waldhaus – ‘Forest House’) above the village of Sils, once home to Friedrich Nietzsche, and overlooking Lake Sils, considered by many in the art world to be the most beautiful lake in Switzerland. The lake is at the southern end of the Engadine, a broad, flat, high-altitude valley making a slash through the most mountainous part of the country, its southeast corner, from Austria to Italy.

Sils Lake in Switzerland pictured in the summer

The Waldhaus Sils sits in a forest above the mystical Lake Sils, which has inspired poets, artists and writers since the 19th century

There is something about the Waldhaus Sils that no amount of money could create in a new hotel. The furnishings, from light fittings to tables, chairs, cabinets and even the signposts, look like they have come from a mid 20th-century Modernist sale at Phillips auction house. They are so perfectly positioned, as if everything has been looked at with aesthetic sight-lines in mind, and yet none of it feels Designed (with a capital D); this is just the aesthetic of the family who own the hotel. No wonder Richter and others love it so.

The Waldhaus mixes old, in the sense of mid-20th century, with a very up-to-date cuisine and wine list. Most guests take the half-board option, with dinners in a broad gallery of a dining room, with picture windows looking into the forest. Most memorable were the variations on a consommé, each night made with a different base stock; and the choucroute and pork fillet served by a visiting farmer-chef one evening.

Luxury hotel bar decorated in maroon colours

One of the bars at the Waldhaus Sils

One day, we walked out of the hotel down through the trees until we reached the floodplain of the lake, a flat meadow between the shore and the village. It was a summer day of intense mountain sunshine – you burn much more quickly here at altitude than down on the Mediterranean – but a flapping, chilly wind reminded us of exactly where we were. Along the lakeshore, a child and a dog were paddling in the water, on a tiny beach sprouting out of the path. The path itself curved past a tiny jetty housing a couple of rowing boats, and onto a forested promontory. Dipping and rising between larch trees and the water’s edge, it offered a different perspective every minute, with changes of light and in the colour of the water on the lake. The mountains beyond emerged bigger with every step we took away from them; my own mountain, which I had watched from the balcony, was revealed to be no more than the leading ridge of a much larger cluster of peaks at the end of what was a hidden valley.

Read more: Welcome to the age of internet art

We walked along that valley the next day. To get there, we first took a cable car from Sils up to a station above the treeline, from where we looked down at a string of lakes extended all the way down the Engadine past St Moritz, and were greeted by a pack of manic, crested chickens sprinting around a coop with a view most humans would crave. We walked along a path skirting the edge of the mountainside, past uncurious cows, until a luscious green valley, alternating meadows, streams, forest and hamlets, appeared beneath us. Invisible from the Engadine, this is Val Fex, home to some of the most ancient communities in Switzerland, who used the secret nature of the place (its entrance is sheathed in a deep, forested gorge which looks impassable from below) to shelter from invaders from Italy and the Germanic lands.

Along a woodland path at the bottom of the little valley, home to thousands of butterflies, we reached the Hotel Fex, where we had a fantastic lunch made of foraged and farmed local ingredients – young beef, herbs, grasses and flowers – while gazing at the high end of the valley. It was an hour’s walk, down past the butterflies and the meadow and through the gorge, to the Waldhaus and a balcony view back up to the sunset peak.

Idyllic forest scene with a river running through

The forested peninsula on Lake Sils, nearly 2km above sea level

St Moritz is fifteen minutes’ drive down the Engadine valley from Sils, and it has a roster of legendary palace hotels. Our destination was just outside the town of St Moritz, on a hillside. Suvretta House, one of the oldest grande dame hotels of Switzerland, surveys the surrounding scenery like a majestic ocean liner atop a wave. As we approached from Lake Silvaplana, it was almost as if nature had bent to the grand hotel, according it its centre-stage position, with nothing around it except forest and lakes, on a ledge in this long, high valley.

That was an illusion; within a couple of kilometres of Suvretta House lies one of the highest concentrations of (vacation) wealth in the world, but part of this area’s appeal is that it doesn’t look like it.

Luxury five star hotel Suvretta in Switzerland

The facade of the historic Suvretta House hotel

Our junior suite at Suvretta House had six windows opening out onto a carpet of forest below, the lakes ahead, and the peaks of the Bernina range on the east side of the valley beyond. The décor was clean and crisp, a kind of safe contemporary Swiss, with plenty of rich fabrics to please luxury’s traditionalists.

The Bernina mountains are one reason for the particularly attractive climate here; they protect the area from storms sailing up from the Adriatic beyond, while to the north and west, several ranges of high mountains stand as a kind of climatic Berlin Wall to prevent the moist Atlantic air of northern Europe arriving. The result is that this is the sunniest spot in Switzerland; and Suvretta House itself lies on a sun-trap of a ridge. We discovered this the next morning, on a pre-breakfast frolic in what must be the most picturesque children’s playground in the world, carpeted in lush grass, banked on three sides by Alpine forest and on a fourth by a slope leading down to the hotel.

Read more: The Getty LA launches an African American Art Initiative

At the front of Suvretta House, the 25-metre indoor pool stretches through a conservatory alongside a broad lawn, on which sun-loungers, a giant chess set, and other leisure accoutrements are set (in summer, anyway; in winter, it would be under several metres of snow).

Luxury indoor swimming pool surrounded by glass windows

Suvretta House’s swimming pool

High mountain restaurant in the swiss alps

The Fuorcola Surlej restaurant above St Mortiz

Breakfast was served at the Arvenstube restaurant, and featured about 36 different types of bread, cooked (and shaped) in their own in-kitchen bakery every day from three in the morning. The buffet seemed lavish enough, until we found it extended around the corner with dozens of combinations of freshly cut fruit, more permutations of gluten-free cereal than would fit on the biggest yoga mat, an array of nuts, seeds and other health-giving items that would embarrass a health food store, and still plenty of indulgences on the pancake/ chocolate/Nutella/cooked bacon front.

We returned to the Arvenstube for dinner, at first a little apprehensive. Almost every hotel in the German-speaking Alps has a restaurant called a stube; in humble hotels these are often beer-cellar-type places serving humble food (sausages, dumplings) and good beer. Luxury hotels sometimes persist in the belief (mistaken, in our views) that a luxury stube ought to be a play on these dishes, with lashings of old- fashioned Michelin-chasing creams, foams and drizzles, and tiny portions that make you wish you had gone out for some fondue instead.

What we found instead was a revelation. In the beautiful evening light as the valley turns to night – the Arvenstube faces south – there was a menu based on the concept of ‘Switzerland  meets Latin America’ from chef Isaac Briceño Obando, and it really worked. Examples: Puschlaver lamb, baby corn, roasted spring onions, tortilla powder and mountain honey; or Swiss cheese, guava jelly, tamarind jelly and paprika coulis; or tepid char with grilled peach, palm hearts and pine nuts. It was the distinctive, balanced, vivid cuisine of someone with a real ability to understand how and by whom his dishes would be consumed. We returned there three times and always had clear, crisp options.

Landscape photograph in the Swiss Engadine valleys at summer

On the path to the aptly-named Paradise hut, above Pontresina

Food image of a goats cheese salad with rocket and truffle shavings

Goat’s cheese with rocket and truffle at Chasselas

The Suvretta House also owns the Gault Milau-celebrated restaurant just up the road, the Chasselas. At the bottom of a piste, with its own chairlift linking it to the main Corviglia ski area of St Moritz, the Chasselas tries hard to look like a pristine, immaculate but humble mountain hut; however, the cuisine and wine list are anything but humble. We loved the medium-grilled saddle and braised cheeks of Iberico pork with artichokes, balsamic onions and plain in pigna, and Irish highland lamb racks with salsa verde, grilled vegetables and barley risotto. Different chef, but the Suvretta principles remained: there was nothing on the menu to weigh you down and make you feel, like many mountain restaurants do, that you need to climb the nearest peak to burn everything off.

It’s tempting never to leave Suvretta House (either during your stay, or when it’s time to depart) but we did, one day taking a cable car up the opposite side of the valley, towards Piz Corvatsch, and walking along a rocky, dramatic, high altitude trail until we reached a restaurant in a little mountain hut on a ridge. The other side of the ridge revealed a little lake, and a flabbergasting view down to a glacier and up to a range of high, snowy, rocky peaks. Fuorcula Surlej, the restaurant, really is a humble mountain hut. The owner told us she lives there, with only her dog for company, all summer and all winter; when she returns after her autumn break to open up for the ski season, all the available water is frozen in blocks of ice and she curls up with her dog to keep warm.

A small staff in her kitchen were making dishes off a short menu; we tried the barley soup, which tasted of fields and mountains together as we ate it on the terrace, looking out at the high peaks framed by dreamy deep blue; followed by a spaghetti with ragu, flavoursome home-made food by someone whose home is a ridge at the top of nowhere, towering above the Engadine.

