"To me, that's the apogee of what art is about; making the unspeakable speakable and making the unknowable knowable with liberal fluidity and empathy." Image courtesy of The London Art Fair. Since she was a child, the queer multimedia artist Olivia Strange was inexorably drawn to daydreaming and painting. "I needed another space to exist in and be imaginative," she says in an exclusive interview following her exhibition at the Liminal Art Gallery stand in the Platform section of London Art Fair curated by Gemma Rolls-Bentley. A highlight of the fair London Art Fair, its evening debut invited visitors to connect with a series of visceral sculptures. For Strange, objects symbolise "portals to other places and spaces in time. They enable me to play out ideas, fantasies or identities that typically don't feel safe to do in the everyday reality." Strange & Carr at The London Art Fair 2024. The event was marked by a healing ritual led by fellow witch and Wiccan High Priestess Tree Carr. A long-time friend, Carr has done Tarot readings for Strange and the artist regularly attends her moon circle twice a month. Together, they offered guests the opportunity to call forth the four elements and cast a circle that "sent healing to all human and sentient life currently being oppressed on the planet." The ceremony was a welcome release from the raw emotions evoked by the exhibition. Malevolent claw-like nails cast in plaster, a singular clutched breast, fingers welded together with nails and a hand groping the right buttock, its display was a stark assault on the human body. With each sculpted gesture, Strange challenged her audience to deconstruct patriarchal ideas of identity, female desire and shame surrounding power-play. "There is an element of voyeurism in my work,” says Strange. “I'm confronting the viewer with objectified ligaments that are dislocated from the body and attached to the wall. In the same way that you would look at a garment in a shop." The artist's works are inherently iconoclastic; often discussing gender politics with sexual and mythological motifs that have a sinister edge. "I try to reclaim stereotypes with symbolic objects like the carabiner clip- a meaningful object within queer culture," says Strange. Similarly, Vendetta di Persephone (2021) is a piece featuring a pomegranate in reference to the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades, as well as the alleged forbidden fruit eaten by the first woman Eve. Both figures are seen by Strange as victims of patriarchal stories of persecution and "demonised for being sexual beings.' By retelling their stories through her work, she hopes to "reclaim their power," and offer an alternative intersectional queer feminist narrative. Olivia Strange, Vendetta di Persephone, 2021. Image courtesy of artist. Perhaps what's most striking is Strange's use of hard and soft mediums to create tension, restore sexual agency and subvert female desire. Combining fragile candy floss pink and abrasive "Pepto Bismol pink" with romanesque pillars, metal spikes, snakes, clam and oyster shells, and vulvic forms dripping with bodily fluids, the artist celebrates the eroticised state while recontextualizing it as an impenetrable, dynamic force. "The Delicious Things They're Doing (2022) speaks to voyeurism and unconventional ways of experiencing pleasure," says Strange about the piece depicting a hand pointing a razor-sharp fingernail at a clutched breast. While disconcerting, its somewhat grotesque nature can also be interpreted as a harsh critique on the male gaze, and its tendency to demean female desire as monstrous. Take into account the artist's queer lens and another universal layer of meaning emerges. "It allows dualities and complexities to exist beside each other, without categorising them," says Strange. "It suggests fluidity and a rejection of normative ideals, which is ultimately what queerness is all about." As a testament of her inclusivity, the artist is careful to welcome all denominations of the LGBTQIA+ community by spelling 'women' as 'womxn' throughout her digital and printed copy. "I don't want my work to be pigeon-holed as only about the historical persecution of women," says Strange. "It's intended to speak to the injustice of all groups of people who are punished unnecessarily simply for being who they are." The creative's self-awareness regarding her own sexuality grew in tandem with her artistic practice, and her queerness became all the more prescient when she was studying her Masters. "While I became increasingly aware of my queerness, I didn't have the confidence to do anything about it because it was wrapped up in ideas of (un)worthiness and taking up space." Naturally, Strange turned to her Dracaena Marginata plant (called Dracaena) to be a catalyst for her exploration. Similar to how she lovingly interacts with objects today, the creative wrote "intensely poetic-emo love letters'' to the plant, and soon created a large-scale multimedia installation that manifested a “liminal and magical” dreamscape. Draceana you take me to tropi-ca-na-na, 2016. Installation view courtesy of artist. "Dracaena. You take me away and I love you for that. Sweet smell blue.  Stowaway silia. Yellow lello your white light is blissfully blinding.  On the brow of utopia salty sweat drips and I am succumbed.  Dracaena don’t leave me.” -- Excerpt from ‘Love Letters to Dracaena’( 2016). Strange's reverence for nature and her desire for the universal acceptance of socially misjudged communities, brings us full circle to the healing ceremony she conducted with Carr at the Liminal Gallery. Today, witchcraft is synonymous with ideas of self-realisation, setting intentions and living in harmony with nature and one another. Strange's sculptures embrace all of the above and then some; engaging with the tragic history of mediaeval witch trials and the religious crusade against sexual deviance and female authority, or anyone deemed to be living outside of the social norm. Malleus Male-f*ck-u-rum (2022) for instance, is a two-piece sculpture alluding to the 1486 treatise Malleus Maleficarum (Hammer of Witches). The fifteenth-century tome was a guide for hunting and persecuting witches that would heavily influence the next 200 years of the European witch craze. In response, Strange's piece features a static foot and unfurling fist topped with leaves and oyster shells; reminding viewers of the book's insidious legacy. Olivia Strange, Malleus Male-f*ck-u-rum, 2022. Image courtesy of the artist. "It's a direct rejection of how the book labelled autonomous, powerful women as evil," says Strange. "Female self-pleasure was demonised and women were sexualized as having an insatiable, carnal lust that would lead them to greet the devil through lesbian and straight sexual acts. It suggested that to survive, one must be a ‘good girl;’ essentially becoming submissive to the standards set by the patriarchy. It just makes me really angry, especially as we are currently seeing history repeating itself with transphobic rhetoric from political leaders and people in power." Suitably, the work exudes with palpable aggravation from its blood-red nails and protruding spike down to the rigid posturing and belt fastened around the heel. Strange is set to return to Liminal Gallery in August for her physical solo show. The artist also hints that the future may see her express herself with her formative medium of painting, and we can’t wait to see what she has next in store. On January 20th, Strange participated in a panel talk that delved further into the themes discussed in this article. Alongside fellow contemporary queer artists Shadi Al-Atallah and Zach Toppin, she spoke to Platform guest curator Gemma Rolls-Bentley about how her work reflects the resilience, the beauty and the passion of queer love and life. The panel recording is available to listen toe here. Raegan Rubin is London-based freelance journalist specialised in art and fashion history, subcultures, social justice, sustainability, LGBTQ+ and Fetish culture.

