The Notebook: Recent Episodes
Lockdown (all three of them in the UK’s case) has given us all a lot more time to fill. For me, that’s meant more time to get through the towering pile of books on my bedside table. Having a good book on hand has really helped me get through the dullest lockdown day, and as we count down the weeks/days/hours until restrictions ease and our normal lives resume, I thought I’d put together a list of my favourite books on Bookshop.org for anyone looking for a new read. These are the best of the best (in my humble opinion).
If you purchase any book from Bookshop.org then profits go towards helping local, independent bookshops across the UK, which have been hit hard by the lockdowns. Although, nothing beats browsing a bookshop in the flesh – this is the next best thing.
Happy reading!
I’m writing this a couple of hours before another national lockdown is expected to be announced by Boris (now announced). It will be England’s third lockdown since the menace that is COVID-19 came into our lives almost exactly a year ago, drastically altering the way we live and taking many loved ones before their time. This, combined with the fact that it is the first Monday back at work for many people, means that today is not a happy day for many – and not a good start to 2021. The first month of the year is usually a grim one anyway; the weather, end of festivities, and back to school feels is enough to make any stomach churn with anxiety. Throw a global pandemic-that-is-showing-no-sign-of-abating into the mix and it is positively bleak. It doesn’t help that we have an indecisive, incompetent government at the helm which has made so many U-turns and poor choices in the past ten months that it is no wonder people are tired, frustrated, confused and disillusioned. I – along with many others who live here – wish Jacinda Ardern was our prime minister. Surely, we can just share her with NZ?
It is hard to stay optimistic about the future when we are surrounded by so much loss; lives, jobs, plans, time. It feels as though we are watching grains of sand slip through our fingers and there is nothing we can do except watch and wait. Uncertainty stretches out for as far as the eye can see. Inequality has been magnified. Even our identities are being warped by this new normal. I can’t be the only one who is questioning my own sense of self and purpose amidst this pandemic.
I am lucky. I have not lost any loved ones. One of my best friends lost three family members within the space of two months. He couldn’t say goodbye to his beloved grandma, he couldn’t hold her hand, he couldn’t give her one last kiss. He couldn’t even attend her funeral. I can’t begin to imagine how painful that must be to experience.
Another friend had been saving up for the trip of a lifetime. A month before she was due to step of the plane in Costa Rica, the lockdown started. Her dreams shattered.
One good thing to come out of COVID-19 is that it has taught us not to take anything for granted. It has shown us all how easily the people – and things – we love can be snatched from us without a moment’s notice. It has certainly shown me how important certain relationships are, how important human connection is. How we need that to keep ourselves afloat when we feel at sea. It has also shown us how resilient we are; I have been astounded by stories of people – both those I know and those who are complete strangers – who have battled on despite everything falling apart.
A COVID-free summer feels a long way away (if impossible). The phrase ‘it’ll get worse before it gets better’ is being said a lot at the moment. Looking ahead, as we often do in January, now triggers a tidal wave of dread. How long until we can hug our friends/family? How long until the two-metre rule is a thing of the past? How long until that much yearned for thing, normality, returns?
I don’t have any answers to these questions – no-one does. This is what is most disconcerting. So what can we do? We can destroy ourselves with anger and fear. Or we can start finding joy in the small things, live in the present instead of worrying about the future, we can learn to appreciate what we have, look after ourselves, we can hold on to the hope for better times to come. Easier said than done, I know (and this is coming from an incredibly impatient person). But those better times will come; we just have to wait.
Photo taken on the evening of the last day of 2020.
It was a hazy sunset on my first day in Lebanon. The call to prayer echoed out over the baking rooftops, mingling with the sounds of children playing and birds chattering in the trees. The country was in the grip of a heatwave, and it seemed like everyone was making the most of the cooler evening temperatures. The outside world, quiet during the day, had suddenly come alive.
I was in Lebanon reporting on the work of a charity that finds and destroys landmines and unexploded ordnance left over from the multiple conflicts that have plagued the country. You can read the article for The Telegraph here. It was my first foreign assignment and it’s safe to say I was a little nervous. It wasn’t so much the walking through a minefield that bothered me (I can assure you many safety precautions were taken), it was more because I wanted to write a piece that does justice to the life-saving work of the charity and captures Lebanon’s current bleak situation.
The triple whammy of political corruption, economic mismanagement and Covid-19 had already tipped the country into a crisis. And then almost 3,000 tons of ammonium nitrate exploded in Beirut’s port – the country’s main trade artery – killing 200 people and leaving many homeless and without jobs. So far there has been zero accountability. The inertia of the authorities has (rightly) angered the population, with many taking to the streets to voice their discontent. That famous Lebanese resilience has often been commented on, particularly in the last few months – my Lebanese friend, who I met up with in Beirut, told me she finds it patronising when people praise their resilience. The only reason they’ve had to pick themselves up and dust themselves off so many times is because the authorities are failing to help them, she explained.
Much has been written about Lebanon since the explosion. This was my chance to ask questions, speak to locals, and see for myself how the country is coping. Although my piece focuses on the importance of clearing land contaminated in the past (two Israeli invasions and occupations of southern Lebanon in 1978 and 1982, ending in 2000, plus a 34-day war in 2006 between Israel and the Iranian-backed Hezbollah = a hell of a lot of landmines and unexploded cluster submunitions), I still wanted to anchor it in the present. I also wanted to try to make it hopeful. Clearing Lebanon of contamination would free up land to not only cultivate, but also to build infrastructure; both of which would improve economic activity and create stability. Not to mention the obvious improvement of safety.
There have been recent flare-ups in tension between the two neighbours, and while walking through the minefields on the Blue Line (the Lebanon-Israel border demarcation) we heard an Israeli drone buzzing overhead; a reminder of just how politically sensitive the area is. Acorns crunched under our feet as we meandered through the field – each step carefully considered. We spotted many landmines, some buried below the surface, others lying on top of the ground metres away from where we stood. Demining is incredibly physical, painstaking work. To see it firsthand was an eye-opening experience – it really hit home just how essential it is. The PPE they have to wear is also very heavy and in temperatures of almost 40°C it feels like you are wearing an oven. I only wore mine for about 30 mins and it was pretty unbearable – the deminers have to wear it for six hours.
Aside from reporting on the NGO’s work along the Blue Line, I also got some time to explore Sidon, Maghdouché, Nabatieh, and Beirut. Every person I met was friendly and welcoming – despite everything the Lebanese people have been through, their tradition of hospitality is alive and well. I also got to indulge in the local cuisine: fattuoush salad, manakish, sambousek, and the best hummus I’ve ever eaten.
Below are some snaps from my whistle-stop trip. I will be back – and I hope that when I do the country will be in a better place politically and economically. After witnessing the determination of the deminers, I’m sure in a few years the country will be a lot closer to being mine free.
What do I miss?
I miss the hustle and bustle. I miss the people, swarming and buzzing, going about their daily lives. I miss brushing past someone and automatically saying sorry, I miss the armpit in my face at rush hour on the tube, I miss the thrill of running through the carriage doors just as they swoosh shut. I miss the smugness of getting the last seat. I miss getting annoyed at slow walkers. I miss the fluttering in my heart when my bus crosses over the Thames, and the city’s skyline looms majestically into view. I miss sitting at the top of the double-decker, and feeling like you’re on top of the world. I miss the lights at night, shining like reassuring beams from zillions of lighthouses guiding you through choppy waters. I miss stumbling back after a nightout through deserted streets with only the foxes for company. I miss pub quizzes, libraries, books shops, art exhibitions, markets, and hunting in charity shops. I miss lying on the grass in a park doused in spring sunshine. I miss pigeons. I miss rowdy dinners with old friends, I miss dancing in a club packed with people and throbbing with music, I miss making new friends in bathroom queues. I miss the promise of a free weekend and the freedom to do anything I want.
I miss hearing the tinkle of the piano at Tottenham Court Road Station. I miss stroking strangers’ dogs in the park. I miss complaining about the Hammersmith and City Line taking forever. I miss hand shakes, high-fives, and hugging my friends. I miss proper coffee, and chatting to my local barista. I miss walking down the street and hearing three different languages being spoken. I miss going round to my friend’s flat after a bad day to eat pasta, drink wine, and listen to Joni Mitchell. I miss people-watching through the café window. I miss impromptu karaoke sessions. I miss golden evenings when people spill out of pubs onto the pavements. I miss not worrying if I’m standing two metres away from the nearest person, or if we’ll have enough toilet roll to last the week. I miss fully-stocked supermarket shelves. I miss watching the news when the word ‘Coronavirus’ was never mentioned. I miss not feeling that tightening knot of dread in my stomach when an ambulance siren wails in the distance, or when another digit is added to the death toll. I miss not getting anxious when my mum or dad starts to cough.
I miss the little things and the big things. The things that usually make my toes curl, and the things that make my heart leap with joy. The things I normally take for granted. Mostly, I miss London when it was pulsating with life – how it should be – but also how it made me feel. Alive.
A pause button has been pressed on our fast-paced world. I can’t deny it has been nice to hear the birds sing and to see a sky swept clear of planes. And yes, there are moments when I feel like I’m on house arrest; waiting with baited breath for the moment our shackles are lifted. The uncertainty of the future feels like some sort of purgatory. But this lockdown has been a time to reflect, to reassess our lives, to think about what is really important.
If one good thing comes out of this pandemic (apart from the outpouring of appreciation for the NHS and key workers, and better levels of hygiene), it is the realisation that this city – this concrete jungle that I have had a tumultuous love/hate relationship with for the past five years – has become entwined with my identity. It’s people, it’s culture, it’s openness, even it’s greyness, has crept into my heart and wedged itself inside. I know I am lucky; it can be a cruel city for some.
Now, I am 70 miles away, quarantined with my family in the village where I grew up. I find myself yearning for London like a long-distance lover. I don’t know when I’ll see it next. But I know it’ll still be there. It’s inhabitants getting on with life like they always do; making me proud to call myself a Londoner.
A traditional thali in Varanasi
A trip to India to “find yourself” is usually greeted with an eye-roll from anybody who hears of your plans. I’ll be the first one to admit to my dislike of the tired cliché of self-discovery which abounds from westerners when talking about this part of the world. You can spot them a mile off. Rucksack the size of a Great Dane? Tick. Birkenstocks? Tick. Burnt forehead? Tick. Buddhist prayer beads? Tick. I know this because, at the start of this year, I was one of them. After my internship came to an end I decided to spend six-weeks exploring the world, instead of just staring at it on a screen. It wasn’t necessarily a “find yourself” trip. There was no epiphany while stretching into the warrior pose at sunrise, or light bulb moment while floating down the Ganges. What I did discover, however, was a love of Indian cuisine.
Ever since arriving in the world’s largest democracy I had been on something of a culinary rollercoaster. After some initial hesitation, I jumped in headfirst (or mouthfirst) – armed with several packets of Imodium. In Kerala, a southern coastal state famed for its backwaters, communism, and seafood, I ate a boney fish curry (painful), and fresh garlicky prawns (sublime). I’ve eaten dosas, a type of crispy pancake, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’ve had thalis spread on banana leaves, Idiyappam (steamed rice noodles, or “string hoppers”) dipped in a rich coconut sauce, and I’ve crunched on strange herbs in a spice garden. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with the heavenly gulab jamun; doughnut balls drenched in a sugary syrup. I’ve been surprised by chunks of juicy pineapple in a curry, a fiery mango chutney, and the weird yet wonderful squishiness of a banana fritter.
Up north in Delhi, I ate alongside worshippers sat on the floor of a Sikh temple, using roti to scoop up the chickpeas of a chana masala, and dribbled dhal down my top. In Varanasi, I drank a bitty yoghurt drink called a lassi as a dead body was carried past to the burning ghats which line the banks of the Ganges. I’ve cracked poppadoms on a roof terrace overlooking the golden city of Jaisalmer, savoured a kati roll in a garage filled with classic cars in Jaipur, tried (and hated) jackfruit, and devoured a dominos pizza topped with paneer on a train in the middle of the Thar Desert. I could go on but I’m starting to salivate.
Eating in India is a unifying experience. It’s not merely a way to fuel your body, but a celebration of tradition and togetherness. It was also a great way to connect with locals and learn about their culture. During my time volunteering with local women’s groups, I relished hearing about their favourite dishes to cook for their families – they even wrote us recipes to try out. Although, I doubt my own cooking will capture the vibrancy of their food.
There’s a kaleidoscope of textures and flavours in every meal, like the colours that surprise you when you turn a street corner; bold and bright they burn in your mind (and your mouth) long after you’ve left. Vegetables here are taken to soaring new heights, they’re not just an afterthought which tends to happen in the West. Dishes were bursting with aubergine, okra, sweet potato, tomatoes, spinach, wax gourd, turnip, asparagus. Nothing, though, can compare to the humble cauliflower. It is this discovery that will be forever ingrained in my mind.
Our auto-rickshaw driver swerved a pothole before stopping abruptly outside Bhatt’s Tiffinbox, a tiny restaurant in the heart of Kochi, where locals were spilling out into the sweaty night. The owner ushered us in and we sat down at a polished metal table. Opposite, four young girls gazed at us curiously while nibbling on chapati, their eyes ringed with kohl, their dresses pristine. The walls were clad in white tiles like a subway, and in the corner was a little sink with no soap. Smells and shouting emerged from the kitchen. People chatted in Malayalam, the language of Kerala. Neighbours and uncles, grandmas and toddlers, old friends and new, all dug into their dinner; shoveling rice with their hands, slurping dhal, tearing bread, sipping lime soda. Sticky fingers wiped on saris. The drinking water was warm. I was hot and hungry.
We ordered cauliflower, lots of cauliflower; enough to feed a small army of vegetarians. Fried, roasted, curried, paired with potatoes, drenched in a tomato stew, a sprinkling of coriander on top. There were many manifestations, but one constant. The white broccoli, member of the brassica family, cousin to cabbage and kale, and, in my opinion, bore of the vegetable world. I’m used to it over-boiled and limp, a ghost of its former self, enlivened only with the accompaniment of beaucoup de fromage. But in India, cauliflower is king, and I am now its devout servant.
I owe this enlightenment to Bhatt’s Tiffinbox, where I gobbled gobi by the bucketload. Here, cauliflower isn’t relegated to a side dish; there is no sitting on the bench waiting for Gareth Southgate to call it up for its moment in the limelight. Here, it is man of the match. I mopped up a tangy gobi masala (sautéed cauliflower enveloped in a spicy tomato sauce) with a flaky flatbread called paratha, which was so buttery and soft. That was followed by heap upon heap of aloo gobi; tender florets and creamy potatoes laced with ginger and cumin. It was a glorious turmeric stained mountain on top of a sea of basmati – as beautiful as any Himalayan plateau.
I had several helpings of gobi pakora, a moreish snack of cauliflower covered in spices and gram flour which is then fried to a crunchy golden crispness. This wasn’t too greasy, and the batter didn’t detract from the vegetable itself, instead cocooning it with zesty flavour. Dinner here is usually washed down with a cup of chai, that delectable tea spiced with ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, star anise, and cloves, which bubbles away on stoves and is sold on almost every street, train, and market stall by loud chai wallahs (their repetitive cries of “chai!” still reverberate around my head today). It is the lifeblood of India. Fragrant, sweet, and milky; a welcome warm embrace despite the 35-degree heat.
After we had polished off every last morsel and drank every last drop of chai, we sat back and looked at each other, too full to speak or do anything except gurgle our approval. The other diners smiled at us knowingly, as if we now knew their best-kept secret. And that was my fateful meeting with the unsung hero of the brassica family. A coup de foudre strong enough to spark a lifelong love affair.
Me, post curry in Pushkar (probably thinking about cauliflower)
It was when my plane landed on the tarmac at the Indira Gandhi Airport that it really hit me. I was in India with only a rucksack for company and six long weeks stretching ahead of me. It was my first time as a solo traveller, as well as my first time outside of Europe. I had plunged myself into the deep end; would I sink or swim? The sun had just risen, a burning orange engulfed in a haze of smog, and I was a nervous wreck (this was before I had encountered the chaos that is Delhi traffic, where honking loudly is the only rule of the road).
When I told my family that I was planning to travel around India they dismissed it as another one of my wild fantasies that I would never commit to. The next week I booked my flight. As a natural introvert I wanted to do something to push myself out of my comfort zone, and attempt to make me more resilient and “worldly”. Of course, there was also the urge to escape from the mundane 9 to 5 and the bleak British winter. I was walking across Southwark Bridge on a dark November evening after work with the rain lashing my face, dodging grumpy commuters, when I decided then and there that I was going to India, a country I’ve always been fascinated by.
Full disclosure, I wasn’t on my own for the whole of my trip; I was part of a tour group for a couple of weeks in the north, and when I went down south I volunteered on a women’s empowerment programme, so I stayed with other volunteers. Even when I was expecting to spend time alone, I often found myself making friends with fellow travellers – but then that’s the joy of solo travel, you end up making friends much more easily than if you were in a group.
Solo female travel has increased in popularity in recent years with searches for “solo female travel” growing by 52% between 2016 and 2017. Some say it’s because of the increase in disposable income amongst young women, others call it the Instagram affect; those filtered photos of white sandy beaches and crystal clear waters generating FOMO amongst a generation that can book a flight at the touch of a button. A 2018 survey by the Solo Traveller website revealed that 85% of solo travellers are women and only 13% are men. This was also something I discovered while travelling: the majority of solo travellers are women. Why is this? Responses to the survey were: “There are more times in a woman’s life when responsibilities are restrictive, solo travel offers a break. Women are more adventurous than men. Women are more comfortable being on their own.” I’m not saying these are right or wrong, but it’s interesting to think about. There are also some new initiatives being set up like Wovoyage, a travel company that specialises in conducting risk-free, safe tours for women.
Solo female travelling has been a widely discussed topic in the media since the murder of British backpacker, Grace Millane in New Zealand in December 2018. Of course, this was tragic and heart-breaking, but bad things happen to women wherever you are in the world; it’s not the travelling that kills someone, it’s an evil person. Last night two people were stabbed on the street I live on in London, and yesterday two women were abducted and raped in an area six miles away. So am I really safer here than I am in a city on the other side of the world? Of course, there are countries where the state of women’s rights makes it dangerous for women travellers as well as native women, with the high risk of sexual violence and harassment.
Last year, India was voted the worst country in the world for women in a poll by Thompson Reuters. The survey asked 548 experts on different topics such as discrimination, healthcare, cultural traditions, sexual and non-sexual violence, and trafficking. India came ahead of Syria, Afghanistan, and Saudi Arabia. Many Indians disagreed with the results:
The Thompson Reuters Foundation poll is based on the perception of over 500 “experts” & not on the perception of common women in India. How can Syria, where ISIS jihadis held women captive as sex slaves, be more safe for women? Why is Indian media buying statistical gibberish? https://t.co/xUZ99LgtNb
— Aarti Tikoo Singh (@AartiTikoo) June 26, 2018
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During a discussion I had with a group of young Indians at an English Academy in Kochi, they told me that the rise in reports of rape and harassment can be seen as a positive as women are emboldened and now feel they will be listened to and believed, which one man claimed shows that there is no longer stigma around sexual harassment, ever since the public outrage sparked by the Delhi gang rape in 2012. His female friend agreed and mentioned the success of the Pink Police, an initiative in Kerala designed to tackle crimes against women, particularly sexual violence. Although she still admitted to feeling unsafe walking down the street at night, and said she would either avoid doing this or make sure someone was with her.
But the data is stark. A look at the official crime statistics for 2016 shows a woman was raped every 13 minutes – and that’s only the reported cases. Add to that the news last year that a prominent politician from the ruling BJP party raped a 16-year-old girl, and was only investigated a year after the assault took place because the victim tried to set herself on fire and it became an international news story.
While I was in India, the only trouble I got was a bottom slap, and a man following me on a motorbike while I was walking alone down a dark street. The rest of the time it was just stares and a lot of men taking photos. The majority of men I met while there were absolutely lovely. But I can’t compare my tourist experience with the experiences of local women who have to put up with the social norms and bias within an incredibly patriarchal society.
Before I went travelling I avoided reading the horror stories that would make me regret booking my trip, and the last thing I want to do now is scare other young women thinking about travelling alone. Solo travel is one of the best things I’ve ever done. It sounds cliché but my confidence has grown exponentially since the day I arrived in India, and I’ve done things I’ve always dreamed of doing, like riding a camel through the desert, visiting the Taj Mahal, learning how to Bollywood dance, playing cricket with locals, hiking up a mountain and watching the sunrise with a family of monkeys, zip-wiring around the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur, watching the Ganga Aarti Ceremony on the banks of the Ganges, cruising down the Kerala backwaters, the list goes on. India is a country that seems to be constantly buzzing with life; a place that is both chaotic and serene, filled with colour and energy and spirit.
There’s been some tough moments too, like enduring a ten hour sleeper train with the mother of all snorers in the bed below me. Luckily, I made some brilliant friends along the way who filled my trip with so much laughter (even when we were shattered and/or had Delhi belly).
There’s a whole wide world out there; big and scary, and waiting to be discovered. An oyster that I’ve only just cracked open. We shouldn’t let our fears stop us from exploring it.
Overlooking the rooftops of Jaisalmer, Rajasthan.
I may not be an experienced solo traveller (yet) but here are a few tips I picked up during my trip:
- Get a local sim card for your phone so you don’t rely on places having wifi to contact people, because a lot of the time they won’t.
- Download an offline map of the area you’re going to (on the Google Maps app on your phone), so you always know where you are.
- Give someone at home your travel itinerary, so there is always someone that knows where you are.
- Don’t carry a large amount of cash around. Also, a hidden money belt is very handy to keep your valuables in.
- Don’t bring all of your bank cards with you.
- When staying at a hotel/hostel always remember to pick up their card with the address and contact details on and put it in your purse in case you get lost or can’t remember the name of the hotel.
- If you can, try to book an airport transfer for when you arrive. It is overwhelming when you exit the airport in a new country, particularly after a long flight, and most taxis you find outside the airport will be very expensive.
- Write down important emergency contact numbers, like police and ambulance.
- Do research local customs and traditions, and make sure to respect them. Particularly for women, if you don’t want to attract a lot of attention then don’t show a lot of skin.
- Most vendors/tuk-tuk drivers will try to rip tourists off, so always haggle.
- Useful items to bring: a universal power adapter and a portable charger (although with the latter make sure to put it in your hand luggage as airlines do not allow it in your checked luggage).
- Getting a local guide or making friends with locals is invaluable.
- Try to learn a few words of the local language, even if it’s just hello/thank you.
- When buying bottled water, make sure it is a trusted brand and the lid is properly sealed.
- Bring a disposable camera.
- Always have a packet of Imodium handy!!
- Most of all, approach everything with an open mind and embrace every opportunity. There will be times when you feel stressed, tired, and homesick, but there will also be times when you feel completely and utterly alive.
I took three disposable film cameras on my trip to India. Some might think that’s a little excessive, but I wanted to capture every fleeting moment – from camels in the Rajasthan desert, to cruising down the Keralan backwaters, and everything in between. I love the simplicity and element of surprise you get with a disposable camera. You never know how the images are going to turn out, until the moment you head to Boots and collect your developed film with fingers crossed. Will they all just be dark and blurry? Will they be overexposed? Will my finger feature heavily? There’s a certain nostalgia; harking back to the days when it wasn’t all about pointing your iPhone at anything and everything, then immediately uploading to Instagram. There’s the wait, the suspense. It reminds me of school trips – although all of those snaps were skewed, grey, and cold-looking. My India disposables turned out surprisingly well in comparison. I think they portray the vibrancy, chaos, and serenity of the country, and they’re all the better for their imperfections. Here are a few of my favourites.
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh. 13th February 2019.
We watched the sun rise up over the black swirling waters of the Ganges from a long wooden boat. There was a thick mist shrouding the banks when we arrived; we walked down the ghats into a white nothingness scented with burning bodies. Behind us children chanted and contorted into yoga poses, while pilgrims washed themselves in the holy water. We left the bustling city of Varanasi behind as we swept along the river, following the birds as they dipped and dived, twisting and turning in the gentle pink glow of the early morning. Soon there were more boats. Most of them carrying tourists with their cameras glued to the orange ball that was now high in the sky. It illuminated the colourful buildings lining the river and threw yellows, pinks, purples, and greens into the water. An upside down rainbow.
At night the flames on the burning ghats licked the sky, almost touching the half-moon which reclined above us. Candles bobbed in the water – offerings from the Ganga Aarti ceremony, a spiritual ritual which takes place every evening at dusk. The Hindu priests stand on the edge of the river chanting and circling lamps in praise of Mother Ganga (the river). Babas in saffron robes jump from boat to boat, dotting foreheads with red paint, and making blessings, before asking for rupees. Crowds gather on land and water, holding their glowing phones aloft. Most have no clue what’s going on, yet still get entranced by the peacefulness which descends like a blanket – a sticky embrace in the humid night which you just have to accept willingly.
It’s a world away from the labyrinth of streets that clot with people and auto rickshaws, bikes and cows, stray dogs lazing in the afternoon sun, dead bodies wrapped in cloth and paraded down to the ghats, temples overflowing with visitors, and shopkeepers trying to entice you inside. Here, you are constantly on your toes, dodging the chaos that surrounds you, feeding off its energy.
In Varanasi I feel as though I am either on the verge of fainting or dancing with joy.
Alleppey, Kerala. 3rd March 2019.
The coconut trees that line the backwaters lean into the river with bent spines. It’s easy to see why this place is nicknamed ‘God’s Own Country’ when the sunlight slices through the canopy and glimmers off the cobalt wings of a Kingfisher as it dances through the air. Swollen mangoes hang off branches, children splash in the shallows, ducks paddle contently on the surface, and women slap their washing on to the rocks. Red rice fields roll into the distance. Empty and waiting to be harvested.
In the village, white sheets hang off a washing line and blow in the breeze. The pink flowers of a lapacho tree spill over a wall. Boys playing football in a dusty field call us over to join in, but we are busy hunting for the sunset.
Alas, this proves elusive; the clouds have gathered and threaten rain. Instead we walk back to where our houseboat is moored, next to a thicket where the piercing cries of a red-wattled lapwing ring out. Once onboard the heavens open.
On the first of January 2019 I finished one of several books I had been reading over the tail end of 2018. 01/01/2019 was a grey day with a gentle drizzle coating all of the hungover souls who ventured outside for their customary New Year’s day stroll. I, on the other hand, was inside reading and drinking hot chocolate. This particular book had a vibrant red cover and writing to match: searingly honest, heartfelt, and full of warmth and humour. It was called ‘The Rules Do Not Apply’, a memoir by Ariel Levy, and it was bloody good. The book made me reflect on all the other books I’ve read over the past twelve months – fiction and non-fiction, poetry and memoirs – some brilliant, some not so brilliant. There have been ones that have really left an impression on me; the prose, scenes, and characters scorched into my memory, others were informative – opening up discussions about subjects I’d never considered before, some have taken me to faraway lands while in reality I was on the District Line heading to work, and several were simply pleasant to read on a suffocatingly hot summer day (because we had plenty of those). Here in no particular order are the books I enjoyed…
The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (I wrote a post about this incredible book, which you can read here)
Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
The White Album by Joan Didion
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
The Militant Muse: Love, War, and the Women of Surrealism by Whitney Chadwick
Transcription by Kate Atkinson
Returning to Reims by Didier Eribon
My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante
The House in France: A Memoir by Gully Wells
Ariel by Sylvia Plath (poetry)
Winter by Ali Smith
She Must Be Mad by Charly Cox (poetry)
A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth
The Last Girl by Nadia Murad
Slay in Your Lane by Elizabeth Uviebinené and Yomi Adegoke
A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
And on my list for 2019…
God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Travels with Myself and Another by Martha Gellhorn
Around India in 80 Trains by Monisha Rajesh
Becoming by Michelle Obama
The Water Cure by Sophie Mackintosh
Normal People by Sally Rooney
Olivia Cooke plays Becky Sharp in the new ITV adaptation of William Thackeray’s Vanity Fair.
