Bonjour my little balls of bellybutton fluff that are quite cute really so you leave them where they are. I’m madly getting everything ready for my reading in Brighton this weekend (for the Fringe Festival) so expect more on that next week.
In the meantime here are some short films, some on writing, some on art, some just creative, from a video, article and exhibition project called The Fifth Sense between Chanel (yes, the perfume/designers) and iD. Vice has more info.
I like Jellywolf because it gives you a really good insight into my life around age 19-24: lots of luminous clothes and clubs and a world not quite set in reality.
Here’s the director, Alma Har’el, talking about making films.
Photographer Harley Weir discusses her photography and film work.
Her final project became portraits of five different artistic women. The first is poet Zariya Allen.
Next is dancer Manthe Ribane.
Then artist Christine Sun Kim.
Then photographer Momo Okabe
Lastly actress Oulaya Amamra.
Finally, here is a video of the mirror sculpture exhibition by Es Devlin. See you next week!
Hello my little jalapenos so wonderful tasting it brings a tear of nostalgia to one’s eye. Reading is wonderful thing, as we all know, but sometimes it’s nice to regress to childhood. I don’t mean have large nappies and cots custom made, unless that’s your thing, I mean let someone else to the reading for us.
Here are a few channels where you not only get to listen with your ears, but your face. Is that a correct sentence? I don’t know.
The Moth is always a wonderful channel to watch, and you can listen to people’s true stories on the website too. I honestly don’t know how these people have the nerve to just stand up and talk about themselves. This is a funny and thought provoking story by writer Ernesto Quinonez on school bullying:
If poetry is your cup of tea here is the Button Poetry channel. Alex Dang in the video below reads “What Kind Of Asian Are You?”
RDSPress’ channel often has readings from their authors, I suggest popping along there. Here’s Stephanie Whytovich reading from a poetry collection (they also do fiction) inspired by insane asylums:
This lady, Sauda Namir, reads bizarro erotica in a sexy manner. Just be warned that bizarro is a genre that is often disturbing, strange and explicit. Here she reads an extract from Gabino Iglesias‘ Gutmouth.
In a dark wood Prince Kano lost his way
And searching in vain through the long summer’s day.
At last, when night was near, he came in sight
Of a small clearing filled with yellow light,
And there, bending beside his brazier, stood
A charcoal burner wearing a black hood.
The Prince cried out for joy: ‘Good friend, I’ll give
What you will ask: guide me to where I live.’
The man pulled back his hood: he had no face –
Where it should be there was an empty space.
Half dead with fear the Prince staggered away,
Rushed blindly through the wood till break of day;
And then he saw a larger clearing, filled
With houses, people; but his soul was chilled.
He looked around for comfort, and his search
Led him inside a small, half-empty church
Where monks prayed. ‘Father,’ to one he said,
‘I’ve seen a dreadful thing; I am afraid.’
‘What did you see, my son?’ ‘I saw a man
Whose face was like…’ and, as the Prince began,
The monk drew back his hood and seemed to hiss,
Pointing to where his face should be, ‘Like this?’
Last weekend my friends and I decided to go look at a house. “Why?” You ask, “there’s houses everywhere. Look, I can see one now.” Well, yes, but this one “there’s one with a red door, and a green door, and…” Shush! As I was saying, this one is really special.
Talliston House and Gardens in Dunmow, Essex, has been a project of the owner, John Trevillion, for 25 years. It started as a regular ex council house and has become an art piece where every room exists in a different era, from a New Orleans voodoo kitchen to a late Victorian front room.
My favourites, however, were upstairs: a study from 1929 New York filled with occult books and props, a ‘haunted bedroom’ and 1960s Cambodia in the attic.
They’ve still not quite finished but there’s lots of things upcoming. They hold murder mystery nights, people can stay over on special occasions, plus there’s viewings, poetry and music nights (you can watch the videos on their youtube channel) and an event in October with actors occupying the rooms. Honestly, we thought it was wonderful. Visit if you can, and finally here’s a video showing how it was made (note: they had help completing it so don’t worry, they’re almost done):
Good day! I’m in the middle of a crash novella writing month which is sucking out all the cotton wool from my little head. In the meantime here are a few weird films, the first three of which are watched and discussed in our latest Bizart podcast episode.
This is by Cyriak, a UK based animator whose work has appeared on Adult Swim. Baaa is joyous, silly and absurd:
Larry Carlson is a Vermont artist who makes A LOT of psychedelic videos. In Your Cube features a Ventriloquist’s dummy because… why not:
I might be obsessed with Scottish visual artist Rachel Maclean. Her world is the kind of world I want to live in: dark, weird and horrifically colourful. Here’s Lolcats:
Here’s a beautifully animated version of Kurt Schwitters’ Dadaist poem An Anna Blume, by Bulgarian creatives Compote Collective, or Vessela Dantcheva (Overlord), Ivan Bogdanov (Art Director) and Petar Dundakov (Composer).
At Land is a silent short made in 1944 by experimental film maker Maya Deren. Here a sea nymph explores land:
What will I do now it’s over? Start taking meth? It’s probably the only way. Anyway as you probably know one of the final episodes of Breaking Bad is Ozymandias, named after a poem by Shelley. Here’s the brilliant Bryan Cranston reading it and below is a print version. Enjoy!
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear —
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’