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Top 25 Art Blog - Creative Tourist

Image Wars: Sean Snyder

ICA, February 12th - 19th April

Written by Katie Antoniou

Tuesday February 10th

In Oxford? Get to the Jam Factory for the latest group show from Collective Era. “Chaos in Continuum” is a combination of old and new from this collective known for their bright, link store intense and hyper-surreal work, clinic incorporating elements of contemporary fine art, buy information pills urban art and surrealism within their collaborative paintings.

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Wednesday February 11th

Lisson Gallery is worth a visit for two reasons at the moment. Lisson Presents, brings together the work of both new and already represented artists; fans of Bergman might like the piece from Igor & Svetlana Kopystiansky, who use footage from Persona centering on Liv Ullmann’s gaze. There is also a new work from Gerard Byrne, photographer and film maker for whom this will be the first solo show in the UK for two years, including a dramatized script of interviews conducted with prisoners of war awaiting the Nuremberg trails.

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Thursday February 12th

Index will the first exhibition in a British institution from leading American artist Sean Snyder, running at the ICA until April 19th. His work is often conflict based, with images that document the Cold War, the Iraq War, and Soviet occupation of Afghanistan, throughout which Snyder explores the subjective nature of propaganda, the ethics of reportage, the staging and manipulation of images, and the changing role of photojournalists in the era of consumer digital imaging.

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Friday February 13th

Whilst rifling through fabrics for a penguin suit in Soho, I found myself standing in line besides Caroline McCambridge, a striking array of materials piled on her arms. I couldn’t help asking what it was all for, to which she explained that she was an artist in the process putting together an installation for an upcoming show. A little google here and there and I have found Dubbing Light, a new exhibition at Kingsgate Gallery starting on Thursday. With improvisation at the centre of both their works, McCambridge and Aya Fukami will produce a two-part evolving exhibition starting life in colour and moving towards monochromatic pieces in the second week. I’m intrigued to see what she’ll do with all that fabric, and I promised I’d wear my penguin suit.

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Caroline McCambridge – Plastic Space 2005


Sunday February 15th

There’s an all day event at Limoncello Gallery this Sunday, though I couldn’t quite tell you what it will involve. The so-called “Vanity Affairs” are annual occasions at Limoncello from Giorgio Sadotti. It’s all about grassroots art work in London and is very vaguely described. If you like surprises, then do go along.

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Why haven’t we included fiction? Well exactly. So when we received some short stories from Sharlene Teo we thought it would be great opportunity to bring together writers and illustrators, page making ourselves the literary equivalent of matchmaker dot com. In time for heartbreak day we have a sorry tale of a girl and her cats, page ten of them. Something more light-hearted about Amelia Earhart to come.
Words: Sharlene Teo
Illustration: Anna Wadham

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The day you left, ten cats appeared on my doorstep out of nowhere and would not budge. They sat by my muddy shoes regarding me dolefully, as if offering some sort of respite, some sort of mockery, some sort of consolation. I had no choice but to let them into my cramped one-bedroom flat for tea. The living room was the bedroom was the dining room. We sat around a shoe-rack, which I’d turned into a makeshift table, these ten cats and I. I tried to make conversation. But being cats and not humans, they were honest. They didn’t say anything.
 
We had tea and weak cookies until the sun folded itself on to dark strips on the wall. The shadows made me think of hand puppets. I knew, then, as an hour segued into the next that you had well and truly left me, and, by extension, I had well and truly left you. Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere. But there it was, I could almost see it silhouetted in cat’s ears, the outline of patient paws- this growing, gnawing, intractable distance. Thin as blocked light, but strong as a planet.
 
I knew you would leave but I knew it gradually, the way we learn language. The language of absence is filled in punctuation-first; the commas, the ellipses, the loping brackets. A full stop the first time we could regard each other seriously, and I wasn’t myself, I was a separate entity, unremarkable and noncommittal, could have been anyone else.
 
The cats stayed in my house but politely shitted on the potted plants. I only had three potted plants, on the balcony outside, but how they thrived. They grew and arched until they were full, strong trees, all-but blocking out the light. My flat became a greenhouse, a forest, and a haven for the cats that bred like rabbits and judged me with their casual grace and indolent flawlessness.
 
You went out to dinner, just across the street. Peering through the branches I could see you putting your coat on a chair, pulling a chair out for a girl. You were having dinner with two girls, maybe friends, maybe one day, one of them or one by one, a lover. There was nothing dramatic, for today- just three people, sitting down to dinner. Drawing out the menus, inaudibly deciding between chicken or lamb, a soup or a salad.