Darius Sanai

For more information and to book your stay visit: waldhaus-sils.ch; suvrettahouse.ch

This article was first published in the Winter 19 issue.

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Reading time: 10 min
Three miniature style paintings hanging on display in a gallery setting
Fabric painting of a black horse dressed in an elaborate saddle with a green background and sand coloured sky

‘Shabdiz’, 2017. Natural pigments and 24ct gold on handmade hemp paper. Hana Louise Shahnavaz

British-Iranian artist Hana Louise Shahnavaz spent 6 years studying the art of traditional Persian painting in Iran under the tutorage of master painter Safoura Asadian before moving back to London to continue her studies at the Prince’s School of Traditional Arts. In a week dominated by the ultra-contemporary and beyond abstract at Frieze London, we speak to a young living artist increasingly admired for her painstaking creation of materials – she mixes her own paints, from Persian soils – and her intricate artworks which possess a poetic, almost mystical quality as if merging ancient myth and the current zeitgeist for the authentic

1. Why is Iran so important in informing your art?

Portrait of artist Hana Louise Shahnavaz standing in front of one of her works

Hana Louise Shahnavaz

Iran has been, still is, and always will be absolutely vital to my artwork. I’m really inspired by Persian miniatures, Persian stories and Persian poetry, and for me it is really important to explore the roots and origin of these Persian art forms that influence and guide my own art so much. The obvious starting point of this exploration would be by visiting and honouring the location, which is in most part what we know as modern day Iran. I learnt to paint in Iran, having moved there post uni and ended up staying for around 6 years completely immersing myself in the arts. I therefore owe Iran a lot for the nurture it gave me and all it taught me.

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It is very important for me to physically be in Iran and stand in the earth and really feel the energy in its pure form – this is after all, where it all began. I’m a real big believer in breaking things down and going back to simplicity; start simple and then let things grow organically. Don’t skip steps but instead take time to build the foundation. A solid foundation is everything. Admittedly it’s something I didn’t fully understand to begin with – I wanted to immediately fly ahead and paint without stopping and breathing and observing. Then I began to appreciate the beauty and importance in going back and just looking to see where all this has come from. I started to ask questions and really think about how they used to do things in the golden years of old Persia. How did they used to paint? How did they view colour? How did they make their materials? I took time to look at the wall paintings in Isfahan, the old miniatures in the royal manuscripts, and all the paintings in the palaces. I find it really important to look and compare all the different Persian paintings by various Masters throughout time. Which ones attract me? Without analysing, just instinctively – what gets me? Then, after getting a feel as to what draws me in, I start to think and ask myself ‘why?’ This is one of the main ways in which Iran informs my art.

Collage type artwork with square paintings and swirls of paint on textured background

‘Map of Hormoz’, 2017. Earth on handmade hemp paper. Hana Louise Shahnavaz

Secondly, Iran is such a fascinating country. There is an amazing history of Persian art and poetry and you can feel it still vibrating in the earth, within the people. It is still very much alive today – it is timeless, a true living tradition. This is shown also by the many wonderful contemporary artists coming out of Iran today. There is a lot of art going on within Iran and one of the first things I will do when I visit now is to go to an art gallery and see what’s new. It’s actually really exciting to follow what is happening within the Iranian art scene – you can never quite predict what will emerge. But also, when I am in Iran it is not just about looking at art. Just breathing in the air, looking at colours, observing the natural colours that occur in Iran’s earth, in Iran’s terrain, the textures, the feel of the air, is all just as important. It really affects me. I’m a really visual person and all my work is inspired by things I’ve visually seen and felt. I use all my senses and think that is really important in art. Maybe it’s something that is being lost throughout time as we are getting very conceptual and art is becoming very much about what the artist thinks, feels and believes so when you skip all these things about observing, looking, feeling, touching, smelling, tasting and go immediately to ‘what I want to say’ a lot is lost, and so it’s really vital for me to look and am constantly observe my surroundings. I especially like to notice what flowers grow next to each other in the wild as these show certain colour combinations that naturally occur – colour combinations that I wouldn’t have otherwise thought may go together. I like to look at the trees to see how the different shades of green sing together. Iran is a fantastic palette of colour and texture to inspire!

Read more: In conversation with one of the world’s greatest living artists, William Kentridge

Another really important thing Iran brings for me is the stories. I absolutely adore Persian stories. I think they are magical and beautiful and truly believe beautiful stories and beautiful paintings are important. What I find fascinating about Persian stories, which I actually think mirrors Iran as a country, is that there are many layers to them; Iran is a very complex country, culture, people, history. In the Persian stories there is the story you take at face value, which is very visual. When Persians write the poetry you can visualise it like a painting due to the detailed, beautiful ways in which the language is used. This visual language plays a huge role in my art, from guiding my creative design all the way to the intricate use of colour. Then there will be the meaning behind the story – and wow they are full of many layers of meanings! There will be the moral of the story, the lesson it is trying to teach, that could have some value in day to day life for most people. Then there is a philosophical, contemplative meaning, and deeper still there are Sufi/spiritual types of meanings embedded into the stories that are meant to guide the soul. Basically the stories have something for every one, and this is exactly what I hope to achieve in my paintings. Iran is a very poetic and visual country with a huge story-telling culture. You can see this when talking to Iranians – they all just talk with such detailed, beautiful poetic visuals. The way stories are told is just full of life and magic. All of this is constantly feeding into my art.

2. You take your materials very seriously, often making them yourself. Why?

Materials for me are everything. I can’t separate the materials from the end painting. It’s half and half and I will always call my art a collaboration between myself and the Earth. There are many reasons why materials are important, the first being quality. The more you understand materials and go back to the root of them, the more you can make true quality art. Due to the commercialisation of art we have lost real luxury art, because if you are going to make this kind of art you can’t make a lot of it. Therefore my exhibitions are always half about the earth and process/journey and half the actual paintings. I actually think this is really beautiful because it’s not just about making the materials also. It really feeds into the whole creative aspect of the painting, so it feeds into my visuals. For example, when I make my own paint I don’t just buy pigment from a shop that has been synthesised in the lab and thats what it is and always be every time you go and buy it. I actually like to go and forage for natural materials, earth, semi precious stones, plants myself that I can make paint from. I also like to do pigment swaps and collaborations with some other amazing foragers out there in the world who also find really special and unique earth materials. So what this does is it brings a certain unpredictability to the work. I’m never quite certain what colour will appear on my palette each time.

Rows of small glass bottles filled with different coloured earth and arranged like a painting in a frame

‘Hormoz earth’, Earth collected from Hormoz Island, Iran. 2018. Hana Louise Shahnavaz

Also I’m never quite sure what the end paint will be like when I make it from a mineral or earth – it’s always different when you make it into paint as it never looks exactly like you see it when it’s in its rock form. It will always be a surprise and will always be a bit different. These differences will always end up gently guiding me in new directions I may not have taken if I didn’t make my own paint. If I had tubes of paint already prepared for me, I think psychologically in my mind I could probably very much plan a painting, and even if I told myself not to plan there would still always an element of planning  to it, as I would always know exactly what colour I will be getting. I love to take that ability to plan away from myself, which is what happens when I make my own materials. This will of course change the whole feel of the painting, which is really exciting for me.

Also due to these pigment swaps I have been blessed to work with some very rare pigments. These bring a wide range of energies to the artwork and I always like to ask the forager the story behind the material. If we don’t understand where things come from then we can’t understand the true nature of those things. If I truly know the story and origin of the material then I can connect much deeper to it and its energy, and then get excited by it, which in turn opens the doors of creativity. The biggest and most important thing in art is creativity and I think pure creativity doesn’t come from the ego. It comes from something much purer and the artist is a vessel for that. It is nature that allows this to happen for me and the connection to the essence of the material I am using, and honouring it and respecting it. It’s why I also don’t take more than I need, and enjoy the fact that each painting will always be slightly different in the materials used, which again makes it more interesting and unique. It is definitely a fun way to paint!

Read more: French-Iranian artist Sassan Behnam-Bakhtiar’s dialogue with Jean Cocteau

Also the more I work with the earth the more I have a profound connection to it and a deeper gratitude. To witness what this earth can give us is such a blessing. This then makes me want to protect the earth and really thank her for what she has generously given and to not be greedy with it. If anything can have that effect on us, to actually want to protect the earth we walk on, the earth that we come from, then I think that’s a wonderful thing! I feel that as we are made from earth and come from nature itself, we can connect very deeply and quickly with something that is also made from nature as opposed to something that has no root or connection to us. I therefore think using earth materials facilitates the connection to the painting.

Another reason why I don’t want to use ready made or synthetic paints is the visuals. These will never be the same as hand ground paint made from semi precious stones sparkling in the sun, 24ct gold shining likes its on fire and translucent plant pigments where the light just bounces through the delicate layers.