Things have changed since William Thackeray published Vanity Fair in 1847-1848. We ride Ubers instead of horse-drawn carriages, wear jeans instead of breeches, and are (mostly) good friends with the French. Women are no longer seen as ‘angels of the home’ whose only goal is to marry well and bear children. This is why Becky Sharp is such a revolutionary character; sitting on the sofa watching the ITV adaptation on a Sunday evening, it’s as if we are watching a champion marathon runner weaving her way through the strict confines of Victorian society, smiling slyly at the camera as she gives another verbal kick in the teeth. We are all her adoring fans, cheering her on as she is whisked away in Aunt Matilda’s carriage to the prophetic tune of Madonna’s Material Girl.
Becky is the underdog that viewers latch on to, like Sandra Oh in Killing Eve (another brilliant drama currently on TV) we like a dose of girl power on our screens.
Of course, nowadays the more conventional route to success is education and a high-flying job, demonstrated by women like the financier Helena Morrissey. But for some, the internet and social media in particular is a vehicle to both project a certain lifestyle and climb to greater heights – like a modern day ladder to better things. Instead of marriage into a wealthy family à la 19thcentury Becky, all you have to do is gather up a hefty amount of followers and you can get that fashion line/book deal/poetry collection/sports sponsorship/insert here. Never mind Rawdon Crawley.
It makes you wonder what the modern Becky Sharp would be like. Fast forward several centuries and Becky might be a YouTuber in her bedroom doing DIY hair and make-up videos – getting thousands of views – before a deal with Boots, her own line of lipsticks, then an appearance on reality TV, ending up with a Boohoo collaboration. Today, her Instagram is filled with photos of her recent holiday in Ibiza with her new beau, peppered with the obligatory #ad #blessed hashtags. Not forgetting a dedicated space on the Mail Online sidebar for those paparazzi shots of her exiting Chiltern Firehouse at 1am.
Most people, while scrolling through 21st century Becky’s social media, would give an eye-roll instead of a whispered “good on yer gal”.
So why do we cheer for 19th century Becky, but sneer at 21st century Becky? They are both social climbers, albeit in two very different worlds.
Our class system has changed – it’s no longer set in stone since birth, like gender structures it’s become more fluid. Britain will always have a bee in its bonnet when it comes to class, but now it’s more about status, or ‘status-climbers’. Think about how the tabloids labeled Kate and Pippa Middleton as the ‘Wisteria Sisters’, or the hoo-ha around the droves of young people applying to this year’s Love Island. One can imagine Becky’s retort: What’s so wrong with making something of oneself in whatever way one sees fit?
With the proliferation of reality TV, YouTube, and social media, you don’t have to be an aristo with a stately pile to garner status. But maybe that’s why modern social climbers are villainised; they are seen as being inauthentic in a society that places a lot of importance on authenticity. As Thackeray writes; “The world is a looking glass, and gives back to every man [or woman] the reflection of his own face.”In the case of social media influencers, that may be a highly filtered and carefully curated one, particularly with Instagram, which is renowned for users presenting their shiny, perfect life in squares. This has created a backlash. Is the unreality of social media actually harming people?
Well, yes it might be. A 2017 study by the Royal Society for Public Health (RSPH) looked at how the big social media platforms affected young people. Instagram scored the worst, particularly with body image and FOMO (fear of missing out). It’s not a new discovery that our increased time looking at screens (and scrolling mindlessly) is bad for our mental health, but it is a problem for those people whose careers are dependent on social media. Case in point being Scarlett Dixon, a blogger and Instagram influencer who got caught in a viral storm (and received death threats) after posting a staged image of her “perfect morning” while promoting Listerine mouthwash, which was mocked on Twitter for being fake and “making us all feel inadequate”, see below. Although I agree with the point that posts like this contributes to feelings of inadequacy, I don’t think it’s right to shame a young woman (in such a public way) who is just trying to make a living. If you don’t like it, don’t follow her.
Fuck off this is anybody’s normal morning.
Instagram is a ridiculous lie factory made to make us all feel inadequate. pic.twitter.com/arV7uCusiJ
— Nathan (@hintofsarcasm) August 31, 2018
https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js
So how would 21st century Becky fare?
The original subtitle for Vanity Fair was ‘A Novel without a Hero’. This is telling. Indeed, by the end of the book Becky has faded from being the feminist heroine that we all cheer for, growing greedier and greedier, until she is left destitute and without any friends. It is quite a pertinent message, even today. The current adaptation has come at a time when digital media can be used as a tool to get ahead, but also as a way of comparing ourselves to others, and can ultimately lead to our downfall. Modern Becky may well fall into this trap.
We love to hate a social climber because they use or exploit people to get to where they want to go. They are seen as being selfish and shallow. But Thackeray’s book is a reminder that being human is not about perfection; we all have faults, we all have ambitions, we all get jealous, we all have moments of greed. And, don’t we all, like Becky, want to get to the ‘top’? The key thing is how we get there, and once we get there, asking ourselves if it was worth it. As Thackeray puts it:“Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?”
Image from wikihow.com
Today we have a wealth of knowledge waiting to be accessed imminently via our fingertips. Amazing, but also a little daunting. Information is constantly fighting for our attention, and once absorbed, people jostle like seagulls for the last chip to impart their new-found wisdom on, well, anyone.
Two years ago I began studying at Sciences Po, a prestigious grande école in France. It was a place bursting with knowledge and expectation. I was both intimidated and enthralled at the calibre of students who were literally fizzing with wisdom well beyond their years. It quickly dawned on me (during an after-dinner debate on US foreign policy) that I would either have to pretend I knew what they were talking about, or I should just accept that I do not know what they are talking about, and instead listen andlearn. This sounds simple and obvious, but you would be surprised how many people (both at Sciences Po and beyond) who struggle to admit that they do not know something. There were many times when I was sat in a seminar listening to a student drone on about something completely irrelevant to the question they were being asked, because they couldn’t utter those feared three words: I don’t know. But then again these are future politicians being cultivated, and they notoriously never give a straight answer (and never like to admit that they don’t know something).
I found this out somewhat embarrassingly a few weeks into my year abroad, when I was asked a question that I really did not have a clue how to respond to, and instead of making something up, I simply said “I don’t know”. Cue a ripple of sniggers. Those words are seen as a failure – a gap that you desperately need to fill with anything but those words. Shortly afterwards I asked my friend (who is a self-confessed expert at bullshitting) to teach me how to bullshit. This didn’t really work; I’m not a natural bullshitter.
But admitting that you don’t know something isn’t a bad thing, in fact I think it should be embraced. Instead of being seen as something shameful, it should be seen as an opportunity to learn something new (again, obvious but how many know-it-alls never shut up long enough to actually learn something new?). Even better, if you don’t know something, how about asking someone to explain it? Admitting you don’t know something, asking questions, listening to people, and starting a dialogue; these things are especially important today when our society is turning more and more insular.
Think about our politicians. Yes, most of the time they are ridiculed if they admit to not knowing something (they are there to govern after all), but they are only human, and perhaps if they admitted to a gap in their knowledge and talked to people outside of their circle, they would become more aware of issues/people that are frequently forgotten about. Maybe Trump wouldn’t have been elected if those in the Establishment had listened to the people who did not feel heard (although there were many more factors involved). That is the power of “I don’t know”: it might be embarrassing at first, but by accepting your lack of knowledge in a particular subject you will then be more motivated to expand it.
I survived the year at Sciences Po. In fact, I loved it and learnt a lot. Three of the most important things I learnt was not to feel overwhelmed or intimidated by the vast amount of knowledge out there, to always question, and always listen. And I also like to think that my bullshit detector improved considerably.
It’s 1994 and Charlotte Kneer is 23 years old when she meets who she thinks is the man of her dreams.
Nine months later and they are both guests at a wedding when he starts to get verbally aggressive towards her. “I tried to leave because he was really drunk…I needed to get my bag which was in a car down a path away from everybody. I started walking and the next thing I know he punched me in the back of the head. Then he was on top of me and punching me, and as soon as it had started he was gone.” The next day he turned up at her flat in a state. “He was crying his eyes out, and so upset and devastated, and… I felt sorry for him. I let him in, and I guess that was the defining moment really, because from his point of view that was the signal that I was going to accept what he’d done.”
After that the violence got worse, but she didn’t tell anyone because she couldn’t face leaving him. “I just couldn’t,” she says adamantly. “I thought he would kill me [if I left]. I couldn’t see a way out, and there was still a part of me that hoped that maybe things would get better.” Charlotte married him, and describes how on the day of their wedding she cried in the toilets: “I didn’t want to be marrying him but I couldn’t get out of it.”
Fast-forward to 2018 and the sky over Surrey is grey and heavy with rain when I meet Charlotte at the women’s refuge she runs. She’s chatty and warm, despite being stressed about moving house. As the CEO of Reigate and Banstead Women’s Aid refuge (RBWA), it’s not organising removals that’s worrying her, but the reason behind her move: her ex-husband is due to be released after four years behind bars and three years on probation, so she thinks the safest thing to do is to move somewhere new. He pleaded guilty to everything, including the domestic abuse of two other women.
I’m given a tour of RBWA; it’s light and spacious with artwork by the residents on the walls – one painting depicts a blazing phoenix with the words “Risen from the ashes” next to it. All the residents have heartbreaking stories to tell, yet are smiling and friendly. It’s far removed from the image of a refuge that initially springs to mind.
Artwork at RBWA
At the refuge they help 45 women and 60 children on average per year. It is life-saving work. Yet refuges up and down the country have been falling like dominos as a result of cuts to funding. The Bureau of Investigative Journalism found that over three-quarters of councils have reduced their spending on women’s refuges since 2010. And it could get even worse. In October last year, the government revealed plans to remove refuges from the welfare system; this means that from April 2020, refuges will no longer receive housing benefit, which Charlotte says makes up about 40% of their income. “We have three income streams, the first and only stable stream for us is housing benefit.” Money from the local authority makes up 30% of their income, but she says this always has a “big question mark over it” as councils don’t have to fund refuges because the women aren’t local. “So what the government is doing with our one stable income stream – housing benefit – is taking that out of the benefit system and giving that money to local authorities to distribute.” She says it is “doubling our risk with the local authority”, particularly because “it isn’t specifically ring-fenced for women’s refuges, it’s ring-fenced for short-term supported housing like drug and alcohol hostels”. Women’s refuges do come under the umbrella of short-term supported housing, but there is no onus on local authorities to fund them.
A statement from the Ministry of Housing, Communities and Local Government revealed that they are planning to carry out a new burdens assessment to ensure that local authorities are properly funded to cope with the enhanced role. They added that “this means no refuge should worry about closing or have any doubts over our commitment to ensure a sustainable funding model for them.”
But Charlotte can’t help but worry. She says: “I’ve never done a job where you can’t plan sustainably year to year because it’s just so uncertain, and this is just the latest in a long line of things that we are fighting… It just feels never-ending.” A survey by Women’s Aid found that the proposed funding changes would force 39% of refuges to close and 13% of services would have to reduce the number of bed spaces available. This would result in 4,000 more women and children being turned away (200 women and children were turned away from refuges on one day in 2017).
It is hoped that the new Domestic Abuse Bill will bring much-needed change. The consultation was launched on International Women’s Day and the bill will start going through parliament at the end of this year. The proposals range from tougher sentencing for perpetrators to increased protection for victims, and the consultation gathered views from experts in the field as well as survivors to discuss how to allocate the £20 million in funding announced last year.
At the time of the interview, Charlotte and her team were preparing for a visit from Theresa May’s special advisor as part of the consultation period. What does she hope the bill will address? “Critically there needs to be a national funding solution and there needs to be a duty on local authorities to provide refuge spaces. What’s the point of the rest of the bill if the services can no longer be in existence? What’s the point of helping other women come forward if you’re actually eradicating the services that can help them?”
It is something Sisters Uncut, a direct action group against cuts to refuges, has been fighting for since 2014. The group, which is made up of survivors and domestic abuse service workers, is best known for its protests, such as storming the red carpet at the 2018 BAFTAs. Their aim was to raise awareness of how the Domestic Abuse Bill could negatively impact survivors of domestic abuse. Grace*, a member who took part in the protest, is particularly worried about people who are undocumented. “If anyone is homeless they run the risk of being deported or imprisoned for reporting abuse.” It is something she feels strongly about – when she was experiencing domestic abuse she didn’t have a legal address, so she never reported it.
The Labour MP Jess Phillips is a member of the Women and Equalities Select Committee and previously worked for Women’s Aid, so is a fervent supporter of domestic abuse services. She thinks the Domestic Abuse Bill is a positive thing, but she doesn’t want it to only focus on the criminal justice system. “The places that really need attention are housing, health and education, and I worry that will be done in regulation, not even legislation, and won’t be made into law. With the closure of refuges and the worrying lack of specialist support available, we can write brilliant laws but it makes absolutely no difference if there aren’t resources.” What would she do if she was writing the bill? “I would make sure that there is a statutory number of refuge beds per head of the population.”
Playroom at RBWA
At RBWA I meet Sara*, a softly spoken 36-year-old mother who came to the UK as a tourist from Asia in November 2015 but fell in love and got pregnant while here. Her ex-partner applied for her visa and then the abuse began. As she was new to the country, she had no idea that refuges existed, and then when she found out about them, it was harder for her to get a place at a refuge as she had no recourse to public funds because her visa application was still going through the Home Office. She says that finally getting into a refuge was “the most beautiful thing to happen to me in the UK.” She describes the Reigate and Banstead refuge as being like a family. “It’s really vital to know that there are things like this, that we have support that we can turn to and run to. It saved my life.”
Five out of the seven members of staff at the refuge are survivors of domestic abuse. Emma Armstrong, the services manager, is testament to the healing power of refuges; after suffering emotional, physical and sexual abuse for six and a half years, plus two years of abuse from the perpetrator’s friends and family, she is now helping other survivors. Her ex-partner used the threat of suicide to control her and, when she did eventually leave him, he hanged himself in their flat. When she came to work at the refuge she knew it would either make her or break her. “It made me,” she says proudly. “I’ve gone from being a victim to a survivor. I now view it very differently to how I did five years ago; what was I perceiving as love? It wasn’t, it was just fear.” She smiles, and adds: “He’s not the one that’s in control anymore. I am.” Emma says that she’s in a better position now to help the residents at the refuge. “I’ve been there and I’ve come out the other side, so I like to show them that there is hope at the end of the tunnel.”
*Some names have been changed
Support Reigate and Banstead Women’s Aid refuge here.
This article was originally published on Refinery29.uk
Like most things in my life, I discovered The Bell Jar a little later than everyone else.
A friend had recommended it to me, so one morning when London was waking up in a shroud of grey, I sat down on the Hammersmith & City Line and took out Sylvia Plath’s only novel to read on my way to university.
It’s the story of Esther Greenwood, a nineteen-year-old woman slowly unravelling in the stifling heat of 1950s New York. She is a woman bursting at the seams with dreams and ambitions, and yet when she suddenly finds herself having to decide what she wants to do, she is struck by an overwhelming sense of fear and begins to lose control, slipping into depression, attempting to kill herself, and eventually ending up in a mental hospital.
As soon as I read the first page I knew it was going to be unlike anything I’d ever read. This is not your average rite of passage, or coming of age book. It has dark, sticky humour. It has gore (the cadavers), it has obsession (the Rosenbergs, suicide). There were many times when my face distorted into a grimace while reading it. Yet I also felt a strange ripple of recognition at the protagonist’s situation; she is a smart girl stuck at a crossroad with so much expectation for life – from both herself and other people – but with little idea which path to take. Her mother wants her to study shorthand, her editor wants her to read languages, and Esther has so many dreams to choose from she likens it to a fig tree:
“From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and off-beat professions, and another was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.”
Esther imagines herself sat underneath this fig tree, starving to death because she can’t make up her mind. This isn’t just about indecision but about wanting to go against the preconceived notion of what women should do with their lives in a society that continually repressed them. Plath writes about the secretaries hanging about New York painting their nails and topping up their tans just waiting to be married off to a career man. Esther says she’s jealous of them, but the reader knows she’s different – she wants more.
Having won a competition to intern at a fashion magazine, Esther thinks: “I was supposed to be having the time of my life.” Despite the parties and the glamour and the freebies, she is beginning to feel trapped; the bell jar of the title is coming down over her. She feels cut off from the outside world – silently observing, going through the motions, not living but simply existing.
“I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I’d never seen before in my life.”
Mental health is a key theme which Plath weaves throughout this semi-autobiographical book. It is after all, the tale of a poet who tries to commit suicide, by a poet who did. One month after The Bell Jar was published in the UK, Plath took her own life. The events in the book echo that of Plath’s life when she was twenty, but with different names and places. Esther is a high achiever, so when she finds her motivation slipping away you get a sense that she’s no longer sure what she’s been fighting so hard for with those “fifteen years of straight A’s”. You can sense Esther’s numbness; she says she can’t feel anything anymore, and because she can’t feel anything she can’t write, and writing was what gave her life.
I’m glad I read The Bell Jar when I did. Last month, after four years of studying, I finished my university degree and now feel like I have come to a similar crossroad (albeit in a time with greater opportunities for women). There is the fig tree looming above me with hundreds of plump purple figs ripe for picking. But which one do I choose? When one chapter ends, there’s always an element of trepidation at the beginning of the next, enough to make you question what it is exactly you want to do in life, and if you’re good enough to do those things. It’s a universal feeling – particularly for young people on the cusp of adulthood, when the big, wide, world seems both incredibly enthralling and incredibly daunting. I’m not saying Esther merely had imposter syndrome – it was a lot more complex than that, she was mentally ill, psychotic even. But it was also a crisis of identity. One wonders how she would have coped today with social media – would that have driven her over the edge even sooner?
The positive ending (spoiler) was a relief. The moment when Esther is about to be assessed before she is released from the hospital is likened to a second birth; “patched, retreaded and approved for the road.” But I couldn’t help feeling unsatisfied – the end doesn’t have any answers to questions like how did they make her better? How did the electric shock therapy make her feel calm? What was the main reason for her getting like that in the first place? Will she ever get like that again? And, finally, which fig will she pick?
55 years since the book was published and it remains a relevant, sharp, and fascinating depiction of human behaviour. Life is like a chess game, the next move may be overwhelming, but The Bell Jar reminds us that no matter the move (wrong or right) you still have life, that’s the most important thing.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.
I am, I am, I am.”
With the new statue of Millicent Fawcett shining a light on the work done by both the suffragists and suffragettes, I talk to the young women who are continuing the fight for gender equality, from the Women’s March to Free Periods and #TimesUp. Is this the birth of a new movement?
The statue of suffragist and women’s rights campaigner Millicent Fawcett in Parliament Square. Photo: BEN STANSALL/AFP/Getty Images)
When the statue of suffragist, Millicent Fawcett, was unveiled in Parliament Square on Tuesday (the first woman out of the 11 already there), one couldn’t help but think of a similar pivotal moment which took place five months ago, just down the road.
You could hear them cheering and chanting before you saw them. A mass of red had swiftly descended on Downing Street. Thousands of girls and young women of all shapes and races dressed in scarlet, huddled together and held aloft homemade placards. Their aim? To fight against period poverty. But it wasn’t just that. It was a display of solidarity with women everywhere who feel that their voices have, for too long, been ignored. One of the speakers stood on the podium and declared; “The suffragette spirit is alive and well.”
Free Periods March, London, December 2017. Photo: Ben Katzler
The event which took place last December was organised by Amika George, an 18-year-old schoolgirl and founder of Free Periods, who is just one of a plethora of young female activists using the internet to mobilise, raise awareness and take a stand for women’s rights.
She says she’s just a teenager who is fighting to change something she feels is totally wrong. “I certainly didn’t set out to be an activist. I saw there was real injustice in period poverty and I found it disgraceful that the Government was refusing to take action.”
On 26thMarch the Government announced that they would use £15 million from the Tampon Tax Fund to pump into projects benefitting women and girls, one of them being Brook Young People’s ‘Let’s Talk. Period.’ project which aims to address period poverty (they’ll receive £1.5 million). George tweeted that she was “Just thrilled!!!” after hearing the news. It is a testament to the determination of the young women involved in the campaign, although they are still waiting for a long-term, statutory pledge. But it’s a start.
George’s Instagram posts prove just how much social media can fuel the flame of activism – her call to arms had spread over the image-sharing app like wildfire, gathering up young supporters, many of whom had never been to a protest before. This was a new generation taking their first tender steps in the world of campaigning.
And it couldn’t have come at a better time.
2018 is the centenary of women over the age of 30 gaining the right to vote in the UK (it wasn’t until 1928 that women aged 21 and over could legally vote). Helen Pankhurst, the great granddaughter of Emmeline, who lead the suffragette movement, says the baton has been handed over to us. “I think all women, all young girls, probably to some extent reflect on their lives and their opportunities compared to their mothers, or their grandmothers, or great grandmothers. So I think there is that sense of knowing we have more opportunities and wanting to do better for the next generation.”
Emmeline Pankhurst, leader of the suffragettes
But, in a country with a 9.1% gender pay gap, and one in four women experiencing domestic violence in their lifetime, it begs the question; what would Emmeline think? Her descendant replies: “If you look at every aspect, from political representation to financial and work autonomy, through to cultural spaces that women occupy, through to family dynamics; clearly we have moved forward. But it’s been 100 years, so I think she would be saying ‘Come on, we can do better for the sake of everybody’.”
Maggie Matić agrees. The 25-year-old activist and PhD candidate in the Contemporary Feminist Movement, says we are seeing increased conversations around intersectionality. “There’s an awareness that, yes, white, middle-class, able-bodied, heterosexual women may have had it a lot easier than they have in previous decades, but there’s still a long way to go for women of colour, for working-class women, for queer women, for disabled women. And that actually, society is still failing those women, incredibly and dangerously.”
That is why today, like over 100 years ago, women are refusing to be silenced; both online and off. But, instead of throwing themselves under horses, or going on hunger strike, this new generation are using hashtags and retweets as their weapons of choice. There’s #MeToo, #TimesUp, #FreePeriods #PovertyIsSexist – each one a piece of a larger movement. Matić says the internet has democratised women’s voices. “They’re using those spaces to tell people that they’ve been neglected historically.” The 60’s was all about burning bras; will social media come to define 21stCentury feminism?
Natasha Bishop, 20, founder of The Pants Project, declares that social media is activism’s best friend. According to her, The Pants Project wouldn’t exist without Instagram. The non-profit organisation raises money for Fertility Network UK, and uses social media to raise awareness for infertility whilst promoting self-love and body positivity.
Bishop says it’s a “breath of fresh air” to see worthwhile causes on social media, as opposed to “hollow corporate advertisements and fake representations of reality”. “People want to be part of things, and if that thing is important and making a difference in the grand scheme, people are surprisingly quick to jump on the band wagon.” She calls it bite-sized bits of activism.
But the internet can be a double-edged sword. Pankhurst says that although today’s activism isn’t as militant as in her great grandmother’s day, there is still a lot of self-sacrifice. “I think that it’s at our cost that we underestimate the difficulties that some women who stand up face. The horrific misogyny that they face on Twitter; the death threats, the actual killing – Jo Cox – so in many ways there’s still a lot of sacrifices that women face.”
At the same time, this increased visibility has its benefits. “[Female activists] are more visible today,” says Pankhurst.“It does feel like it’s another moment. And maybe it’s like there is this regression…it comes with a moment at which there’s been a backlash, and almost at the same time we have seen the rise of these very vocal, wonderful, strong feminists.” She adds that it is “much needed and a great relief”.
Bishop says that if her mother’s or grandmother’s generation had been given social media, they too would have used it as a platform for change. “Campaigning today is significantly easier than before, and arguably trendy – and so it should be, finally.” Indeed, during this year’s award season the movie stars were outshone by the female activists at their side.
Not everyone agrees with this. Writing in the Telegraph, the journalist Elizabeth Day describes today as an era of “millennial protest-lite, where the most important thing is the selfie you take rather than the awareness you raise.” Many also argue that this is just ‘clicktivism’ and digital activism is not as effective as physically doing something, for example, going to a demonstration, volunteering, or attending an activist meeting. Deeds not just words (or selfies).
Jess Bolton, the 24-year-old founder of the Resist List, a website that helps make activism more accessible,says turning URL into IRLis definitely a problem. “I think obviously it’s good to be intellectually engaged, but it is important that that converts into something more tangible.”
Encouraged by the overwhelming turn-out at last year’s Women’s March, which was initiated on social media, Bolton founded the Resist List in February 2017, and went on to spend every weekend of the first half of the year at a protest. But now she is disappointed with how that energy has petered out.
Women’s March London 2017
So the big question remains: how does one turn that people power on the streets and online into real change? The answer – like most things – lies in politics. The Women’s Equality Party (WE) celebrated its third birthday in March. Despite not having any candidates elected at the last election, Honor Barber, 19, a youth ambassador for the party believes they are forcing gender issues into the public domain.
“[WE] remains the fastest growing political party in the UK, and I think just in terms of campaigns I worked on, the mayoral election, with Sadiq Khan having to declare himself a feminist, and having to talk about various issues related to violence against women at night and on the tube – those kind of things never would’ve happened if Sophie [Walker, the leader of WE] didn’t stand. These things make a real impact in terms of policy and the kind of issues that are discussed.”
The success of the party, Barber thinks, is down to the grass-roots based organisation. When she joined the party aged 16, she was asked to contribute to the education policies, which she says would never happen in the Labour or Conservative parties. “There’s this idea that young women are only interested in make-up and not real world issues.” This couldn’t be further from the truth.
At the time of writing, Amika George has just been to Parliament to discuss period poverty. She radiates positivity. “I think the Free Periods campaign has turned into a movement, into a voice for those girls who have no voice. We are working with MPs and Peers to elicit real change, and I think we can do it!” It looks like 2018 will be a year of beginnings, as well as anniversaries.
These are just a few of the young women who have grabbed hold of the baton that has been passed down to them, and are using their voices – through the megaphone of the internet – to try to change a world that is still very much a man’s. Pankhurst says their actions are what captures the spirit of the suffragettes; “It’s not accepting the status quo, and really believing in yourselves and believing in the sisterhood.”
This article was originally published on Bricks Magazine.
With the 45th anniversary of Laura Mulvey’s ‘male gaze’, it’s time for the female gaze to be recognised as something more than a novelty.