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Me, I petted the seventh cat that had been born three days ago, a slip of a thing. I held it in my palm like a Palm Pilot and I had my dinner. Cat nip, because that was all we had around here, as we gathered around the 8 o clock soap opera. The grandmother cat, the first to have appeared after you left (the sound of your shoes dispersing like marbles) was especially fond of a certain actor. She purred appreciatively when he appeared. I found it very random because he was a supporting actor; in fact, he was the postman having an affair with the bitter matriarch. I thought about affairs and I couldn’t imagine having another- perhaps hyperbolically, perhaps realistically. I mean, maybe I could spend my whole life in this cream-walled apartment with my multiplying cats, the scarce sunlight, and little consolation. Perhaps I’d always sit here on my grandmother’s knitted quilt, hankering after a cure or else a stupid ideal.
 
Across the road, three strangers had dinner. None of them knew me. This is falsely true or truly false. Maybe one day in a space age somewhere they will invent a button you can press to so casually turn truth into fiction, or history into excess; spare paper you can fold and cut off. The thing is, I’m no wiser than a wheezing cat, a frivolous kitten. I know nothing; I’m so immature. My heart does not mend. It merely transfers from hurt to hurt and from love to great love. I need this to subsist upon, because my days are getting thick with hairballs and silence.
 
Yet if you set back the clock to the minute you’d just gone, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ve tried to pickle that moment, but it is obstinately inedible. I suppose I would just stand there, in my mind racing after you, stumbling on my words and shoes, trying to unpick what I’ve stitched over forever.
 
It’s like a ball of yarn, rolling inexorably out of touch. I have dreams of leaving, but I’m right here when I wake up.
 
I say Sweden, viagra dosage you say…Ikea? ABBA? Ulrika Johnsson? Great fashion design might not be one of the first things that pops into your head – but this will change once you visit the Swedish Fashion: Exploring a New Identity exhibition, here which is on at the Fashion and Textile Museum.

The work of 13 of the countries most exciting and talented designers is showcased against a stark silver and white (some might say Ikea-esque) interior backdrop, this web giving all the pieces room to shine.

The new identity mentioned in the title is that of challenging the notion that Sweden is just a land of bubbly blondes. And these designers certainly do that.

The most established of the designers on show are Ann-Sofie Back and Sandra Backlund, who set the bar high with their designs but their compatriots don’t dissappoint, also showing strong, individual pieces.

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An example of Ann-Sofie Back’s simple yet elegant designs that are on show.

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Amazing sculptured knitwear from Sandra Backlund, redefining the idea that knitwear should be restricted to scarves and cardigans.

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Lovisa Burfitt’s creations have a highly theatrical, dramatic edge. She cites punk, goth and rock music and styles as a major influence.

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Due to the accessible way the clothes are displayed, you can easily see all aspects of the outfit, such as the interesting back on this Martin Bergstrom piece.

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The unusually titled Fifth Avenue Shoe Repair, otherwise known as husband and wife Lee Cotter and Astrid Olsson. Their exaggerated and unusual shapes call to mind such greats as Viktor and Rolf, which is good company to be in.

While walking around the exhibits, a large screen plays clips of the designers, showing them at work and creating the pieces, adding depth to the clothes that you see before you.

There is also a display of Swedish jewellery designers at this interesting and informative exhibition.

Swedish Fashion: Exploring a New Identity
Fashion and Textile Museum
6th February – 17th May 2009
Tickets: £5 / £3 Students and concessions / under 12′s free
At only 22, viagra 60mg recent London College of Fashion MA graduate Emilia Bariamova joins a wave of conceptual knitwear designers offering a highly skilled, artistically hand knitted collection that is rooted in deep and meaningful inspiration.

Emilia has taken the intimate and intense exposure of fighting with ones’ own confused state of mind and related it to the metaphorical process of knitting; creating comfort and protection through a tangled web of yarn that embodies a visual expression of a personal ‘breathing space’.

Hey Emilia, where do you hail from?

Originally from Moscow, Russia

Where did you study before the London College of Fashion (LCF)?
Moscow State Academy of Fine Chemical Technology. I did a degree in Chemistry for a year to please my parents but realised it wasn’t really my passion.

So you came to England to study fashion?

