You gotta believe in the devil, to dance to his tune. Continue reading Kirsty Allison on Nick Cave’s Stranger Than Kindness
Why do we dance? To belong? To free ourselves? And Then We Danced is a film by Swedish-born Levan Akin that has absorbed festivals from Venice to Cannes. And had a few bricks thrown at it on homeground. Written by Kirsty Allison, this review appears in the March edition of DJMag, alongside a feature on the brilliant and highly recommended new book, Threshold (Bloomsbury) by … Continue reading BY GEORGIA, DANCE FREE 🌈
Two poems in response to Steve McQueen, Tate Modern Continue reading Steve McQueen, body of evidence, Tate Modern
I can’t wait.
I hope you’ll come.
I want to give Danielle the audience she deserves. It’ll be a truly special escape.
COME Experience the last death knell of wanking against the universe – it is us, art, music, life: against the world. And this book by Richard Cabut nails that futility against Bukowski and all that have been before. This is the end of man. And the beginning of COLD LIPS PRESS. With photographs by creative ingenue, 22 year old, Millie Radakovic – who pushes the … Continue reading DARK ENTRIES FOR DARK TIMES
THIS PARTY IS NEXT WEEK. It’s at the Bomb Factory in Holloway. It will be excellent. BELOW IS A PICK OF TONIGHT’S CULTURAL SLICKNESS OF LONDON. TONIGHT THURSDAY: COLD LIPS FAVE UP N COMER OF EASEL Sam Jackson whose penchant for tattooing the faces of the infamous – has a show opening at OLD STREET’S CHARLIE SMITH GALLERY And further east, into Whitechapel, Gallery 46 is showing a group … Continue reading THURSDAY NIGHT IN LONDON TOWN
London, 25 May 2019: A cool crew of boys with hair that felts together in a wig of 70s squat, expand around the balcony of the Electric in Brixton tonight for an extravaganza of neo-acid rock – surrounded by girls you wanna meet walking the California desert – tassels, feathers, denim, crochet – long hair, wild hearts. Headlined by Kikagaku Moyo (it’s taken 10 times … Continue reading Kikagaku Moyo, Electric Brixton 🌘🍄🌘
The dominant tale of art history is to assume Dorothea Tanning was not a surrealist until her husband hailed her that when walking into her studio in 1942, much as Duchamp claimed Freya Von Freytag-Loringhoven’s urinal, his own. Witnessing this phenomenal retrospective of the radically free Tanning, who married Max Ernst in 1946, at 36, in a double marriage with Juliet Browner and Man Ray, … Continue reading Tanning at the Tate