Image by Ronan McKenzie
Scrolling through my Instagram feed on a rainy Sunday, I come across a photo of four women hugging each other; they are an assortment of shapes, sizes, and colours – all in their underwear. It is dramatically different to the usual images of women we are bombarded with – so often sexualised, objectified or selling something. Instead this is a depiction of togetherness and empowerment. The image is by Ronan McKenzie, a young black female photographer from Walthamstow, and it is being shared on the #GirlGaze account, a project started by Amanda De Cadenet to promote the work of emerging female-identifying photographers.
As I scroll further, a pattern emerges; there’s Petra Collins’s celestially shot portraits of girlhood, the Great Women Artists account, which celebrates female artists past and present, and Alice Skinner’s Picassoesque illustrations of the modern woman.
Slowly but surely a visual revolution is happening, and women are leading it. Women like the indie darling, Greta Gerwig, who’s recent directorial debut Lady Bird documents a woman’s coming-of-age so accurately that many women felt it was their own memories spilling on to the screen. Gerwig was nominated for a best director Oscar, which only five women have been nominated for in the 90-year history of the Academy Awards. She didn’t win, but it’s a start.
A still from Lady Bird by Greta Gerwig.
In London, the Getty Images Gallery’s latest exhibition, ‘The Female Gaze’, shows 70 photographs of women (and two gender-bending men) which aim to give an insight into modern womanhood.
These female creatives are channelling the female gaze and depicting the female experience for all to see. And it’s about time they get the recognition they deserve.
Rejecting the male gaze
It’s 45 years since the feminist film theorist, Laura Mulvey, coined the phrase ‘male gaze’ (she wrote the essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” in 1973, and it was published in 1975), and yet it still dominates the visual arts. Photographer, Anna Sampson, 23, studied Mulvey’s essay for her dissertation, and says it inspired her to challenge it. “The woman is generally always the passive sex in popular culture – objectified, sexualised and fetishised for the gratification of male sexual desire. I have reversed this and tried to challenge and subvert this orthodoxy by photographing men as sexualised women, and women as traditional men.”
Sampson’s Gender Trouble collection is filled with intimate black and white close-ups of men in drag – lying on the floor in fishnets – and women in suits. She experiments with power dynamics between couples and highlights the fluidity of gender in a documentary style reminiscent of Nan Goldin. Her most recent work, Venus Envy is a celebration of female sexuality.
Image by Anna Sampson.
“Being a woman I wanted to have my own voice and vision, far away from the male heterosexual gaze that has dominated and plagued society for centuries. It’s important for there to be alternative gazes – to encourage debate and awareness of these “other” identities that have been neglected or tormented and criticised in society.”
Addressing the backlash that the female gaze has faced – mainly it’s perceived lack of inclusivity and limiting to the cis-gendered, Sampson says: “I think it’s really important to not segregate any identity; whether that be gender, sexuality, race, nationality, and so on.”
Female image-makers
Rowan Wigley, 25, a filmmaker and art director, agrees, saying we need all kinds of gazes. “I feel that it’s noticeable if something is made by an identifying woman, and more work needs to be promoted by women so that they become more visible in this field. Women need to be represented more truthfully and as three dimensional human beings, and encouraged to make more work with a sense of comradeship, and for it not to be a novelty.”
Wigley wrote and directed, Heresy of Champna (2016), a dark satire of a hair advert which is a critique of unrealistic beauty standards and the objectification of women within advertising. She – of course – came up with the idea in the shower.
A still from Wigley’s ‘Heresy of Champna’.
This clever social commentary is a common feature within the work of female creatives, where honesty, wit and subversion abound.
“I feel that across the arts there is a continuing presence of women addressing societal problems. We have a global responsibility as women to be socially aware and heighten our senses to all societal problems that women from all over may want to voice, and so learn from each other how to become more empowered and take charge.”
Instagram as a tool for change
Instagram is reverberating with women image-makers displaying the female experience. Curator, Katy Hessel, 23, started her Instagram account, @thegreatwomenartists, in 2015, after she went to an art fair and couldn’t find a single artwork by a female artist. “What I really wanted to do was create a platform to unearth women artists in a very accessible manner, so it would not just be for art lovers, it could be for anyone.”
She says the only downside is the app’s body-part ban. “It’s an interesting debate because on one side, it’s great that there’s the body part ban, because you can stop the male gaze basically, but then the female gaze is not that progressive because images get taken down if you’re trying to replicate the female gaze on something.”
Still, Hessel believes the positives outweigh the negatives. “The amazing thing about Instagram is it can have no prejudices, as you don’t know what someone looks like behind their account if they choose not to reveal themselves. Because of that female artists have done really well as before people are quite – not judgemental – but if you look at statistics in galleries around the world it’s preposterous. It’s something like 3 – 5% of collections in Europe and the US are by women.”
Illustration by Alice Skinner.
That is why the image sharing app is so vital: it is a starting point to get work by women recognised. Hessel now has over 16,000 followers and last year curated an exhibition in Shoreditch displaying female artists’ work, which more than 800 people visited.
“What’s amazing about Instagram is people go crazy for these artists; people like Manjit Thapp [a digital illustrator who frequently depicts Asian women in her work] has about 89,000 followers, and this was her first time exhibiting [in Hessel’s exhibition], so people probably want to see her work because they find it relatable, unlike the work you see in institutions and galleries.”
But how can we translate this celebration of female artists from URL to IRL? Hessel says it is up to people like her. “If the institutions aren’t going to go with this then independent people are going to have to start putting on exhibitions of female artists to get their names out there.”
But the tide seems to be turning in the visual arts. With the Getty Images Gallery putting on ‘The Female Gaze’, and with the brilliant Frances McDormand at the Oscars calling out the lack of accolades being given to women in film – and crucially, highlighting how these women are here, ready, able, and waiting to tell their stories. The times they are a-changin’.
The Female Gaze, 5th Feb – 14th March 2018, Getty Images Gallery, London.
The queer performance artist, Liv Wynter, talks to me about quitting her job as artist in residence at the Tate, her new exhibition with the Indigo Project, and why arts education is so vital.
Image by Holly Whitaker
Liv Wynter is a Virgo.
She tells me this as she swirls her iced latte around in a plastic cup. Wynter doesn’t appear to be your typical Virgo. Shy and quiet she is not. A sleeve of tattoos creep out from under her tracksuit, several piercings decorate her pale face, and grey-blue eyes stare from gold-rimmed glasses. A head of shaved bleached blonde hair and a peppering of expletives exude a ‘Don’t give a fuck’ attitude. But, as I find out, Wynter really does give a fuck.
Wynter is a text-based artist, activist and youth worker. But the 25-year-old prefers “story-teller”. On the eve of International Women’s Day, Wynter announced that she was quitting her job as artist in residence on the Tate Schools and Teachers Programme in protest at the institution’s failing of women who have suffered sexual harassment. Wynter says the catalyst for her decision were the comments made by the Director of Tate, Maria Balshaw, when she was discussing allegations of abuse in the art world. During an interview with the Times Balshaw said: “I personally have never suffered any such issues. Then, I wouldn’t. I was raised to be a confident woman who, when I encountered harassment, would say, ‘Please don’t’… or something rather more direct.”
Wynter describes this as being a slap in the face for survivors of domestic violence. “When that happened I really began to question what I was doing inside the institution as a survivor, working for Maria, and her profiting off of the work that I quite blatantly make about trauma… and I thought ‘is this really the right place for me to do this?’”
After meeting Balshaw in person last week, Wynter says there was “a complete lack of accountability”. She claimed her sexual harassment comments were taken out of context, and that she did not realise there were racial connotations surrounding other comments she made about black men eating fried chicken. Wynter said she responded by saying: “if you are so ignorant about these facts, why are you a director of the UK’s largest arts institution? And what does that mean about the state of our arts sector if you are someone on an all-white board of directors able to behave like that?”
Wynter is adamant that she made the right decision. She said she asked herself “what side of these walls do I want to be on? Which side of these walls am I more useful on? I’m more useful outside and if the most radical thing I can do here is remove myself then that’s what I will do, and it’s what I did.”
Her hope is that her resignation will start a conversation about diversity and the treatment of women at the institution. “My dream is that for the next week the Tate gets scared at the top and very confident at the bottom; that would be a good outcome.”
Image by Holly Whitaker
This is not her first protest against a major institution, in 2016 she stormed the Tate Modern with a group of activists working on WHEREISANAMENDIETA to protest an exhibition by Ana Mendieta’s alleged murderer and husband, Carl Andre. And last month she joined the direct action group, Sisters Uncut, when they stormed the red carpet at the BAFTA’s to protest against the government’s domestic violence policies. This is typical of the kind of work she is passionate about. Using honesty, wit and words, Wynter explores gender, class, sexuality and domestic violence. She draws on her own experiences but also stories from down the pub.
“All of my work is essentially social commentary, so most of it starts from conversation. I’m very invested in working class story-telling. I work at the Marquis of Granby [in New Cross], which is quite a working class pub, and the way working class people tell stories is just really exciting and really engaging, and I just try to replicate that.”
Wynter describes her work as being like a very brutal form of therapy – she says it’s visceral and people can find that quite upsetting. “I dealt with so much shit growing up, and got into abusive relationships and really hated myself for a long time, and art just really helped me work all that stuff out. My focus with most of my work is trying to remind everyone that it’s going to be ok, or even if it’s not going to be ok, it’s not going to be the end of the world forever.”
Her latest exhibition ‘From Bedroom to Battleground’ is at Hackney Museum, which she created with the Indigo Project, a local LGBTQI+ youth group.
The project is a culmination of six month’s work, which was led by the young people. “I went in at the start and was like, what do you want to talk about? So we had a big chat, and we wrote our manifesto. So my job there really is to not do a lot; hang out with them, and they’re not all completely able, it’s about learning how to work with their abilities. So we’ve got a kid who can’t see very well so making a quilt for them was very hard, and we’ve got other kids who are not particularly verbal, so speaking is difficult for them, and it’s just about kind of reading the room, and making sure that everyone feels like they’re getting heard.”
“I learn so much from the young people, and also because accessibility is really important to me; working constantly with a massive variety of people means I’m constantly having to check myself and how I’m speaking and what I’m speaking about. That’s pretty important.”
It’s been a busy few months for Wynter; at the start of February she launched a new installation at Wysing Arts Centre with a performance called ‘Housefire’. Based on Aesop’s fable of the “Boy Who Cried Wolf”, it is from the perspective of a woman whose house burns down repeatedly, stirring up questions about the fatigue of constantly having to speak out.
‘Housefire’ by Liv Wynter at Wysing Arts Centre
The need for self-expression is rooted in her childhood. She grew up hanging out in Croydon and bunking off school. “I was definitely always a little shit. I was quite a loud-mouth; I was very confident.” She did Art at GCSE and A-Level, before studying Fine Art at Goldsmiths.
Art was always an escape for her. She describes how when she was bunking off school, she would almost always be in the art room – or at the Tate. “Arts education pretty much saved my life growing up.” Which explains why she is such an ardent believer in it; “The moment a kid gets to do something creative, they just blossom and grow. It’s so obvious and evident to anyone who’s ever given a kid a piece of paper and a crayon.”
Wynter says her proudest moment was getting the Tate job as she had wanted to do it since she was 9 years-old. “I think my family thought for a long time it wouldn’t happen, because I had really bad mental health issues and dipped in and out of drugs, so to see it all come together, my mum was just like, well thank fuck for that.”
That’s what made her decision to quit so difficult. “It’s really upsetting, I was equal part angry and equal part upset that something that I held on a pedestal was so able to objectify and hurt me as a survivor, but I think if there was ever a perfect metaphor for how survivor’s are treated then that’s it.”
‘From Bedroom to Battleground’ runs from 1st Feb – 5th May at Hackney Museum.
‘More of an avalanche’ runs from 10th Feb – 8th April at Wysing Arts Centre.
Wynter is also in a queer punk band called Militant Girlfriend, who play regular shows in London and Brighton.
This article was originally published on Bricks Magazine.
Street art launched the career of Jean-Michel Basquiat, but in his quest for glory, did he forget the essence of what made him unique?
Banksy mural at the Barbican
On the way to the Barbican’s Basquiat: Boom for Real exhibition, Banksy has paid homage to his fellow graffiti artist, Basquiat, on the streets – the place where they both began their careers. The famously anonymous street artist depicts two Metropolitan Police Officers stopping to search a dark skeletal figure with a menacing dog at his feet. It is a reference to Basquiat’s “Boy and Dog in a Johnnypump” (1982).
In an Instagram post dripping with irony, Banksy wrote that the Barbican was usually a place that is keen to clean graffiti from its walls. It is classic Banksy; a satirical poke weaved into a serious comment on society – namely police stop and search methods. The piece, like most of his work, is now covered by Perspex. It is a valuable masterpiece, after all. In September, five Banksy murals were sold to a Qatari buyer for £3.2m.
Jean-Michel Basquiat
Across the pond in May this year, Basquiat’s painting “Untitled” (1982) fetched a record-breaking £85m. In the end, the boy from Brooklyn made it big. The streets of NYC in the 70’s were both Basquiat’s playground and canvas. An intoxicating energy flows through his work, whether it’s the Picassoesque faces of his graffiti under the guise of ‘SAMO©’ (Same Old Shit), or his visceral paintings burning with symbolism. Both Banksy and Basquiat used spray cans to make their name, but that’s where the similarities between the pair end. One prefers to remain anonymous, while the other got sucked into the very system he seemingly despised.
Basquiat’s graffiti projected a strong anti-art-world message: “SAMO© as an alternative 2 ‘playing art’ with the ‘radical chic’ of Daddy’$ funds”, “SAMO© as a conglomerate of dormant-genius”. He, and his friend Al Diaz, vented their dissatisfaction, whether it was about politics or consumerism, but it was the art world and its tired, hegemonic ways which drew most of their criticism. They saw it as a members’ only club; a universe dominated by money. It was a universe the young Basquiat had come to orbit as a student wandering around the MoMA. He was an outsider looking in; yearning for entry into the club, hungry for fame and fortune. Graffiti was Basquiat’s ticket inside.
One of their last graffiti works declared; “SAMO© is dead”. Was this a foreshadowing of Basquiat’s early death, or the shrugging off of anonymity? In 1978, the duo sold their story of SAMO© to the Village Voice. Soon after, Basquiat’s career went boom, and he found himself rubbing shoulders with Grace Jones, Madonna, and his idol, Andy Warhol. His New York/New Wave exhibition was praised by critics; many were surprised at how his “grotty defacements” could turn into real art.
Skull, 1981. Jean-Michel Basquiat
Even after he switched from concrete walls to canvases, his style remained similar; electric with an intellectual undercurrent. But he lost the rebellious spirit that was so evident in his graffiti. Yes, he still used his art to protest – particularly the stereotyping of black artists – but he no longer denounced the consumerist nature of the art world. Perhaps he didn’t want to bite the hand that was feeding him.
“Basquiat: Boom for Real” runs at the Barbican, London EC2Y, from 21st September 2017 to 28th January 2018
Originally published on St John Street News.
Emmanuel Macron after winning the first round of the 2017 French election. Photo: Getty
It was a hot summer’s day when they left me. I watched as our car drove away, with my family in it. They had just dropped me off in the French city that was to be my home for the next 10 months. Reims, in the North East of the country, famous for its cathedral and champagne, was surrounded by rows of vines with clusters of fat grapes ripening in the August sunshine.
I had spent months deliberating about spending a year studying abroad. In the end it was one of my university professors that swung it; she reminded me that I will only be young once. It stuck with me. Carpe diem I thought. And what better place to live in than the land of cheese and baguettes?
The first time I saw the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Reims was on a page in J.M.W Turner’s sketchbook at Tate Britain. His detailed lines carved out the gargoyles and gothic flourishes that have been discussed in architecture classes around the continent. Now the cathedral had been removed from the white blankness of the page and was framed by scaffolding and tourists taking photos. It was taller than I had imagined, its two towers soared into the sky. It had been badly bombed during World War I; old photographs show a shell with shattered windows.
Around 30 years later it became a symbol of Franco-German peace when the German commander-in-chief signed the full German Surrender in Reims on 7th May 1945, signaling the end of World War II. As I grew to love this historic city, the cathedral became my own special symbol – representing resilience in the face of adversity. When I felt homesick, I would look at this architectural beast looming out of the cityscape and know that it had been through a hell of a lot more than I could ever imagine. On my walk to university I could see its towers peeking at me between buildings and on nights out we would pass it on our way back home. It was a meeting place, a sanctuary, a marker on a map; the heart of Reims. It was where Marine Le Pen was booed on her final campaign stop before the election.
10 months whizzed by. Little did I know just how much the political landscape surrounding us would alter in that time. I left the UK during the aftermath of the EU Referendum – Brexit was forever cropping up in conversations when I introduced myself. I feared my country’s decision would isolate me, but that was far from reality: I was welcomed with a warmth I was not expecting. With populism reaching a boiling point around Europe, I entered a country that was hurtling towards an unpredictable election with Front National gaining ground and the Socialist Party (which had governed since 2012) falling apart. In the Netherlands, Geert Wilders, known as the ‘Dutch Trump’ with his blonde bouffant and far-right views, was looking confident. And on the 8th November we gathered in a pub to watch in dismay as across the pond the US elected the real Trump. From our liberal enclave a collective cry of “Quelle horreur!” emanated, or something along those lines…
Would France head in the same direction, I pondered over my café au lait (instead of revising French grammar). It was no surprise my French teacher was getting exasperated. My thoughts were taken up by the election, as well as which boulangerie made the best almond croissants. I had already spoken to a supporter of Front National, who fully supported a possible ‘Frexit’, believing that it would create more jobs. On the other hand, a loyal Républicain told me how shocked and disappointed he was by people blaming the EU for everything, which he described as being “intellectually dishonest”. He said he wondered what General de Gaulle would have thought of the 2017 election campaign. One Socialist supporter thought this was the worst election the 5th Republic had ever seen; it certainly was for her party.
I had never been that engrossed with British politics, but there was something about being slightly detached from a country which made me enjoy observing what was happening. I was an outsider looking in; exempt from the pressure of actually voting, but still highly interested in the outcome. I checked the polls almost every day, and would bore my friends with talk of it at parties. I certainly wasn’t pretending I was an expert, but I was learning. Every French student I encountered would be faced with a barrage of questions on the election, which was usually met with a detailed analysis of the French political system (it was Sciences Po, the institute of political studies, after all). Everyone had an opinion. In the months before, our campus was abuzz.
And what a rollercoaster the election campaign was; most surprising was the rapid ascension of a grassroots movement that was only just celebrating its first birthday as the initial round of voting commenced. ‘En Marche!’ (‘Onward!’ or ‘Let’s go!’) was founded by Emmanuel Macron in April 2016, a man that has taken France and the world by storm.
Young, handsome, and hopeful, it’s no wonder Macron drew comparisons with Napoleon Bonaparte. A pro-European, pro-business centrist, he had a vision and a positivity that radiated. He broke down the boundaries that for so long had made politics inaccessible, and his departure from the traditional left/right party structure was exciting. A friend of mine who is also a member of the ‘En Marche!’ youth branch, said that political parties cause problems; they put people into boxes that are not always relevant. Many saw him as a refreshing change in a country dominated by an out-of-touch establishment.
I witnessed this charismatic powerhouse first hand at a Rally attended by almost 1,300 people in Reims. Sitting next to my German friend, both of us waving the European Union flag, as young and old chanted ‘Vive la France!’ amidst a sea of dancing Tricolours. It was a heart-warming sight, more akin to a concert. I listened to Macron as he spoke passionately about the EU, about his country and its beloved culture. In that moment I wished I was French. I felt part of something big. Admittedly, I couldn’t understand half of what he was saying, but gosh he sounded good.
On 23rd April my friends and I sat drinking warm wine served by a nonchalant Front National supporting waiter, and breathed a sigh of relief as Macron came out ahead in the first round – but Le Pen was biting at his heels. He had only gained 24% of the vote. Many of the students I spoke to said the second round would be a case of voting for the least bad option, some even considered a vote blanc (abstention) in protest. “Why?” I asked, surely Macron is miles better than Le Pen? But these were students who had not been so easily won by his charm, most of whom were staunch supporters of Mélenchon, the leftist firebrand leader of La France Insoumise (France Unbowed). At the bar a group of his deflated voters sat at the table next to us. C’est la vie I could almost hear them whisper.
Fast forward two weeks and on a warm Spring evening in Rennes, Brittany, there was a distinct buzz on the streets, and it wasn’t because of the wine I’d consumed. In a packed brasserie, we watched as Monsieur President glided along the Louvre esplanade to Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ (official anthem of the EU). There was no doubt this was a win for Europe.
Macron, “Europe’s saviour” as headlines declared at the time, was seen as the driver of radical political renewal not only in France but on the continent. It was after all, his neighbour, Angela Merkel, whom he first visited following his inauguration, to draw up plans for their beloved Europe. The populist uprising that had threatened to break out following Brexit and Trump never materialised. In Holland, Mark Rutte beat off Wilders, and the GreenLeft party led by Jesse Klaver (or the “Jessiah”) upped its MPs from 4 to 14.
Coming back to Britain when my 10 months were up, I felt as if I’d crossed an abyss rather than just the Channel. I returned to a country not only reeling from a series of horrific terror attacks, but also in the midst of a snap election campaign. As the storm clouds hung over my home country (both metaphorically and meteorologically), I found myself yearning for a political figure like Macron to get behind.
But is Jupiter now descending? Macron appears to be well and truly out of his honeymoon period. The President’s approval rating has continued to slide downwards; an Ifop poll in October revealed it to be at 42 percent – lower than that of his predecessor, François Hollande, who was considered to be France’s most unpopular president. Many now refer to Macron as “President of the Rich”. His first budget since his election saw a reining in of public spending, and tax cuts for the wealthy.
This is not his only policy that’s caused controversy. On 16th November, 170 towns and cities held demonstrations against Macron’s labour reforms, one of his big election pledges. My French teacher used to say protesting was their national sport, indeed, we have seen a lot of anger on les rues in recent months. Yet no real change has come out of it. The National Assembly is dominated by Macron’s ‘La Republique En Marche’, meaning any opposition from parties like the Socialists or La France Insoumise, make little impact.
Why do I still harbour a strange love for the President of the Republic? It’s not because of his Labrador cross, nor is it his perfect jawline, or strong handshake game. Apart from the way he’s inspired so many, I think it’s because he was such a strong presence during my year in France. His face stared out at me from posters, news articles, TV screens; his name thrown about in debates and lectures. His rise to the throne correlated with my foray into French life. Through him (and the election) I was able to connect with French people. Above all, he gives me hope for a new improved European Union – something I didn’t fully understand before my year abroad. Now I have had the chance to live in another European country and have friends from around the continent, I have seen just how important the relationship between our countries is – something Reims itself is proof of. I started my year abroad as a British girl, I returned as a European.
An orgy of colour is on display at the National Gallery to mark the centenary of Edgar Degas’s death; but look closer at his ethereal ballet dancers and intimate nudes and you will find a disconcerting undercurrent of misogyny.
Edgar Degas caught people unawares. Ballet dancers in rehearsal, women bathing, jockeys racing; his artistic eye has cast over them all. His paintings have that indistinct quality made famous by the Impressionists, as if the viewer is looking through a rain-specked window or a soft mist has suddenly appeared. Like him, we are an outsider looking in. This dreamlike state is heightened as you descend the spiral staircase into the basement of the National Gallery and find yourself in a darkened room bedecked with Degas’s dancers floating like celestial beings on the walls.
100 years after the French artist’s death, the National Gallery has borrowed 20 Degas pastels from the Burrell Collection to display alongside his work from their own collection. It is these magnificent pastels that take centre stage; “Orgies of colour” was how Degas described his later, more abstract pastels. Indeed, they are bursting with vibrancy and emotion. Flecks of fluorescent green and orange on the tutu of a ballet dancer, brightly hued flowers woven through the hair of Russian dancers – his expressive mark-making capturing the energy of their movements. But look closer at his work and a darker presence emerges; old men stand watching the girls from the sidelines.
There is no mistaking the voyeuristic undertones. In the mid-1880s, Degas shocked contemporary audiences with his depictions of women bathing and combing their hair. Despite the majority of his work focusing on women, he observed the opposite sex as if they were another species – like the racehorses he loved to paint, they were simply another animal to look at. This exhibition is a successful celebration of one of the founding fathers of Impressionism. But scratch the surface of his work – full of faceless females drenched in the male gaze– and you will find a misogynist staring back.
Drawn in Colour: Degas from the Burrell, National Gallery, London, free to enter. From 20 September 2017 until 7 May 2018.
The first thing I notice about Joan Didion, is her arm movements. She moves her frail, bony arms around in big, wide motions. Like windmills they circle around the 82 year-old’s diminutive frame, illustrating her points, or just flailing about her, filling in her pauses. She takes up a lot of space for someone so tiny.
It’s weird to see and hear the voice of a writer whose words you have always read on a page. Ever since I first read Some Dreamers of the Golden Dream I have carried around a collection of her essays with me wherever I go. On a coach to Berlin, on the London Underground, on a plane to Barcelona; Didion’s face would stare out from the bottom of my rucksack. My companion in an ever-changing world. So to see one of my favourite writers on the big screen at the Bertha DocHouse (the first UK cinema dedicated to documentary films) was an opportunity not to be missed.
The Center Will Not Hold is a celebration of the literary legend that is Joan Didion. It is an intimate portrait of a woman by her nephew, the actor and director, Griffin Dunne. His interviews with her shows the dynamic between the pair – she is candid, and sometimes it feels like the viewer is watching a catch-up between relatives. Particularly funny is when Dunne recalls the moment he first met his aunt at a family gathering; he was five-years-old and wearing a tight bathing suit and did not realise that one of his testicles was poking out. His uncle, John Gregory Dunne, notified him. Cue much laughter from his father, mother and uncle. The young Griffin was mortified. He said the only one that didn’t laugh was his Aunt Joan. “I always loved you for that.”
I learnt a lot about Didion in those 92 minutes. She hates snakes. Loves sunglasses – one of the only women who can pull them off inside. Drinks ice-cold Coca Cola every morning. Puts her manuscript in the fridge whenever she has writer’s block (even Queen Joan gets it). And so much more.
The documentary depicts her as a prolific essayist, journalist, novelist, playwright, and screen-writer, but also shows that for all her success, she has experienced a great deal of pain. Both her husband, John Gregory Dunne, and their daughter, Quintana, died within a three-year period. She channelled this grief into the thing she knew how to do best; she wrote. This culminated in two books, The Year of Magical Thinking, and, Blue Nights. Both of which I am yet to read, but cannot wait to. Although judging from the tears I shed while watching the documentary, it’s going to be heart-wrenching.
Writing is like an energy source for her. She likes to analyse disorder, examine what she doesn’t understand, piece it together, clarify it. I think writing was a way for her to not only understand the world, but also to understand herself.