Yes, I studied a fashion foundation course, and got a BA Hons in Surface Textiles for Fashion and then MA Fashion, all at LCF. Also, I undertook work placements with Alexander McQueen and Russian designer Chapurin and others.

What was it like to study at LCF?

Intense.

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Your collection pays tribute to tradition and craft through knitting. Is this something you feel strongly about and if so why?
I do, actually. Living in the environment where most things are disposable and everything changes so fast, I find that people lose the appreciation of craftsmanship and perhaps, even quality.

Your collection uses colour to depict an emotional journey. Do you feel colour is an important metaphor for emotion and feelings?

I am very interested in psychology and always take my inspiration from various experiences and matters. I believe each colour carries a huge subliminal impact. Therefore, when starting a collection, I choose a colour palette. Personally, I love observing the shades of nail varnishes on people and whether they fit with the rest of the look; in their silence they speak volumes.

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Do you have a favourite colour that you feel represents you?

I like them all. But if you ask me which colour do I relate myself to at the moment, I’d say deep purple.

Knitwear designers such as Sandra Backlund and Simone Shailes are gaining a lot of media attention at the moment. Do you think there is a gap in the market for more directional knitwear?
Possibilities in knitwear are endless. And, it’s great that there are emerging young talents that challenge the perception and purpose of knitwear. Raising awareness and creating trends for conceptual knitwear, which border-lines between art and fashion, definitely forms a solid gap in the market.

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Which designers would you say most influence your work/ or do you aspire to?

I aspire to Ann Demeulemeester, Nicholas Ghesquiere, Stella McCartney, Coco Chanel and Sandra Backlund.

Can you describe your personal style?

Androgynous, eclectic and experimental.

What is your biggest personal achievement?
Perhaps, looking from prospective, I’d say moving from Moscow to London at the age of 16 on my own, not knowing anyone in UK.

What are you hopes and plans for the future?
I hope one day my dreams will come true, I plan on working hard to achieve it. (just kidding!).
I’ve got lots of plans, which are not necessarily related to fashion. Apart from launching my own luxury label in few years time, I would like to build a shelter for women in Russia and open my own chocolate factory.

Sitting comfortably next to the likes of Swedish knitting queen Sandra Backlund and recent Central Saint Martins graduate Simone Shailes, Emilia’s dreams of opening her own chocolate factory may have to be put on hold as we believe this is one insightful designer to keep your eye on.

Here we are with a second installment from Sharlene Teo. This time we have illustrations from the lovely Amelia Davies. You can see more of her work here. If you would like to submit a short story then do get in touch, health this might just be the start of something marvelous.

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I have always been fascinated with disappearance. Who hasn’t? As a child my mother bought me a book from Popular bookstore; a trashy purple book called THE WORLD’S GREATEST MYSTERIES. It was full of disappearances. There was something about a pretty nurse. A young girl. Always women, dosage always beautiful. It’s the beautiful who are best remembered. It was then that i first read of Amelia Earhart. I thought she was fascinating and maddening and gorgeous, erectile with her glamourous pilot’s gear and her bright eyes and her headgear flapping in the wind. There was one picture of her, grainy, with her face slightly tilted to the camera. Mostly, she was looking at the sky ahead of her.??I asked my sister about Amelia Earhart and my sister said she got sucked into the Bermuda Triangle. I tried to imagine what it was like; being sucked into a timeless vortex of ocean and swirling newspapers. Did it hurt? Or did it tickle? It seemed like it would have tickled and you wouldn’t believe what was happening around you, as the wind gathered and everything turned dark. Ask someone today about the Bermuda Triangle and they might laugh. Mysteries seem to get obsolete after a while, passe or archaic. ??It is possible that Amelia Earhart didn’t really disappear, that maybe she landed on some tropical island somewhere and married a local man and had many babies. Or that disappearance and all the intrigue and glamour it connotes, is simply a euphemism for dead. Maybe she was drunk and flew into a tree. Maybe she ran out of fuel and crashed into the ocean. All the male pilots probably laughed about it over beers. I don’t even know enough to begin analysing. All I have is that first impression of her, picture on a page, going missing somewhere and a mystery forever. It makes me wonder.??I know a girl from school who disappeared. I didn’t really know her, I saw her in the corridors and she was rich and rather haughty and honestly scared me. She disappeared because her father supposedly embezzled a lot of money.