The new FW24 SABIRAH collection was composed of thirteen glamorously coordinated and largely monochrome outfits, drawn with soft colours and structured tailoring. The stylised power of the pieces nodded back to the 1980s, a reference emphasized by founder and creative director Deborah Latouche who told the press that the collection takes inspiration from muse Dominique Devereux from notoriously glamorous 1980s television show Dynasty. The clothes of this show were indeed characterized by a soap-opera balance of refinement and drama; this balance was evident in the entire atmosphere of the show, from the bright orchestral music to the tan paper runway to the pink and white floral arrangements that hung above. Photography via Oly Ogunshakin / Chris Yates The SABIRAH colour palette this season was sophisticated and occasionally metallic; cream, rose, black, gold, silver, and tobacco. Nearly every outfit in the collection was monochrome, leaving tailoring and texture details as key factors for imbuing complexity. The opening look was a double-breasted black satin coat with strong shoulderpads. Cinched at the waist, the coat bloomed into a tulip skirt creating flattering folds of satin that laid over the hips reflecting light. Also in luxurious black satin was the closing look of the FW24 collection; a striking overcoat swinging in the shape of a circle cape. The point of interest to these black satin bookend looks was extraodinary structure. Fine tailoring, it seems, is as trademark of SABIRAH in this collection as ever. Metallics marked a departure from the vibrant satin colors of the brand’s previous collection. This time we saw the brushed sheen of a shining silver evening jacket. We saw a blush gown trimmed with glimmering pink champagne fabric along the cuffs and collar. Another pale pink ensemble featured a shoulder cape of the same glimmering champagne. One gown made entirely from a smooth gold fabric was especially striking; the sleek head-to-toe mermaid style dress featured a head covering, puffed bishop sleeves, a thick gold sash across the fitted waist, and a modest train. The dress gave an overall impression of opulence and fluidity, confidence and progression, gold movement. Another gown in the collection- one silver and twinkling- was also an expression of fine structure, with sharp shoulder-pads and a boxy torso falling down into a stylish dropped waist. Sparkling details were not only a feature of garments fabrics but could also be noticed in accessories, where Latouche is known to incorporate vintage elements. Several of the looks feature large gemstone brooch-like buttons pinned to the center of the collar, just below the chin, providing an additional element of glamour and interest to the sleek single toned outfits. Defining itself as a “conscious, demi-couture modest-wear brand”, the SABIRAH’s ensembles this FW24 offer stylish pieces for women who want luxury full-coverage fashion. The pieces are chic, polished and feminine through the opulence of the quality and craftsmanship. Features like the luxe gold train combine sophistication with playfulness as well. Thematically the collection feels well considered; these garments are made for powerful, elevated women who are not afraid to make daring wardrobe choices, although never at the expense of undeniable elegance. The sense of the SABIRAH woman is not one of delicacy or girliness; rather, maturity, self assurance, and coordination are communicated through collection. The glam 80s styling pulled the impression of magnificence together; bold shoulders paired with colour-coordinated clutch bags, beaded eye masks, and asymmetrical voluminous hair to top off a flowing metallic cape. These original elements appearing in a coordinated palette evoked the spirit of a woman of authority and poise. A star that shone brightly among the accessories shown was one brimless pale pink feather hat that lay on the models head like a peach fluffy cloud, brushing down past her eyes. The hat was part of an ensemble entirely the same baby pink tone, in a variety of striking textures. The dress featured a dropped waist and asymmetrical hemline on a metallic rose skirt and across the models shoulder was a pink feather sash perfectly matching her hat she also wore three rows of rose pearls and baby pink high heels. The originality and drama of the accessories is delightfully balanced by the refined and precise monochrome palette. Deborah Latouche showed a collection that was authentically SABIRAH and displayed all trademark characteristics of previous collections. There was drama, glamour and structured tailoring, but this time with a playfully indulged aura of refinement. The consideration of the color palette meant these details and textures became subjects of interest in a surprising and subtle way, as each look surprised and caught light with its’ innovative glamour. Cover photography by Asia Werbel. Jane Dabate is an American writer of nonfiction, poetry, and prose.

Unveiling Abstractions at Hypha Studios is a group exhibition curated by Melissa Vipritskaya Topal and Zoe Goetzmann. As the title suggests, the exhibition follows the narrative of representing abstraction through different mediums of art, showcasing the artwork of 17 female artists who are at the forefront of the London art scene. Vibrant and engaging, the exhibition provides a clear sense of the artists’ creative processes and the innovative curation champions a fresh, individualistic take on abstract impressionist. From left to right: Florence Sweeney, Synapses and Emily Mary Barnett's textile works (installation images courtesy of Hypha) Topal invited Goetzmann to be co-curator last year, launching an open call in 2023 and reached out to Hypha Studios to provide them with a space for this exhibition. “Hypha is a charity organization that helps a lot of artists to showcase their work for free," she explains of the venue choice. Topal herself is a London-based abstract artist: her art explores the complexities of the world by combining nature with urban landscapes and mechanical tools to reflect the chaos of big cities. Her own works employ a variety of contemporary materials and media, including acrylics, ink, heavy body, high-flow acrylic paint, markers, spray paint, and other acrylic mediums. Goetzmann is a London-based arts writer, freelance journalist, and podcaster as well as founder of The Artist Workspace (AWS) Gallery, an initiative that showcases fine and digital arts led by women. Explaining the ethos of the exhibition, Goetzmann says, “The most important part was to select the artists and their work. The exhibition is based on materiality, because we love abstract art. Even though they are all female artists, for us it was firstly about the work, followed by the techniques, the details, and the process.” Topal adds, “It was also selecting different materials. This exhibition covers a lot of different media - sculpture, painting, installation, digital installation, and textiles.” Nina Gonzalez-Park, taki/tako (2023) What makes the exhibition rousing is the passion the curators had while selecting the artists. Topal explains: “Majorly, we wanted to see the beautiful dialogue between the artists that use different media, varying colour palettes, and how they use that media to express themselves. While selecting the work that we really love, not only depending on the story but also the visuals. Coincidentally all works happened to be created by female artists.” The curators also selected artists keeping cross-cultural background in mind to represent a diverse understanding and representation of abstract art. From left to right: Melissa Vipritskaya Topal, Imaginary Bird, Annie Trevorah, Predator 2. Installation images courtesy of Hypha. The exhibition space is dominated by pink and green pieces in the form of artworks, sculptures, and installations, except for a few monochromatic