“I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
One of her most famous essays Slouching Towards Bethlehem – the first line of which is “The centre was not holding”, from where the documentary gets its name – documents the time she immersed herself in the chaotic hippiedom of the Haight-Ashbury District in the 60’s and found kids running away from home to go on ‘trips’ – it reminded me of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, albeit less PG. Her journalistic intent remained as clear as those sparkling hazel-green eyes. In the documentary, her nephew asks her what it was like to be faced with a five-year-old girl sat on the floor, reading a comic, concentrating licking her white-rimmed lips – high on acid. She pauses, thinks, and then locks eyes with him and says; “Let me tell you, it was gold.” We see the lightning bolt of pure adrenalin coarse through her. The recognition of a moment that can turn your story from interesting to compelling. “You live for moments like that, if you’re doing a piece. Good or bad.”
A journalist through and through, Didion is a shrewd observer of everything. Life is material for her. She has documented key events in history – murders (the Manson murders), crimes (the Central Park Five), civil war (El Salvador), trials, and politics – her eyes have taken in and her hands have typed out words for all to read. Many view her as the chronicler of American social history – capturing the atmosphere, the people, the culture of the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s and 90’s. One wonders what she thinks of Trump. *Side note: who is our British equivalent?
Her personal reflections are just as poignant, from her first essay for Vogue, ‘On Self-Respect’, to ‘Goodbye to All That’, she captures what it means to be human and swirls it into a poetic yet shockingly honest portrayal of life.
“It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was.” ‘Goodbye to All That’, 1967.
Archive footage and old photographs show a cool, stylish, mysterious figure – a cigarette constantly between her fingers – with mournful eyes staring into the lens. Her and Dunne oozed culture and intelligence, they threw parties and made friends with everyone (actor Vanessa Redgrave, playwright David Hare, and New Yorker critic Hilton Als, are just some of the many interviewed) even a young carpenter whom she employed, named Harrison Ford.
Of course, her talent is clear for all to see and has been the subject of frequent commentaries – something Dunne acknowledges in this Guardian article, saying; “The challenge was what can I say or show that she hasn’t already written?”. I think he’s done a pretty good job. Although there are a few things I wish he could’ve touched on, in particular her living with Multiple Sclerosis (she wrote a brilliant essay about it).
On days when following my dream to become a journalist gets a bit overwhelming, it’s Didion that drives me forward. “What would Joan do?” Is a thought that sometimes pops into my mind. Or “How would she write this?” Her first-person narrative style of writing; lyrical weaving of magic, grabbing the reader, writing that says: STOP, LOOK, READ about this person from the San Bernardino Valley because her story is fascinating. Yes, she eschews the conventional style of journalism, but isn’t that the fun of it? Breaking the rules. Inspired by Ernest Hemingway, Didion makes her sentences work really hard. It’s a gift for someone trying to find their journalistic feet. Especially in a world saturated with fake news, viral memes and listicles. Yawn.
What I love about Joan (we’re on first-name terms now) is that she lets her writing do the talking. She isn’t some loud, opinionated person. She was a shy child who felt like an outsider, due to her moving around for her father’s work. This is evident in her writing; she listens carefully to her interviewee, she is watchful, patient, expectant. One can almost see her nodding gently, unjudging, as her subject divulges their inner-most secret. And then, I can picture her lighting up as the story crystallises. Gold.
France never ceases to amaze me with its beauty. From the Flemish facades in the north to the undulating hills of the south west and the picturesque harbours bordering the Atlantic, everywhere you look appears to have jumped straight out of a carte postale. I may have spent the majority of the past year on this side of the English Channel (La Manche, as the French call it) and explored a huge breadth of it, but I’m certainly not bored of this country yet – a good thing because my family are equally obsessed with it, so we tend to holiday there every year.
This year was no different; we made an arc across the body of France, skimming the outskirts of Reims in the east (the tips of the cathedral just visible from the motorway), down to Tonnerre, then going diagonally across to Bergerac and dipping down to Auch in the Gers (nicknamed Little Tuscany). Our return trip took in a whistle-stop tour of Bordeaux and then a day of exploring the Île de Ré – a magical little island off La Rochelle – before hitting Le Mans and finally Rouen.
When we reached the honey-coloured barn just outside of Auch that we were to stay in, it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, clinging to a hillside in this glorious sun-baked land, the rolling hills of the Gers folding out before us with the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees piercing the horizon line. Sat under the pergola looking at this view, I thought life was as sweet as the melon I’d just eaten. Every night we watched the stars come out – like little pinpricks of silver in a blanket of blue – and the moon reflected in the piscine. When it became too dark to see we listened to the tinkle of distant cow bells and the bleating of sheep in the fields surrounding us. If heaven is a place on earth, I’m pretty sure that corner of France is it.
What do I love about France? The slow pace of life – particularly in the rural areas, which makes you automatically switch to holiday mode (although this can be irritating on a Sunday when all the supermarkets are fermé). Then there’s the weather, the landscape, the markets, the language, the food, the people… I love seeing elderly French men in their berets drinking their morning café au lait and watching the world go by. The smell of pastries wafting down a street from the open door of a boulangerie. A delicately arranged rainbow of fruit and vegetables at a market stall. Spéculoos crêpes (or Spéculoos anything). The cacophony of cicadas as day turns to night. Flowers spilling out of window boxes. The way everyone says Bonjour, even to strangers. French gossip magazines which always seem to have absurd stories about the British royal family. Sunflower fields – the perky ones not the dead ones. Chaussons aux pommes. Soft, sweet figs picked straight from the tree. The national obsession with cycling. Hilltop bastide towns (Lectoure, Bassoues and St-Clar are a few favourites). Campsites full of friendly Dutch people. A good bottle of wine for 3 euros. Brocantes (antique shops) stuffed with treasures – there were some brilliant ones on the Île de Ré. Fresh chilly mornings that promise long hot days. Swallows dancing in the sky. A burning orange sunset, coucher du soleil.
That is what I love about being in France. I know that is the idealised view of the country – the stereotypical France as seen in books and films, and through the eyes of tourists. Having lived there for 10 months I have only just scratched the surface of reality. I know there are problems (homelessness, bureaucracy, terrorism, unemployment, to name a few), Macron certainly has a lot on his plate. But the overriding feeling I have had when in the country – both on holiday and studying there – is that of being welcomed. And in a world that sometimes isn’t very welcoming, that is a lovely thing.
Flâneuse: feminine form of flâneur, an idler, a dawdling observer, usually found in cities.
(an imaginary definition by Lauren Elkin, based on the French word flâneur)
I have just finished reading Elkin’s ‘Flâneuse’, a book about women exploring cities and the creative possibilities and empowerment that come out of it. It has been my travel companion over the last couple of months as I navigate Europe (well part of Europe), strolling through Paris, Berlin, London and finally back home in the English countryside.
It has not only accompanied me on my journeys but also made me more of a watchful observer as opposed to just passively accepting my surroundings. In our fast-paced world where everyone seems to be rushing from A to B, sometimes it’s nice to amble around and look – really look – at a place.
The book depicts how independent, strong-spirited women like George Sand, Virginia Woolf, Agnès Varda and Martha Gellhorn used their love of street-walking to encapsulate a place through their writing or film-making. I felt as if I was following in their footsteps. Using my feet to get to know a place was my way of feeling part of it – somehow pounding the cobblestones gave me confidence, like I wasn’t going to let the foreignness scare me but instead embrace it. Looking and watching, wandering and meandering, getting lost and finding my way.
“I think people are made of the places not only where they’ve been raised, but that they’ve loved; I think environments inhabit us…by understanding people you understand places better, by understanding places you understand people better.” Agnès Varda
Part memoir, part cultural history, Elkin begins by explaining how it was predominantly thought of as a 19th century male occupation – flânerie, the preserve of middle to upper-class men who could afford to have time to saunter around aimlessly. Women are watched, they don’t do the watching. Elkin turns this idea on its head and highlights how women have always interacted with and explored cities. She redefines the concept of flânerie by analysing how prominent female figures in history are flâneuses, and have taken paths through cities, such as New York, London, Tokyo, Venice and Paris. Each city has its own chapter and its own character from history that is woven into Elkin’s own life story.
Suite Vénitienne by Sophie Calle
We follow the artist Sophie Calle as she stalks a complete stranger (she calls him Henri B) around the crumbling maze of Venice, which eventually became a book, Suite Vénitienne, published in 1979. For Calle it was the mystery of this unknown man which drove her to document his every move with the precision of a private investigator, and later she created a fictional world around him. Without him she felt lost. Agnès Varda’s film Cléo From 5 to 7 sees a beautiful young singer, Cléo, traverse Paris from the 1st to the 13th arrondissement as she awaits her medical test results (she suspects she has cancer). It puts a spin on the traditional male gaze of cinema, as we see the City of Light through the eyes of this (albeit self-obsessed) woman. At the beginning the looks she receives from men make her feel desired and alive, but by the end she has found a new sense of self through her city – Elkin argues that it is these moments when the camera stops watching Cléo and begins to represent her point of view that are most potent. She also reminds us that not only is there a flâneuse in front of the camera but there is also one behind the camera in the form of Varda.
A still from Agnès Varda’s film, ‘Cléo From 5 to 7’ (1962)
My favourite flâneuse that Elkin writes about is the war correspondent, Martha Gellhorn. She is the ultimate vagabond; driven by an innate need to give a voice to the people caught up in conflicts. Her portraits of daily life in Madrid during the Spanish Civil War are raw and capture the atmosphere of a city under siege. One line by Gellhorn that Elkin highlights is particularly brilliant: “Disaster had swung like a compass needle, aimlessly, all over the city.” (From The Face of War, pg 38). She uses words like an impressionist artist uses a paintbrush; sweeping over the page to build a scene that the reader can enter into. Yes facts are important in war reporting, but Gellhorn believed that seeing was paramount.
“At the end of the day the wind swooped down from the mountains into Madrid and blew the broken glass from the windows of the shelled houses. You could hear the glass tinkling, and the wind going narrow and strong through the dark streets. It rained all the time, and the streets were mustard-colored with mud. It rained and everyone waited for the offensive to begin.” (intro from City at War by Gellhorn in Collier’s Weekly, April 2 1938.)
Martha Gellhorn. Photo courtesy of Sarah J. Coleman
But what about the author’s own relationship with flâneuserie? After spending most of her study year in Paris walking around the arrondissements, Elkin (a New Yorker) soon decided she wanted to live in the city – mostly because of its walkability: “It had something to do with the utter, total freedom unleashed from the act of putting one foot in front of the other.” She fell in love with the city and its streets and now lives there permanently. This Paris love affair is a bit of a cliché – who hasn’t fallen in love with the city? (Moi included). But I enjoyed the sections about Elkin’s life – it was a modern anchor in a book bursting with cultural and historical references – I think I learnt more about the numerous revolutions that have occurred in Paris than in my French history class. And I empathised with Elkin being torn between her ‘roots’ in New York and her new life in Paris.
“I met people from all over the world – Russia, Iran, India, Germany, Brazil – feeling an independence I’d never imagined possible. There was a whole world out there and I didn’t have to live in America simply because I was born there. I could live anywhere I liked. And I liked living in France.” Elkin, Pg 276
Soon the book inspired me to do my own bit of flâneuse-ing. It kept me company as I sat on the banks of the Canal de l’Ourcq during a Paris heatwave – watching as people jumped from bridges into the water below, stemmed my boredom as I waited in German bus stations and let me escape during my lunch break on grey London days. It forced me to go out and meander through the streets when I was tired after a long day of work.
On one particularly exhausting day in Paris I came back to my AirBnB and slumped down on the sofa in a sweaty heap, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the book, and soon I was out the door and walking around. That day happened to be the 21st of June – Fête de la Musique – when musicians play in the streets of Paris. I stumbled across a particularly good jazz band surrounded by revellers drinking beer from plastic cups. Everyone looked as if they were having the time of their lives. I stood and listened to a few songs, swaying to the music. On my way back I passed a group of cellists playing together at the very edge of a canal, the music and applause floated along the water and remained with me as I strolled back. It was magical – and I almost didn’t see it. It was the act of putting one (reluctant) foot in front of the other that enabled me to truly discover the area I was inhabiting.
I finished the book while sat on an old stone wall under an apple tree in the Cotswolds, as butterflies fluttered and bees buzzed, drunk on pollen. I swotted flies away from my feet and basked in the afternoon sun with a background soundtrack of sheep and cows from the neighbouring field. I mused on how different this was to the busy cities I had read the rest of the book in – when people and cars and scooters whizzed passed, and the city was both overwhelming and exciting; full of possibility. As lovely as it is to be back in the comfort of my home, there is the unmistakable yearning for the thrill of discovering a new place. Maybe it’s my inner flâneuse waiting to burst out once again.
Rupi Kaur, photo source: rupikaur.com
I first read her words in a card from my friend. I had met her on exchange in France and we had become close – I was constantly in awe of her; self-assured, articulate, intelligent, and achingly cool. When we parted she gave me a card and inside it she had written in her elegant hand-writing a poem by Rupi Kaur.
i am water
soft enough
to offer life
tough enough
to drown it away
She said the poem reminded her of me. I read the words over and over again, drinking in the meaning. Yes, I thought. Later that day I wrote it out on a piece of paper torn from my notebook and stuck it on my wall and whenever I caught a glimpse of it an inner strength appeared from nowhere and surged within me, like a trickling stream had suddenly swelled into a raging river, burst the banks and flowed into a waterfall. It’s funny how a cluster of words can create so much emotion. That’s the power of Kaur.
Before this discovery I had always associated poems with A-Level English; analysing the structure, rhyme pattern, iambic pentameter – basically sucking the joy out of poetry. No more mystery, just make sure you can dissect it enough to write an essay about it. Kaur’s poems felt natural – I didn’t have to concentrate to get the meaning. Almost every poem encapsulated events or feelings that I could relate to – growing up, a daughter’s relationship with her father, first love, life as a woman. Most importantly she encourages her readers to embrace their bodies and not feel ashamed of them.
Over the next few days, weeks, months, I hungrily devoured her poetry, my finger numb from scrolling through her Instagram; each post was a fresh discovery. It was as if this young woman was taking my feelings and putting them onto paper. Sometimes direct, angry, confrontational, other times soft and flowing.
Kaur is more like a spoken word artist, like a rapper – no capitalisation, hardly any punctuation – there is no artifice, she says it how it is. This is probably why so many young people can connect with her writing. She has said that she wants to experiment with spoken word poetry in the studio, so perhaps we can expect an album from her soon à la Kate Tempest.
One weekend I visited the northern town of Amiens, dubbed the Venice of France, with another friend. A short train journey from Reims, the city where we were living. It was pretty bleak and empty but a bookshop caught my eye – warm and cosy – we managed to find the English books section and I chanced upon Kaur’s first collection of poetry, ‘milk and honey’. Two little bees buzzed on the cover as if they were guarding the words within. It turned out that my friend was a huge fan of her writing and had already bought the book for herself as well as for several friends. It didn’t stop her from buying another one (for her best friend’s birthday) and I bought myself a copy too. I read it on the train back and finished the whole book by the evening.
‘the first written birth’, rupikaur.com
Kaur began self-publishing on Instagram in November 2014, but was soon picked up by Andrews McMeel Publishing in October 2015 and has now sold over 1.5 million copies of ‘milk and honey’ – remaining on the New York Times bestsellers list for over a year. Split into four chapters: the hurting, the loving, the breaking, the healing, ‘milk and honey’ takes the reader on an emotional journey through life – there are moments of pain and moments of happiness. Her writing deals with discrimination, race, abuse, rape, but also themes such as motherhood, body image, and sisterhood. She captures what it’s like to be a woman in today’s world – a world where it sometimes feels like women are fighting a losing battle. My favourite poems are the ones in ‘the healing’ section as they are full of hope, because despite the suffering described in some of the poems, Kaur reminds us that “there is sweetness everywhere if you are just willing to look”.
i like the way the stretch marks
on my thighs look human and
that we’re so soft yet
rough and jungle wild
when we need to be
i love that about us
how capable we are of feeling
how unafraid we are of breaking
and tend to our wounds with grace
just being a woman
calling myself
a woman
makes me utterly whole
and complete
I know I am one of a chorus of women singing the praises of Kaur. She has been hailed as the voice of a generation –she is certainly the voice of millennial women. Her posts regularly get around 100,000 likes and a plethora of admiring comments (she currently has 1.4 million followers). Instagram has played a crucial role in her success, giving Kaur a platform for her work. She gained attention when she posted an image of herself lying on her bed, a scarlet patch of period blood on her bottom and bedsheet. The photo was part of her university project, which aimed to challenge a taboo without the use of words. It was taken down by Instagram for violating its Terms of Service, which caused uproar and prompted Kaur to write on her Tumblr:
“I will not apologize for not feeding the ego and pride of a misogynist society that will have my body in underwear but not be okay with a small leak”
Instagram later allowed the photo back up, but this didn’t stop the flood of followers that continued to support Kaur. The poems came out of her need to get things off her chest – she never intended to be a poet. She harnessed that golden combination of well-crafted prose plus beautiful illustrations – a formula now replicated by many. Catchy and Instagrammable, is this the future of poetry?
Rupi Kaur ‘period’, photo source: rupikaur.com
Her new anthology, entitled ‘the sun and her flowers’ will be released on 3rd October, and now Kaur is building up the anticipation on social media by giving her followers a taste of what to expect. The first poem, ‘the second birth’, was posted 2 days ago (see below).
bees came for honey
flowers giggled as they
undressed themselves
for the taking
the sun smiled
Kaur describes it as being a grown-up version of ‘milk and honey’, dealing with themes about refugees, immigration and revolution (partly motivated by the election of Trump), as well as more personal topics such as losing “what you think is the love of your life – and dealing with its raw aftermath,” she told The Observer.
rupikaur.com
So in answer to the question that’s been thrown around the internet in recent years; is poetry dead? I’d say that poetry is certainly not in any danger of perishing, instead – as we have seen with Kaur and her avid fans – it is breaking into new territory. A digital sphere that is fertile ground for creativity and which is attracting a younger demographic who would not normally be so enthralled with poetry.
The friend who introduced me to Kaur’s poems lives in Canada now. I plan to send her a letter – I just need to find the perfect poem to write inside.
Rupi Kaur, from ‘the sun and her flowers’
Reims (pronounced Rance not Reems), the City of Kings – and champagne – in the northeast of France does not always get the attention it deserves, with people preferring the buzz of Paris, or the charm of Strasbourg to the east, but this beautiful city has a lot more to offer than just its famous cathedral. Trust me, I’ve been living there for the past 10 months.
The city of Reims viewed from the top of the cathedral
- The history:
It is known as the City of Kings because the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Reims was the place where France’s kings have been coronated since 816. 33 kings were crowned there in total – the last one was Charles X in 1825.
Legend has it that Reims was founded by Remus, Romulus’s brother who founded ancient Rome. There are still traces of the Romans on the city; Mars Gate is the only remaining monumental gate built in the first part of the 3rd century.
During World War I, the cathedral and the Abbey of Saint-Remi was badly bombed by the Germans – receiving around 300 shells. Almost 80% of the city was destroyed – the most damaged out of all the large towns in France. If you visit the cathedral and the abbey (which contains Saint Remi’s tomb) there are photographs showing how they rebuilt both of these historical monuments.
At the end of World War II, Reims was the place where the German commander-in-chief signed the full German Surrender, which led to the end of the conflict. It was ratified in Berlin the next day on 8th May 1945, which is now known as Victory in Europe Day. Reims has therefore come to symbolise peace between France and Germany.
Photo source: Wikipedia Commons
- The architecture:
Of course one has to visit the famous cathedral – thrown into the spotlight recently following a large protest outside it when Marine Le Pen visited on the last day of the election campaign. Frequently referred to in architecture classes across Europe – it is one of the pinnacles of gothic architecture and in 1991 was made a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The stained glass windows are each a unique work of art, one of which was designed by the famous Russian-French artist, Marc Chagall. Make sure you catch the spectacular light show or Rêve de Couleurs, where colours, patterns and images are projected onto the cathedral’s façade to music.
Next door to the cathedral is the Palais du Tau, which is an impressive feat of architecture too. It used to be the palace of the Archbishop of Reims, but is now a museum which tells the story of the city. The most remarkable objects are Charlemagne’s talisman, from the 9th century, and Saint Remi’s chalice, from the 12th century, as well as the “holy flask”, which contains the holy oil that was used to anoint new kings during the coronation ceremony.
Also around the city you will find numerous art deco flourishes, as the city was so heavily damaged during World War I, the 1920’s was a time of intense reconstruction.
Chagall’s stained glass windows inside the cathedral
- The cultural scene:
Reims hosts many cultural events throughout the year – suited to both young and old. One particularly popular event with students is Les Noces Félines, an electronic music festival held in the Palais du Tau, where previous acts such as Polo & Pan, Famonty and Another Pixel took to the stage.
Other festivities include; Reims Scène d’Europe, a program which showcases theatre, dance, art, and music; Reims Jazz Festival; and Les Fêtes Johanniques, a medieval festival which celebrates the coronation of Charles VII, when he was led to the cathedral by Joan of Arc in 1429.
The Musée des Beaux-arts houses a collection of objects seized during the French Revolution, as well as paintings from the 16th to 20th centuries, furniture and objets d’art. If you’re looking for something more modern, try FRAC Champagne-Ardenne which displays contemporary art from artists around the world.
Photo source: CRT Champagne-Ardenne
- The champagne houses:
From Taittinger to Mumm, Veuve Clicquot to Ruinart (the oldest champagne house in the world), this is the beating heart of the champagne industry. You can take a tour of the cellars, learn all about the history of the champagne house and the champagne-making process, and finish with a glass of bubbly.
Don’t forget to make a trip out of the city to see where the grapes are grown – the patchwork of vineyards that surround Reims is a beautiful sight. Epernay is a short drive away, and is also a key place in the champagne world – visit the Avenue de Champagne and gawp at the beautiful champagne houses, including Moët et Chandon, Mercier, and De Castellane.
Vineyards surrounding the city
- The Christmas Market:
Stroll through the maze of little wooden ‘chalet’ stalls in front of the cathedral with a warming cup of vin chaud. You will find stalls selling everything from regional delicacies, crafts, sweets, wine, jewellery and much more. If you’re lucky you can also catch the light show at the same time, which makes for a magical festive experience.
The cathedral lit up during the Christmas Market
- The cafés, restaurants and bars:
You may not have the diversity of choice found in Paris, but Reims certainly delivers on the food and drink front. One particularly special place is Le Cabasson – Estaminet, a café/pub with a rustic charm, friendly bar-tenders and great wine. Think old-school tunes playing, impromptu musical performances, and homemade tarts to die for, it’s no wonder that it’s usually packed with locals and students – also a good place for Sunday brunch.
For lunch, try En Apart Thé, where they have delicious quiches and a never-ending selection of teas, while Oma Coffee is the perfect place for a coffee and a muffin – and a friendly chat with Vera, the owner. For dinner, Duprat et Duprat is an intimate restaurant specialising in the creamiest cheese fondues. Like most French cities, there is a boulangerie around almost every corner, but La Cave à Pain makes the best buttery croissants.
A cheeseboard and wine at Le Cabasson.
Originally published on The Local France.
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
So goes the first sentence of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. One of the most important novels of the 20th century, it is set in the dystopian world of Oceania, which Orwell created to warn his readers about the dangers of a totalitarian society amid the rise of communism in the 1940s.
Writers have always had a strong fascination with dystopian settings – from Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, to Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games; future worlds controlled by ‘Big Brother’ figures and punctuated by annual death matches. Fun. But why is the future so frequently depicted in this way?
The future is a funny thing. Something that induces both fear and excitement. With the summer of 2017 stretching out before us, a lot of changes are ahead – just think of the mammoth year that 2016 was, and how it totally shook up our perceptions. I guess that the fear of the unknown is the spark that sets the imagination alight – who knows what will happen with Trump as President of the world’s biggest superpower? Who knows what will happen tomorrow, let alone in 5, 10, 100 years time. We may very well all wear silver jumpsuits and whizz around in flying cars and use robots as servants. We may be able to catch a budget airline to holiday in outer space – or as Elon Musk hopes, set up a human colony on Mars.
One artist from Scotland has launched a public artwork which is all about the future. Katie Paterson is known for her works exploring the essence of time and space, having designed a lightbulb that stimulates the experience of moonlight and created a fossil necklace with the help of DNA researchers. Her next project is on a slightly larger scale; essentially a forest of books called the Future Library. In 2014 Paterson planted 1,000 trees in Nordmarka Forest on the doorstep of Oslo, Norway, with the plan to get a different author to write a book each year and ‘bury’ it until they are unearthed in 2114. So these tiny fragile saplings will one day grow into towering pines which will be turned into pages of an anthology containing the stories – some of which will be written a century before.
Awaiting the arrival of Sjón’s manuscript in Nordmarka Forest, June 2017. Photo: Kristin von Hirsch/ Bjørvika Utvikling/ AFP
The idea was born when Paterson was drawing tree rings on a piece of paper and saw “chapters, and leaves of the book, a forest that prints a book, but that grows through time,” she told the Telegraph. The Berlin-based artist describes it as “a living, breathing, organic artwork.” Future Library certainly has the environment at its core, raising issues surrounding climate change and overconsumption. She says: “It questions the present tendency to think in short bursts of time, making decisions only for us living now.”
Disappointingly the texts won’t actually be physically buried in the Norwegian soil, but instead held in a specially designed room in the new Deichmanske Public Library opening in 2019 in Oslo. No living adult will ever know what is inside the boxes, which gives the unfolding project a distinct air of mystery – like a literary time capsule.
So far, the authors selected to write are international heavy-weights; the Canadian writer, Margaret Atwood, who has delivered her text entitled Scribbler Moon for 2015, the British author David Mitchell has written a 90-page novella called From Me Flows What You Call Time for 2016, and the novelist for 2017 is Sjón from Iceland, who is an award-winning poet and lyricist, who also writes lyrics for the singer Björk. He recently handed over his work at a special ceremony amongst the trees that will one day bare the words of his novel – in 97 years and counting. He described being part of the project as being like an “adventure”.
“I realised that many of the mechanisms I take for granted as I write my texts are really something that I need to think about all the time: the precision of words, using old words…Writing in my language, which is the Icelandic language, was also one of the questions I was faced with because I don’t know where my language will be in 100 years.” Sjón
The Icelandic writer, Sjón. Photo: Hörður Sveinsson
The authors are selected for their work’s ability to capture the imagination of this and future generations, although they will never know how their work will be received. Mitchell said in an interview that he hopes “things that are important to me will still exist, and that the orchestral blast of bad news that you get when you open newspapers and click on websites – all the dystopian stuff about climate change, about terrorism, about demagogues seizing control of large, industrial countries – that side won’t win. The side that values reading, that values seeing things from other people’s point of view, which is a great forte of the novel – that currently deeply embattled side has an equal shot at influencing the future.”
I think that sums up the power of a novel; fiction can let you escape into a new world when your own world isn’t quite going to plan, but it can also, as Nineteen Eighty-Four did, open people’s eyes and challenge their perceptions (something we desperately need in an age of social media echo chambers). And that will remain important for eternity.
Reading in a park. Photo: Jessie Williams
Originally published in the January issue of the Sundial.