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All i know is one day she was everywhere, and the next she was gone just like that. And no one knows where she is even today. And this reminds me of another thing my sister told me, about how on the american livejournal secret sharing community some man said he had survived 9/11, and was living a different life some where else. All this is very fascinating. What is it like waking up and knowing that somewhere some people are wondering about you? ??I am sure that smug aura of mystery would wear off after a while; that someday someone will bump into Amelia Earhart in some supermarket in Boston, Manchester, Nice, Tahiti, and somehow recognise her. She would sigh like she’d just gotten back from the doctor’s, the two o’clock matinee and nothing mattered. And she would say, “Yes, it’s me.”
Women of the Global South Speak out about Climate Change.

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The Ethiopian Community Centre on Thursday evening was a steaming melting pot bursting with real experiences and people willing to share them. Sheltered from a grizzly London evening, view we gathered to listen to the stories of women from the global south with first-hand experience of the repercussions of climate change. From Guyana, search India, price Bolivia, Uganda, China, Iraq and America, all women were united in their concern for their governments’ failure to rectify the damage and the inertia they encountered from the Western world.

First to battle through the low hum of multiple interpreters was Wintress Morris from Red Thread from Guyana. From January to March 2005 Guyana witnessed the worst flooding in their history. 750, 000 people were affected. 300, 000 people in 110 villages were severely affected by region 4 standards, many made homeless. In January alone, the rainfall rose to 28 inches. It is normally 7.3 inches. The government put the flooding down to climate change. Looking weary and tired Ms Morris is resigned to the fact that while ‘the natural part of that disaster was real,’ it was ‘bad management and corruption’ that caused the social disaster that ensued.

The draining and irrigation systems simply could not cope with the extreme rainfall. Many people lived in almost total submersion with no relief help for 7 weeks. It was the women who did most of the work for survival, left at home in the diseased water to care for the elderly and children while the men left to seek help from further a field. Before the crises there were serious racial divides in Guyana, especially between the Afro and Indian communities. As a response to the government’s brutal apathy, women from all ethnicities banded together for the very first time. Wintress and other women formed the pressure group Red Thread. On 30th March 2005, their hard work had achieved a public announcement from Guyana’s MPs. 50 US dollars would be given to each individual home and 300 US dollars to every business affected by the flood. Although this is still not enough, it is a great triumph for the grass roots women who fought to make the change. Their struggle is not over however, the people of Guyana are still faced with poorly maintained canals that cannot control water flow, and Red Thread continue to fight.

Manju Gardia‘s story was not dissisimililar and no more heartening. Her village in Chhattisgarh, India, was completely wiped out by two days and two nights of unprecedented rainfall. The rain started in the middle of the night pushing people into the darkness with no where to go. As women clutched onto branches with one arm, and their children with the other, their clay houses washed away. When the government stepped in, those rich enough to afford stronghold houses were taken care of first and compensation money hardly reached the poor who needed it most. Outraged by the unjust priority of the wealthy, Manju and other local women started rallying and protesting, and forced the government to provide more compensation. Their struggle against the corrupt authorities continues as does their fight against possibly the biggest threat to rural India; landgrabbing for the planting of crops for biofuels. Manju Gardia and the women’s groups are taking direct action by tearing the crops out of the soil with their hands.

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Hannah Ibrahamin founded The Women’s Will Association in the aftermath of the US and British Invasion. Since the start of the war, Hannah has witnessed her country being ‘turned into desert-emptied.’ Her country has been used as a chemical playground, experimented on with anything nuclear and nauseating. One of the most horrific cases was the use of white phosphorous in Fallujah. Recently in the news for it’s use in Gaza, the chemical causes the skin to continue burning after impact and cannot be healed. 72% of the victims of the white phosphorous attacks were children, and to this day 20 children die each day in Fallujah from the after effects and radiation left by US bombs. Iraq has been left with an incomprehensible amount of damage. Stripped of anything resembling a habitable natural environment while we suck from it’s withered teat 2 million barrels (and rising) a day of that thick black treacle.

It was as if the tidal wave of the world’s injustice had crashed through the doors, filling this overcrowded hall off Finchley road with tainted water. I began to feel out of my depth, choked. Women from all parts of the world drowning in the same sea, and as Nell Myhand (the Hurricane Katrina representative) said simply ‘it is remarkable how similar the stories are.’.The event was organized by Climate Camp with speakers from Food not Fuel and Global Women’s Strike. All are activist groups who fight to bring environmental atrocities to our attention in the media-clouded west. I left overwhelmed and a bit depressed. But the integrity of each speaker and the sense of unity that swept the room gave me some hope. Maybe one day ‘climate justice’ will be reached. ‘The more we get together the stronger we are’ (Nell Myhand).