Miniature painting of two horses galloping on a golden painted background

‘Galloping into the golden skies’, Handmade and hand-ground pigments, foraged natural pigments, 24ct gold on handmade hemp paper, 2018. Hana Louise Shahnavaz

Finally I also love to work for my art – I really enjoy the process. I like the active part of it. It is an honour to go through the alchemical process of it all as it really is embarking on a mental, physical and spiritual journey with the transformation of the earth into paint. It’s a beautiful journey and I wouldn’t want to miss it! I love the journey just as much as I love painting. I also love being able to tailor make my recipes in a way that suits the way I paint. If you buy paint or any art material you have to make sure you create art in a way that agrees with the material, whereas I do the opposite. I make paint in a way it can agree with the way I want to paint. Again this really fuels creativity. As we are moving with the times art needs to be able to grow and develop naturally, and so for an artist to be able to remove as many limits as they can I think that really facilitates the organic growth of art, and allows the artist to move in any way they wish or feel they would like to go, rather than be stunted. It’s about being in harmony with the material and working together to achieve a shared mutual goal rather than working against each other. Everything about this art is about being in harmony and that just provides peace, which in turn filtrates into the art.

3. What are your views about colour, and has colour been neglected as artists’ materials become industrialised?

Yes, I do think the industrialisation of artists’ paints has changed the way we think about colour. It has stopped us thinking about colour, to an extent that is. The colours are pre-made – they are already ground, already mixed, the recipes are decided for us. Each of these elements does have an effect on the final paint. So yes, the artist may mix a particular blue with yellow to get a shade of green, but so much has been decided for them already and any one else get that exact shade.

Also, when something is in a tube, for example ‘ultramarine blue’, the artist can’t really form a true connection with it as they can’t truly understand what ‘ultramarine blue’ is. Where does it come from? What is it? How is it formed? Everything has already been decided for us so how can the artist have that connection with the origin of the colour? So how can we truly understand its colour?  Because to understand the colour we really need to understand how it came about and why it is the way it is. So when you don’t have this connection you are just using it as a means to an end. You are using it for the painting and not enjoying it truly for itself. You are not there with it during its transformation, during its alchemical journey.

Intricate gold painting of a magical garden with carpets and horses and a river

‘The secret garden.’ Handmade and hand-ground pigments, foraged natural pigments, 24ct gold on handmade hemp paper, 2018. Hana Louise Shahnavaz

This is how the industrialisation of materials has totally led to colour being neglected whereas in the past it was revered and honoured. These days everything is so fast-moving. We are in the fast-food, fast technology era where it is a lot about producing. The same has happened in art, where easy access to ready-made art materials has helped facilitate this mass produced nature, and as a result things like colour have become neglected. Due to the amount of paint I make and really working closely with my materials my eyes are getting really in tune to colour. I’m starting to see many blues within a blue pigment and many different greens within a green. So I feel like I’m really seeing colour for the first time and really witnessing what the world is offering. The more we use pre-made paint then the less we are going to be able to become in tune with that.

4. Do you have any artists who are your inspirations?

Yes I have many! I tend to get inspired by artists who excite me and who make me buzz and joyful. The first artists I would say really inspire me constantly are Persian miniaturists from around the 15th century during the Timurid dynasty of the Persian empire. I absolutely love the way they used to paint – it seemed freer and wilder than the later more ostentatious schools of miniature painting. It was also the time they used the best minerals, paper and gold in their manuscripts so it is always such an inspiration to look through them in person and touch the paper and actually see the vibrancy of the paint still glimmering like a jewel. I spend a lot of time in museums and the British library just to be close to these precious manuscripts. I also take a lot of inspiration from the wall paintings within the palaces around Iran.

Another artist I love is Reza Derakshani who is inspired by Persian miniatures and imagery and paints in an abstract expressionist style of painting. I was absolutely blown away the first time I saw his work in person – it was the colour, textures and story-telling magic that totally captured me. His paintings are always beautiful and this just draws you in. I never get tired of seeing his work and absolutely love his colour palette, which is always the first thing I will notice when viewing art.

Read more: Inside Lake Como’s luxury residence, Villa Giuseppina

Probably the most important inspiration in my art career has been my own teacher and mentor in Iran, Safoura Asadian. She taught me how to paint, and she taught me everything about colour – not via rules and systems but by intuition and organic connection. She is a very intuitive painter with her colour palette and by watching her paint over many years and by being by her side, the way she uses colour has seeped into me. The way she brings joy to her art and also how it is a spiritual practice for her also shines through her painting. Her paintings truly uplift the soul and I have never met anyone so creative as her. Just looking at her work makes me want to pick up a brush and paint. This means a lot, that if someone does something that makes you want to immediately create art then that is certainly the biggest form of inspiration you could wish for.

Cornwall based artist Kate Walters is also a big inspiration. She really honours nature and paints intuitively, from the heart. I’ve had the blessing to work with her and she really opened up some doors within me and helped me to be free and play in art, to not think so much and just go with the flow and connect hand to heart.

Painting of a man in traditional oriental style dress

‘Khosrow’, 2017. Natural pigments and 24ct gold on handmade hemp paper. Hana Louise Shahnavaz

5. Is fame important?

For me personally fame isn’t important because what I am doing is with the Earth and I’m just going along with the flow and doing what I enjoy and am at peace with. I think fame to some extent involves having to consider what may be fashionable or in demand in that particular time, and I find it quite dangerous to think about what’s fashionable if it may go against what brings joy to your heart. This may lead the artist away from what they love, which for me is a sad thing so I don’t concern myself at all with that part of the art world. I wouldn’t want to change what I do or be steered away from my collaboration with nature and story-telling magic. Of course it is the biggest blessing to have artworks enjoyed by many people and to know they are bringing joy into peoples’ homes, but I hope for this to happen organically and with no force. I wouldn’t want this to be the driving force behind why I paint. The driving force must always remain rooted in Nature.

6. What would you like to do next?

I’m really excited to announce that my next solo exhibition will be upcoming in January 2019 so watch that space – I’m very excited! Then in spring 2020 I will be having a huge exhibition with a wonderful artist Yasmin Hayat where we will be bringing a lot of magic and crazy earth colour to life, full of stories and adventures. I have a lot of foraging trips planned as I would like to explore a wider range of earth pigments from all over the world. It’s exciting to think about what new colours will arrive on my painting palette for my future paintings. I definitely want to meet some of the amazing foragers from many different countries that I have been collaborating with and doing pigment swaps with – to see them in person and go frolicking in the mountains with discovering new rocks and new colours. I would like to explore the world and definitely dive deeper into foraging. I’m especially excited to look for more special and rare materials with exciting stories to tell.

Another thing I am excited to do is to continue honing my recipes for my materials as it is like cooking – recipes are never ‘done’. This is the great thing, there is so much we can do with it and it is the beginning for me. I have a lot to learn and discover so want to dedicate a lot of time now to diving even deeper into my materials. I’m also in the process of exploring some lost painting methods and recipes in Iran. Hopefully I can figure out some of the golden alchemy these fantastic painters of the past used and then bring that lost or hidden knowledge into my own art. It’s going to be a really explorative and exciting year!

To view more artwork by Hana Louise Shahnavaz visit: https://startartfair.com/2018-solo-hana-louise-shahnavaz or follow her on Instagram @hanaalchemyart

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Reading time: 19 min
Abstract black and white landscape painting by British artist John Virtue
Abstract black and white landscape painting by British artist John Virtue

John Virtue Landscape No.174 (1990 – 1992) acrylic emulsion charcoal gouache pencil black ink shellac on board. 181 x 298cm Courtesy of Albion Barn

This September, Fortnum & Mason in collaboration with art collector Frank Cohen will present an in-store exhibition of British landscape artist John Virtue. LUX Digital Editor Millie Walton explains why she’s already looking forward to it

John Virtue is no ordinary landscape painter. And I say that for all of those who are reading this and thinking landscape painter means traditional means boring. I am normally one of those people.

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Abstract black and white painting by british artist John Virtue

John Virtue Untitled No.1 (2012-17) acrylic on canvas 183 x 183cm Courtesy of Albion Barn

For starters, Virtue’s paintings are monochromatic (i.e. no sunshine, flowers, cows, quaint farm buildings or windmills). They’re moody, turbulent, textured. His depictions of London are heavy, drizzling scenes of a kind of shadow city, bereft of all the usual iconic shapes. I’d go as far to say, it’s more of a mood than a landscape, and it’s one that any viewer – with or without knowledge of art history, or in fact, of London – can feel. A visual poetry.

Read more: India’s most significant modernist painter S.H.Raza at Piramal Museum of Art, Mumbai

Trained at Slade School of Fine Art, Virtue now resides in North Norfolk where he gleans inspiration from the harsh, flat, stretching expanses, whipped by wind and rain. Mixing swathes of white acrylic paint with black ink and shellac, his paintings are charged with the energy of the weather, dripping with the un-predictability and almost frightening power.