sculptures that added an earthy element to the exhibit. “Pink is a very feminine colour but it also showcases an array of different themes. The same colour has been used very differently by the artists,” says Goetzmann. Exhibited artist Anna Kolosova talks about the journey of her artistic process and sheds light on her artwork titled Healing Heart (2023). The nucleus of Kolosova’s work lies in the themes of heartbreak and healing. “I have gone through a lot of emotional stuff for the past few years and have tried to depict that in this artwork." she explains. "Most of my work, especially this one, has a lot of dark elements which represent patterns of turmoil of life. When I started working, initially it seemed kind of gloomy. I added a bit of glitter and suddenly the glitter tried to alchemize itself, transforming itself into a beautiful element.” As noted by guests, the artwork encapsulates the East London artistic zeitgeist - flashy colours and prominent graffiti. Kolosova mentions that she does not plan anything beforehand, and believes in things “happening on their own.” It is also a synesthetic piece, as Kolosova emphasises her love for electronic music and its influence on this artwork. It indeed is one of the most abstract works in the exhibition, combining life experiences with geographical locations. The perspective that these female artists bring to their work is refreshingly individualistic. Drawing inspiration from a variety of mediums, including traditional, contemporary, digital, and scientific influences, the pieces are a testament to the enduring relevance of the works of Abstract Expressionist women like Lynda Benglis and Jay DeFeno, who used their art to reflect on the past and envision a brighter future that is reflective of their current experiences. From the use of color and form to their exploration of new materials and techniques, Unveiling Abstractions successfully takes non-object imagery as their subject matter as they examine society’s collective subconscious. Unveiling Abstractions runs from 23rd February – 30th March 2024 Tuesday – Saturday, 11am – 6pm at Hypha Studios. Avantika Pathania is a writer based in London with an interest in fashion, and modern and contemporary art.

Glitz. Glamour. Shimmer. These words aptly describe Rocky Star’s 2024-25 Fall/Winter collection, Moonlight Enigma, at London Fashion Week 2024. The collection was a breathtaking display of opulence and grandeur, adorned with spellbinding dresses that left us mesmerized. Star is one of the most celebrated contemporary fashion designers in India, with a massive fan following on Instagram. His exceptional designs have been worn by many renowned Bollywood celebrities, solidifying his position as one of the leading designers in the country. The title, Moonlight Enigma, was inspired by “midnight shine” and the collection influenced by Star’s aim that “everything shimmer in a mysterious way”. Taking inspiration from Nordic sartorial traditions, the dresses were filled with antique embroidery and botanical motifs; hallmarks of Rocky’s designs. Shades of metallic black or brown dominated the F/W24 collection, further adorned with intricate embroidery work in either golden or silver tones, adding a touch of luxury and elegance to the overall aesthetic of the collection. The embroidery in particular showcasing the exceptional talent of Star's team in creating these surreal garments. Taking influence from Gothic, Baroque, and Neo-Victorian time periods for his designs, the choice of St John’s Church in Hyde Park as the venue for the runway show was the ideal venue; the Anglican church becoming an absolutely divine backdrop for the runway. Images courtesy of Black PR. The F/W24 collection was a perfect cross-cultural blend of traditional Indian designs and contemporary fashion. For Star, the brand’s ethos lies in being “very sexy and mysterious. A woman [who] wants to stand out in the crowd- that is who a Rocky Star woman is.” When asked about his designing process, he emphasized the importance of “staying true to his individuality and Indian roots,” which he “will always carry forward.” Rocky Star is a fashion designer who has earned a reputation for pushing boundaries and creating innovative designs. He is constantly exploring new territories in fashion, and his designs reflect his passion for fashion and creativity. His approach to fashion is unique, drawing inspiration from previous eras while reviving them in his own style. Star has been showcasing his designs at LFW since 2016 and believes that his journey is getting better with time. He says, “People are loving me more and more!” Avantika Pathania is a writer based in London with an interest in fashion, and modern and contemporary art.

Surrogates is Erwin Wurm's latest exhibition at Thaddaeus Ropac’s London gallery. Wurm’s work is often defined as a sculptural probe into the absurd and paradoxical reality of daily life. This show’s assembled sculptures induce a humour that, of his work, Wurm wontedly insists is unintended. And yet, the odd chuckle persists to sound about the space. Why does Wurm’s work consistently elicit this response? It can likely be chalked down to a recognition of the artist’s locus: the absurd. Through it, Wurm successfully incites the eye to alight on quotidian matters in new and foreign ways. From left to right: Erwin Wurm, Ghosts (Subsitutes) (2022), Walking (Subsitutes) (2024), Orange Step Small (Substitutes) (2024). Images courtesy of Thaddaeus Ropac. The overarching target of Surrogates seems ostensively to be clothes. They are, according to Wurm, our ‘second skin’. We don them as a form of voluminous makeup. In the myriad series Substitutes, Wurm razes and casts this metaphoric flab as brightly-painted metal, formalising the viewer’s contemplation of the subject. The nine disembodied sculptures range from diminutive to ginormous. On the ground floor we encounter Walking Small (Substitutes) (2024), a metre high, its aluminium painted white. Then, again, on the first floor, we encounter Walking (Substitutes) (2024), the same figure, twice the size, in patinated bronze. Breeze (2022) is another of these doubled figures. The same logic applies to it. We may look upon these repeated figures as indicative of some Platonic ideal, or perhaps more simply the artist’s own. Orange Step Small (Substitutes) (2024) is perched alone on a staircase niche. The petite contrapposto figure recalls the outmoded Go-Go fashions of the Swinging Sixties. Wurm’s knack for the absurd invites us to observe these outfits in a sober light. In this instance, removed from the bewildering influence of any wearer, we see the dress with clarity: as a domesticated product, scaled-down to fit within the bounds of the TV. Balzac (After Rodin) (2023) is a postmodern redressing of Rodin’s vaunted Monument to Balzac (1897). Wurm drapes Balzac’s figure in baseball caps and designer bags. Neither this, nor Repentance (After Donatello) (2023) were conceived with Surrogates in mind. Still, they achieve that same effect as Orange Step Small (Substitutes) (2024), which is to tease out the absurdity of an outfit. By absenting the human body from his sculptures, Wurm makes tenable the figures’ interchangeability. In the library gallery of Thaddeus Ropac, overlooked by the hulking Ghost (2022) and Breeze (2022), the viewer becomes an active participant in a series of One Minute Sculptures. Despite Wurm beginning One Minute Sculptures almost thirty years ago, their effect on his audience remains potent. Obey (One Minute Sculptures) (2023) implores us to defer ourselves to a broomstick set between our head and a nondescript stump into which the instrument is rested. We bow to the same authority we tout in Be The Police (One Minute Sculptures) (2024), in which we are made to stand erect and wear an Austrian police cap; in short, to be the police. This is in service