On my first meander through Berlin (after a 14 hour bus ride from Paris), my German friend and I came across a small protest in a residential street. There was a live band, several journalists and a bunch of people – students, elderly, young families – chatting. It was more of a relaxed get-together than a demonstration. Above them were make-shift banners hanging from balconies with angry green writing scrawled across the fabric. They were protesting against the council’s decision to allow local restaurants to put tables and chairs on the pavements, explained my friend. Signs declared “These are our pavements too”. She said it was “very Berlin”.
A young, liberal city, the capital of Germany is known for its protests. It’s also known for its art scene, culture, and, of course, its history. I only had one humid June weekend in Berlin so I accepted that it would be impossible to see everything – instead I wanted to drink in the feel of the city, and explore it in a leisurely fashion.
The former mayor, Klaus Wowereit famously declared: “Berlin ist arm aber sexy” – Berlin is poor but sexy. Upon visiting you can understand what he means; the city isn’t the cleanest or prettiest European city – it doesn’t have the elegance of Paris or the grandness of London. But it is dynamic and electric. The word I kept on repeating throughout the weekend was “quirky”. Unexpected, cool, laid-back. Its got a grungy, bohemian vibe, with wacky street art lining its walls, dispersed with modern architecture which makes you look up in awe. It’s no wonder the city is a magnet for creative types.
There are quirky elements which pop up and surprise you everywhere you go – from a jungle of plants over spilling a balcony in a dense urban area, or a fashion shoot on the street, to an abandoned warehouse that comes alive at night, or people bungee-jumping off a crane in a carpark. Even the U-Bahn (underground) is bedecked in brilliant sunshine yellow – enough to brighten grey days – although be warned: Berlin’s transport system is a nightmare to navigate.
It was my first time in Germany. As my Flix Bus passed the pine forests which surrounds the northeastern city, I thought about the three modern wars that’s raged within it. My Grandfather parachuted behind enemy lines into Germany during World War II, so I felt particularly drawn to this time period. 90% of the city was destroyed between 1939 and 1945, so the majority of buildings are relatively new ones. Crazy geometric creations next-door to skyscrapers, while in the east there are rows of plain Communist houses, an echo of the divide that once tore the city in two.
I recently watched Roberto Rossellini’s film Germany Year Zero, which really captures the depressed post-war atmosphere that oozed from the city’s pores – Berliners were starving and turned to criminality to survive.
After an obligatory pretzel and Franzbrötchen (cinnamon pastry), we took a walking tour around the key historic points of interest, taking in the Brandenburg Gate, Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, East Side Gallery, the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie. The tour guide (Lizzie, a lovely, bubbly American German woman) also showed us Hitler’s underground bunker, which is now a car park – there was no indication of what it was in its past life – she explained that it was because they don’t want him to be mourned or celebrated by neo-Nazi groups, instead Germans want to focus on remembering the people persecuted by the Nazi regime.
The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, designed by Peter Eisenman, is a mesmerising sight, with 2711 concrete slabs of different heights on a site covering 19,000 square metres. Although it is shrouded in mystery as the designer never fully explained where he got his inspiration from, but our tour guide said the sloping ground and irregular height of the concrete blocks mimics that of graveyards in Palestine.
It was fascinating to hear the thoughts of Germany’s current young generation on their history. This is a country that’s been tarnished by one short period in history, for which it’s people still feel a sense of guilt, and still feel they have to apologise for their country’s past. The reflection on the past wars also made me think about the current relationship between European countries and how that may change once Britain leaves the EU – a union which was hoped would create long-lasting peace and stability.
There is an interesting piece on the Guardian written by John le Carré about learning German and why the act of learning a second language is so important – particularly with the huge upcoming task of EU-British negotiations. Carré writes how the choice of learning a second language is an act of friendship – not only a useful tool of negotiation, but a way to get to know people better, as well as their culture, social manners and way of thinking. He writes about his old German teacher, Mr King:
Rather than join the chorus of anti-German propaganda, he preferred, doggedly, to inspire his little class with the beauty of the language, and of its literature and culture. One day, he used to say, the real Germany will come back. And he was right. Because now it has.
The overwhelming feeling I got from Berlin was the power of art to unite – not only a country (particularly after the reunification of East and West) but also a continent. A trip to the Berlin Wall’s East Side Gallery is a must. It’s the longest open-air gallery in the world (1316 metres) and features artwork from a broad mix of international artists who have created their own murals to represent the city during 1989/90 – creating thought-provoking pieces. The most photographed one is Dmitri Vrubel’s Fraternal Kiss but there are loads more to see, my personal favourite is Rosemarie Schinzler’s Everything Open. Simple yet beautiful; perfectly capturing this city as the tolerant, accepting, diverse place it is.
The Berlinische Galerie in the cool Kreuzberg district is also a brilliant place to visit if you are keen on all things art; it’s a maze of modern art, photography and architecture. When I went there was a weird (quirky!) installation by John Bock, but the other rooms were packed full of varied pieces to suit all tastes – from Expressionism to avant-garde. Perfect for a rainy morning.
On Sunday afternoon we strolled through the centre and mooched around a market on the bank of the river Spree, before crossing over to admire the magnificent domes of the cathedral (Berliner Dom). Tourists and locals lazed on the grass in front of it, but we were on a mission to find the perfect lunch spot. A Vietnamese restaurant called Good Morning Vietnam, was recommended to us by our tour guide, and we soon found out why; fresh vegetable and shrimp spring rolls dipped in peanut sauce, followed by a fragrant tofu curry. In the evening we dodged downpours and found a dark little pub under a railway arch where men smoked and played cards, while we drank Radler (beer + lemonade).
We also met the infamous Kaiser Kasimir, a Polish beggar or self-styled ‘Emperor of Tramps’ who is now a performance artist and entertains passers-by with his horn and poems (in a mix of Polish and German). We were eating dinner outside and he walked passed in full regalia, stopping for a chat and offered us his autobiography, which my friend translated. While in Berlin I think it is best to embrace all things wild, wacky and a bit weird – because that basically sums up the city itself.
The lifestyle: Despite the stress of studying, deadlines and exams, the French pace of life does soothe the nerves. So after a hectic day spent in the bibliotheque it was nice to have a drink or two at our local brasserie, or a picnic in the park. Remember you are not only here to study but also to experience the culture.
The people: Meeting students from all over the world – not only from France – is an eye-opening experience, as you get to learn about their culture as well. So try to get to know as many people as possible. This will also prove beneficial in the future when you have lots of friends around the globe to visit – there’s nothing like experiencing a new country through the eyes of a local. So keep in contact with them!
Living on a budget: It is possible. Food is relatively cheap, especially if you go to a local marché for fruit and vegetables. Wine is also much cheaper than in the UK, which is a plus for many students.
Erasmus money: Students are entitled to receive between €250 to €300 per month. This actually goes a long way, and actually covered my rent every month. But it’s important to remember not to spend it all at once as it disappears very quickly.
Integrating with French students: It can be hard to make friends with French students, especially when they have already established their friend groups. Some of my international friends spoke of the divide they felt between them and French students. But usually if you make an effort to mix – particularly by joining associations and sports clubs, then you will get to know lots of French students.
Free entry to museums for EU students: The French have a strong appreciation of culture, and so EU students can get in free to most museums across the country when they show a valid student ID – make sure you make the most of it and see as many Cézanne’s, Monet’s and Matisse’s as possible.
The classes: French teachers – whatever the subject – love to make cultural and historical references. From the French Revolution to Charles De Gaulle, Jean-Luc Godard to the Marseillaise, so it helps to do some background research about the country, otherwise you’ll be in the dark.
The language: Try to speak French as much as possible – ask for directions, go to the post office, get your hair cut, barter at a market. It may be hard but it’ll only improve if you push yourself out of your comfort zone.
The bureaucracy: Dealing with things like student housing, visas, CAF, can be a very long and draining process – especially if you are not well-versed in the language. It is best to ask a French person to help you, or your university should have a person to advise you. Above all, be patient (easier said then done, I know).
Finding a place to live: There are lots of different options for accommodation. The most common choice is student residences, which is good to meet other students, and is normally a simple process done through your university. However, you can also stay with a host family; good for practising your French and learning how the locals live. My friend found a host family through Welcome2France.com. There is also flat sharing or colocation, which is a great way to meet new people – not just students. There are numerous websites for you to search for available rooms, including Roomlala.com or Leboncoin.fr.
Trains: As an exchange student you will want to travel and see the country, but France’s trains can be unreliable and expensive if you don’t book in advance. Try OuiGo for cheap train deals, or BlaBlaCar, a car sharing or covoiturage network which is very popular in Europe. Also investing in a Carte Jeune – a student railcard – is well worth it.
The grading system: It takes a while to get your head round the completely different mark scheme of 1 – 20, instead of out of 100. But 20 is unreachable – many French students say 20 is reserved for God (or king), 19 for professors, in general 17 or 18 is considered as being very good. Remember that you have to adjust to a new school, so don’t worry if your marks don’t reflect your true academic abilities.
Oral presentations: French universities have a love of oral presentations – particularly at Sciences Po, which is renowned for producing some of the best orators (current French President included). So if you have a fear of talking in front of large groups of people, then this is your chance to practise – you’ll be a pro by the end.
Travelling back home: I took the Eurostar, which you must book in advance if you don’t want it to get expensive. Some friends preferred flying or taking a bus from Paris to London, which you can do for around €18. There are also bursaries available to students, have a look at Gov.uk to find out more.
It’s not all about Paris: The capital is where everyone wants to go to on their exchange year, but there are many other smaller cities around France where you can have just as much fun. I went to Reims, a city in northeast France, and found many advantages to living in a small city. For starters the rent is much cheaper (my rent was €240 per month), there is a stronger student community as you are all in close proximity, you can walk everywhere – don’t have to rely on the metro and save money that you would spend on transport, it was surrounded by beautiful countryside where we hiked and camped, and it was only a 45-minute train journey (or cheap 2-hour bus journey) into Paris, so if you really yearn for a buzzing metropolis then it is easy to get to.
Originally published on The Local France.
Westminster in the sun
Today was a typical June day in London.
The rain had been lashing down all afternoon and now the wind whipped my hair across my face as I dodged puddles on the glistening pavement. I joined the throng of commuters hurrying into King’s Cross Tube Station eager to catch the next train before 6pm. When I finally squeezed my way into a packed carriage (because my God I forgot how much time I spend waiting for the Hammersmith & City line), I got my book out and settled down for the 20 minute journey back to East London.
But then I did something I’ve never done before. I got off the tube at Moorgate. Three stops after I had gotten on. Why? Because I was scared.
It is five days since three men drove into pedestrians on London Bridge, before attacking people in Borough Market with knives. It is two weeks and three days since a man detonated a bomb in Manchester arena, killing 22, most of which were young people and children. And it is three months since the Westminster attack, where five people lost their lives.
After each one of these awful terrorist attacks the people of the United Kingdom have rallied together and shown defiance: we shall not be cowed they said. “The Plague, the Fire, the Blitz, 7/7, Westminster, London Bridge, and we’re still here mate” declared one sign. The hashtag “WeAreNotAfraid” trended on Twitter, and all over social media people shared messages which stuck a virtual two fingers up at the terrorists.
All of this filled me with pride; showing the terrorists that they have not won, and that we will still live our lives as normal. However I can’t pretend that I am not afraid. In a crowd of people in a public place, I can’t help but feel apprehensive, on the tube I am constantly looking at people who get on, and my stomach turns every time I hear the voice over the tannoy telling people to report anything suspicious to a member of station staff. It could happen to anyone. It has happened to so many innocent people that one can’t help thinking; when will it happen to me?
But I – like so many others – will not let it stop me from enjoying my life, because if I’ve learnt anything from these attacks it is that life is so precious; it must be cherished and enjoyed.
So I stood on the platform at Moorgate, breathed deeply, and got on the next train.
And as I stride together with my fellow commuters I feel a sense of pride. I am living and working in this amazing city; a city enriched by it’s diversity. A city which has united when others sought to divide it. My brave city; giving me the strength to feel brave too.
Dear Planet Earth,
I hope you’re doing well. But I fear you’re feeling a little under the weather.
Firstly, I want to say sorry. Sorry for the destruction that the human race has caused you and continues to cause every day. Pollution, litter, deforestation, over-consumption; the list could go on. I apologise on behalf of the man who will continue to cause a lot more devastation to your precious land and atmosphere; the current President of the United States. A man who should know better. His lack of interest in the environment and climate change is particularly unfathomable considering the almost unanimous agreement of the dangerous consequences of climate change by numerous scientists, societies, science academies, government agencies and intergovernmental bodies.
After the ratification of the Paris Climate Agreement in October 2016, we all thought things were heading in the right direction. It was, after all, the first ever universal, legally binding global climate deal between 195 countries. Their long-term goal is to keep the increase of global average temperatures below 2°C. But now all of that hard work may be for nothing – and the reason begins with a big fat capital T.
Apart from the fact that Trump has just taken the US out of the Paris Agreement (and is now being condemned by everyone), cast your mind back to his executive order ‘Promoting Energy Independence and Economic Growth’ announced on March 28th, which was seen by many as a step backwards in terms of green energy and a big slap on the face of Planet Earth. The order instructs every agency of the federal government to immediately review and get rid of existing regulations that potentially burden the development or use of domestically produced energy resources. I.e. the regulations surrounding the fossil-fuel and nuclear-power industries.
In particular, it directs the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to revise the Clean Power Plan – created by Obama in August 2015 – which was meant to show the world that the US is committed to leading global efforts to address climate change. Helping the US to get halfway to their target of reducing greenhouse-gas emissions by a quarter, from their 2005 levels, by 2025. In Trump’s words it is a “crushing attack on American industry”.
Here are some pretty incredible statistics: the plan would, it was projected, result in 870 million fewer tons of carbon pollution released into the atmosphere, as many as 360 fewer premature deaths in the US between now and 2030, and 90,000 fewer asthma attacks in children. Surely something worth keeping?
The EPA is rapidly descending into a shambles. Scott Pruitt, the new EPA administrator (and known skeptic of climate change) announced that the agency was no longer interested in even collecting data on the amount of methane that oil and gas companies release. This, from the person in charge of an agency specifically created to protect human health and the environment.
In a recent New Yorker article entitled Trump V. The Earth, Amy Davidson argues that this order, is not what Trump calls “an end to the war on coal” but is in fact a war on the basic knowledge of the harm that coal can do. I would argue that this is the battle cry of a man who wants to recommence the war on our planet – it was far from ending, but it was at least being recognized and addressed. A war which will affect every single one of us. I wonder if he ever thinks about how his actions will affect the world for that of future generations; the one his son, Barron, and grandchildren will grow up in.
But climate change will not just affect a far-off distant future; it is already impacting the here and now. Just ask the displaced communities forced from their homes due to rising sea levels (global sea level rose about 8 inches in the last century. The rate in the last two decades, however, is nearly double that of the last century.) Or ask the people in South Sudan – where drought is a contributing factor to one of the worst humanitarian crises since 1945, according to the UN. In March 2014, TIME Magazine published a report which found that global warming of only 2º C will likely reduce yields of crops like rice and maize as early as the 2030s – much sooner than expected. This is happening in countries that produce barely any carbon emissions; countries with almost no industry or few vehicles. Looking after the planet also means looking after our fellow human beings.
Davidson writes; “For all the talk of American greatness, Trump’s actions regarding climate change represent a historic abdication of leadership.” Particularly as a survey conducted by the Pew Research Centre last year found that around two-thirds of Americans think climate scientists should have a major role in policy decisions about climate matters, more than say that of the public, energy industry leaders, or national and international political leaders. In other words, the American public think climate change is important and want to do something about it.
Maybe Trump could look at the younger generation for inspiration; more and more young people are choosing to adopt daily practices to protect the environment and combat climate change. A survey conducted last year by the European Parliament found that – out of the 10, 294 young adults questioned in the 28 Member States – 63% sorted household waste, 47% reduced their consumption of disposable items and 46% reduced water and energy consumption at home.
Around 7.5 billion people call Planet Earth home. That’s a lot of mouths to feed and a lot of homes to warm. But it is not over-population that is necessarily the main threat to our globe, but over-consumption. As Gandhi once said; “The world has enough for everyone’s need, but not enough for everyone’s greed.” By doing small acts to help the larger picture, I believe we can at least try to combat the ignorance of others.
But this isn’t just one long grumble; I also want to say thank you. Thank you, Planet Earth, for your sunrises and sunsets; the orange glow which never fails to mesmerise me. Thank you for the cherry blossom in Spring and the crisp leaves that crunch underfoot in Autumn.
Thank you for your vast oceans; even the freezing Atlantic, which I like to dip my toes into from time to time. For the water that I drink, for the food that grows within you, for the shelter you provide.
Thank you for being so beautiful that I sometimes have to catch my breath. Thanks for the smell of freshly cut grass and the whisper of the wind between your branches; the sound of the birds singing at dawn and the crash of thunder in a storm.
I may not be the greenest person out there, but I do try. Because I know how precious you are. I appreciate your beauty, your strength and your resources – growing up on a diet of David Attenborough documentaries, it was hard not to be awe-struck by nature. As Louis Armstrong’s dulcet tones once sang; what a wonderful world.
All the best from your ever-grateful inhabitant,
Jessie
My favourite beach. Cornwall, 2017
Originally published on The Sundial Press.
En Marche! rally, Centre des Congrés, Reims.
At a recent En Marche! rally in Reims’ Centre des Congrés, young and old cheered and waved the tricolour as Emmanuel Macron, the 39-year-old independent centrist, bounced onto the stage. Flore Chevalier was one of those cheering; wearing an En Marche! T-shirt, the 19-year-old from Versailles was one of the youth organisers of the event which was attended by almost 1,300 people.
As the battle for the Elysée Palace enters the final countdown, a generation of young people are preparing to cast their vote for the first time. Those at the prestigious Sciences Po Campus de Reims, are eagerly awaiting the chance to have their say after an election campaign plagued by scandals. These are the students who will go on to shape the social and political landscape of France, so what do they think of the 2017 frontrunners?
Having joined the En Marche! campaign as soon as it started, Chevalier’s vote is firmly with Macron. “I really like his position as a candidate that fits neither in the PS (Parti Socialiste) or Les Républicains but who seeks to gather people around a project that can really put France back on its feet. I like the idea of combining liberal economic reforms with social protection. And I also deeply believe in Europe’s future, which I think is at the center of his project.”
Macron has never held any elected mandate, which is a worry for some of his supporters, but not for Chevalier. “I’d rather have someone with little political experience instead of someone who has never known anything else than politics.” She found the results of the primaries very interesting as they were so unexpected. “I think they reveal a profound desire for radical change on the part of the French population.”
Emmanuel Macron
For undecided voter, Stella Chene, 19 from Paris, she agrees with Macron’s “guiding principles”, however she finds it “kind of scary” to vote for someone with such an undetailed program – as she has no idea how he will implement his plans. “I voted for Hamon in the socialist primaries – I am a member of the Socialist Party. But it was mostly to kick Manuel Valls out.” She does agree with some of Hamon’s policies, particularly with the idea of a universal wage and for his stance on feminism, but her priorities are the environment, a strong European Union, and helping refugees, so she feels more inclined to vote for Macron.
Realistically, Chene thinks she will do a “vote utile” (tactical vote) for Macron. “I am afraid that if I vote Mélenchon or Hamon, it will be Fillon vs. Le Pen in the second round, and that would be a really terrible situation for me – imagine my first second-round presidential vote having to be cast for Fillon!”
“But most importantly, I find Macron inspiring. Before he launched his movement, I was already saying that political parties cause problems. They are too rigid; all members have to stick to an ideology or they are accused of backstabbing their political family – I think that’s detrimental to debate. I think it puts people into boxes that are not always relevant.”
As an aspiring politician, Chene hopes to run for presidency one day, and thinks that youth should be seen as a positive. “Experience is very important, but I think the supreme office shouldn’t be restricted to experts.” She says that it’s refreshing to have a newcomer: “Especially since En Marche! grew with citizen committees who participated in the drafting of the project.”
Marine Le Pen
17-year-old Antoine Humbert disagrees with Chene; he doesn’t think Macron deserves a place in this campaign and says he only uses demagogy. Humbert describes him as “a banker who believed after less than 3 years in politics that he could run as a candidate for the presidential elections thanks to the financial support he received from his former colleagues”.
Despite not being old enough to vote in the coming election, Humbert, has been following the build-up with interest and hopes that the National Front candidate, Marine Le Pen will win. “I am a supporter of Le Pen as I believe that the European Project has come to an end and if we want our country to keep going forward, it must quit the European Union.”
With a possible Frexit on the cards, Humbert believes French households will see their purchasing power increase. “There will be more job creations as internal demand would shift upward and social inequalities will decrease as measures will be taken to improve the social conditions of poor people and better reallocate the state money.”
He also cites the threat of terrorism as a major reason for his support of the National Front. “Le Pen is the only one to propose some strong measures in terms of defence. With an increase of the army budget to 2% of the GDP and an increase in the number of the police employees, it will bring back security in our streets.”
His reason for voting for an alternative party is due to disappointment at the Républicains and Socialist parties. According to him they have done nothing to ease the social inequalities within France, and neither have proved to be successful at governing.
Benoît Hamon
But for Cliona Noone, 19 from Vincennes, the Socialist candidate, Benoît Hamon, is the one that makes her hope for a better future. “He is the only one that puts the youth at the center of his campaign and is the most vocal about women’s rights.”
When asked what she thinks about criticism of him being too radical, she replies: “He is not “too radical”, people have forgotten what it means to be “à gauche”, to want to protect the workers, to protect people from the side effects of globalization. People have forgotten what the state is meant to do: protect and support its citizens.”
Noone thinks this is the worst election the 5th Republic has ever experienced. “The Républicains party is exploding and shifting towards more extreme views. The Socialists are also being torn apart between Macron and Mélenchon; both were rejected from primary posts in the government.”
“The extremes (Mélenchon and Le Pen) seem more than likely to get the power, as the electorate is fractured.” She thinks the outcome may be violent as the political climate has been hostile ever since the ‘manif pour tous’. The huge demonstration in January 2013 against the law allowing same-sex marriage; the right extreme movement that emerged called itself the “manif pour tous” (like the name of the law ‘Mariage pour tous’), which included a mixture of royalists, Catholic associations, Républicains, and National Front supporters.
François Fillon
Pierre Wang, 19, from Beijing and Normandy, thinks that if common sense prevails, Les Républicains candidate, François Fillon, will be elected as President on 7th May. “He has the most ambitious, detailed and pragmatic project. After 5 wasted years under François Hollande whose election was based on people’s hatred of his adversary, reforms are more than ever necessary.”
He is also a firm believer in the benefits of the EU, and is shocked by the views of the other candidates on this topic. “No less than half of the candidates blame the EU for everything or threaten to get out of it. How is this possible? Those candidates are old enough to have listened to the testimonies of World War survivors – their parents! – or have lived during the Cold War. Blaming the EU in such a way is intellectually dishonest. The EU fosters peace, economic cooperation, high-quality norms and standards, science and research. When I look at all of them and this 2017 election process, I wonder what General de Gaulle would think.”
But what is Wang’s view on the allegations against Fillon? He is accused of misuse of public funds – dubbed “Penelope-gate” by the French media after his wife, whom he allegedly paid for fake employment – and is slipping in the polls because of it.
Wang believes that the ones who threw this affair on the public stage simply want to damage Fillon’s performance in the election. “But they can be happy as they already succeeded in sabotaging the 2017 presidential campaign. There was no serious presidential campaign in the past 2 months. That’s a shame when you think at all the issues and challenges that should be discussed and solved.”
Despite the allegations, Wang’s support for Fillon has not diminished; “I still support him because I believe that he has the most comprehensive project that France needs. He is a statesman unlike all the others. Behind him, the right and the center are ready to govern and manage the country. Fillon is the only one capable of having a majority in both houses of Parliament. Don’t forget that the legislative branch is important as well. How will Mr. Macron govern with a Republican Senate and a Republican or a very divided National Assembly?”
Jean-Luc Mélenchon
On the other hand, Adeline Massard, 20 from Gabon, is supporting Jean-Luc Mélenchon, the leader of the far-left party, ‘Unsubmissive France’, in the coming election. “First and foremost, because I share most of the ideas he puts forward. In my opinion, his political platform is the fairest and most realistic, especially with regard to the environment, social policy, the EU, and foreign policy. He is not afraid of saying what he thinks, and doesn’t seem susceptible to the influence of lobbies, contrary to many other candidates.”
Massard describes some of the other candidates as “frenetic caricatures” and says she is really disappointed by the level of debate, which has been degraded by polarization around certain issues like terrorism and the migratory crisis. “I consider it a regrettable strategy employed by some politicians who tend to give these issues a privileged place at the expense of other fundamental topics such as the environment (the need to establish energy transition as soon as possible, for instance), unemployment or implementing a better distribution of wealth.”
Referred to by many as a leftist firebrand, Mélenchon, was widely regarded as performing the best in the last TV debate between the 11 candidates. A snap poll by Elabe for BFM TV found that he had managed to convince 25 percent of those who had watched the debate. But Massard thinks it is still going to be a tight race to the finish line. “Several months ago, we wouldn’t have expected Fillon and Hamon to win the presidential primary elections. With them, Marine Le Pen is slipping in recent polls while Mélenchon is gaining ground.” As we have seen with Brexit and the US Presidential election, anything could happen, as the French would say: rien n’est encore joué.
Originally published on The Sundial Press.
This year, International Women’s Day came and went in a blur of Instagram posts, tweets and hashtags. A plethora of inspirational women popped up on my feeds; smiling, protesting, and generally showing so much #GirlPower that it put the Spice Girls circa 1997 to shame. Which made me ponder on what exactly is a feminist icon, and most importantly, who is mine?
The American literary critic, Elaine Showalter defined a feminist icon as someone on to whom a disproportionate amount of adulation and loathing is projected. That sounds about right: today feminism has never been more championed and controversial. What’s more an icon is completely subjective depending on the person – one person’s icon could be another person’s nemesis. Just look at Margaret Thatcher, the Marmite of British politics; worshipped by some, and hated by others. Which led me to think about Britain’s current prime minister, Theresa May, the first woman to hold the role in over 25 years. She famously posed in a Fawcett Society T-shirt bearing the slogan ‘This is what a feminist looks like’, but was her appointment a win for women?
Theresa May in the Fawcett Society T-shirt.
I admit, my initial reaction when I heard that May was taking over the reins of our Conservative government was excitement: surely this is a victory for women – surely with a woman in charge it should mean that women’s rights and equality are at the top of her agenda.
Perhaps this was wishful thinking. After all she’s certainly not a feminist favourite. The brilliant comedian, Bridget Christie, joked that May’s “This is what a feminist looks like” T-shirt must be longer at the back because on it is written “I cut child benefit and slashed tax credits. I shut down shelters for battered wives and children. I cut rape counselling and legal aid”.
Indeed, the prime minister has consistently voted for curbing welfare spending, which women bear the brunt of. She is part of a government that cut 23 domestic violence courts, child benefits and funding for women’s refuges. Funding cuts are also hitting contraceptive services around the UK; totaling more than £800m over six years.