Ink painting of wood landscape by British artist John Virtue

John Virtue Landscape No.43 (1986-87) black ink shellac gouache on paper laid on board 147 x 220 cm Courtesy of Albion Barn

The juxtaposition of these huge, dark canvases set amongst Fortnum & Mason’s gleaming colours and grandeur will be an intriguing one.

Fortnum’s X Frank 2018 is curated by Robert Upstone and runs from 10th September to 20th October at Fortnum & Mason, Piccadilly. For more information on the exhibition visit: fortnumandmason.com/events/fortnums-x-frank-2018

 

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Reading time: 1 min
Victoria-Hislop-presents-the-prize-for-the-Fiction-Competition
Audience members at the launch of oxford university student magazine, including Bernard O'Donoghue

Irish poet and academic, Bernard O’Donoghue spoke about literary journalism at the launch of the latest issue

The Oxford Review of Books (ORB) was founded last year at Oxford University and is a celebration of culture featuring an impressively high calibre of essays, interviews, short fiction and poetry. An issue of the magazine is published every Oxford term under the leadership of a new student team. One of the editors of the latest issue, Hugo Murphy tells LUX about the publishing process, the challenges faced and well-earned celebrations.

It has been a pleasure and a privilege to work on the Oxford Review of Books this term. It has also been a lot of fun. As a publication that models itself on journals like the TLS and LRB, the ORB aims to provide a unique space at the University of Oxford for long-form journalism, publishing student-written book reviews, cultural and political essays, interviews, personal diaries, poetry, and short fiction. As such, there are an alarming number of plates to keep spinning at any given time – an undertaking happily shared between four general editors, and a wider editorial team of 12.

Oxford student magazine editors pose for photo in waterstones bookshop

The Hilary Term editors of the ORB: Billie, Oliver, Clarissa and Hugo

The ORB goes to print once a term (three times a year), and the long and meticulous editorial process starts early. The editors for this issue – four English undergraduates across the University: Oliver, Billie, Clarissa, and myself – hit the ground running in early December, calling for original and thought-provoking pitches, casting our net as widely as possible. We commissioned a wide range of 20-or-so pieces, covering topics that ranged from filmmaking in Iran to computer-generated literature, Gordon Brown to Mary Beard.

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The next few months saw these articles undergo a rigorous editorial process, some of them evolving through upwards of ten separate drafts. Between all this writing ad re-writing, we hosted a successful poetry and short fiction evening, and even managed to find time for a mid-term pit-stop, with twenty-plus team members and contributors coming together for an evening at the pub.

Laughing audience seating and standing in book shop interiors

A rapt audience, including former editors Katie and John, at the March launch of the ORB in Waterstones

Once all content was ready, we (the four editors) laid-in the magazine alongside a graphic designer. This, as expected, was a week-long, gruelling slog, punctuated in equal parts by tutorial essays, salty snacks, and despair; but the pressures, frustrations, and general misery of the process were all enjoyed in fantastic company. And everyone’s toil was rewarded with the elation of reading hard copies of the magazine for the first time, as well as celebrating the term’s work at our launch.

Author Victoria Hislop standing in book shop in front of audience

Author Victoria Hislop presents the prize for the Fiction Competition

While only set up in the summer, the first three issues of the ORB have enjoyed a large following across the University – something that we were reminded of at this issue’s launch, which was hosted in the top-floor café of Waterstones Oxford in early March. Guests numbering close to 200 enjoyed wine and nibbles as they leafed through copies of the new issue and listened to brief talks given by bestselling author Victoria Hislop and award-winning poet Bernard O’Donoghue.

Read more: Art auctioneer Simon de Pury on artistic philanthropy

It proved a fantastic send-off for this term’s team, and another important landmark in the growing strength of the publication. I have been incredibly fortunate to meet and work with many inspiring people in and around the ORB, and I’ll miss the regular meetings enormously. The new team – spearheaded by one of this issue’s editors, Billie – is set to move onto only bigger and better things. Rumour has it the June issue is already in the pipeline.

the-orb.org

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Reading time: 3 min
Portrait of new media artist, poet and software designer Eran Hadas
Portrait of new media artist, poet and software designer Eran Hadras

Eran Hadas, Tel Aviv-based new media artist, poet and experimental software designer

Tel-Aviv based poet Eran Hadas uses his skills as an experimental software developer to build ‘augmented poetry’ generators, where algorithms assemble poems. His methods anticipate the dawn of artificial intelligence which will revolutionise concepts of personhood in the future, and demonstrate how poetry will nevertheless retain a vital role in helping us understand and explore these new terrains. In this month’s Poetry Muse, Rhiannon Williams speaks to Hadas about the the Tel-Aviv poetry scene and creative technology.

‘I think [poetry] should both reflect and affect reality,’ explains Eran Hadas in our interview, something that could be taken as insightful not only about poetry but also on the role of technology. Striking a fascinating figure on the Israeli literary scene, Eran is literally reconfiguring poetic function, fusing his technological and literary skills to create radical and intriguing works. For the Mind Your Poem project, for example, Eran used a special headset to record brain waves and create poems from the readings of people’s emotions: a kind of poetry that is as utterly post-modern as could be.

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His innovative projects and poems have featured in the Venice Biennale, the Tel-Aviv Museum of Art and the Warsaw POPełnione exhibition among others. He was the Binyamin Gallery poet in residence in 2016, the 2017 Schusterman Visiting Artist at Caltech and is an exciting part of the biannual Tel Aviv Poetry Festival.

Rhiannon Williams: Could you explain a bit more what you mean by your term ‘augmented poetry’?
Eran Hadas: The inventor of Hypertext, Ted Nelson, said that he felt the four borders of the page were walls of a prison of which he tried to break free, and I feel the same way about poetry. I think it should both reflect and affect reality, and in our time the way to go about it is to step in and out of the printed format, and in and out of the virtual (and mixed) world. For me, poetry involves both print, web and interactive works, involving chatbots, automatic poetry generators, text mixed with other media, but always circling around text and textuality, and striving to explore new possibilities of text.

RW: How did you first become interested in the possibilities for collaboration between
computing and poetry?
EH: I studied computer science, yet poetry has always been my passion. When I got into the literary circles of Tel-Aviv I realised there was some kind of a recurring pattern in the writing of a certain celebrated poet. I decided to devise a simple set of rules that would generate a poem similar to his, but when I got to the technical implementation, it felt so emotional and deep, that I felt I had to do such things for myself, rather than to match or compete against someone else.

Augmented poetry projected onto a wall at an exhibition in Warsaw by poet and software developer Eran Hadras

The Pop/Kolor exhibition in Warsaw, 2016

RW: What would you say has been one of your favourite projects to work on?
EH: My sixth book Code was programmed to reveal all the Haiku poems in the Pentateuch; The Hebrew Torah. These are the five books of Moses which are the foundation of the Jewish holy law and behavioural code of conduct. The book is comprised of 5341 short poems and all are quotes from the Torah that adhere to the Japanese scheme of 17 syllables in three lines of 5, 7 and 5 respectively. This mechanical rewriting tries to turn the religious text from one that separates people, to one that brings them together. It is written in Biblical Hebrew, and the first poem is: Abyss and spirit / God she is floating upon / The face of waters.

RW: How would you describe the poetry scene in Tel-Aviv?
EH: Tel-Aviv is a very cool city, deeply hated by most of the rest of Israel. Many poets are politically and socially involved. I am a member of a group of poets titled “Cultural Guerrilla”, that organises activities against violence and wars, and supports social causes. On the other hand, because of the small number of Hebrew readers, and the very concentric structure of Israel, Tel-Avivian writers are not always aware of current trends around the world, or even in our Arab neighbouring countries.

Read next: Walking in the footsteps of fashion royalty at The May Fair Hotel

RW: Which writers/artists/playwrights/musicians are you excited about right now?
EH: There is a big hype lately around Artificial Intelligence, and I really admire artists who deal with the core of it without believing the hype, such as poet Allison Parrish who deals with Word Embedding. In the same way that people treat colours as a combination of Red, Green and Blue, she treats the English vocabulary, and her experiments are mind blowing. Artist and researcher Rebecca Fiebrink built Wekinator, a simple to use framework that enables artists to create AI works without coding, but rather by feeding examples of the desired behaviour, and letting the computer generalise from them. Greek conceptual Artist Ilan Manouach has made up a tactile language he uses to create comics for the blind, using various 3d printing methods.

RW: Do you think computers may be the future of poetry? Or will there still be a vital place for page and performance?
EH: I don’t know anything about the future. However, as Machine Learning is growing, there is a chance computers will be able to make better predictions than me… I think humans have to respond to technology, so there is going to be a range of reactions on page and in performance. With the advent of the Internet of Things, technology is going to be more immersive and intrusive in the physical sense, and not just on screens. I really hope poetry remains forever as a state of mind.