of demystification. There is, for Wurm, no such thing as hierarchy. There are only representations, symbols, signification and - oddly enough - clothing. Exhibited in Surrogates are three Mind Bubbles, comprising a new series for Wurm. Each sculpture forms a pair of adamantine legs, clownish shoes and a bulbous, quite literally petrified upper-half. Pursuing similar visual cues is another of Wurm’s new series: Dreamers. In it, bodies are whited, portioned and engulfed by bulging pillows. In Dreamer (2024), a vertical pillow surmounts a small pair of legs. In Dreamer, One Arm (2024), a horizontal pillow tops an arm. These are sculptural embodiments of sentiments; self-visualisations of a mordant sort. Dreamer calls upon our unconscious sense of what it means to dream, to feel present in body and absent in mind. Mind Bubbles appeals to that inverse sense of being overly present in mind to the point at which it overwhelms our person. From left to right: Erwin Wurm, Dreamer (2023) and Mind Bubble Walking Pink (2024). Images courtesy of Thaddaeus Ropac. Wurm’s materialisations of psychology continue into his Paradise series. Paradise I (Idea of a High Heel Big) (2024) is a vision of adiposity, much akin to his celebrated ‘Fat’ sculptures. Paradise II (Idea of a High Heel) (2024) resembles a toddler’s attempt to sketch a high heel from memory. Indeed, the title seems to clarify a lack of reference material and a consequent reliance on idea. There is, through this, something deeply human. We possess the innate capability to visualise objects, but we cannot eliminate our margin for formal error. We also possess the innate capability to dwarf or boost objects to inordinate proportions, but we could never do so in reality. Wurm, however, does so in an absurd turn of form, from the mental to the sculptural. It is this sublimation throughout Wurm’s work which tempts us to see the world anew. From left to right: Erwin Wurm, Paradise I (Idea of a High Heel) (2024) and Paradise I (Idea of a High Heel) (2024). Images courtesy of Thaddaeus Ropac. Luke Ray is a writer based in London.

Little can be said of Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things that hasn’t already been talked about in some form already. Most debates revolve around topics of feminism, the male gaze or comparisons to Greta Gerwig’s Barbie. The camps seem divided between lauding Poor Things as the latest feminist masterpiece, a reclamation of bodily autonomy, or those who deem it a rompy sexfest which objectifies and commodifies sex. Both are valid but are either correct? The problem with trying to fit something like Poor Things into a pre-packaged box with the label of feminism slapped on is that it’s reductive. Lanthimos’s latest feature is anything but binary. In broad terms, it’s a rom-com critiquing idealism and also a bildungsroman which explores sexual awakening. Core themes delve into sexual liberation and sexploitation while simultaneously navigating the well-trodden path of both paternity and systemic paternalism. To borrow the title of the 2023 Oscar-winning Best Picture, Poor Things is a bit of everything, everywhere, all at once. Bella Baxter (Emma Stone) is front and centre, a reanimated corpse brought back to the decadent world of the living by the disfigured surgeon-cum-father figure, Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). If it sounds reminiscent of Mary Shelley’s gothic Frankenstein, that’s because it somewhat is. Based on the 1992 novel by Alasdair Gray under the same name, Poor Things is an experiment about letting a harsh reality paint a blank canvas untarnished by shame or standards. Bella grows up under the watchful eye of Godwin, or ‘God’ as Bella calls him, within the confines of the surgeon’s spacious house. She is slow, walking stumpily and often in need of physical assistance. Her table manners are as appalling as they are bemusing, although housekeeper Mrs. Prim (Vicki Pepperdine) is hardly charmed. Godwin is laboured by memories of his abusive father, who treated him as a personal labrat. It is an origin story which echoes the dark comedy of Paul Beatty’s novel The Sellout: so appallingly ridiculous you can only laugh. In this world where stitched together animal hybrids are the norm – a goose-bulldog and duck-goat wander the Victorian interiors aimlessly – Bella does not seem wholly abnormal. Her life is initially predestined, with a hasty betrothal to Godwin’s assistant Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef) on the cards. It may feel like there is an expanse of characters with odd names but, handily, the plot of Poor Things is uncomplicated. The eccentric costumes, courtesy of designer Holly Waddington, and a zany array of retro-futuristic sets birthed by production design duo James Price and Shona Heath are undercut by a simple, timeless coming-of-age tale. Feminism at this stage is a foreshadowed theme, the cogs ticking while the screen splendours in visual delights. That is until Bella, suddenly in possession of a bottomless libido courtesy of a dining room experiment with a particular fruit, decides to embark on a European sexual odyssey. Her chosen companion is fuck boy-turned-simp Duncan Wedderburn, played by a hammy Mark Ruffalo. An exaggerated, aristocratic British accent underlines Wedderburn’s predictable appetite for polite society. His role is one that is marvellously executed: the archetypal man whose lust for women is only outweighed by a lust for money. He is a pathetic harbinger of shame in this bitingly funny film. Sure, it’s easy to point out that the director, alongside screenwriter Tony McNamara (who previously collaborated with Lanthimos on The Favourite) are all male. Or that, yes, Emma Stone’s body is certainly on display although I would argue not gratuitously so. But, as Lanthimos himself told Mark Kermode in an interview, the film consciously steers away from Gray’s source text and instead opts to reframe the narrative from Bella’s perspective. The book is saturated by male perspectives, whereas the screen adaption is piloted by a career best performance from Stone, charting the life of a woman not burdened by a moral compass dictated by shame or trauma. It is a small shift, but one that matters hugely for those concerned with the political implications of Poor Things. And that is precisely what they are: political implications. Beyond cyclical discussions about female agency and sexual morality, there lies a cinematic masterpiece laden with unabashed and unrelenting comedy. In a post-Barbie world where clean-cut feminist tropes have taken centre stage, Poor Things does what other films are too timid to do. It does not hold back. For all the visual delights (a lurid, steampunk Lisbon) and cinematic quirks (fish-eye lens shots abound), Poor Things tangibly critiques humanity. Is it a film that drips of male gaze sexuality? Not really. The sexual odyssey around Europe is as satirical as it is revelatory: even the self-proclaimed coital champion Duncan Wedderburn is limited by his male refractory period. Ruminations on cynicism versus idealism feed a newly awakened cerebral hunger in Bella, whereas Wedderburn regresses back to his roots as a cash-rich, intellectually-poor patriarch. To be upset by Bella’s sexual appetite is to be confined within puritanical models of society. Women should obviously be free to enjoy sex as much as men and you would certainly hope they find it as enjoyable as Bella’s “furious jumping”. Here, pleasure is far from the property of men. It feels somewhat naive to disregard the bawdy hedonism as an inherently male fantasy of nymphomania. But, then again, what do I know? I am just another man, talking about female pleasure. Sometimes a straightforward and much deserved admiration for Lanthimos’ sheer smorgasbord of weirdness is all that is needed, as is the case in Wendy Ide’s fantastic review for The Guardian.