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Some notes about The Bishops. I first saw them in 2005 at 93 Feet East. My friend thought their name was a Neighbours reference; I said it was something ecclesiastical. In matching skinny suits, viagra 100mg Mike and Pete Bishop (identical twins for added symmetry) tore through a set of memorably peppy three minute pop songs. It was like being present at a recording of Ready, Steady, Go (for added retro appeal they were supporting Hoxton rockabillies Vincent Vincent and the Villains).

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The Bishops inhabit an eternal 1962. More Freddie and the Dreamers than the Beatles, perhaps, but at best, they have the wholesome charm which comes from an insistence on tuneful singing and harmonies. While this can be irritating when done ironically, the band’s sheer lack of irony renders it likeable and fresh. The gauche lyrics – “Tonight will pass away / just like the other nights and days / which pass away” are delivered with a choirboy wistfulness which is winning. Several of the titles, Nothing I Can Do or Say, Free to Do What You Want, If You Leave Today hark back to the Kinks, an obvious reference point, although The Bishops can’t compare for songwriting. Nonetheless, they share the ability to create songs around half-cliches: they don’t quite know what they want to say but, naïve suburbanites that they are, they really mean it. City Lights, the album’s opening track is an evocation of no city I’ve ever been to; it sounds like a Ted-infested metropolis conjured by the imagination of a metroland teenager fifty years ago. Along with the sweetly melancholy Nothing I Can Do or Say, it’s the best track of the record.

Despite this, the wholesome Mods I saw in 05 seem to be having an identity crisis. ‘They’ve returned as a more contemporary -sounding act, taking in new influences and broadening their guitar bass and drum sound’ their press release states. But much as the band’s desire to avoid straightforward 60s pop pastiche is understandable, their contemporary reference points, whatever they may be, are a whole lot less compelling. Better to be a Kinks tribute act than an Ocean Colour Scene one, which is what the weaker tracks (the unconvincing folk of Slow River and Rain Dance) come close to being. And, conversely, with their Merseybeat sound, they are, among the current crop of London bands at least, ploughing their own furrow. And as for the deeply unstylish album artwork (glossy black and white band pic, Helvetica lettering)? True Mods would never allow that.
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This Valentines Day, look the Antics Establishment are hosting night of mahem and frolicking not to be missed:

Discard your cares, story your heart, pharm your sense. Come forth, come forth! May you slash your strings and run free from the hand of the marionette mistress to dance and frolic through the night. Run to where the force of love, from the dark to the light, shall be neither neglected nor damned.

The Antic Establishment is pleased to present a night where the forbidden is forthcoming, what is broken may begin to mend; the marionettes are free for a night and Revolution Amour is the playground in which to cross examine the plight and passion of a love come undone. In a world where harlequins will win the fire of a burning heart, we invite you to carouse and rampage without attachments to the steering hand of sense.

There will be musical feasting, theatrical binging and miniature vignettes of marionettes in love and unrest. Come dressed to entice, with binds discarded and boots tightly laced, as this will be a night to passionately embrace.

And at midnight….we will feast!

Click here to get tickets. They are £10, and for this round sum, they promise to keep the howlings of the lovehounds at bay with a firecracker of a line up, and a blazing troupe of fellow lovers, shakers and goodness knows what else…

MUSICAL LINE-UP INCLUDING…

THE CORRESPONDENTS
THE WORM
GYPSYDELICA
ISOBEL ANDERSON
LOLLY JANE BLUE
ARTHUR BRICK
MARIPOSA
DJ Russell (Reggae, Dub, Ska, Dancehall)
DJ Malaka (Balkan Beats, Electro Gypsy, Klezmer)
The Marionettes (DJs and rampaging comperes armed with rhyming couplets)

PUPPETRY AND PERFORMANCE LINE-UP INCLUDING…

SOPHIE ROSTAS – Feast of Fools
The Shadow Puppets
Oli Cronk and Joie De Winter
The Time Keepers Paradigm
Zazie Zeff
Babs
Rainbow Collective
In Vice & Virtue, viagra it seems that Kasabian and Kula Shaker meet the Bluetones at the crossroads of the mid-90s. Keith is a strange moniker for a rock band, no rx and this young trio certainly hark back to the last decade, and but for brit-pop indie fans that’s no bad thing.