Poet Eran Hadas presenting augmented poetry in Tel Aviv, his home city

Eran Hadas presenting his augmented poetry in Tel Aviv

Rhiannon Williams: Favourite place on the internet?
Eran Hadas: The avant-garde archive, ubuweb, is for me the largest and dearest treasure on the Internet. Amazingly, it is a one-man-show, run by conceptual poet Kenneth Goldsmith.

RW: What do you do when you need to disconnect?
EH: To be honest, I download, backup, mark for using offline, and count the minutes until I connect again.

RW: Favourite city?
EH: Istanbul. It’s so real, it sometimes looks virtual.

eranhadas.com

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Reading time: 5 min
London based artist Sam Winston created an installation of art and poetry whilst working in total darkness
pencil eye drawn in the darkness by artist sam winston

Artist Sam Winston spent 7 days and 7 nights living and creating art in a darkroom

Darkness heightens our senses, challenges our perceptions and opens up new creative visions, according to London based visual artist Sam Winston. For this month’s poetry muse, Rhiannon Williams learns about the power of the dark for artists and poets alike.

Sam Winston spent 7 days and 7 nights living and creating in a darkroom. Out of this absolute darkness emerged some extraordinary art, and an even more extraordinary installation: ‘Darkness Visible’ at the National Poetry Library at the Southbank Centre in London displays art and poetry that has been created in the dark. It brings to light both the privilege and drawbacks of physical sight, while simultaneously leading you to question what ‘sight’ really is.

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The title of the installation, ‘Darkness Visible’, is a phrase from John Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost‘, the epic poem which Milton wrote whilst he was blind by dictating his verse. The title is apt, as the dichotomy of light/dark is overturned in the paradoxical idea of a darkness you can see. Living temporarily in darkness, Sam Winston was able to explore the boundaries of experience and his body in new ways, as the systems and orders that we impose upon the day and regulate ourselves by were made redundant by the dark. Time, for example, without differentiation between night and day becomes an endless mass. According to Sam it is this ‘walking along the shoreline’ of different boundaries and pushing the threshold of what we can experience which shapes his art.

London based artist Sam Winston created an installation of art and poetry whilst working in total darkness

Sam Winston, ‘Darkness Visible’ 2017

The idea took form after a series of studio experimentations and playing about with misleading ideas about darkness as ignorance, as lack. Instead Sam argues that darkness can and should be viewed in a new way: as a creative resource. As someone who is dyslexic, the way Sam sees words is different, which is reflected in the style of his artwork; a lot of the pieces take the form of intricate text webs, the words forming enormous shapes and shadows, hurricanes across a blank page. In this way, Sam attempts to change at a structural level the discourse that surrounds darkness and dyslexia, suggesting that sensory perceptions not involving sight and light should be explored more thoroughly.

Read next: Leading art dealer Marc Glimcher of Pace Gallery on the value of public art

Subsequently, Sam commissioned ‘darkness residencies’ from leading young poets in London including Emily Berry, George Szirtes and Kayo Chingonyi who all spent time in a darkroom and wrote about it afterwards – their work is currently on show as a part of the exhibition at the Poetry Library. ‘The idea of total darkness is not the same as total darkness. The idea of light is not the same as light’, George Szirtes wrote, linking to the idea that terms of knowledge such as enlightenment and illumination all conjure up imagery of light and vision, whereas terms of darkness suggest oblivion and ignorance. What Winston has created is a poetic inversion, revolutionary in the sense that it performs a full circle on what our notions of darkness-as-limitation are. In this installation darkness is, in a way, art itself.

portrait of poet Kayo Chingonyi creating poetry in the dark

Poet Kayo Chingonyi on a ‘darkness residency’. Image: Andy Sewell

‘Darkness Visible’ runs until 25 March 2018 at the National Poetry Library at the Southbank Centre; Sam Winston, Emily Berry, George Szirtes and Kayo Chingonyi will be in conversation with other multimedia artists on 11 January 2018 at the Whitechapel Gallery.

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Reading time: 3 min
Remote village of Glencoe in Scotland
Remote village of Glencoe in Scotland

Glencoe, Scotland. Image by Max Hermansson

Scotland was recently crowned the most beautiful country in the world; it conjures up images of wild northern mountain rises, plunging cliffs and bottomless lochs.  The combination of Scotland’s bustling cultural hubs with its raw, breath-taking landscapes makes it seem only natural that artists and poets would gravitate towards this northern haunt. Rhiannon Williams turns the spotlight on Scotland’s best poetry nights and slams, and speaks to The Loud Poets collective about the poet’s role in contemporary society.

In both Glasgow and Edinburgh today there is a veritable traffic jam of poetry nights, collectives and slams all fuelled by furious creation. These include the regular Illicit Ink showcases which like to focus upon ‘the sinister, the witty and the weird’, or collective Inky Fingers who run writers’ workshops as well as incredibly cool performance nights in Edinburgh at the popular Fringe venue Summerhall.

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Poets and the poetry community alike meet to learn from each other, share ideas, and of course laugh and enjoy themselves – Edinburgh is not the capital of comedy for nothing, and a lot of the poems performed will jump over into being stand-up sets too. This is the case with Neu! Reekie! which often set up at the quirky Monkey Barrel Comedy club.  Whilst, Growing Underground at the Forest Café in Edinburgh is as unique as it gets. The radical arts hub hosts monthly nights, serves organic hot food, and has a basement gallery and venue space which is as mouth-wateringly atmospheric as it sounds.

The Loud Poets collective performing in Scotland

Image by Perry Jonsson

Finally, there are the Loud Poets who, as with a lot of the poetry collectives, resist any concrete
definition. They’ve been together since 2014 and perform at Fringe shows, run club nights, create art  and music and now have a hub in Annexe Arts of Edinburgh. Popular in both Glasgow and Edinburgh, the appeal is in the idea of noise, empowerment to speak out and encouraging others to do the same.

Rhiannon Williams: What’s the best part about being in a collective?
Loud Poets: The best part about being in a collective is the ability to bounce ideas off of your fellow artists and brainstorm together. In Loud Poets we have not only writers and performers but also musicians and video artists, so any time someone wants to create new work, they can draw upon a range of talented folks for ideas and advice.

RW: How did the members of the Loud Poets meet? What is your creative process; do you ever write collaboratively for example?
LP: As a collective we’ve grown and evolved over time: what began as a small group of creative folks DIYing a monthly showcase has ballooned into a larger collective containing many different artists. One of Loud Poets’ aims has always been to foster a community around spoken word in Scotland, so we’ve always encouraged folks who are passionate about the art form to get involved in the collective. It’s hard to say there’s any one creative process – it varies for the different artists and it’s always changing!

The diversity of creative practices in Loud Poets is, I think, one of the things that makes it work so well – if one person is stuck, another person can jump in with a different strategy to help. We do write collaboratively – we have several partner and group poems that we’ve performed as part of our Edinburgh Fringe shows. Those are challenging but also loads of fun to compose, since the process involves balancing different styles to create the piece that will work the best in live performance.

RW: Your work spans all kinds of medium, from physical performance to live music and visual arts. Where would you say the roots of the poetry lie for you?
LP: I think each member of LP would answer that question differently, which again I think is a good thing! We each draw upon different creative practices: for example, Kevin is a trained actor, Katie a trained dancer/choreographer, and Doug plays multiple instruments. As a collective we perceive performance poetry as a multi-medium art form to be experimented with, and we’ve had a lot of fun innovating at the edges of the genre.

RW: Which poets/artists/musicians are you excited about right now?
LP: It’s so hard to just pick a couple! One artist who LP has admired for a long time is the Leicester-based artist Jess Green, who not only writes and performs poems but also works with a live band and has recently penned a play! Jess often targets political inequalities through her sharp, beautifully realised poetry. We’ve recently fallen in love with Glasgow artist Sarah Grant, an incredibly talented film-maker who came along to LP last year and performed her first poem there to great success. Since then, she’s won two of our slams and graced our stages many times, as we can’t get enough of her often hilarious yet always powerful work.

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RW: What do you do to prepare for the performance, just before going on stage? Any quirks or
particular thought processes to get into the zone?
LP: Again, this is different for everyone – we’ve tried doing team push-ups before shows but that
tradition didn’t last long… For some of us, it’s essential to run the poems either in our heads or out loud before performing, whereas for others they trust that the material is in there from prior
rehearsal. Some of us have physical warm-ups that we like to do so we can use our voices fully
onstage. Sometimes performing a certain poem, especially if it’s emotional and personal to the
performer, means taking an extra moment to mentally prepare before walking onstage. It really
varies!