"It is very important to live somewhere where you feel at liberty to experiment and stylise the interior," says Peter Copping over Zoom. The former creative director of iconic fashion houses Nina Ricci and Oscar de la Renta's 15th-century manor La Carlière of twelve years is in many ways an extension of the designer himself. Resplendent with blossoming floral wallpaper, a striking tonal range and impressive art collection, the illustrious six bedroom house is reminiscent of the sophisticated charm and decorative whimsy of the Bloomsbury aesthetic. Images via @lacarliere When he's not working in Paris for the storied fashion house Balenciaga, he's with his French husband Rambert Rigaud in Normandy at the provincial La Carlière; which is also the namesake of the interior design brand the pair forged during lockdown. Not only does the label offer new creative potential for the designer, but is a love note to his dilapidated home and its extensive bricolage of antiques sourced from flea markets, antique dealers and auction rooms. Images via @lacarliere The symbiosis between art and fashion comes naturally to the designer who’s used artistic influences to infuse his work with depth and authenticity throughout his career. When asked the immortal question of whether the latter begets the former, he simply answered: "Fashion for me is an applied art and I find that both pathways can possess creative potential while also being commodities." Yves Saint Laurent’s captivating ‘Mondrian Dress’ of 1965, as well as his 'Irises' and 'Sunflowers' jackets (that paid tribute to Van Gogh in 1988) are his favourite art and fashion collaborations to date. Photography courtesy of Bertrand Rindoff Petroff/Getty Images. An admirer of Seventeenth-century crewelwork, the Flemish Baroque artist Anthony Van Dyck and the eclectic bohemianism of celebrity decorator Jacques Grange, Copping's love for art originated from his childhood in Oxfordshire's provincial countryside. Surrounded by an "idyllic" bastion of fauna and farmyard animals, the designer discovered a staunch ardour for antiques, ceramics and china. In 2021, the designer told Christie’s that he still treasures a 19th century plate he collected at age nine- the first piece he ever bought. At the time, Copping collaborated with the seminal auction house by curating ‘The Collector’ sales collection in London. Reimagining six rooms at La Carlière, the lots included a series of striking mixed-media paintings by specialist interiors portraitist S.J. Axelby, a 17th-century Florentine cabinet and a Herend part dinner service. SJ Axelby. Inspired by photographs by © Billal Taright of La Carlière via Christie's While his parents had orthodox careers they also possessed a strong penchant for art, and Copping’s mother often took him and his sister to galleries and stately homes. "I imagine that other children would have found this tedious but I didn't, I loved it. Both my sister and I inevitably followed creative paths. It was kind of a given that we were going to art school." The designer soon discovered that his artistic childhood enriched his experience studying Fashion Design at Central Saint Martins. "Whether literal or abstract, art became a constant source of inspiration," he says. "I remember making collections and works that were directly linked to artists like Gainsborough and the English landscape." More elusive interpretations ranged from illustrious colour palettes to the ways in which a garment draped across a canvas. "I think that my mum would have been incredibly proud," says the creative of his acceptance into the fashion school known for nurturing notable talents like Alexander McQueen, John Galliano and Stella McCartney. "She was aware that I had an interview with the course leader but died just one month before it was due. She never knew I was accepted." Since his mother hugely influenced Copping’s personal and artistic life before her tragic passing, it's heartwarming to trace the latter's presence throughout his meteoric rise in the fashion industry. Trained at both Central Saint Martins and the Royal College of Art, Copping's hard working mentality saw him excel when interning under the hallowed designer Christian Lacroix in Paris. He then took on senior roles at Sonia Rykiel, Louis Vuitton and Nina Ricci before Oscar de la Renta named him to be his successor before his death in 2014. "I think my approach to femininity is what appealed to Oscar," Copping said to Christie's. Indeed, both designers shared green thumbs and an affinity for elegantly demure silhouettes and collecting furniture and paintings. Copping's inaugural show was a graceful carousel of silk, flounces and sheer illusion dresses, and was closed by a romantic cocktail dress cut above the knee (a shift from the house's traditional closing gowns). While his new position as the brand's creative director in New York was supported by fashion industry titans like Anna Wintour, the Editor-in-Chief of Vogue and Chief Content Officer of Condé Nast, Copping found that he missed the European fashion system and sentimentality, and subsequently left after two years. Art's enduring influence and impact on fashion was impressed upon the designer during his formative years working at Louis Vuitton headed by Marc Jacobs. Vuitton's collaboration with the Japanese Pop Artist Takahashi Murakami (which birthed a series of groovy collectables) for instance, made the 2000s particularly memorable for Copping. Alongside the label's creative team, he visited the Centre Pompidou and numerous art galleries and fairs including Frieze. For the label's 2007 Fall collection they travelled to Amsterdam to see works by Van Dyck, Van Gogh and Vermeer. “We worked with an atelier who specialised in creating an ombre effect on fabric,” says Copping. “This reflected how the artists painted one colour melting into another on the canvas." In Haute 'Luxury' Branding (2009) by Philippe Mihailovich, Copping attributes the lineup's exquisite merlot & Dutch blue palette, as well as its draped and ruched fabric to the artists' influence. y. Throughout his life, Copping's tastes have largely remained the same and he's maintained a verdant fascination with paintings from the Dutch Golden Age. "The funny thing is, the period isn't so popular in the art world. This makes it easier to collect the works," he says jubilantly. When peering into the designer's La Carlière home of twelve years, it suitably feels like you're stepping into a rich vanitas by Maria van Oosterwijck or Evert Collier. There's a decadent santibelli collection of hand-painted XVIII/XIX terracotta characters of Saints, Virgins and personages, a Hervé Van der Straeten sitting atop an 18th-century commode in the salon, and the walls of the grand entrance hall is jewelled with four Aubusson tapestries and wood-carved deer heads. From left to right: SJ Axelby. | An italian gilt-varnished-silvered ('mecca') mirror, Probably naples, second half 18th century. Photograph courtesy of Christie's. From his recent foray into interiors to star-studded fashion career, time and time again, Copping's pursuits have provided precious glimpses into his artistic soul. Thankfully, the creative is looking forward to evolving his interior design label, and soon, we can enjoy the wonders of La Carlière at home to full effect. Raegan Rubin is London-based freelance journalist specialised in art and fashion history, subcultures, social justice, sustainability, LGBTQ+ and Fetish culture.