In December last year, the Guardian reported on the rise of ‘Period Poverty’ which was recently highlighted in Ken Loach’s film I, Daniel Blake. Evidence shows that women are being forced to use tissues, newspaper or socks instead of proper sanitary products, and new reports have emerged of girls missing school due to embarrassment when they are on their period because of lack of access. Menstrual inequality is real and it’s happening in a country run by a woman who claims to be a feminist.
And what is she doing to fix the gender pay gap? Figures show that the average pay for full-time female employees was 9.4% less than their male counterparts. In May’s first speech as prime minister she called the pay gap one of the first “burning injustices” that she planned to fight, but she seems to have done little in her tenure so far.
It’s not all bad, in the past May has pushed colleagues to do more to tackle domestic violence, she has a tough stance on female genital mutilation and she supported the shared parental leave scheme.
And, as Nicola Sturgeon, the First Minister of Scotland, tweeted alongside a photo of her and May shaking hands: “Politics aside – I hope girls everywhere look at this photograph and believe nothing should be off limits to them.” It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree with May’s policies, the fact that she is a woman in the highest position of power in Britain is great for girls and young women to see that it is possible and hopefully will encourage more of them to get into politics.
Politics aside – I hope girls everywhere look at this photograph and believe nothing should be off limits for them. pic.twitter.com/QGZI3Cgw8d
— Nicola Sturgeon (@NicolaSturgeon) July 15, 2016
But pure symbolism is not enough – she may have broken the glass ceiling, but is she helping other women to break through it? According to her she’s “always championed women in politics” and to be fair to her she did co-found Women2Win in 2005, an organisation which supports the Conservative party to select more women to fight for seats and help them become MP’s. Her cabinet is made up of 7 women out of 24, so 30% of her special advisors are female (all of which are white, except one) – but she was expected to include a lot more. It is hardly representative of Britain today (in 2015 there were more women than men – 33,065,600 to 32,074,400), and is only one more than David Cameron’s cabinet. Comparing it globally, it is really quite pathetic; Canada’s prime minister, Justin Trudeau, made sure his cabinet included an equal amount of men and women, as well as being ethnically diverse. He said it was a cabinet that looked like Canada. And it does.
At the end of the day it is not enough simply having a woman Prime Minister if she is not committed to fighting for true equality for women, as well as all marginalised groups.
One thing is for sure, she is not my feminist icon. Here are a few of my potential front-runners for that trophy: Malala Yousafzai – who fights for girls’ education, Caitlin Moran – for writing about all the things women think but are too scared to say aloud, Laura Bates – the founder of the Everyday Sexism Project, Jess Phillips – the Labour MP who used to work at Woman’s Aid and who consistently fights for women’s rights, Nimko Ali – who fights to protect girls from FGM, and Gloria Steinem – just for being an all-round feminist powerhouse.
Malala Yousafzai
These are all the women who actively fight for other women, but there are also plenty of ‘quiet’ feminist icons out there – one’s whose achievements aren’t broadcasted for the world to hear, but should be appreciated nonetheless. One of them being my mum; she’s brought up four daughters (an achievement in itself) and taught us that anything is possible if you work hard. And surely that should be the message given to every child – no matter their gender.
Who are your feminist icons? Share them in the comment section below…
This article was originally published on The Sundial Press.
It was raining when we left Montpellier. The sky was a slate grey. The ground glistening with pools of water; reflections danced and then burst into fragments as cars ploughed through them. Our FlixBus pulled onto the autoroute and the landscape outside blurred into one indistinguishable mass. Despite being around 927 km away, the weather was not dissimilar to that found in the UK – yes, it is a national obsession, and yes, my spring break was spent in search of that elusive white ball in the sky.
Marseille. 13.40pm. Azure blue sky. Finally, some sun on my pale skin. We walked through the old port, dragging our suitcases down cobbled streets in search of our Airbnb. Sea gulls flew overhead, while buskers played down below. The smell of roasted chestnuts mixed with the salty sea air.
The Old Port, Marseille
We visited the cathedral first – Cathédrale de la Major – one of the largest in France with a capacity for 3,000. Built in a Byzantine-Roman style, it has a distinct oriental vibe with sky-high domes, beautiful mosaic floors and vibrant colours.
Cathédrale de la Major, Marseille
Later in the day we explored Le Panier, the city’s arty quarter with walls embellished with graffiti, tiny ateliers and musty antique shops. It was quiet apart from a few locals chatting and children playing on roller-skates. We walked down to the harbour, passing skateboarders circling in front of the Hotel de Ville, the tricolour fluttering in the breeze. Hanging our legs over the side, we watched the water gently swell, moving the boats, as the light faded and the wind picked up.
The arty streets of Le Panier, Marseille
Le soir; when the lights are reflected in the shiny black water and the old port buzzes with energy. For all the foodies out there; go to Bistrot L’Horloge – I still daydream about the arancini balls I ate there.
On our second day in Marseille we ventured further afield and walked to the Calanque de Sugiton. The sky was thick with fog when we started our hike. Google maps led us through some woodland, past pale craggy cliffs which loomed menacingly as we walked further into the disappearing mist, then we turned a corner and suddenly this vast expanse of turquoise loomed before us. The Med in all its glory; sparkling under the warm spring sunshine.
Calanque de Sugiton
iPhones were whipped out and photos taken. It really was stunning. But the best part was the fact that we almost had this paradise all to ourselves – during the summer, it would be overrun with tourists, as well as the potential threat of wildfires. The uneven path led us to a rocky outcrop where we could survey the never-ending sea. The vista was breath-taking. If only we had longer to sit and take it all in, alas we had a train to catch.
The journey to Aix en Provence was quick – birds dipped and soared in the amber sky as the sun sunk and we sped inland. The impressionist artist, Cézanne lived here; walking from the station we passed a statue of him with his art paraphernalia strapped to his back – ready for a painting session en plein air. Wandering through picturesque squares with old stone fountains in the centre, I too felt the urge to crack out some paint.
Saturday market, Aix en Provence
On Saturday we stumbled upon the weekly market held in Place Richelme. There were stalls selling everything under the Provençal sun – olives, cheese, meat, fruit, clothes, baskets and jewellery. We slowly meandered our way through the hustle and bustle, savouring the warmth of the sun on our backs. But don’t be fooled by this climate; at night the Mistral blew through the narrow streets – catching out anyone inappropriately dressed (me).
“Painting from nature is not copying the object; it is realizing one’s sensations”, said Cézanne, and it’s no wonder he – and countless other artists – felt so inspired by the natural world here. After a short walk up a hill we sat in Cézanne’s garden with shafts of sunlight slicing through the trees, birds chirping and the view of the terracotta rooftops of Aix in the distance. It was the most relaxed I’d felt in a long time.
When we left the south the sun was shining. It was hot on my face through the train window, and it burned on my mind for the 10-hour journey back to Reims.
Cézanne’s Atelier, Aix en Provence
Originally published on The Sundial Press.
Sunset over a vineyard in Reims. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
Uncertainty. The buzzword of Brexit. What will happen? When will it happen? Will it actually happen? So many questions. I know there’s been a lot written about it and my musings may not add anything substantial to the debate, but I want to focus on a topic that has largely been ignored in the discourse both before and after that fateful day in June; something that is very important to students both in Britain and Europe. The Erasmus scheme. Or Erasmus+ as it’s now known – the EU’s funding programme for youth education and training between 2014 and 2020. A scheme which Britain could potentially be banned from should it leave the EU.
So this is a plea to Brexit negotiators: keep Erasmus. It is vital. It is worthwhile. And it would be a tragedy if it is not kept or replaced by something similar.
The Sciences Po Campus de Reims
I am sat drinking a café au lait on a chilly French winter day, reflecting on the first four months of my exchange at Sciences Po in Reims, Northern France. Would I have ever ventured across the channel to study in Europe if I hadn’t received an Erasmus grant? In short, No. Money is what it boils down to. Although not a substantial amount, the €300 per month is helpful – going towards rent and living costs. The thought of future students opting out of studying in Europe because they will not get the same opportunity fills me with sadness. These past few months have been some of the best I’ve ever experienced.
But it’s been tough. Small every-day situations like going to the post office, the coiffure for a haircut, sorting accommodation, and even food shopping, proved challenging at first (particularly as my grasp of Français was not quite up to scratch – thank God for Google Translate). I have been pushed outside my comfort zone and there have been times when I’ve felt overwhelmed and humiliated and completely incapable. But I have become a more resilient individual because of it.
Me pretending to be Parisian
More than anything, an exchange is meant to be an enlightening, horizon broadening experience, and as a naïve girl from rural England, that is exactly what it’s been. In my opinion, I think a year abroad should be mandatory. Studying in such a diverse international environment has made me more aware of what is happening in the world – from Ukraine to Brazil and the US, I have spoken to people who have offered me a far deeper insight to what I could ever be taught in a classroom.
Hannah Keegan, 21, knows just how valuable a year spent studying abroad can be. She studied at Sciences Po Paris last year and describes the institution as being “academically rigorous”, which prepared her for the stresses of her final year at City University, London. “I think it puts you in a more international frame of mind, too. You meet people from all over, and have friendships you keep once the year is over… and hopping on a plane or train to visit them really doesn’t seem like a big deal whereas the year before it may have done.”
There have been no official decisions by the European Commission about what will happen once Britain leaves the EU. So far students from UK universities currently studying in Europe or planning to study there in 2017, will not be affected. But what about after 2019? Like most people, Aliya Sorgen, International Partnerships Manager at City University, London, is not sure. “I’m afraid all of us working within the field of Erasmus+ are as desperate as students are to know what the situation will be, but at this time we just need to wait.”
Market day in Reims
It seems we are playing a waiting game. Both David Davis, chief Brexit negotiator and Jo Johnson, the Minister of State for universities have refused to guarantee the Erasmus programme will be kept. Johnson himself knows the benefits of being able to study in Europe as a postgraduate student in Brussels and France. Other well-known people who studied on the Continent, include JK Rowling who went to France as part of her course at Exeter University, the author Dan Brown studied art history in Seville, and Tim Rice ventured to Paris for a year of study at the Sorbonne.
In the last few years there has been a surge of UK students choosing to study or work in a European country through the EU’s Erasmus programme. During the 2013-14 academic year, almost 15,600 UK students spent up to a year in another European country – up 115% since 2007, according to Erasmus statistics.
One British student who is determined to study in Europe during 2017 is Tim Drew, 20, who is studying History at York University. He would like to go to the University of Utrecht in Holland in order to gain life experience. But he says: “Coming from a family who do not have a lot of money, the Erasmus funding would be crucial for me to be able to live comfortably in a big city like Utrecht.” Drew says that if he was not able to get an Erasmus grant then he would look into every possible option to try to get funding through different means.
Another beautiful château
Drew is staying optimistic – and will not be affected next year – but there is no doubt that there will be less students from UK universities choosing to study in Europe if Erasmus is stopped; particularly as today’s students already have a large financial burden to bare. Billie Bradley, 19, is studying International Relations at the University of Nottingham and is currently on an exchange in France, she says the grant has been particularly useful “considering the state of the pound versus the euro post-Brexit, which initially made living costs slightly higher than expected”. She continues: “It’s such a shame because Post-Brexit, I think it’s more important than ever that students take the opportunity to discover new countries and expose themselves to different opinions and cultures, otherwise we risk becoming really insular.”
The great thing about Erasmus is that it is for everyone; not just middle-class gap yah types. it’s a way for students from poorer backgrounds to gain an opportunity that they might not have been able to access because of their social situation. It is an example of the EU helping to tackle urgent socio-economic problems such as youth unemployment, as well as encouraging young people to participate in democratic life within Europe.
I definitely feel more of a bond with continental Europe since beginning my exchange – through friendships fostered and a deeper interest in their politics and culture – a shame since Britain seems to be metaphorically floating further away. It was Stefan Wolff, the German political scientist, who in 2005, said that in around 20 years’ time Europe will be run by leaders with “a completely different socialisation from those today”. The ‘Erasmus Generation’: open-minded, forward-thinking, multicultural. People who feel tied not just to their country but to their continent.
So what does the future hold? If Britain is unable to keep participating in the Erasmus scheme after it leaves the EU then a solution could be to adopt the Swiss model. But Drew hopes that the people in charge of Brexit will see how valuable Erasmus is to students and be able to keep it in place. He says: “I think the experience gained abroad will help the future generation of workers in the U.K.” Indeed, the scheme has enriched countless lives over the past 30 years, it would be a shame for it to end – particularly at a time when ties between European countries are so crucial.
An edited version of this article was published on The Guardian.
Notre-Dame Cathedral of Reims during the annual Christmas market
I’m listening to The Fools Who Dream; the tinkle of a piano and the melody of Emma Stone’s voice is floating around my head. I’ve been listening to the La La Land soundtrack on repeat ever since I stepped out of the cinema. The song is about Mia’s aunt who is in Paris – it’s all about overcoming challenges and the strange thrill of living in a foreign place, something that I can relate to (I am studying in France after all). Although I’m not planning to leap into the Seine any time soon.
The movie musical won 7 Golden Globes, received 14 Oscar nominations (equaling the record set by Titanic) and is taking my thoughts away from deadlines and into the heady delights of old Hollywood. It is pure feel-good, skipping-down-the-street kind of joy; a timely antidote to the depressing news of late. Precisely, I expect, why it has struck a chord with so many – viewers and critics alike.
I watched the film two weeks ago, fittingly, in an old theatre transformed into a very cool cinema (Genesis – a must to check out if you’re in east London) and can’t stop thinking about it (or humming the catchy tunes); the gorgeous costumes, the not-so perfect singing, Ryan Gosling playing the piano, Emma Stone twirling in that yellow dress, the long sweeping panning shots, the sunny sets, the story. Everything.
But mostly I felt a sense of identifying with the main characters; strip away the glitz and the glamour and you have two struggling dreamers in a world that continually crushes their dreams. I may not live in LA or want to become an actress, but I am a young person hoping to achieve my goals and find success in an increasingly competitive and unstable job market. The theme of rejection and disappointment runs through the story, something I know I will have to get used to as I climb up the ladder of life. But there is another much stronger feeling that radiates throughout the film, and that is hope.
Hope for recognition, hope for love, hope for success, hope for adventure. This sense of optimism is what makes the film so beautiful, and in a world where – at times – it’s easy to feel a little lost, it’s worth being reminded of that. Yes this film isn’t as important as Moonlight, the film about a gay African American growing up in Miami, but it’s not a frivolous, trivial film as some have said. Because although having a song and a dance doesn’t solve any big world problems, it does make people happy, and what is life without happiness?
So here’s to the fools who dream.
Musée du Louvre in Paris. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
Our tour guide, Stephanie, leads us through the chaos of selfie sticks and tourists, her perfume leaving a trail behind her as we follow obediently through the crowd. Monday afternoon at the Musée du Louvre and the auditorium is alive with voices from around the world, but we only have ears for the melodic French voice coming through our headphones. Her calm explanations about the main oeuvres (from the Mona Lisa to Venus de Milo) makes the world’s largest museum – with over 30,000 objects on display – feel much less overwhelming and more like a walk down the Seine.
These tours are primarily for foreign tourists; a way for them to learn about France’s vast cultural history. But Stephanie also believes it’s essential for people living in France to have access to art. “I think that culture is a way of stopping exclusion in our society, so it’s very important to come to the museum as early as possible, that’s why we collaborate with many schools and many pupils”. But what about those people who cannot access culture so easily? According to a recent report by the charity, Secours Catholique, around 9 million people in France are living below the poverty line, which means they receive an income of less than €1,008 a month. This social inequality is at the fore-front of the battle for the Élysée Palace which is beginning to heat up ahead of the final round of the Socialist Party primaries, with the presidential election being held in April this year.
France is a country brimming with history and culture; Bien sûr, it is the birthplace of Monet, Duchamp, Proust, de Beauvoir, Gainsbourg and Piaf to name a few. Paris in particular is seen as the centre of fashion, art, architecture and cuisine. The word ‘culture’ even comes from the French language, therefore many people feel that a lack of access to it can result in social exclusion and alienation from society.
Venus de Milo. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
One such person is Eléonore Lacroix, Executive Delegate at the RATP Group Foundation, who believes this is a particularly serious problem within France. “Culture is at the core of our identity, so you could say that you suffer much more in France from being far from culture, than it could be in a country with less history, with less culture, in which there is less evidence of this culture in all the codes and the way people are living and speaking.” She adds that “in France if you don’t share this kind of culture, this kind of heritage, then it’s very difficult to feel part of the life of the nation.” Lacroix describes it as being the real gap between the upper class and the lower.
This is why the RATP Group Foundation, one of the biggest public transport providers in Paris and the Île-de-France region, are trying to break down barriers to culture. By partnering with cultural institutions around the country, such as the Louvre, the group aims to encourage people from underprivileged backgrounds to visit and engage with culture. Lacroix describes RATP’s scheme as being like a metaphor; “As a company we bring people physically through territories, and as a foundation we try to bring them also through life, through difficulties, to help them reach a sort of place, a feeling of belonging to the community.”
The partnership with the Louvre began when the museum came to RATP with an idea. According to Lacroix, the museum told them that they had difficulties attracting people from disadvantaged backgrounds as taking the bus or the metro was difficult for them. The scheme has two parts to it; the museum helps people to access the art by training specific guides to welcome them and answer their questions. While the RATP Group help the Louvre by financing these people for the visit, and offering free transport by bus. They are accompanied by charity volunteers and usually come in groups so as not to be scared by the thought of travelling alone.
The RATP Group has subsidiaries all over France, but Lacroix says that the people they help through the scheme mainly come from Paris, its banlieues and places in Northern France, such as Charleville-Mézières and Boulogne-sur-Mer. “These territories are more or less poor, and also far from Paris and far from culture.” Indeed, in 2015 a study by the newspaper, Les Echos, found that Boulogne-sur-Mer ranked in the bottom six zones in France for quality of life – 299th out of 304. It has been 11 years since riots ripped through council estates in Paris and other urban areas, which many saw as a sign of the harsh social divide within the country. More recently after the Charlie Hebdo attacks in 2015, Prime Minister Manuel Valls declared that there is a “territorial, social and ethnic apartheid” in France. It is these feelings of isolation and abandonment within the poorer areas of the country, which Lacroix hopes the scheme will prevent.
Inside the Louvre. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
With the presidential election looming, I ask Lacroix how she thinks it will affect the scheme – particularly if Marine Le Pen comes into power. She doesn’t seem too worried: “We have this core of the nation built on culture and you have some translations according to the political movement.” She says that you won’t find any French politician who doesn’t share this common idea. However, the difference is how easy they make it for people to gain access to culture. For example, Lacroix explains that those on the left view it as very important to open the doors and “make some mediation, some intermediaries” in order to help people to “climb the steps and to reach this culture”. Essentially making culture more democratic, which Lacroix thinks is the “key part of the functioning of our society”.
On the opposite side: “The idea is that you must make an effort to go [to access culture]. They are open to the idea to help you, but the most important thing is that you must demonstrate you are willing to go there.” She continues saying that someone like Marine Le Pen would say that it’s just mandatory to access culture, so you must do it by yourself, and if you don’t then you will be set aside.
This year, RATP will have a new partnership with Versailles, where people are invited to visit the Château, but also to “learn about the history and to rewrite it with their words to come into a sort of knowledge of French language, French culture, French history.” As well as this Lacroix says that they have many projects with musical institutions, like the Orchestra de Paris, where they partner their children’s choir.
Back at the Louvre, Stephanie is explaining how she decided she wanted to become a tour guide. “I studied at the school of the Louvre and I had an amazing teacher. When I saw her talking about art, I thought it must be an amazing job and so I wanted to become exactly like her.” Maybe one day a child from the banlieues will be inspired to become an artist, or a teacher, because he or she had the opportunity to spend a day at the Louvre.
Originally published on the Sundial.
The famous glass pyramid outside the Louvre. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
Pollution, a plague of rats and a freezing winter storm has put a dampener on the start of 2017 in the City of Lights. But one thing Paris always delivers on is its array of art, from expressionism to sculpture, photography to animation, here’s a round-up of the top ten exhibitions to immerse yourself in this year:
Cy Twombly at the Centre Pompidou, Paris.
- Cy Twombly at the Centre Pompidou
30 November 2016 – 24 April 2017
The first retrospective of the American artist since his death in 2011 is a riot of colour, twisted shapes, scribbles and paint splatters. Loud and visceral, yet soft and poignant, Twombly’s gigantic canvases convey death, gore, sex and love. Located on the top floor of the Centre Pompidou, they look out over the Parisian rooftops, so you can marvel at both the view and Twombly’s brutal depictions.
- The Body in Movement: Dance and the Museum at the Petite Galerie du Louvre
6 October 2016 – 3 July 2017
Dance has long been depicted by artists, from Degas’ ballerinas to Picasso’s Three Dancers. This exhibition, co-curated by Benjamin Millepied, the choreographer behind the psychological thriller, Black Swan, delves deeper into dance, looking at body movement in all its forms. With over 70 artworks from antiques to the 20th Century, this is a match made in heaven between the worlds of choreography and visual art.
Auguste Rodin’s The Thinker
- Rodin, The Centennial Exhibition at the Grand Palais
22 March – 31 July 2017
Today he is renowned as the father of modern sculpture, but during the 19th Century, Auguste Rodin, was viewed as an artistic rebel. Eschewing the traditional themes of sculpture based on mythology, Rodin’s work was focused on realism and portrayed physicality and emotion – epitomized in one of his most famous sculptures, The Thinker. This exhibition celebrates the artist on the centenary of his death, as well as work by those influenced by him, such as Bourdelle, Matisse, Giacometti, and Gormley.
Pierre-Joseph Redouté’s Rosa Centifolia
- Pierre-Joseph Redouté et le goût des fleurs at the Musée de la Vie Romantique
1 April – 31 October 2017
Situated at the base of Montmartre, the Museum of Romantics lives up to its name; a 19th century mansion with pale green shutters and a small garden filled with roses. Perhaps the perfect setting for Pierre-Joseph Redouté’s watercolours. The Belgian painter and botanist, known as the ‘Raphael of Flowers’ gained success working as the official court artist of Marie Antoinette, before being appointed to paint the flowers of Malmaison by Joséphine Bonaparte.
Chéri Samba’s J’aime la Couleur
- Art/Afrique, le nouvel atelier at the Louis Vuitton Foundation
26 April – 28 August 2017
The African art scene has long been overlooked, despite the influence the continent has had on the work of many Western artists, including Van Gogh and Modigliani. But that is about to change with a major exhibition of African art across the Foundation’s galleries. Work by Fifteen artists from Jean Pigozzi’s collection will display the diversity and richness of the artistic landscape – each drawing on traditional techniques from their own country of origin. Alongside this will be a display of art from South Africa, from installations to textiles, which seek to define a specific black South-African identity.
Dress by Balenciaga
- Balenciaga : L’œuvre au noir at the Musée Bourdelle
8 March – 16 July 2017
It was Christian Dior who said a “little black frock” is essential to a woman’s wardrobe. This exhibition, organised by Palais Galliera as part of its Spanish season, celebrates the colour black in all its guises, but more importantly serves as a tribute to Cristóbal Balenciaga, the esteemed couturier. For the designer black was a vibrant colour (or non-colour) which highlighted the simplicity of a garment’s cut and the sumptuousness of the fabric.
Van Gogh’s Starry Night over the Rhone
- Beyond Stars: The Mystical Landscape at the Musée d’Orsay
14 March – 16 June 2017
The natural world has been a key source of inspiration for countless artists, as this exhibition demonstrates. However, this show aims to look at some of Western art’s most famous works – by Gauguin, O’Keefe, Munch and more – from a spiritual viewpoint. With around 90 paintings created by artists from 15 different countries, it explores how nature and mysticism interlink in paintings like Van Gogh’s Starry Night over the Rhone, and how Monet’s interest in Buddhism paved the way to his Water Lilies series.
- The Art of Walt Disney Animation Studios: Movement by Nature at the Art Ludique Museum
14 October 2016 – 5 March 2017
Disney animations have captured the minds of children ever since Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs waltzed on to our screens in 1937. Now viewers have the chance to rediscover that Disney magic with an exhibition of 350 original artworks from the Walt Disney Animation Research Library. It will chart the development of animation, including how the studio was influenced by artistic movements such as surrealism and cubism. As well as never seen before drawings of animals which helped the animators to capture the movement and expression of characters like Bambi.
Sonia Delaunay
- Travaux de Dames at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs
8 March – 17 September 2017
In the 19th Century, Arts and crafts were seen as feminine activities which women were obliged to do. But those activities also gave them an outlet of self-expression and contributed to their emancipation. From Sonia Delaunay to Elsa Schiaparelli, Hélène Henry to Kristin McKirdy, this exhibition charts the success of women designers, artists and photographers from the early 20th Century to the present. But also highlights their struggle to be seen as artists in their own right.
Photograph by Stéphane Duroy
- Stéphane Duroy: Again and Again at Le Bal
6 January – 9 April 2017
The French photographer, Stéphane Duroy, mixes both documentary and conceptual styles to produce an alluring yet questioning look at society in the 20th Century. A continent scarred by two brutal wars, British punks in the 80’s, the fall of the Berlin wall, and European migrants in the US have all been subjects of his lens. This exhibition depicts significant moments in European history through the eyes of ordinary people, as well as explores the illusion of the American Dream.
Originally published on The Local.fr
A storm was brewing.
The house sat squat on the hillside. A dirty white 1980s building engulfed in grey. The Atlantic swelled and crashed below; the wind catching the white horses as the waves broke. Spray and mist merged into one, soaking the row of houses which look out to Puffin Island.
And then the rain started.
Horizontal bullets whipped the windows, while the gales howled. At the bottom of the garden a rusty gate wobbled on its hinges, a few feet beyond it, the cliff dropped down to the sea. Through the window an orange warmth glowed; a fire was lit and a labrador curled up beside it, oblivious to what raged outside.
A blustery night turned into a windswept day, crisp and clear. We walked along the headland to the sandy beach – running to the sea as if the salt water could wash away our worries. Returning to childhood as we splashed and dashed across the rock pools. The light gave the wet sand a silvery sheen, reflecting the clouds above. There was the pungent smell of seaweed and the shriek of a seagull.
Back at the house, we sat and watched the waves roll in, and the brave surfers dancing atop the crests.
7.20am.
The sun had risen on the other side of the hill, bringing with it a haze of pale pink. Over the ocean candy floss clouds smudged the horizon. The sky looked like it had been tie-dyed: deep violet fading into pastel pink, highlighting the rolling waves which gently broke on the rocks below.
We followed the coastal path, watching the sea and the sky as they both paled to blue. The perfect Cornish morning.
4.30pm.
We reached the summit of the hill just in time to see the sun dip behind the fields on the opposite side of the estuary. Despite the clouds, the sky turned a vibrant orange, then a deep, almost fluorescent pink. The sea was molten gold, shimmering as the waves rippled.
Our cheeks flushed pink as we surveyed the view and savoured the calm. Soon the fiery tones dissolved and dark grey dominated the heavens. The sea was silver as we walked back across the bay, the water catching our feet.
December in Cornwall.