RW: What kind of role has Scotland played in the content and inspiration of your writing?
LP: Again, this will really vary! Catherine Wilson and Katie Ailes have both written directly about Scotland, Catherine from her perspective of living here her whole life and Katie as an immigrant.
One thing that I’d say for everyone is that it’s great being in such a vibrant spoken word scene in
Scotland today. Spoken word across the UK is currently booming, so it’s a great time to engage in the art form. Scotland also has a cultural devotion to literature, especially live literary traditions, which makes it a fantastic environment for writers. We’re lucky to have resources like the Scottish Poetry Library, Scottish Storytelling Centre, Scottish Book Trust, and more organisations devoted to this art forms to support our work.

Scotland's poetry collective the Loud Poets performance night

Image by Perry Jonsson

RW: What would you say is one of the most difficult things about being a poet today?
LP: Unfortunately, I think a lot of the general public thinks poetry isn’t for them and so don’t engage with it: perhaps in school they were taught work that wasn’t relevant to them or had to analyse it past the point where that was any fun. To quote the brilliant Adrian Mitchell, ‘most people ignore most poetry because most poetry ignores most people.’ Not to knock other writers at all, but if our work looks entirely inwards or is so experimental or reference-heavy as to be inaccessible, it’s not going to engage most folks.

Our core mission has always been to make work which is accessible and interesting to everyone: poetry which is exciting, which touches on issues in contemporary life, which is performed in a way that makes you sit on the edge of your seat. Our favourite thing to hear is someone admitting that they were dragged to one of our shows, swearing poetry wasn’t their thing, only to actually really enjoy it – or, even better, to enjoy it so much that they themselves were inspired to write a poem. So we want to change the assumption that poetry is an ivory tower by making work that encourages everyone to speak out.

Rhiannon Williams: Glasgow or Edinburgh?
Loud Poets: Ah, don’t ask us that! We’ve run monthly showcases in both cities for nearly three years now, and we love them both. The spoken word cultures in each city have slightly different flavours, Glasgow’s being more influenced by the fantastic Scottish rap scene and often quicker-paced than Edinburgh’s, which tends to have lots of international students and thus a wide pool of influences. We love booking artists from one city to perform in the other, not just with Glasgow and Edinburgh but across Scotland, to try to expose each city to the great artists and styles from elsewhere in Scotland and the UK.

RW: Highland Loch or a North Sea cliff face?
LP: Well, they say poets are narcissists, so I suppose the loch so we can stare at our reflections like Narcissus until we die? How’s that for a poetic answer… On the other hand, standing on a bleak cliff face with our hair tangling in the brutal wind sounds equally poetic… Tough choice. We’re going to have to go with Greggs. Whether it’s taking place in a pub, a club, beneath a café, in the streets or on the air, some of the most exciting and diverse poetry in the world is being created in Scotland right now, so head up whenever you can, open your ears, dig in with every sense. It’s a blast!

loudpoets.com

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Reading time: 8 min
Painting of Lucian Freud by Jasper Johns at Royal Academy, London
Painting of American flag by artist Jasper Johns on display at Royal Academy in London

‘Flag’ 1958, Jasper Johns. Courtesy: The Art Institute of Chicago.

Collage of grey paint and broom by American artist Jasper Johns: Fool's House

‘Fool’s House’ 1961-62, Jasper Johns

Jasper Johns is one of the most influential artists in America’s contemporary art scene, known for his appropriation and defamiliarization of everyday objects, most notably the US flag, which Johns first painted in 1954.  ‘Something Resembling Truth’ at the Royal Academy, London is the first comprehensive survey of the artist’s work to be held in the UK in 40 years. Spread across several large galleries, the exhibition confidently steers us through Johns’ career beginning with his iconic symbols, including several versions of his famous stars and stripes. Yet, more intriguing, as is so often the case, are the works that come later: dark, morbid collages with decapitated limbs and limp, inanimate objects that force us to recognise the paintings as objects themselves.

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Three colourful canvases prised open by two balls by American contemporary artist Jasper Johns

‘Painting with Two Balls’ 1960, Jasper Johns. Collection of the artist.

In ‘Painting with Two Balls’, the canvases are prised open with small balls, resembling the googly-eyes of a rainbow coloured cartoon monster, to expose the wall behind, whilst ‘Watchman’ depicts the sawn off legs of a figure sitting upside down on chair with colours merging into a shadowy gloom. Johns challenges our perceptions by grabbing hold of the familiar, stretching, mutating, chewing it up and spitting it back out again. It’s an exhibition that deserves time and consideration.

Millie Walton

“Jasper Johns: Something Resembling Truth” runs until 10th December at the Royal Academy, London

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Reading time: 1 min
Collage art work by heather phillipson poet and artist ending all parties white bear
Poetry installation by Robert Montgomery the people you love become ghosts inside you

Robert Montgomery, ‘Ghost in the Machine’

For this month’s Poetry Muse Rhiannon Williams looks at four genre-bending artists in whose work art and poetry fuse in intriguing ways.

The arts often intersect – visual albums released by musicians, the use of dance in performance art, and of course text in conceptual art; beautiful melt-in-the-mouth words splashed across walls and canvases all over the world. Whether as a source of inspiration or in pride of place as a focus of artworks themselves, poetry is seen in the output of many an artist. But when is poetry a work of art, and when is art poetry? Or what is the difference between the two? Arguably the aesthetic experience of a piece of art mirrors that of a poem – each have form, composition, and are interpreted by a viewer or reader who brings their own experiences and history to the canvas or page, usually with strong emotions induced.

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Carlos Motta

The work of Spanish artist Carlos Motta – who had a performance piece on at Frieze this month – elucidates how the boundaries between word and image can blur. A word can be an image, while also referring through the system of language back to the image that it is, as well as being a representation of something completely different. For example, in Motta’s ‘We Who Feel Differently’ the words themselves are the art, drawing attention to their linguistic meaning through their physical size and shape and colour upon the wall, while also possessing the extra-linguistic meaning associated with what feeling ‘differently’ might entail, and who this enigmatic ‘we’ might be. In this way it is at once a work of art, and a poem, the strength of the words exemplified in a single short sentence.

We Who Feel Differently art work fusing poetry by Carlos Motta

Carlos Motta, We Who Feel Differently

Robert Montgomery

Looking at it from the opposite perspective poetry is also frequently performed as art, for example Robert Montgomery’s (husband of poet Greta Bellamacina) epic ‘Ghost in the machine’ installation, erected upon an esplanade for National Poetry Day in Britain. The words ‘The people you love / become ghosts inside / of you and like this / you keep them alive’ when written as page poetry are powerful enough. But the emotional response to these words is all over again when encountered on a foggy evening, glowing with melancholia against a rough sea-sky.

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Heather Phillipson

Collage art work by heather phillipson poet and artist ending all parties white bear

Heather Phillipson,
ENDING ALL PARTIES / EXCEPT THE PARTY / WHERE U MEET YOUR OWN BRAIN. Installation view at The Drawing Room, London, 2017. Image courtesy the artist.
Photographer: Dan Weill

Heather Phillipson is a poet who is also an artist. She has had solo exhibitions in places such as the Schirn Frankfurt and the Istanbul Biennial while at the same time being a British Next Generation poet. She describes how her ‘videos and sculptural installations behave as places, musical scores, poems and nervous systems’ demonstrating how ambiguous the definitions of each of these things are, and how arbitrarily language burdens us with meanings. In the same vein as Motta, her 2017 commission uses the power of poetry in conjunction with art to create the piece ENDING ALL PARTIES / EXCEPT THE PARTY / WHERE U MEET YOUR OWN BRAIN.

Seth Price

 

Seth Price is someone who works with words, code, skin, clothes, walls, metal – anything he can sink his teeth into. His art and poetry dismantles not only established routines and preconceptions, but also the clockwork of feelings. Based in New York, Price is generally considered under the label of ‘artist’ however there is an argument for the titles web developer, architect, essayist, musician, and poet – if titles such as these are particularly relevant by this point. His books of poetry subvert every expectation of what constitutes ‘poetry’ as they resemble artists’ books more than poetry books, and journal entries more than poems, playing with language in the same way that his art does. As part of his show ‘Wrok Fmaily Friedns’ an essay that he wrote entitled ‘Dispersion‘ is displayed amidst a jumble of knots, the scrambling of letters and image and physicality reflecting the disordered reality upon which a system of language tries to impose order. The essay talks about how the endless oscillation between defining something as ‘art’ or ‘not-art’ is ultimately fruitless, while in itself treading the water between each of these categories in the most clever, engaging manner. Ludwig Wittgenstein famously wrote that ‘the limits of my language mean the limits of my world’ but through Seth’s work we come to see how the limits of language may be overcome – by art.

Bisexual Litigator artwork by Seth Price showing the fusion of poetry and art

Seth Price, Bisexual Litigator 2013. Courtesy of the artist and Petzel, New York.