"We are bodies of water." This phrase, which struck me a few years ago when encountered in Astrida Neimanis' work Bodies of Water: Posthuman Feminist Phenomenology, not only points to our physical composition — primarily water — but also highlights the fluid nature of our identities. Through a feminist lens, Neimanis explores how bodies of water disrupt traditional boundaries of identity and advocates for a more fluid understanding of embodiment. Inspired by Neimanis' insights, I spoke with London-based artist-scientist Nina Gonzalez-Park, one of the 17 participants in the upcoming Unveiling Abstractions exhibitions curated by Zoë Goetzmann and Melissa Vipritskaya Topal. Nina describes herself as a swimmer between worlds — a metaphor that deeply resonates with me. Raised in the US, Mexico and Japan, Nina swims across various disciplines, like arts and sciences, as well as ideologies and cultures, finding home in each. From designing and flying kites to sculpting with metal to inviting audiences to participate in her food workshops, Nina's artistic practice embodies the essence of fluidity and points to the profound connection between art and science. Photography: Aly Thomlinson Nina, you've described yourself as a ‘swimmer between worlds’. Can you elaborate on what this metaphor means to you? It comes from an interview I read with Michel Foucault about André Breton. In the interview, Foucault described Breton as a swimmer between two worlds who found an imaginary space between words so that the experience of words becomes knowledge; they’re no longer just tools. I was reading Foucault a lot at the time and doing research around that era because I'm interested in thought – the currency of thought. That's how I got down that rabbit hole. But after reading that interview, the more I thought about it, the more I identified with the idea of being a swimmer between worlds. I love being in the ocean, but it also refers to the disciplines I’m in between – arts and sciences – and the different cultures I grew up around, the languages I speak and the places I lived in. But it never feels awkward, concrete or solid; it's very fluid. I find that metaphor very evocative, especially in how it captures the fluidity of your experiences and artistic practice. Considering your background in neuroscience, what inspired your transition into art? I remember it started in primary school. When we first learned about the Renaissance, we learned about the concept of a Renaissance man – the idea that you should know everything instead of limiting yourself to a specific discipline. My family took that to heart; my siblings and I equally prioritised history, arts and science. When I went to university, though, I had to specialise. I went into neuroscience partially because I was considering becoming a doctor or clinical researcher, but I also wanted to work with people. That's what I knew for sure. However, once I was working as a clinical researcher, I realised that creative output wasn’t just a hobby for me. So I started taking short courses [in painting, printmaking, charcoal and others] and spent two years building a portfolio to apply to an MA in Art and Science at UAL. What are your thoughts on the relationship between these disciplines? I think they're just two sides of the same coin. Both of them look at how we exist in the world, or existence itself, or questions of why things happen the way they do. Whether it's a human or an entirely abstract experience; it could be quantum entanglement or surrealism. But in the end, it’s an investigation. So the difference is more in how we as a society have siloed them, which started around the 1800s with the formalisation of the sciences as the sciences. That's when they became more separated. And even within the sciences, they took rigour and method to the extreme. So now we have so much siloing and disintegration that you can have a biologist next to a physicist, and they'll have no idea what the other one is talking about. And then, on the other hand, you have the arts where it went to the other extreme – this limitless expression. Image: Aly Thomlinson Having lived in Japan, Mexico and the US, did you notice differences in how people perceive and discuss art and science? Definitely. In Japan, if we're talking about stereotypes or generalisations, there's a sort of rigour in everyday life, even within the arts. That means that artists in Japan emphasise technicality or technical skill. So that's the foundation of creating art; it takes a much more scientific route. Whereas if you look at the US or here – London – that doesn't exist, even if some schools and institutions encourage or specialise in it. But regardless of culture, people prioritise the sciences because of their utility. It's the fact that because of science, we have refrigeration, we have plumbing, we have electricity, we have phones, we have computers. Just because of how they influence our lives. Whereas with art – because even the fundamental question of what's art is such a difficult question to answer, which I think is part of its beauty – people can't understand it or fathom it. Is it because it lacks functionality? It's because there are no limitations within art as an industry or a discipline; the functionality is hard to define, but that doesn't mean it's not there. That leads me to my next question about your piece Kite (2023), a self-designed and handmade PVC fabric kitesurfing kite you first flew before exhibiting it indoors. Can you tell me more about it? I wanted to make an installation that I knew I wouldn't get a chance to do in the next couple of years of my career. But then I also wanted to make a highly conceptual work founded in technical skill and design. At the same time, I wanted those two things to exist in the same space and blur the lines between basically all of these worlds I could find. There's so much value placed on functionality, so you have to go the extra mile to understand uselessness for the sake of it, especially when you start integrating disciplines - from being inspired by a wormhole to the engineering and the actual mathematical modelling of the kite. And then there’s the utility of creating and using a flying thing. But then you put it in an art space and call it art. Kite. 2023. Self-designed and handmade PVC fabric kitesurfing kite, PVC and metal wormhole, 17min film. Courtesy of Nina Gonzalez-Park. Photograph: Younkuk Choe Did anyone question whether it was art or not? People were confused. And that was the interesting part; different people's reactions to it demonstrated their backgrounds. Some people were wondering, like, What is that thing there? Others would perceive it as an art object. Then, a kite surfer came along and recognised the kite for what it was. But all of them had such diverse perceptions of it. For the kite surfers who flew the kite with me, it was so hard to wrap their heads around it. Why would one make a kite? And especially one that would be so hard to fly? It was by the end of the day, after flying it, one of them was like, It's like we're trying to fly a Van Gogh [laughs]. And what was the experience of flying it for you? It was crazy [laughs]. I was getting more stressed as I got closer to finishing the kite because I realised, okay, the plastic fabric I was using might not be durable enough for a high wind speed. But I needed a certain wind speed and direction to get it in the air. Making the kite work was part of the entire piece; it wasn't just the process. I don’t think there's a segregation between concept and conceptual integrity with technical skill and design. Functionality is not separate from uselessness, you know, so if the kite didn't work, that would almost be, I guess, a metaphor for the uselessness of art. Another side of your practice is sculpture. Last year, your work La Divina Envuelta en Huevo (Primadonna), a welded steel pipe, was a finalist for the Ingram Prize. What draws you to the medium? Part of it is tactility; not just the tactility and making it but that people can hold sculptures or move around them. I find it comfortable to work with sculpture – with metal – because it's such a rigid and unbending material or medium. At the same time, I think metal is fluid; it's just that you need to know how to use it and how you can create that perception of fluidity or the sensation of fluidity with metals. With La Divina, her structure is all around this organic form, this voluptuousness and circularness. But then I have another sculpture work called taki/tako, which will be in the Unveiling Abstractions exhibition [opening this week]. That one's distorting the spaces we inhabit as an installation to create this perception of fluidity. La Divina Envuelta en Huevo (Primadonna). 