Sciences Po campus in Reims. Image credit: Sciences Po
It has been two months since the first flock of exchange students descended on the Reims campus of Sciences Po; some from as far afield as Australia, Brazil, Canada, and India. With a new report stating that foreign students studying in France are the least satisfied in Europe, I asked several how they’ve found settling into their new home and what they think of the Sciences Po community…
Emily Enright, a 21 year-old Melbournian, says that although she misses the coffee in her hometown, she is enjoying la vie Française. In particular, she was surprised at the diversity of the students at the university. “It’s been really eye-opening for me to meet people from literally every corner of the world, like there’s a girl here from Tajikistan,” she says, eyes wide with excitement.
“It’s crazy how many different nationalities are represented, and I think that engagement with people from all over the world will be very educational for me, as someone who hasn’t engaged with that many cultures before – in Melbourne it can be quite homogenous.” Enright adds jokingly; “Hopefully I’ll get good at pronouncing people’s names.”
For Sophia Birchinger, 21, a long bus ride from Germany was the beginning of a year-long adventure. Like Enright, she finds it inspiring to be part of an international community. “You can fill a whole semester with the histories and background and lives of the different students. I think it helps me to consider the different backgrounds, as well as cultural differences between universities.”
Birchinger believes her time at Sciences Po will benefit her career, as she wants to eventually work within an international organisation. “I think it’s really important to be able to work with different international backgrounds – to accept it and not to judge it.”
But is this an international university that’s accessible to all? Enright doesn’t think so; she finds it “dismaying” how many of the students who attend are from fairly privileged backgrounds. “For a prestigious university that is what you’re going to expect but it is kind of concerning that what you’re finding is a kindling of the future political elite, rather than people from all different kinds of life,” says Enright.
With tuition fees up to 10,150 euros per year for an undergraduate degree, and 13,900 euros for a masters, it is clear that financially Sciences Po is not an attainable option for all. Indeed, about only 5% of French university students study at France’s elite Grandes Ecoles.
Enright is not afraid to be critical of the university, saying she was disappointed by the disorganisation in terms of the administrative process and student housing. But both Enright and Birchinger are glad they chose to study here, particularly in Reims, which Birchinger describes as a “beautiful” and “welcoming” city.
Kateryna Gordiychuk, a Ukrainian studying in Canada, also loves Reims – despite finding it sleepy to begin with. She says; “I love that we live in a very small place but that allows us to do a lot of things at the same time, there’s a lot of stuff going on here and I’m very grateful for that.” Gordiychuk likes the internationality of the city, but she says it’s ironic as she feels the Sciences Po campus has “this divide, this line that separates the international students and French students”.
She believes this division isn’t just limited to Sciences Po but is apparent all over France. “I don’t mean that there’s not enough people who are diverse, there’s definitely a lot of people of different nationalities, of different origins, or different ethnicities, but I think there’s less acceptance of those cultures, because there’s this very important idea of being French and being nationalistic about being French.”
Gordiychuk does think she could have done a better job at integrating; “it’s already the middle of the semester now and I don’t think I’ve done enough. I could’ve tried to be really in the midst of the French community.”
Enright hopes that her time here will benefit our wider society in the future. She explains: “We can have interests on a political scale and we can be fascinated to hear about how someone from Venezuela and someone from South Africa both love to ski, and isn’t that amazing. But I think if we can achieve some kind of deeper networking that will enable us to make significant change in our lives through connections and contacts that we’ve made here and ideas that we’ve shared, and relationships that we’ve fostered.” She continues; “I think that’ll be a really good achievement, even if we don’t see the product of that achievement for 15, 20 years, I think we’ll be starting something here that will be really positive in the future.”
Originally published on The Sundial Press (Sciences Po student newspaper)
East London is renowned for having the wackiest concept cafés, from cats to cereal and even pay-as-you-go. Now there has been a boom in cafés with a conscience – social enterprises that give back to the community.
Nicole Danielle Page is one of those ethically-minded entrepreneurs hoping to set up shop in Hackney.
After meeting a 12-year-old boy in an Indian orphanage whose story “struck a chord”, Page, from Syracuse, New York, became aware of the difficulties young people face when leaving foster care – not just in India but across the world.
“It really made me stop and consider what’s happening in my country, what’s happening with the kids that are in foster care in the States and now that I’m over here it’s actually the same thing,” says Page.
Now Page, 31, and her business partner, Whitney Papa, 28, from Austin, Texas, are planning to base their start-up bakery and café, Wanderlost, in Hackney. The café will employ young adults who have left foster care.
Nicole Page and Whitney Papa, founders of Wanderlost Café, with their awards for the London Met Accelerator Big Idea 2016 Competition.
Approximately 10,000 young adults leave foster care each year in the UK.
Page says: “In London there’s actually a really high population of care leavers, so it’s made sense to do it here, because it’s a very big issue.” The pair believe that care leavers are vulnerable and more likely to face homelessness, unemployment and difficulties accessing further education.
Their goal is to create a mentorship-led employability training programme for the care leavers. They want to give them the opportunity to learn how to bake, or be front-of-house, as well as managing staff and learning how to run a business. All of which will help the care leavers to improve their future prospects and – crucially – create a support network for them.
So far both Page and Papa have been juggling numerous jobs in order to fund their blossoming venture, as well as baking pies for cafés and private orders under the guise of the deliciously named ‘Oh Gee Pie!’, which they hope Wanderlost will become an outlet for.
Their determination has not gone unnoticed, in March 2016, they won the London Met Accelerator Big Idea 2016 Competition. Papa says: “Just to have the validation made us realise that this was an idea that people were behind.” It propelled them forward and they now hope to buy a proper kitchen space in Hackney by the autumn.
Papa describes the borough as being “a hub of creativity and support”, with “a lot of young people and young entrepreneurs who are starting up”. Page says: “We want to be in an area that’s going to be accessible to these young people who we want to work with – anything that’s going to pull them away from going down a bad path.”
Another social enterprise café which helps local people in the right direction, is the Trew Era Cafe in Hoxton. Founded in March 2015 by the comedian, Russell Brand, it’s located on the New Era housing estate and currently employs six people who have battled drug or alcohol addiction in the past.
The manager of Trew Era Cafe, Rose Chorlton, with Olly Fay. Picture credit: Polly Hancock for the Hackney Gazette.
The Manager, Rose Chorlton, 29, explains: “The main aim is to promote and encourage rehabilitation for employment. Everyone apart from myself that we employ here are undergoing abstinence recovery.”
By giving them the London living wage, as well as peer support, Chorlton hopes to motivate people to get back into the workplace. She says: “Having everyone in a similar situation encourages them and instils them with confidence and self-worth.”
Similarly, The Canvas Café in Shoreditch, exudes a warm and friendly atmosphere – and rightly so as it holds the title of London’s first Happy Café – certified by the charity, Action for Happiness, last year.
The founder, Ruth Rogers, says: “I like to say we are your happy place – from everything to the welcome you get to the care the people take with the food that we make and the coffee, but also the events that we run, we are just all about improving your happiness and self-esteem.”
Ruth Rogers, founder of The Canvas Café in Shoreditch. Picture credit: Felix Clay.
The café has a packed schedule; mindfulness workshops, free yoga, comedy nights (Happy Hour) and talks, such as The Survivors’ Collective, a monthly open forum for survivors of childhood sexual abuse.
Rogers, 35, said she got the idea for the café after going to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival with her white living room sofa and asked passers-by to write one sentence about their body on it as part of a “PR gimmick” for her charity, Body Gossip which promotes mental and physical health.
She wanted to use the sofa as a tool to get the public to share stories about their body. “I realised that there’s something really interesting about inviting people to write on an unusual canvas and so a few years later I thought; wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a venue that people could write on?”
The Canvas Café was born in 2014. The walls of the café are filled with scribbles from visitors, creating a living piece of art that gradually spreads upwards, which Rogers says creates a sense of “belonging and ownership”. Her plan once they start making a profit is to fund Body Gossip’s education programme in schools, as well as offer more free space to organisations with a similar ethos.
Rogers says: “We push community here and in a lonely place like London, that’s important.”
What is a social enterprise and why are they booming? Dominic Ellison, 37, Chief Executive of Hackney Co-operative Developments explains…
“Social enterprises are businesses which work to achieve social aims which consider the impact they have on all of their stakeholders, whether that’s the communities that own them, the people who work for them or the customers they serve.
There are over 70,000 social enterprises in the UK contributing over £55 billion to our economy and employing over 2 million people.”
How many social enterprises are there in Hackney?
“We have got the figure of 248 for now, although we expect there are quite a few more. There’s certainly been a huge boom in this sector. I think that’s due partly to consumer demand for ethical purchasing but also in the wake of the financial crisis people have really started to question why they work, and are seeking to have meaningful employment.
Social enterprises are a really good vehicle for creating business which support and enhance a local area. 38% of social enterprises operate within the top 20% of the most deprived areas.”
Why are they so popular within the borough?
“People who live in Hackney really identify with the borough, and the borough is a big part of their identity, so I think people are very keen to support a business which they think is enhancing the area which they live in.
I think that Hackney has always lead in terms of ethical consumers. It has also always been an entrepreneurial borough as well and I think that is a result of the large amount of immigration we’ve always had in Hackney and how welcoming Hackney has always been to migrants from foreign countries.”
Hackney Co-operative Developments is a local community development agency which supports social enterprises through initiatives like their ‘Pioneering Social Enterprise in Hackney’, which aims to grow the socially owned share of the local economy.
This article was originally written for the Hackney Gazette.
A close up of a collage which was on display at The Cass Summer Show 2016.
On a balmy June evening I came out of Aldgate East tube station into the hustle and bustle of the East End; the buzzing creative heart of our capital – if not the country. With the Whitechapel Gallery, Brick Lane and Old Spitalfields Market being the well-known hotspots that mark out the area as the place for mould-breaking art, design and culture. A place where diversity, spirit and experimentation oozes from the (spray-painted) brickwork. Galleries, arts centres, artists’ studios, street art, rooftop cinemas, basement theatres and market stalls pop up around every corner.
But this is not a love letter to East London; it is a battle cry.
One of the most important buildings in this artistic community is a bold block of modernist architecture. Central House on Whitechapel Road, dubbed the ‘Aldgate Bauhaus’ and revamped by the architect Florian Beigel, dominates the busy crossroads which directs traffic either straight on to the City, left towards Tower Hill, or right into Shoreditch.
This building has been home to the Sir John Cass Faculty of Art, Architecture and Design – part of London Metropolitan University – since 2012. It is where the creative talent of tomorrow are educated, where they are based until they spill forth into the world to make their mark.
Central House on Whitechapel Road, Aldgate East, where the Sir John Cass Faculty of Art, Architecture and Design is based. Photo credit: Stephen King.
And what a prime location to educate the future furniture-makers, architects, fashion designers, film-makers, jewellers and photographers. Famous alumni includes Tracey Emin, the jewellery designer Alex Monroe and the founders of Assemble (the architecture collective who won the 2015 Turner Prize). The Cass may well be nurturing the next generation of YBAs and Turner Prize winners.
But this temple of creativity is under threat.
In February 2016, London Metropolitan sold Central House to Frasers Property UK (FPUK) for £50 million, as well as their other building on Commercial Road. The sale will help pay for the university’s £125 million vision; One Campus, One Community, which will see The Cass moved to Holloway Road in Islington to join the main university campus in August 2017. As well as uprooting over 2,000 students, they plan to cancel courses such as the prestigious silver-smithing and jewellery and the country’s only musical instrument-making courses.
This has provoked much opposition from students, teachers and industry professionals, who argue that they would be destroying The Cass’ identity as a renowned arts school in its own right. The dean of The Cass, Robert Mull, resigned over opposition to the plan in December 2015 and a letter from leading art professionals, such as the artist Jeremy Deller, the director of the Tate, Sir Nicholas Serota, the architects Sir David Chipperfield and Lord Richard Rogers, and the artist Anish Kapoor, was published in the Observer.
“We call on London Metropolitan to pursue a two-site solution that keeps the education of art, making and design alive and kicking where The Cass began – in London’s East End.”
The letter criticised the “homogenised vision of academic education”, as well as the “failure to respect the integrity of hands-on creative education”.
Despite the letter, a petition with over 3,000 signatures, numerous protests and a definitive lack of student support, the plan is still believed to be going ahead.
My sister, Ellie Williams, is a Textile Design student at The Cass, and although the move won’t affect her as she will graduate in 2017, she says that the location is a major positive and helps students gain inspiration for their work. “East London is a cultural hub; We have lots of galleries on our doorstep and Graduate Fashion Week happens in Truman Brewery. The location is an important part of The Cass’ identity as an art school, which it will lose when it moves to Islington.”
She adds; “The main thing that has angered students is the cutting of courses and the redundancies that will come with that. Many current first year students worry about the disruption it will cause when they have to move.”
Protestors campaign against cuts to The Cass outside London Metropolitan University. Photo credit: Mark Kerrison/Demotix/Corbis
Last week I attended The Cass’ annual summer exhibition and was blown away by the quality, imagination and variety of work on show – from chairs to printed textiles, jewellery to dresses, massive installations to tiny intricate creations. But as I walked around the studios I couldn’t help but imagine this building – now whizzing with energy and possibilities – turned into another block of luxury flats or offices. Just look outside the window and you will see building sites and cranes and shiny glass towers looming over you. An urban jungle which will soon envelope Central House and spit it back out as an indistinguishable building; a ghost of its past self.
This is becoming a recurring theme around East London; a big developer buys up a building, knocks it down and rebuilds a spanking new one – usually as a hotel, flats or offices. It is slowly destroying the identity of the area and driving out the artistic community which came here precisely because of the low rents in EC1 during the post-war period.
Furthermore, the whole point of The Cass being based in a deprived area of London, the East End, was to enable better access to education for people from every background and to enrich the community. This was the wish of Sir John Cass, the philanthropist who died in 1718, and whose foundation helped set up the institution.
I wonder what Sir John Cass would make of the move?
To sign the petition to save The Cass, click here.
Below are some photographs I took of the work on display at The Cass Summer Show 2016 (Part 1: 10th – 18th June, part 2: 24th June – 2nd July).
The biggest ever Refugee Week is taking place this month with more than 400 events due to take place across the UK. It has a particular resonance for the London borough of Islington. During December 2015, ten Syrian refugees arrived there as part of the Government’s pledge to resettle 20,000 over the next five years.
With around three million more migrants predicted to arrive in Europe this year, I investigate how art enables refugees to express and explore their trauma, as well as raise awareness of their plight.
Syrian refugees at the platform of Budapest’s Keleti railway station, Hungary. 4th September 2015. Photo credit: Mstyslav Chernov
An army of easels cluster in the corner of a room. Art paraphernalia lies piled up beside the sink, and white-washed walls are scarred by Blu Tack and pins. Bulky chests of drawers are stashed with pictures – pencil drawings, sketches, paintings, collages and watercolours – artwork which to a regular viewer would appear pretty ordinary.
But these pieces of art carry a deeper resonance.
A few hours earlier this studio was bustling with life – life hard fought for. Refugees and asylum seekers gather here every Monday for a day of collective art-making. This is a place where they can forget about their harrowing journeys, forget about their everyday struggles and immerse themselves in the freedom of their imagination.
The New Art Studio is an art therapy initiative founded by art psychotherapists, Tania Kaczynski and Jon Martyn, based in the Islington Arts Factory, which supports and encourages refugees to make art. Their students have fled conflict and human rights abuses from countries like Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, China, Russia and Ukraine.
Tania Kaczynski and Jon Martyn, founders of the New Art Studio based at the Islington Arts Factory. Photo credit: Ken Mears for the Islington Gazette.
Martyn says; “I think art-making can say things that are really hard to put into words. We offer something where their voices can be heard and their experiences can be acknowledged.”
Two weeks ago, a student told Martyn that the only place she feels free is when she’s painting. He says; “She can move freely in this city but also she’s like a prisoner here; she has no rights to work, no rights to travel or actually leave the country, and people are often waiting for five years for a decision on whether they will be deported or not.” Kaczynski adds that it’s like “an open prison”.
Making art is a form of relief from that entrapment.
Another student, a smartly dressed Ukrainian asylum seeker who wishes to remain anonymous, told me that his biggest concern is society’s attitude towards refugees. He said; “Sometimes people think that we are only here for money, but no sensible man will leave his own country if there is no danger – especially if this country is Ukraine, Russia or Belarus, because these are beautiful countries with great potential.”
He adds that “Unfortunately people have to seek asylum here and if we could change society’s view of asylum seekers, then we will change the world for the better.” He believes that all refugees have potential and if we develop it together from the first day of them arriving – through proper education – then “we will have a completely different society”.
A Painting by a refugee who attends the art therapy sessions at the Islington Arts Factory. Photo credit: Ken Mears for the Islington Gazette.
Islington is leading the way in embracing different cultures. It is a diverse borough with 36 per cent of residents born outside of the UK, which is double the national average. The Ukrainian asylum seeker says that’s why he loves the borough and spends a lot of time here.
“I go to the Islington art therapy classes two times a week, and spend almost the whole day there. On Wednesday I did life drawing there and that’s an excellent experience.”
He eagerly shows me a portfolio of his work – including a beautiful painting of a vase of colourful flowers – while chatting happily about how he would like to eventually teach art to children.
Art as a Vehicle of Communication
Almir Koldzic, Co-founder of Counterpoints Arts, a Hoxton based charity that champions art by and about refugees, believes art is an “amazing communicator” which creates new ways of looking at things and telling stories – particularly human stories that otherwise get lost.
Refugee Week celebrates those stories; coordinated by Counterpoints Arts, it is a national arts and culture festival that “raises awareness of the contributions, the resilience and the versatility of refugee communities.” It’s held in the week around World Refugee Day on 20th June. This year, Koldzic predicts will be the biggest Refugee Week ever, with over 400 events planned.
“The whole recent interest in this area has produced an unprecedented reaction, in terms of people wanting to do something – creating welcoming initiatives all over the UK – so we wanted to recognise that enthusiasm and goodwill happening on the grassroots level, and we hope to use Refugee Week to amplify those stories,” says Koldzic.
Highlighting The Human Story
Indeed, art is a powerful tool in shining a light on the human element of the ‘Refugee Crisis’; an event too often referred to in terms of numbers and statistics. That was the aim of Baraa Kouja, a Syrian student at Exeter University who curated the exhibition ‘From Syria with Love’.
The exhibition features artwork by Syrian refugee children from the Al-Abrar refugee camp in Lebanon. It is currently touring the UK and was shown at The Laundry, an arts venue in Hackney during February 2016.
Click to view slideshow.
The artwork clearly depicts how war has impacted on the children’s imagination. One piece shows a building being bombed, while civilians flee with blood pouring from their sides. In another the body of a child lies face down in the sea – a stark resemblance to the photograph of the drowned Syrian boy, Alan Kurdi.
Kouja says the exhibition is all about connecting people with the children, as well as showing how “all they think about is destruction, war and death, when they should be having their childhood”. He describes them as Syria’s “lost generation”.
The exhibition has so far raised around £5,000, all of which, Kouja says, goes directly back to the children in the camp.
Art as a source of inspiration
Deepening people’s understanding of the experiences of refugees is one important by-product of art, which Jane Ray, a children’s book illustrator and art teacher at the Islington Refugee Centre thinks is crucial.
But Ray also hopes that art-making can help refugees to integrate into their new environment.
“There’s one woman in particular who had done a lot of art in her country of origin – but when she arrived here she just couldn’t work and hadn’t been able to make anything, and we actually got her a whole lot of art supplies. She found a corner in her room to paint and she’s just been making these amazing canvases and she speaks very eloquently and movingly about what that has meant to her and how it’s reclaiming her sense of self, which had been really shattered,” says Ray.
When asked how that made her feel as her teacher, Ray is visibly moved and whispers that it makes her feel “very humble” as tears fill her eyes.
Similarly, Kaczynski describes how one of their clients – who walked all the way from Afghanistan when he was young – has used art as a source of inspiration.
“He had the most horrific journey. I think the art-making for him, allowed him to step into a world he had never known about before, and now he’s very prolific – he’s painting at home, we’ve got thick amounts of portfolios of his work.” She points to a few of his paintings; large swirling masses of colour and texture which would not look out of place on the walls of a gallery.
Kaczynski continues: “He’s learning about different artists and techniques on YouTube. It’s a world he never even knew existed and that he feels quite at home in, even though it’s quite alien to the culture that he came from. So he’s united in this new language and new way of being.”
She describes refugee art as being like “the grit that makes the pearl”; powerful imagery can come out of adversity – and more importantly it can help to rebuild lives.
Refugee Week is on 20th – 26th June 2016, for more information click here.
A shorter version of this article was originally published by the Islington Gazette.
Recently I’ve been pondering my own sense of identity. What does being British mean to me?
It’s a question that regularly ignites debate in the rollercoaster ‘In’ ‘Out’ ‘Shake it all about’ EU referendum campaign that has swept these shores in recent weeks. Love it or loathe it, this political storm has thrown up some interesting questions regarding Britain’s autonomy, as well as how the country exists within the EU and its relationship with the other 27 member states. The BBC (despite criticism of the corporation’s bias) has a good overview of the referendum and the different sides.
But it’s not just because of this hotly anticipated political event that has got me thinking about being a Brit. In August I will be travelling to France – as per usual for the ole’ Williams family sojourn – and after the two weeks is up I will be staying to study abroad in Reims for a year. This is both exciting and terrifying. I have never left Britain for longer than a few weeks, so the idea of living and studying in a foreign country makes my stomach churn, particularly as my grasp of the French language is somewhat limited. I am also anxious about how leaving the EU (if it happens) will affect my stay. It is something I will have to research and really think hard about – it doesn’t help that I am an incredibly indecisive person!
So it’s led me to think about how British people are perceived in other countries and how we conform to those stereotypes. Recently I asked a couple of my foreign friends what they think about the British, their response was that they get drunk all the time and are aloof. Not exactly 100% true…
Stereotypes are almost always false; not all Italians are loud and expressive, and not all French people are rude and arrogant. And us Brits certainly don’t all speak like Downton Abbey characters, love tea and are related to the royal family (I wish). But there are some clichés that ring true, for example almost every Brit I know are obsessed with the weather, say sorry all the time, love a bit of sarcasm and always feel the need to queue – except when getting on public transport during rush hour, which just turns into a free-for-all. And my stiff upper lip is partial to a bit of a wobble.
I don’t really think of myself as European, despite being geographically within Europe – maybe it’s because we are on an island and therefore feel a little isolated from the rest of the continent. I have spent most of my life wishing I was Italian; mainly because of the food, the beautiful landscape, the sing-song language, the olive skin, and the sunshine. Funnily enough, when I came to university I made friends with a group of Italians and now feel like an honorary Italian – although the language doesn’t quite roll off my Anglo-Saxon tongue.
Living in London – a melting pot of cultures, languages, ideas and people – has not only made me more culturally aware but has also made me embrace my Britishness, which sounds quite odd. I still yearn to be more exotic. Most people I know are half this and that; a family history like a map of the world. Whereas I’m a born and bred English country girl with Welsh blood – something I always used to denounce as boring, but now I’m quite proud of. The patchwork quilt of fields and rolling hills of the shires is my home and I will defend it till the end (and never stop taking photographs of it). While I never fail to feel a stirring of emotion when the Welsh national anthem plays before a rugby match, and will always cheer on The Dragons even when their defence is awful.
I’ve also quite enjoyed having to teach/explain certain British phrases to my foreign friends who usually react with confusion and bemusement. “See you later alligator… In a while crocodile,” was one that caused much hilarity. The English language is a strange and wonderful thing – an amalgamation of various languages which my friends say is incredibly difficult to learn as there are so many words that just don’t have meanings in other languages. So I take great pride in our hearty English dictionary – allowing us to express ourselves in so many ways.
Our dry sense of humour is something that is regularly commented on and even if Faulty Towers, Blackadder and Morecambe and Wise were a bit before my time, I find the witty put-downs and satire of shows like Have I Got News for You brilliant.
It’s not that I don’t feel a connection to Europe – I have spent many holidays travelling around the continent and want to spend many more exploring it further. Plus I have always dreamt of living in a place where the sun makes a regular appearance – not buried behind the grey clouds that Britain is notorious for.
I think that one of the best things about Britain is that it is a multicultural society; we have Glaswegian Muslims, Pakistani Yorkshiremen, English Jews, Welsh Italians, Cornish Germans, Bangladeshi Londoners – the list is endless. Our country is full of multiple identities and that is what makes it a vibrant and interesting place. And there is a strong sense of community – you just have to be in the country during an important event or celebration to witness the displays of togetherness; the 2012 olympics for example, or the numerous street parties held for the Queen’s milestones.
However I’ve also realised that it isn’t necessarily where you come from that makes you interesting, but how open you are to different people and learning about their customs, culture and background, which is why I want to spend a year abroad and am lucky enough to be able to take the opportunity. There’s a part of me that secretly can’t wait to be a ‘foreigner’, although just what people will think when I tell them I’m British will be interesting to see – particularly after the EU referendum.
My family joke that when I return from my year in France I’ll be unrecognisable; a cool French girl with a penchant for cigarettes and boire du vin (another cliché). But I reassure them that is unlikely to happen – like a Brighton stick of rock, I’m British to the core.
Here are some of my photographs which I think encapsulates a certain British je ne sais quoi…
British Vogue cover, July 1926, by Eduardo Benito.
British Vogue celebrates it’s centenary this year; 100 years since the glossy fashion bible was born amid the turmoil of World War I.
As part of the magazine’s birthday celebrations, it’s collaborated with another respected cultural institution – the National Portrait Gallery – for Vogue 100: A Century of Style, with over 280 photographs by famous image-makers such as David Bailey, Corrinne Day, Cecil Beaton, Mario Testino, Norman Parkinson, Tim Walker and many more.
Some of the many British Vogue magazines on display at the National Portrait Gallery, London. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
Inside the exhibition. Photo credit: Getty Images.
The interior of the exhibition was designed by a theatre and opera set designer, Patrick Kinmonth, so the architecture echoes the style of each decade and enhances the imagery; art deco pillars to represent the roaring twenties, while a bright red room compliments a striking red photograph. The design has clearly been well-thought out – it makes for an immersive experience – however the small rooms did get crowded easily, which made it difficult to fully appreciate the photographs.
The exhibition is set out in reverse chronological order, so you begin with the latest photographs before walking through a visual timeline of the magazine; from the bold hedonism of the Swinging Sixties to the elegant illustrations which adorned the early covers in the Twenties (Eduardo Benito’s artwork is particularly stunning, see above). Some of the people I spoke to disliked this layout, as they wanted to start from the beginning of the magazine’s history in order to see it’s development.
And what a development it is. The magazine has gone from being a substitute for American Vogue to a renowned international publication in its own right – a magazine which celebrates the fantasy world of fashion as well as being an outlet of creative expression for talented writers, photographers and designers. Creativity at its best; without boundaries.
But this isn’t just a bland conveyor belt of supermodel after supermodel. Images of Margaret Thatcher, Martin Amis and Francis Bacon appear alongside Lee Miller’s striking photographs of World War II. An amalgamation of politics, literature, and art, all depicted through the paradigm of fashion. This exhibition highlights how fashion is not just a trivial pursuit reserved for vain, rich women; it is a thread which weaves our society together – a significant cultural indicator of our times and an art form in its own right.