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Reading time: 4 min
poet, model and film-maker greta bellamacina
London-based Greta Bellamacina is one of those people who, once discovered, you can’t stop thinking about. Like a sleeper hit which innocuously makes its way up into the charts as one by one fans fall in love, Greta’s infectious presence online and throughout the arts scene utterly grabs hold. For October’s Vogue she is included in a feature about today’s progressive new poets, along with Cecilia Knapp, Selina Nwulu and James Massiah – but this is hardly surprising considering the unique blend of talents in her arsenal. LUX’s contributing poet, Rhiannon Williams speaks to the woman behind the words about the plight of of the public library, how her varifocal talents intersect, and her inspirations.

Ethereally beautiful, the first thing that strikes you is that Greta looks every part the romanticised ideal of ‘poet’. But it is her passion for what she does which, more than anything, startles – and makes you want to follow in her lead as a force for good in a confusing world. Greta’s work as a poet, film-maker, activist and model crosses and fuses borders, something that is seen more and more these days as people resist the restrictive boundaries of having a single ‘profession’ – and what could be more fitting for a modern-day poet? She published her debut poetry collection ‘Perishing Tame’ in 2015 through New River Press, a poetry press which she co-founded herself, and launched it into the world with readings at Shakespeare & Co, Paris and The Chateau Marmont, Los Angeles. She has also edited collections, including ‘Smear’ in 2017, an important anthology for young women poets everywhere, and has published collaboratively with poet-husband Robert Montgomery the collection ‘Points for Time in the Sky’.

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In the role of film-maker a particularly significant recent work was 2016’s documentary ‘The Safe House: A Decline of Ideas’, which smartly tackles the state of the British public libraries, spreading awareness of a plight that not enough people are conscious of. For a poet, the savage cuts to public funding that have brought the libraries of the UK to their knees over the last decade is a political outrage that hits very close to home. Greta’s activism with this documentary, which involved Stephen Fry and Irvine Welsh among others, demonstrated a fierce defiance in the face of a crisis of intellectual deterioration, and a prime example of how Greta uses her creative abilities as a force for good.

On top of all this, Greta has been involved in modelling campaigns for the likes of &otherstories and Stella McCartney. One can only pause in awe to wonder how she has time for so much, all the while maintaining an image that is undeniably slick. This is brought about by a stylishness that spans from the arresting design of her website (think arty snaps with poet John Cooper Clarke outside her film premiere), to her Instagram presence (handwritten pages of her thoughtful, searing poetry), to her fashion choices (somewhere in the realm of elfish art student lost on a Victorian couture runway).

poet, model and film-maker greta bellamacina

Greta has appeared in modelling campaigns for the likes of &otherstories and Stella McCartney

Rhiannon Williams: How did you first fall into poetry?
Greta Bellamacina: It has always been there, I’ve always heard words in my head that I felt compelled to write down. I knew from early on that poetry has the power to break your heart and fill it up again within a sentence.

RW: Can you tell me a bit more about the intersection between your talents for film-making, writing and modelling? Do they complement or sometimes clash?
GB: I think I have always been drawn to exploring the truth and beauty in the everyday- and playing with everyday conventions. If you make art in any form I think you have the moral responsibly to make the world a better place and be socially progressive. Fashion can be a fun way to make people feel apart of a new consciousness.

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RW: In your writing as well as film-making you are an activist, tackling the threat to the public libraries in Britain with ‘The Safe House: A Decline of Ideas’ and promoting the empowerment of girls and female identity with ‘Smear’. Was this always a conscious decision to use an artistic avenue to further a cause, or do you think your beliefs shape your work almost without you realising?
GB: The working class fought for a hundred years to have public libraries. My local one had been turned into a block of luxury flats. But it wasn’t until I kept meeting young secondary school students fighting for seats in the library all round Britain that I understood how much it would change the next generation, change the communities if these temples of learning were to disappear. I think it’s good to let the audience have room to imagine their own futures and memories in these places, in order to shape wider beliefs and bring change. I think thats why when I edited ‘Smear’ I didn’t have any age limit or direct theme of Feminism, I just wanted women to have a place to be uncensored and shameless, a place for women to speak.

RW: What is your creative process – how do you sort through ideas and plans for projects?
GB: Rage, heartbreak and love- usually in that order.

Rhiannon Williams: Who are some poets you could not live without reading?
Greta Bellamacina: I always seem to go back to Ted Hughes, his words have some many eternal, harrowing shades to them. It has a closeness to it that you can’t help feel connected. There are so many more, Robert Montgomery of course, Alice Oswald, Warsan Shire, Heathcote Williams, Anne Sexton….

RW: What are you reading, listening to or excited about right now?
GB: I am listening a lot to Mazzy Star, Patti Smith, Sharon Van Etten and Sleaford Mods right now and really enjoying Warsen Shires poetry collection “Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth”. I’m excited about the morning sun, learning from strangers and finding new worlds in the sky.

gretabellamacina.com

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Reading time: 5 min
Il Cinema Ritrovato
Il Cinema Ritrovato in Bologna

Il Cinema Ritrovato. Image by Lorenzo Burlando

LUX’s Contributing Poet, Rhiannon Williams finds herself treading the path of heroic visionary poets through Italy, and discovers the illusive poetry collective crafting the ‘New Italian Epic’
Bologna by digital artist Dorpell

Bologna by digital artist Dorpell

Italy has a bacchanal reputation for being the traditional haunt of heroic visionaries. Seen by Byron as ‘the garden of the world’ the number of illustrious writers who have graced the land is truly astonishing, and render it a top destination for any poetic pilgrimage today. The soft touch of history, the clean open spaces and balm of an impractical beauty have a lot to offer. But what I also realised, travelling through Como, Milan, Parma, Bologna and Florence this summer, is that the effect of the ancient poets upon the young poets working here today is far more profound than many realise. How do the contemporary generation feel able to compete? One might assume that the long tradition of luminaries in whose shadow any young Italian poet these days will find themselves might intimidate. The opposite in fact appears to be true; instead of hindering, the rich history only enhances the inspirations and aspirations of the next generation.

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Wu Ming (无名) is the name of a rousing poetry collective and occasional punk-rock band based in Bologna, Italy who are demonstrating how cutting edge Italian poetry is still at the forefront today, despite being some fifty years after the neoavanguardia movement of the 1960s which was the era of the avant-garde Italian literary elite. The pseudonym for the five poets, ‘Wu Ming’, can mean different things in Chinese; either anonymous or five people, depending on the tone of the first syllable. This perfectly encompasses the vision of these poets, because in its emphasis upon anonymity ‘Wu Ming’ is a purposeful rejection of the cult of celebrity that can surround literary stars, a philosophy very much in line with the collective’s growing reputation of being challengers of long-existing paradigms and traditions. The group justify their mysterious façade (each of the poets are known only by the names ‘Wu Ming 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5’ and refuse to have photographs taken) with the unusual stance that ‘Once the writer becomes a face… it’s a cannibalistic jumble: a photo paralyses me, it freezes my life into an instant, it negates my ability to transform into something else’.

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But despite their best efforts, the presence of Wu Ming on the Italian poetry scene is becoming more and more prominent and influential. Through their work, which includes collaborative fiction and poetry collections as well as band gigs and podcasts, they coined the term the ‘New Italian Epic’ which is now taking a hold of the Italian literary world. This original new style has been described as a ‘particular kind of metahistorical fiction’ with updated, experimental form that still derives certain features from the ancient Italian context, inspired by epics such as Dante’s The Divine Comedy written in 1472, and thus in sync with Italy’s rich cultural history. In this way Wu Ming has solved the problem that the young creatives in Italy face in the daunting shadow of so many Greats; through evocations of the parent figures’ liberalism expressed in contemporary sentiments while still retaining a classical resonance. It is an applause-worthy feat.

Il Cinema Ritrovato

Il Cinema Ritrovato. Image by Lorenzo Burlando

The group were most recently to be found involved in their home city Bologna’s wonderful Il Cinema Ritrovato celebrations, reading in Piazza Maggiore one evening as the sun set splendidly over the famous San Petronio Basilica. The local student movement was out in full force to support, upholding Bologna’s reputation as the ‘unofficial capital of the Italian counterculture’, which is affirmed when you visit the city in the striking graffiti tags such as ‘L’onda non si arresta’ (the wave doesn’t stop) lining the Via Stalingradoas well as elsewhere in the ancient streets. Coming from a place with such iconoclastic energy and armed with a brave approach to literature, at and politics in the 21st century it seems unsurprising that these enigmatic Bolognese writers are drawing plenty of (seemingly unwanted) attention from across the world stage.

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Reading time: 3 min
Brainchild arts and music festival
poet and founder of brainchild festival

British poet and co-founder of Brainchild festival, Bridget Minamore. Image by Suki Dhanda

LUX’s Contributing Poet Rhiannon Williams puts the spotlight on British poet Bridget Minamore this month, exploring her unique portrayal of love and her vision for Brainchild festival.

