‘The Last Image: Photography and Death’ presents the endeavour of artists throughout the ages to grapple with the mysterious concept of mortality through the medium of photography. With over four hundred works, the collection is divided into three main sections: ‘Dying’, ‘Killing’ and ‘Surviving’ which explore the human compulsion to produce a lasting image of… Read More Confronting the dead: ‘The Last Image’ at C / O Berlin
There’s something quite beautiful about old buildings that have fallen into disuse. I contemplated this as I stood before a shattered house outside the entrance of The Castelo de Sao Jorge in Lisbon. Stripped of its life and warmth, it looked so out of place next to the pastel coloured homes that had aged more… Read More Fragments of a former life
‘The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time. The ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles.’ – On the Road, Jack Kerouac I… Read More Strangers and Serendipity
I’d love to see what would happen if all mobile phones went dead. I’m sat in a cafe contemplating this as I observe an awkward scene. People watching is one of life’s virtues, especially when hidden behind a laptop screen. One quickly learns the strategies. Leaning over and craning your neck to eavesdrop in conversation… Read More Will We Ever Switch Them off?
I was walking in the vast forestland of Grunewald the other day, accompanied by someone who grew up in East Germany in the days of DDR. She spoke of how she was taught Russian in school but has now forgotten most of what she learnt. After losing the ability to remember her Russian education, she… Read More Germany & the Anxiety of Remembrance
‘Ich hätte gern die Rechnung’, I asked, shakily. The girl behind the counter giggled. ‘You’ve just asked me for whipped cream,’ she said, ‘but I suppose you’d like to pay.’ Before insulting the German public with my lack of linguistic skill, the first phrase I decided to learn prior to my trip to Berlin was ‘Ich… Read More Lost in Translation: my grapple with the German Language
‘When it rains, think of us as we walk under dripping trees or through small rooms lit only by storm’ – Fugitive Pieces, Anne Michaels. One of my earliest memories is of being lost in a field near my family home in the country. It was Summertime. I remember the heat and the tall grass… Read More Re-writing the self: Thoughts on memory