One year since the relaunch of Clare, and three issues down the line. We have solicited, edited, designed and printed work from industry leaders, academics, students, poets, writers, artists and dead people.
Now we reign our focus right in to home – London.
1968 marked the fortieth anniversary of the year when the Lord Chamberlain relinquished his power to censor all new plays before they could be put on stage in London’s West End. This represents a watershed moment in the history of the stage in Britain.
Growing up, I recall knitting with my grandmother as she related stories of her life in Lebanon. This intergenerational narrative is very present in my work, the passing of the skill and memory from one generation to another. The durational practice of the craft is significant here, as it allowed me to share and reflect on my grandmother’s stories as we stitched together. My handmade objects provide comfort and connection with the past through the reuse of material and the recollection of the stories embroidered on them, making that which might have been passed on aurally into something physical.
Sitting in a Brooklyn apartment in late-August, I was trawling the Internet to find something to do upon arriving in London the following week. I found my way to the Globe’s web site in an act of unabashed ignorance of London’s alternative theatre scene. I’d resigned myself to something mandated in the tourist guidebook. Browsing the listings, I ran across a midnight showing of Hamlet, advertised as an avant-garde production by a theatre company called The Factory.
Music at LSE continues to flourish. The LSE Orchestra, under the dynamic leadership of Matthew Taylor goes from strength to strength. At the recent LSE Spring Concert in St Clement Danes, the orchestra gave a vivid account of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, and a rousing performance of Matthew’s own work The Needles Overture Op. 26.
The way in which we interact with the media has evolved; we look to printed publications for reassurance but it is on the internet where we gain much of our inspiration. On these pages lie the views of three of Britain’s most influential fashion and design bloggers. Here they give their views on the cultural centre of the universe. Ironically, this should serve only as an introduciton, after reading, do as you know best and take to your keyboard. SB
“At the moment, I’m in my house in Khan Yunis, in the south of the Gaza Strip. It’s quiet, but there is no electricity and there are some airplanes in the sky. It’s a bit tense because we don’t know what will happen. According to what we heard on the news, it seems that there are some escalations, so we don’t know what is going to happen.
A country as rich in secrets and decadence as it is in culture and history, Ethiopia has existed for many years with more troubles simmering just beneath the surface than most people can imagine. Already the second most populous country in Africa, Ethiopia’s population is growing at an alarming rate and is projected to increase by 120 percent by the year 2050. The addition of nearly two million people per year can only exacerbate the plethora of health and educational problems that affect daily life in Ethiopia, and bring to the surface, long buried troubles. One such issue, hidden within the deep religiosity of Ethiopian society is the taboo subject of mental health.
“Take away the right to say ‘fuck,’” said Lenny Bruce, “and you take away the right to say ‘fuck the government.’” Last December, the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, Andy Burnham, announced that when it comes to the Internet, “There is content that should just not be available to be viewed. That is my view. Absolutely categorical.” He proposed to start deciding what Internet users can and cannot view by introducing filters which would screen Web pages for obscene content. He was, quite literally, proposing to take away our right to say ‘fuck’.
When I was sixteen my bedroom had red walls. I grew up in Canada, and, where I lived it was below zero from November until May. The heating on my side of the house didn’t work properly, and aside from sleeping under a collection of blankets I thought red walls would make me feel warmer.
Feed me!
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