Bridget Minamore′s poetry is red hot. Addressing race, feminism and popular culture in verse that scalds, this epic young British poet appears to be everywhere at once these days – the poetic version of a catchy new tune. However, her star has truly been accelerating in its ascent since the publication of her pamphlet ‘Titanic‘ (Out-Spoken Press), a collection of poems which hilariously and hauntingly dissect what it means to love another. In ‘Titanic’ she uses the most famous disaster story in history as an analogy for a rocky relationship, writing with a spotless humour and style that tangos with your emotions. The excerpt below shows how Bridget portrays the way the violence of doomed love can be transfigured into dark humour, which nevertheless calls out to our deepest fears of being bereft – or shipwrecked – in love, desperate for the beloved to stay:

I want to cut your legs off

not so you can’t walk away,
more in the hope you’ll stay
exactly where I want to put you.

Her talent for a sentence that can leave you floating on pure emotion has done exactly the opposite of the doomed ship, buoying her up and into a stratosphere of significance, and marking her out as a striking new voice of a generation. When I asked what drew her to using this imagery of the ship, Bridget shared her thoughts: “I always felt so embarrassed writing or reading poems about love or heartbreak, and the imagery gave me two things: a crutch to hide behind, but also a level of humour that made everything easier. I’ve always loved being near water, whether its canals or the sea, and back in Ghana my Dad’s whole family live right next to the largest man-made lake in Africa. But I have this real fear of it as well – I can swim, but I get nervous when I’m actually in open water. So subliminally there must be a part of me that compares the open water of the ocean to love: home and comfort, sure, but also terror. The Titanic sums all of that up for me.”

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Although the symbolism of the distressed ship is one that has been used by poets throughout history – Horace’s ‘The Ship of State in Troubled Waters’, Rimbaud’s ‘Le Bateau Ivre (The Drunken Ship)’, Bridget guides this metaphor firmly into modernity by using popular song lyrics in her transitions between poems, and colloquial language. The overall effect is ground-breaking…or should we say ice-breaking?

Brainhild music and arts festival

Brainchild festival. Image by Hollie Fernando

Not just a poet however, Bridget has her fingers in all of the creative pies; she has worked with the National Theatre, the Royal Opera House, represented the UK at the International Biennale in Rome and has even masterminded an incredible music and arts festival, Brainchild. And through her journalism she tackles burning issues that many are afraid to speak out about – for example the concept in fashion of the colour ‘nude’ and the unrecognised problem that it causes for women of colour who just want to find a pair of skin-coloured tights – something which should be guaranteed for all women.

Furthermore, her writing invariably leans towards promoting those who are in need of a spotlight, for example she champions the (long overdue) rise of black female DJs, such as Jordanne of GCDJ (Girls Can’t DJ). This is also where her Brainchild Festival comes in. Because instead of just talking about change, Bridget does. “The answer lies in visibility,” she wrote in a piece for ‘The Debrief‘, and at Brainchild each July, Bridget provides the vital visibility that up-and-coming music, poetry and dance stars need.

Bridget was one of the founders of Brainchild, a quirky festival in the United Kingdom – it is very literally her brainchild. Nestled among the grounds of the Bentley Motor Museum in rural East Sussex, the chilled out setting comes with a surreal wildfowl park and miniature railway in tow. In addition to running it, Bridget took to the Brainchild stage this year to perform her poetry, as well as run a discussion about the housing crisis in Britain – and this combination of acts acutely captures the feel of the entire festival; subtle, cerebral and important, the achievement is a melange of conference and intellectual discussion in addition to the vibrant festivities.

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Brainchild is volunteer-run, and yet endlessly inventive, even more so than the giants of festival Britain like Glastonbury and Reading which are simply too crowded to be truly intimate or different. In contrast, there seems to be no end to what Brainchild puts on, from silent discos made hot by the cutting edge GCDJ group, to the on-site art installations which also created a centre of gravity this year, such as the out-of-this-world geometric playgrounds of Kristi Minchin. There was even an act called 5 encounters on a site called Craigslist featured on the line-up this year. When asked about her vision for Brainchild, Bridget discussed how it evolves with each run: “Each year it’s got easier to know what our vision is—these days, I’m pretty sure we all want to create an inclusive space for as many people as possible, a place that’s fun but also engaging enough to make you think. But also fun. Retaining the intimacy is probably the next most important thing, as it’s something we’re really conscious of the larger we get.”

Brainchild festival

A yoga class at Brainchild. Image by Jerome Toole

Bridget Minamore’s work with Brainchild is a testament to her talents. Playing on the word ‘brain’, the festival describes itself as ‘a meeting of minds’, a network and safe haven for people in the arts to push their talents to the forefront of the stage – and it is because of Bridget that this creative network has become so strong. It can sometimes seem that the options available for young people to forge a career from artistic abilities are diminishing every day in Britain, due to lack of funding and the troubling expectation that they will work for free. However, Bridget’s work demonstrates how this is not necessarily true. I will be looking out for more of her presence in the future, as I am sure that the name Bridget Minamore will continue to be trailblazing, taste-making and trendsetting in the poetry world; she shows us how it can be done.

bridgetminamore.com

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Reading time: 5 min
London poetry muse
Jawdance poetry spoken word

Jawdance is a powerful blend of poetry and protest at a venue in east London. Image courtesy of Apples and Snakes

LUX’s Contributing Poet Rhiannon Williams discovers street poetry and protest is alive and thriving on the fringes of the international urban art scene.

As a young poet living in London, I have come to know the many hidden faces of our contemporary poetry landscape well. But nothing has struck home in the way that Jawdance has.

In the heart of Shoreditch, in East London, there is a dark stage. Feel an insistent bass, which picks up pace to keep time with an energy that builds and builds and doesn’t stop building. From the stage comes a spiky, eclectic hybrid between music, hip hop, art and poetry – and a rare glimpse into the soul of an arts scene which is uninhibited and so, so alive. Unseen, and yet bursting at the seams from a small room with a small stage full of big voices.

This is spoken word poetry, a poetic hybrid that speaks of and to people who are otherwise unheard. The talent of the poets you’ll find here is home-grown, full of heart, and iridescently free. Free from the dust of astringent commerciality which can so often choke artists. Free from the inhibitions of so-called ‘sensible society’; day jobs are all forgotten for tonight. As free as the rhymes which are so full of life they seem to transcend their meanings to reach a vivid corporeality. Oh, and it’s free to enter too, which leads to the creation of a rare welcoming charm, something lacking in a world where so many precious things are valued primarily by their marketability and not originality.

Jawdance, spoken word poetry

Always passionate, spoken word can be personal or political. Image courtesy of Apples and Snakes

It strikes you as reminiscent of the kind of golden poetry you would have found in San Francisco during its sixties scene, or Harlem during the Revival time of Langston Hughes; the real beauty is in the spontaneity. Spoken word as an art form has evolved since its first explosion onto the scene in the early 20th century primarily through the prisms of political change. Since then, its use as a form of protest and experimentation as well as just for a riot of a good time, bringing together a collective consciousness and feeling, has been a powerful influence over young creatives all over the world. And this characteristic of the genre is just as potent today. More than ever, the urgency is palpable, getting bigger and louder often in forgotten corners of our urban landscapes, on both sides of the Atlantic.

Read next: Grayson Perry’s political pots at the Sepertine Gallery

At Jawdance, presenter and poet Yomi Sode MCs the evening’s electricity. The creative mastermind behind the evening is an event in himself in the way he merges stand-up comedy continuity with his mastery of the at times very profound issues being laid bare. He calls up act after act to the microphone to infuse the air with a poetry that bites, that shocks, that electrifies. Whether the act is the whip-smart all-female poetry collective Octavia or an open-mic first-timer who has wandered in from the humdrum of the city, the quality of performance is staggeringly high – and what they have to say is important. Because in the poetry at Jawdance there is a sense, from a social and cultural perspective, of something moving. Raw at moments, hilarious at others, a common theme is for a poetry that is plugged in and almost cruelly receptive to the times. You are left breathless from listening, but enthralled to be so, as the candle is held up to the intimacies of life, the social and political issues that trouble so many refracted into words. It is thanks to platforms like Jawdance that there is still a space for this passionate, immediate self-expression in cities where those who may feel themselves to be voiceless can soar.

So if there’s one thing you take away from Jawdance, it is that poetry is willing itself to be heard every day. So grab a craft beer from the bar, let yourself be absorbed into the crowd and lie back for the ride, because to quote from the night, if the true Prime Minister of London is gigs then Jawdance is without a doubt the Woodstock in the cabinet.

Jawdance, every last Wednesday of the month at Rich Mix, Bethnal Green Road, London

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Reading time: 3 min