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One listen is evidence enough that frontman Oli Bayston is a classicist at heart. Layers of dreamy piano soften jazzy drums in intersecting, cinematic noise. It’s really quite pleasant. In a past life the bassist was a techno dj and the drummer cites funk and Radiohead amongst his great loves. With such differing tastes, the band members must surely struggle to agree, yet admirable is their quest for a new genre: indie-folk-dance all wrapped up in acid-blues. The end product: a melange of styles that never really chooses one direction and perhaps doesn’t need to.

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If it’s pure escapism you’re searching for, Keith might be the destination for you. Lullaby is a charming diversion with words that carry you away across the hills: ‘forget these city lights for a while’ and a beat that won’t quit. Wails and explosions of keyboard culminate in a drowsy, drunken finish. The single, Up in the Clouds, protrudes from the rest. Oli’s northern soul signposts the route to a rumbling bass groove and stirs with an echo-ey quality. This is proper road trip material, scenic, breathless, landscapes of sound. Runaway Town and Lucid go off on gentle tangents, whilst other tracks stand solid and are more memorable. Don’t Want To Be Apart is the most beautiful thing on here, and if Keith stick to its pared-down formula they’ll be onto a winner. Vice & Virtue is not spectacular, but worthy of your ears, nonetheless.

Kids Company is a charity founded by Camila Batmanghelidjh and provides practical, drugs emotional and educational support to vulnerable inner-city children and young people.

They have many initiatives to raise money for the cause and awareness for the charity, one of them being Bare Thread, the fashion label branch of Kids Company, set up by the young people and staff to showcase their ideas and talents.

They cite a quote from the 1927 film Metropolis as their motto, “The mediator between head and hands must be the heart.” Referencing the importance of care and thought in the making of their clothes, rather than their love of early German cinema.

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Their unique piece is the Hood that Hugs, pictured below:

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Bare Thread is about more than just creating clothes, it’s about giving less privileged kids the opportunity to be creative and achieve.They are not a commercialised brand and look to avoid the pressure and throw-away culture of the fashion industry.

And brilliantly, all proceeds from the sale of the products are invested back into the label to fund creative and educational workshops, many of which are run in conjunction with London College of Fashion.

The success of Bare Thread is essential to enable Kids Co to create more workshops and work opportunities for under-privileged young people who would probably not otherwise get the chance.

Kids Co are always looking for new and exciting ideas for their Bare Thread label, if you want to get involved, send over an e-mail.

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The American artist Sean Snyder has been editing and digitising his massive back catalogue of research for previous works, story to form the project Indext. Largely an online initiative, elements of Index are also currently being exhibited at the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Art). Whilst the images of storage media that have been destroyed after the digitisation process are fairly clinical, emphasizing Sean’s association of conceptual art with forensic science, the video installations are a lot easier to relate to. One film,entitled ‘Exhibition’ reworks Soviet propaganda films from the 1960s, depicting the creation of an art exhibition at a provincial museum in the Ukraine. By distorting the narrative and removing the voiceover, Sean examines exhibition culture, particularly that under the influence of extreme political propaganda.

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Casio, Seiko, Sheraton, Toyota, Mars

The second film also deals with Soviet representation of events; this time in Russian occupied Afghanistan in 1985. Footage of Soviet soldiers dancing with local civilians, children and musicians would be heart warming if it was not so obviously staged for propaganda purposes. The resulting sequence is sinister to say the least, but nothing compared with the final film; ‘Casio, Seiko, Sheraton, Toyota, Mars’. A look at the role of corporations and consumerism in the colonisation of Afghanistan and Iraq following the American-led invasions includes footage of children gleefully receiving crates of Pepsi, Toyota trucks loaded with missiles, and the elusive Osama Bin Laden who sports various models of Casio watch in video footage sent to TV channels. Accompanied by a voiceover from Sean, the film also explains the relevance of consumer digital electronics and its effect on photojournalism today, in an era when the bystander is likely to have means of recording events themselves. The ethics of reportage, as well as the staging and manipulation of images, are issues that Sean addresses in an exhibition that does some very relevant thought-provoking.
To hear Sean himself speak about his work, head to the ICA on April 9th, where the artist will be in conversation with Mark Sladen, the ICA’s Director of Exhibitions, in the Nash room. Its free, but you should book, by calling 02079303647.

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