2022. Welded steel pipe. Image courtesy of artist. Can we also talk about your food workshops? You’ve mentioned that food allows us to share what home means to us, which is why cooking is an art form in itself – and then it’s also science. How do these workshops fit within your artistic practice? The first workshop was with a Latin American immigrant family. I thought about how I could bring them in to consider that just like everything around us is science, it's also art. Because the reason I started food workshops was to communicate. I was never interested in doing a painting or sculpting workshop because those [practices] are internal to me, while food is how I've always communicated and understood people. It's so inherent in our lives because it's a necessity but also a joy; it's a different way of engaging with art without it being art. And it's fun; I prioritise it being fun. Play is part of the workshop, so the food is always simple – it’s rice balls. So you can't go wrong with it. It can be however you want it to be. It'll taste good. And you can do it with the people you love and care about. Onigiri. 2023. Workshop and Digital Collage. Courtesy of artist. With such diverse interests and mediums in your practice, how do you decide what to work on? I'm glad I worked in clinical research [laughs]. There's such diversity in my practice that it's hard to keep track. I feel like no matter how convergent I try to be, I continue to be divergent. Becoming creative has made me more self-critical about why I am the way I am. Why do I experience some things the way that I do? Why am I making so many different things with so many different materials? And why can't I make one and stick to one thing? And I appreciate it. I love being in an industry and profession that allows me to have that space and investigate that. But going back to your question, I'm grateful to have done clinical research because it's made me very good at planning and time management [laughs]. That's literally it. It's the most boring response ever. Reflecting on your body of work, what’s the purpose of art in your opinion? I don't think art has a purpose, necessarily. It's the same as being like, What's the meaning of life? and I don't believe there's a meaning. Like art, just existing is the special thing about it. Science has a purpose, but it also actually just exists. Art is the same in that it can have a purpose; it can be, let's say, very explicitly political because you're trying to move an entire collective consciousness towards a goal. But it can also just exist as a counterbalance to the world we experience. And it's very inherently human. Cover photography: Sophie Bryer Nastia Svarevska is a London-based curator, editor and writer from Latvia. She holds an MA in Curating Art and Public Programmes from Whitechapel Gallery and London South Bank University and writes for an artist-run magazine, Doris Press. Her poetry has been featured in Ink Sweat & Tears, the Crank and MONO Fiction. You can find her on Instagram @ana11sva and her website anasva.com.

In an interview I conducted not so long ago with the filmmaker Rachel Garfield about her extensive career, she said that after leaving art school she had pledged never wait for someone else to give her the money or the ability to make work and asserted that artists can always find ways to produce and showcase their work independently. This sentiment is in some ways embodied by the gallerist and founder of ArtFriend, Shona Bland, who, after facing numerous rejections in her attempts to secure a job in the art world, decided to establish her own gallery. ArtFriend, set up in 2023 in East London, operates as a commercial gallery space with a mission to make art exhibition and acquisition accessible to a diverse audience. Bland describes it as a non-conventional, inclusive space, rejecting art jargon and welcoming everyone to the gallery. Previous projects include the provocatively titled Rejects, an exhibition which showcased works which had not been selected for the 2023 Royal Academy Summer Exhibition. Pointedly hosted in a locale near the White Cube in Bermondsey, the exhibition foregrounded the artists’ experiences of rejection, which in some ways gives opportunity for a constructive dialogue about fostering a more nuanced understanding of inclusion and diversity in the art world. However, a detailed breakdown of the exhibited works or artists was unavailable online, suggesting that the common thread among them was solely their rejection rather than any specific contextual or thematic content. The curatorial stance is again the key feature of ArtFriend’s recent Housewarming event. The exhibition which closes at the end of the week, has transformed an acquaintance’s derelict property, in a Stoke Newington townhouse neighbourhood, into a two-week art installation. Prints from local alternative artists, which are hung alongside 1950s design features, in olive green carpeted and abstractly wall papered rooms, seamlessly blend with the space; kitschy illustrations and maps of cities, including London, with ‘London is always a good idea’ etc, lettered in gold, look as though they could have been hung by the previous inhabitants. The exhibition features a range of artists, including North London muralist Matt Dosa, known for his four-story mural in Wood Green. Dosa's art takes over an entire room showcasing rainbow stripes and a spray-painted blue bicycle. Another room features Craig Keenan's rich blue walls and cyanotypes capturing scenes of clouds, and Adam Bartlett's room at the top of the house is most impressive, featuring wide-eyed pink tigers and eclectic jungle scenes. Photos: Agnes Houghton-Boyle The thread that links the works seems to be their bold playfulness but again there is a notable lack of wall text or contextualising information about the artist’s practice or thematic choices. The framed pieces available for purchased focus on aesthetic appeal and are chosen specifically for domestic spaces, and in some ways the project has echoes of Charleston House, which the Bloomsbury group famously filled completely with decorative art and interesting objects. However, the notable lack of written information providing viewers with details about the artist’s and insights into the pieces directs attention away from content and towards the immersive experience, that supposedly aligns with the mission of breaking down traditional barriers to the art world’s gallery settings. Photos: Agnes Houghton-Boyle My concern lies with ArtFriend’s generalising critique of the art world, and of the term ‘art jargon,’ which it seems to answer by not only substituting technical expressions and terminology but language at all. It’s not as though the work in Housewarming necessarily seeks to unpick or undermine layers of art history, and certainly, there is a valid place for illustration and decorative art – after all, as the website notes, ‘everyone likes nice walls.’ But I find troubling the notion that broader audiences will not engage or fully comprehend with art because of its terms related to art history, artistic techniques, styles and critical theory. What’s more, we might question what is meant by their use of the term inclusivity? Inclusive to who, or of what? What efforts are being made to engage or represent individuals from various races, ethnicities, genders, ages, socioeconomic statuses, abilities etc? I worry that what ArtFriend is really getting at here is the suggestion that the art world may be difficult for, to use the term loosely, working-class people to understand. The idea that, to working-class audiences, decorative, commercially-available art constitutes a more enjoyable viewing experience than fine art hardly challenges the art world’s barriers to entry in the way that ArtFriend intends to: rather, it perpetuates the idea that fine art is for a particular kind of person. You would not suggest that in order to enjoy football, one should have a background in premier league football. Like anything, there are dimensions to art. You cannot walk off the street and purport to be an engineer or a teacher. In the same way, an art’s background is key to curation. That is not to perpetuate the political or aesthetic angle of the artist as professional, but without application, art risks being trite. Cover image: Dave Buonaguidi, Norf Sarf (2023) Agnès Houghton-Boyle is a critic and programmer based in London. Her writing features in Talking Shorts Magazine and Fetch London.