Of course the magazine has faced criticism – and deservedly so – for portraying an unrealistic notion of beauty: airbrushed and skinny being two words that come to mind. Definitely not a true representation of real women. But it is arguable that in recent times, Alexandra Shulman (the current Editor-in-Chief) has pushed for a more diverse and wholesome collection of women to grace the magazine’s pages. In 2012, all of the 19 international editors of Vogue pledged to not use models under 16 years-old or ones that appear to have eating disorders. A step in the right direction, indeed, but something which needs developing – what about using models from a range of ethnic backgrounds? What about using transgender models? It is an important debate which needs to be had at Vogue House.
One thing’s for sure; there were plenty of real women viewing the exhibition. Old and young, of all shapes, sizes, ethnicities and religions (and some men too). I asked a few of them what they thought of the exhibition…
Vogue 100 Exhibition Podcast
Lily Donaldson in Galliano by Nick Knight. British Vogue 2008.
One of my favourite images from the exhibition is Nick Knight’s photograph of Lily Donaldson suspended in mid-air wearing a frothy fuchsia Galliano gown in a cloud of pink dust. It looks as if Donaldson is experiencing a moment of pure ecstasy. The image is ethereal, dramatic, and breathtaking; something which perfectly captures how I feel when reading Vogue – it is somewhere I can get lost; a place where my imagination can run wild; a fantasy world far removed from my own reality. And this exhibition encapsulates the sense of aspiration that the magazine exudes.
Furthermore, who better to have as the centenary cover star than the Princess of Perfection herself, Kate Middleton, looking natural and relaxed in the Norfolk countryside. Vogue has certainly pulled off a bit of a coup – it is the Duchess of Cambridge’s first magazine shoot (shot by legendary photographer, Josh Olins). Here’s hoping that the accompanying interview (if there is one) is a revealing and intimate portrayal of a much-loved public figure and arguably the most scrutinised woman in the world. After all, it isn’t just about the pictures – the words are often just as magical.
Two of Josh Olins’ photographs of the Duchess of Cambridge will be on display at Vogue 100: A Century of Style from today. The exhibition runs from February 11th – May 22nd 2016 at the National Portrait Gallery.
The Duchess of Cambridge on Vogue’s June 2016 cover.
Martin Parr, one of the most renowned documentary photographers of modern life, is not everyone’s cup of tea.
When Henri Cartier-Bresson – Grandfather of street photography – attended an exhibition of Parr’s in 1995, he reportedly said: “You are from a completely different planet to me.” Although not quite extraterrestrial, Parr’s satirical, comic and voyeuristic images starkly contrast with Cartier-Bresson’s candid humanist photography. However both are united in their honest chronicling of a vast, ever-changing society.
Martin Parr, Benidorm, Spain, 1997
Strange and Familiar at the Barbican, is Parr’s latest creative venture – this time swapping his role from image-maker to curator in an attempt to collate an exhibition of photographs depicting Britain by international photographers. Cartier-Bresson is one of them. As is Garry Winogrand, Akihiko Okamura, Edith Tudor-Hart, Robert Franks, Hans van der Meer, and many others; each lending their own individual style and perspective to what is a colossal display of the social, cultural and political identity of this island. A country that – as Scotland resumes its push for independence and Wales hints at similar plans on the horizon – seems to be on the verge of splitting apart. And with the EU referendum fast approaching, now is an significant time to consider what it means to be British.
The exhibition celebrates Britain in all its guises – embracing our flaws, idiosyncrasies, cities and diverse characters – through portraits, documentary and street photography, as well as architectural photography from the 1930s to 2014 . The title of the exhibition is spot on; viewers regularly emitted a small chuckle of recognition at a familiar stereotype – ashen skies, drizzle, bad teeth, flag-waving royalists, bumbling aristocrats and our national appreciation of tea.
Garry Winogrand, London, 1969
Garry Winogrand, a street photographer from the Bronx, New York, expresses an outsider’s curiosity at British quirks. Using a wide angle lens on his Leica enabled him to capture more than the human eye would normally see. He offers a view of London in 1967 and 69 which captures it as a living, breathing organism, with people wandering the streets, lost in their own world; two little old women point at a big red post-box, a man plays bagpipes in front of a row of urinals, and a grand gentleman stands poised wearing a monocle – random moments that portray the quirkiness of the capital. Winogrand depicts pubs, bowties, bagpipes – but through a unique, slightly skewed perspective, accentuating diagonal lines and creating a distorted composition which appears as if the ground is shifting, perhaps encapsulating the subversive atmosphere of the swinging sixties. His fascination with the commonplace, makes the viewer question it too.
On the other hand, Japanese photojournalist, Akihiko Okamura, presents Belfast through casual snapshots – capturing the troubles of the 1960s and 70s as they unfolded. His subtle, subdued images look like stills from an action film; a demolished house lies in piles of rubble, as two little girls dressed in pinafores and bonnets gaze at a memorial in the middle of the road, or women clutching mugs prepare to set up a tea party in a street. Okamura illustrates the ‘business as usual’ attitude which pervaded the city – people got on with their lives despite the devastating conflict raging around them. The images still create a sense of melancholy, but are a refreshing change from the harsh way war is usually represented in the current media.
Akihiko Okamura, Belfast, 1970s
The major theme which flows throughout this exhibition is the juxtaposition of two worlds; the privileged upper class – nannies pushing prams in Hyde Park, bankers striding purposefully across the street and Oxford undergrads in full regalia – and the working/lower class– Welsh miners, East End tenement blocks and toothless tramps. No one depicts the poverty-stricken better than Edith Tudor-Hart, an Austrian photojournalist who came to Britain in the 1930s and was believed to have also been a Soviet spy. Her photography – like her political views – supported a radical, reforming agenda. She used her camera as a weapon to highlight inequality, saying: “In the hands of the person who uses it with feeling and imagination, the camera becomes very much more than the means of earning a living, it becomes a vital factor in recording and influencing the life of the people and in promoting human understanding.”
One prominent photograph of Tudor-Hart’s is of a dirty faced boy staring hungrily into a bakery window in Whitechapel – an image which is indicative of the times. The early 1930s saw high unemployment and widespread poverty due to a sharp economic decline. The East End in particular was filled with slums, which featured heavily in Tudor-Hart’s photographs – in one, a family of nine huddles together at the back of their flat. There is a pervading sense of melancholy and struggle throughout these images; by using her camera, Tudor-Hart is sharing the plight of these people and trying to create change.
Edith Tudor-Hart, Whitechapel, circa 1935
Similarly, Robert Frank, the Swiss-American photographer known for The Americans – a photo series which depicted the gulf between the American dream and the harsh reality – captured two very different spheres in Britain during 1951 and 1953. Frank portrays the British bankers in London, juxtaposed against the Welsh mining village of Caerau. Smartly dressed men in suits and top-hats march down smoggy metropolitan streets, while coal-streaked miners stare gloomily into the lens, framed by craggy hills; seemingly showing two disparate lands, rather than one country. The social commentary highlights the chasm between the upper and lower classes in Britain, which still seems as relevant today as it did in the 1950s.
Robert Frank, London, 1951
Robert Frank, Caerau, Wales, 1953
The sixties is regularly depicted within the exhibition, however Gian Butturini, goes further than the stereotypical shots of miniskirts, music festivals and hippies in Notting Hill, instead choosing to shoot a “true, bare version” of London. Despite being from Italy, Butturini captured the gritty reality of what life was like for Londoners, which contrasted with the feeling of liberation at the time. He portrays the marginalised and destitute, as well as normal everyday scenes, such as people waiting for the tube – but the images emanate a simplicity that is really captivating. In particular, Butturini’s photographs of the impoverished echo his own sense of disillusionment with society, giving a touch of compassion for his subjects.
Gian Butturini, London, 1969
My favourite set of photographs is by the Japanese photographer, Shinro Ohtake, who arrived on these shores in 1977 armed with his Nikon F Camera. His images are purely visual wonderings; light-hearted, simple, casual musings of his daily life in Britain. It was his first experience of a foreign country, and so he used his camera to engage with this new ‘alien’ environment. Therefore the images have a very reflective feel – dappled sunlight casts shadow patterns on a brick wall, a close up of fairy cakes 5p each, beach huts and a fish and chip shop sign – you get the impression that Ohtake is seeing these things for the first time and that sense of discovery translates to the viewer. Accompanying the photographs are his scrapbooks, which are filled with sweet wrappers, transport tickets, magazine clippings and anything else he could get his hands on – further reinforcing the scavenger/explorer style of his work, as well as the sense of building memories, however mundane they may be.
Shinro Ohtake, London, 1977
More recently, a series of portraits of working class people by the American photographer, Bruce Gilden, caused quite a stir as viewer’s entered the room and were met with faces on a humongous scale. A woman from Essex with a mask of thick foundation, spider leg eyelashes and scarlet lipstick stares straight at you, while a homeless man with only a couple of teeth, a bulbous nose and a face lined with clusters of veins gazes anxiously into the distance. The faces take up the whole of the composition, with the harsh light of the flash revealing every hair, pore, line and crevice. Gilden roamed the streets looking for “somebody whose face, and particularly eyes, scream a story”, thus creating a mix of arresting and unforgiving portraits – each one a map of that individual’s life. Some critics have called his work demeaning and intrusive, the Guardian’s Sean O’Hagan wrote that the “relentlessly cruel” portraits “dehumanise the subjects”. Whatever your opinion is, it is a shocking, yet vivid portrayal of human beings.
Bruce Gilden, West Bromwich, Peter, 2013
Of course I couldn’t not mention Henri Cartier-Bresson; dubbed ‘l’oeil du siècle’ or ‘the eye of the century’, the French photographer captured fleeting moments, when light, form and content fell together to create a story – the master of creating the extraordinary from something ordinary. In this exhibition, his photographs focus on people-watching as opposed to reportage. When covering events Cartier-Bresson would capture the reaction of the crowd, as opposed to the spectacle. For example, there’s a photograph of an old woman sitting on the shoulders of two serious looking men to get a good view during the celebrations of the 1937 coronation of George VI in Trafalgar Square, in another a man shelters (unsuccessfully) under a sodden newspaper – trying to escape the rain at Ascot in 1953. Cartier-Bresson’s Britain is one filled with eccentric, quirky characters doing random acts that, when frozen by the magic of the camera, turn into visual masterpieces.
Henri Cartier-Bresson, Coronation of George VI, 1937
This exhibition is certainly a lot to take in; an explosion of sights, angles, commentary and subjects, that requires time to digest. Therefore the photograph library in the middle of the exhibition – with comfy chairs and tables lined with photobooks – is a welcoming quiet space to chew over the images. What I will say is this; there are lots of recurring themes and imagery throughout the exhibition – class and poverty are two main ones, perhaps reinforcing how British people are obsessed with class. But also urban environments feature heavily, with one metropolis in particular taking the limelight – London. Every other photographer seems to have turned their camera on the capital. London buses, the underground, London streets, London architecture, the list goes on. Of course, London is a great British city – the heart of this nation – but there are numerous other cities up and down the UK that could have been featured (although, Candida Höfer’s brilliant images of Liverpool were included).
Our country is also famed for its green and pleasant land – the windswept Cornish coast, the vast Scottish lakes, the picturesque Cotswold villages – so why was there no landscape or nature photography? The only hint of this is Hans van der Meer’s panoramic shots of lower league football matches. There is an overwhelming focus on documentary and street photography, which reflects Parr’s interest in social commentary – forever snapping random scenes that depict people’s quirkiness. I suppose this is the trademark of a successful exhibition, as it encourages the viewer to question stereotypes and ask what other topics should be presented – how would British photographers depict Britain differently? Would they be more or less critical? More or less insightful? By displaying an outsider’s view, Parr enables us to see how we – as a nation – are perceived, and in doing so follows the belief that it takes an outsider, with fresh eyes, to see the truth – and, in this case, a camera to reveal that truth.
Strange and Familiar: Britain as Revealed by International Photographers, is at the Barbican Centre from 16 March 2016 – 19 June 2016, Sat–Wed 10am–6pm, Thu–Fri 10am–9pm.
Originally published on St John Street News.
Coffee and hot chocolate at Jimmy and the Bee, Goswell Road. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
Today around one in five people visit a coffee shop on a daily basis in the UK.
Proof – if it was needed – that coffee shops are continuing their ascension to infinite heights. This is partly due to the expansion of global coffee chains, à la Starbucks, Costa and Caffè Nero. However many people are choosing to avoid the generic coffee houses, in favour of independent ones. A poll found that 21 per cent of consumers prefer to get their caffeine fix in a more ‘individual’ environment.
Islington is a prime example of the growing trend; walk down almost any street in the borough and you will stumble upon at least one independent coffee shop – from quirky hipster cafés to artisan coffee specialists.
I went on a hunt around Islington to find the perfect cuppa and spoke to three baristas about the art of coffee-making and why independent coffee shops are best…
https://jessiewilliams505.files.wordpress.com/2016/03/independent-coffee-shops-mixdown-final.mp3
The interior of Jimmy and the Bee. Photo credit: twitter.com/jimmyandthebee
Jimmy and the Bee
135 Goswell Rd, London EC1V 7JY
Open Monday – Friday; 7am – 6pm, Saturday; 9am – 6pm, Sunday; 10am – 5pm
@jimmyandthebee
Caravan
Caravan. Photo credit: exmouth.london
11-13 Exmouth Market, London EC1R 4QD
Open Monday – Friday; 8 – 11.30am, 12 – 10.30pm, Saturday; 10am – 4pm, 5 – 10.30pm, Sunday; 10am – 4pm
@CaravanExmouth
Brill
Brill. Photo credit: londonsbestcoffee.com
27 Exmouth Market, London EC1R 4QL
Open Monday – Friday; 7.30am – 6pm, Saturday; 9am – 6pm, Sunday; 10.30am – 5pm
@Brillcafe
This post was originally published on St John Street News.
Craft-making. Photo credit: webindia123.com
In a world of status updates, viral videos and live-tweets, people often get lost in a virtual world of nothingness. It’s enough to make many turn to something tangible – like craft-making – to fill the void.
According to the Craft Council, the UK craft industry is booming; in 2014 it was estimated to contribute nearly £3.4 billion to the UK economy. Forget digital start-ups – the new breed of East London hipsters are taking on the creative mantle armed with knitting needles, clay and home-made dye.
Craft businesses have seen a rise in sales in recent years. Folksy, the UK’s most popular online marketplace for buying and selling craft has seen sales of over £1million and has built a community of around 13,000 designer makers. Camilla Westergaard, Content Editor at Folksy, believes that consumer patterns are changing and the British public are valuing craftsmanship more.
“The period leading up to Christmas is by far our busiest of the year and normally accounts for about 30-40 per cent of all our annual sales on Folksy. This year we have also seen a spike in sales over the Cyber weekend, when more shoppers are online,” says Westergaard.
She adds that programmes like The Great British Pottery Throw Down has encouraged people to not only embrace their creative side but also appreciate hand-made craft and the work behind it.
Textile Design student, Ellie Williams, is a prime example of how the ‘maker movement’ is sweeping the young generation. A digital native, she now prefers spending her time doing embroidery, than surfing the web.
Textile Design student, Ellie Williams, working at her desk. Photo credit: Jessie Williams
“Our generation is so obsessed with living online that they forget to live offline. Making something with your hands is one of the most life-affirming things – I think the rise in popularity of craft is a reaction to the artificiality of the digital world,” she says.
“I may sound like an old woman, but I find it calming doing hand-embroidery and value time away from the internet. It gives you a sense of accomplishment when you create something hand-made.”
This nostalgic return to classic techniques isn’t confined to the craft and textile industries. Artist, Priya Baxter, has recently produced a collection of photographs using a large format film camera from the Victorian era. Raised by an Indian mother who has a passion for craft and a Liverpudlian father who adores classical paintings, Baxter has creativity running through her veins.
She says her love of film photography stems from the unpredictable nature of the medium. “There’s an element of chance within film that there isn’t within digital. I’ve had the time to sit and think about it and if you mess up then that’s it,” says Baxter.
Baxter believes that technology in the digital era has made people appreciate the techniques of yester-year – particularly in photography. “They’ve realised that everything’s so ephemeral now,” she says.
Lies Dormant in the Night by Priya Baxter.
So are we seeing a backlash against digital technology? Will millennials now write letters, make jam and take up pottery? Dr David Giles, Professor in Media Psychology at Winchester University, thinks not. He believes it is the way people use social media that is changing.
Furthermore, he says that those who are taking up traditional craft are probably working on a website or social media account to sell their wares.
“The fact of the matter is that you would have to become a total recluse on a desert island to truly opt out of the digital world,” says Giles.
Williams agrees: “It may sound a bit hypercritical denouncing technology, as I actually use technology to promote my work online. Instagram is a major visual influence – it’s an amazing platform for creativity and to connect like-minded people.” Indeed, social media, particularly Instagram, is seen as empowering a new generation of creatives; giving individuals the ability to publish directly to their audience.
The art app Artsy recently conducted a survey which revealed that over 50 per cent of art collectors who are active on Instagram purchased work from an artist they discovered through the platform. In the survey, one anonymous New York art collector said; “If your artwork isn’t represented on Instagram, do you exist?” A telling expression of this digital era.
Westergaard believes that social media has become a “very necessary tool in a maker’s armour”. She adds that the most successful sellers on Folksy all have very strong social networks.
“Social media doesn’t just give you direct sales, it also contributes to your search ranking, i.e. Google rankings depend on links onto a page, so the more people share your work on blogs, link to it on their social platforms and tweet about it, the better your rankings,” says Westergaard.
Glass-maker, Lynn Foster, doesn’t use social media – although she admits she’s one of the few. Despite not updating her website regularly she still gets lots of enquiries. “But I don’t sell online, and so I think that it’s much more important if you’re selling online to get people to your website because they’re buying from it,” says Foster. She recalls excitedly how a German gallery recently contacted her to exhibit work and the wife of a local Noble Prize winner bought three pieces to add to their international art collection. Proof that social media isn’t the be-all and end-all.
Glass bowl by Lynn Foster.
However there’s no denying that technology has benefitted both the art and craft industries.
When once, the art world was seen as an exclusive club, with people sauntering around white-walled galleries filled with multi-million pound art, now it has become a more inclusive community. Technology has democratised the art world. Baxter describes it as “breaking down that barrier of perceived snobbery.”
With the rise of technology comes the blurring of boundaries between art, craft and tech. Baxter hopes the end result will be an equilibrium; where all elements work in harmony together. “I think people are going to start integrating craft with digital – seeing that sweet spot in the middle – and that’s what I’m really excited about.”
This article was originally published on LTS Magazine.
Wilton’s Mahogany Bar, Shadwell. By Jan Klos
It seems ironic that one of the defining features of British culture is slipping into an alarming decline. The good old pub with its roaring fire, creaking floorboards, friendly atmosphere and comforting pints of beer has long been seen as the beating heart of a community. But could the new Department of Health guidelines on alcohol consumption be the final nail in the coffin for our beloved boozers?
Labelled as an ‘Endangered British Species’ by the Times, the British Pub Association says up to 29 pubs closed per week in the UK during 2014. There are currently fewer than 52,000 pubs in the UK – a decline of around 3,000 from 2012. London is the worst offender with rising property prices and the threat of gentrification pushing many locals out of business.
Down St John Street alone, nine pubs have closed and are now used as residential or commercial space according to the Lost Pubs Project – a website archiving all the pubs that have closed down in England. So will this be the last call for the British pub industry?
Polish born, Jan Klos, hopes not and is using the medium of photography to preserve the unique spirit of our watering holes. Entitled, The Photographic Guide to the Pubs of East London, his photo series pays homage to UK pub culture. He depicts the communities behind London’s local public houses in the style of family portraits; each one is different, showing not only the diversity of pubs in the city, but also the diversity of the people that work within them.
Klos, 31, expresses his love for the stereotypical British boozer; “On the Continent there is mainly a bar culture, which is completely different; places open early evening, they never open from noon. You can’t bring your dog; you can’t bring your child.” Pubs, he says are more like homes. “A social meeting point; the centre of the village, like a hub,” mumbles Klos wistfully while fiddling his beard.
Nelson’s Head, Shoreditch. By Jan Klos
Several East End pubs that Klos photographed are now facing closure, including the Nelson’s Head in Hackney, which was the photographer’s favourite to shoot; “I just love the pub itself, I love the staff and I love everything about it. But it shut down unfortunately in February. It’s been a joy to work with them,” says Klos. The photograph of Nelson’s Head has been particularly well-received – it won the Gold Award at the 158th Royal Photographic Society International Print Exhibition.
Another one that Klos shot was The George Tavern, a quaint public house and vibrant arts venue on Commercial Road which has had a colourful past. It’s 700 years old and was mentioned in the writing of Charles Dickens and Samuel Pepys. In more recent times it has hosted photoshoots for Kate Moss, Georgia May Jagger and Amy Winehouse, as well as events for Plan B and Nick Cave.
Now the renowned watering hole is under threat from developers who plan to build flats on an adjacent site which will affect their late license. Almost 3,000 people signed a petition to stop the developers – including Sir Ian McKellen, Jo Whiley and Ricky Wilson of the Kaiser Chiefs. Alas it was not enough and now the pub is appealing the decision in the High Court.
Despite the closures, Klos insists “this was never a project that was supposed to aim at grieving”. For him it was about documenting the moment. He adds that he wants the photographs to be seen as a “celebration”.
The Glory, Haggerston. By Jan Klos
Klos’ work often looks at traditions and communities in a rapidly changing society. Dependants, his previous collection of photographs focused on religion in his home country (80 per cent of Poland’s population are Catholic). He says; “It’s interesting because for British people it is the pub that is the meeting point. I think for quite a long time in Poland that was the case for the church and it’s still like that, so I felt a lot of pressure to go to church [as a child]. I never really believed in anything so I thought it was a waste of time.”
The images evoke isolation; Klos explains that many young people in Poland are still going to church, but not because they believe. “They are being forced by society and by their parents. I see it as more of a tradition than religion.” This documentary style is woven throughout his photographs; “I always like to observe things in different cultures, I think that’s important,” says Klos.
The Photographic Guide to the Pubs of East London is an observation of British culture – a social commentary on our modern world but with a subtle nod to an old photographic technique. The series was inspired by 18th century classical portraiture – known as ‘conversation pieces’. Klos says; “I like the dynamics of the situation; how people sit in different heights and different depths.”
For now, Klos plans to continue photographing pubs and hopes to produce a book of the series; “I’m chatting to a few publishers about that, so there’s quite a lot of work still to do.” So far he has photographed 20 pubs, but plans to photograph 30 – 40 more. It’s a timely depiction of our much-loved pubs – albeit with an added sense of melancholy at the loss of such a strong part of British heritage and culture.
Klos’ pictures are a metaphorical toast to our assortment of pubs and the vibrant mix of personalities that drive them. So let’s drink to them – they may not be here for as long as you think.
Click to view slideshow.
Jan Klos’ photograph of Nelson’s Head is currently being exhibited at Aberystwyth Arts Centre for the Royal Photographic Society International Print Exhibition 158 (28 November – 30 January).
This article was originally published on St John Street News.
A Maasai warrior stands illuminated by the setting sun; framed by the peaks of Mount Kenya that soar into the distance. Flexing his muscles, the young man could be about to launch a spear or burst into song and dance.
Instead he throws a cricket ball. And it’s returned with a forceful thwack from the batter.
These are the Maasai Cricket Warriors – the unsuspecting stars of fledging director, Barney Douglas’ first feature-length documentary film. But they aren’t your average cricket team. And this isn’t your average cricket film. This is a captivating depiction of a culture on the edge of change.
Douglas is the founder and creative director of Heavy Soul Films, and has previously worked as a video producer for the England Cricket Team. Indeed his documentary delivers the emotional highs and lows of a cricket match.
But at the heart of his film is an increasingly controversial topic; one which has blown from the shores of Africa and spread like wildfire across the world. Female genital mutilation (FGM) is estimated to affect up to 140 million women and girls. Many people have contributed to the debate, but – as this film proves – to really end this tradition, it is the communities who engage in the practice that need to be stopped. So how does cricket have anything to do with FGM?
It doesn’t. But this is a cricket team with a difference. The Warriors oppose FGM and are using the sport they love as a vehicle for change in their deep-rooted community. They encourage girls to play cricket and develop their confidence. Ultimately their aim is for women to have equal-rights within their tribe.
Douglas expertly weaves together two narratives; one showing the power of sport to unite people and the other tackling the issue of FGM head on.
The viewer is taken along on the journey as the Warriors go from playing on a patchy, uneven expanse of land besieged by goats, to participating in the Last Man Stands World Championship at Lord’s – the Mecca of cricket. All the while trying to convince their elders that the ancient practice should be stopped.
Disappointingly the team get knocked out at an early stage, but what they lack in cricket talent is made up for with their resilience, spirit and enthusiasm. Living up to the Maasai adage; “The eye that has travelled sees further; it is more enlightened than the eye that has never left,” the men return home with new-found courage – enough to finally stand up to the elders.
With breath-taking cinematography and touches of humour, Warriors is a heart-warming film that demonstrates the capacity of human endeavour.
Warriors is available on DVD and to download from iTunes on 25th January 2016.
This review was originally published on ALT Magazine.
Seasons are fleeting; it seems like only yesterday that the Summer sun was high in the cloudless sky. Today there has been non-stop torrential rain. The first sign was the chill – a slight crispness in the air which foreshadows that freezing autumnal wind.
Autumn seems to be the season most people loathe. The season signals the ending of Summer and the descent into the dark Winter months – cue rain, a fading tan line and sighs of “Better get the jumpers out”. There is also an overwhelming sense of death and decay; falling leaves rotting on the ground, flowers that were once radiant now drooping, longer nights, crops being harvested and golden fields ploughed to a muddy brown. Even the phrase ‘Autumn years’ is used to describe the later years of someone’s life. It all sounds a bit depressing.
I actually quite like Autumn. With each change of season brings a different landscape and Autumn is always the most spectacular. Autumnal colours are bright and bold; leaves redden to a deep scarlet, foliage turns a golden hue, and glossy blackberries cluster in the hedgerows. The light seems to take on a dramatic turn, with the sun’s rays bursting through imposing clouds, silhouetting trees and creating dazzling rainbows when mixed with a dash of rain. Misty mornings transform into bright, clear days – the sort that gives your cheeks a rosy glow.
Yes, it is getting colder but that’s the perfect excuse for snuggling in jumpers, curling up on the sofa and drinking hot chocolate (my favourite pastime). And as the nights draw in and the days get shorter, it’s only a few months until the landscape takes on another change. I never tire of wonderment at the transience of nature and how it can alter so dramatically. Maybe it’s because I live in the countryside where nothing looks the same for more than a month – I miss that when I’m in the city.
For me Autumn has always represented (ironically) new beginnings; the start of a new academic year and fresh opportunities. Just because the weather’s starting to get a little chilly doesn’t mean Autumn should be detested – in fact it can be one of the most beautiful times of the year.