Feminism begins with sensation is a Sara Ahmed quote: '"I accept that feminism begins with sensation: with a sense of things. I want to explore how feminism is sensible because of the world we are in; feminism is a sensible reaction to the injustices of the world, which we might register at first through our own experiences." The long-standing gender inequality of UK art institutions is finally being challenged with a series of major exhibitions which reassess the legacy and impact of feminist art movements. As pointed out by the Feminist Duration collective in their recent article titled What’s Feminist About Feminist Shows?, it has been almost two decades after the blockbuster exhibitions in North America and Europe that feminist art-making is becoming a crucial topic in the UK. At the beginning of 2023, in London, we saw the close of Carolee Schneemann’s extensive four-month Body Politics retrospective at the Barbican; which was followed by Whitechapel’s Action, Gesture, Paint: Women Artists and Global Abstraction 1940-70 and their Moving Bodies Moving Images Film Series (although the position of Moving Image Curator at Whitechapel has since been dissolved along with many others). Curator Jade Foster brought together five leading Black female artists: Alanis Forde, Miranda Forrester, Sahara Longe, Cece Philips and Emma Prempeh, in a show titled At Peace at the Gillian Jason Gallery, a commercial gallery which opened in 1982, the first of its kind to be dedicated to the development of female and non-binary artists' careers. Towards the end of the year, the extensive Women in Revolt! exhibition (curated by Lyndsey Young) opened at Tate, putting over 100 artists from Sonia Boyce, Susan Hiller, and Lubaina Himid to Penny Slinger, Monica Sjöö and Linder on display, and showcasing the sheer scale of socially motivated, often commercially overlooked, feminist art-making and the cultural workers who carefully preserved this history. Re/Sisters at opened at the Barbican and later this month Unravel: The Power and Politics of Textiles in Art, an exhibition which shines a light on the potential power of textiles as it relates to ideas of gender, labour, value, ecology and oppression. Additionally, Marina Abramovich’s mammoth solo show at the Royal Academy is considered to be the ‘first solo show by a woman artist’ at the institution’s main gallery and Serpentine's most recent exhibition brings feminist icon Barbara Kruger’s legacy right up to date. As Laura Mulvey stated in a recent post-show discussion with Griselda Pollock about her 1997 film Riddles of the Sphinx, curated by Lucy Reynolds at Tate, exhibitions such as these are not acts of remembering the past and they do not suggest to re-discover the artists included on the walls. Rather, the showing of this work contributes vitally to the ongoing documentation, archiving and revolution of feminist histories. Considering this cultural shift, it is increasingly important to be critical about whether contemporary artists exploring these themes do so in a thought-provoking way. Holes, the quite obviously titled exhibition at Gasworks by the Ingram prize winning, London-based, Ukrainian-Israeli artist Anna Perach, is interested in how cultural myth, folklore and fairy tale are woven into personal narrative and the influence of classical narrative on gendered identity. The visual artist is best known for her wearable woven sculptures of ancient female archetypes, made using the craft technique of tufting. In Holes, the artist presents six sculptural hybrids inspired by female characters who dwell between states: inside and outside of their bodies. The show is based on the concept of the monstrous feminine, and in one piece which clearly references the figure of the skin shedding, night flying witch of cultural imagination a thin, nylon, burgundy body suit, hangs like a skin, from a wooden apparatus over a large red, tufted caldron. The reds of the piece denoting the abject allure of the monstrous feminine [a theoretical framework within feminist film theory developed by Barbara Creed that argues that the prototype of all definitions of the monstrous is the female: the archaic mother, the monstrous womb, the vampire, the witch, the possessed body, the monstrous mother and the castrator]. Anna Perach, Holes, 2024. Exhibition view. Image courtesy of Gasworks/Andy Keate Elsewhere, a life-sized tufted pink Venus lies carved open on an operating table. Unlike Botticelli’s famous figure of the goddess rising from the ocean, a woman of beauty and ideal proportions, or the hyperreal wax Venus sculptures of the seventeenth and eighteenth century designed for the disassembly and exploration of the female interior and sex organs, Perach’s Venus is an inflated costume, a vessel for a host – and because Barbara Creed argued in 1993, that the prototype of all definitions of the monstrous is the female reproductive body, a jelly foetus can be seen within Perach’s Venus, just below her cherry bakewell breasts and pink hole mouth like the silicone orifice of a sex doll. Holes intends to be a ‘site of rebirth, where non-conforming and subjugated bodies take control […] pushing beyond conventional understandings of flesh and skin.’ The aesthetic elements and playful design of the pieces make them visually dynamic, but not so very challenging or transgressive. The candy colours and soft texture of Perach’s pieces make them considerably lighter than the darkly psychoanalytical works of Dorothea Tanning and Louise Bourgeois who extensively explored the characteristics of bodies in their textiles. Perach’s pieces overlook this feminist history concentrating on reproducing the women drawn and painted by male artists. In one particularly obvious piece, a series of holes punctuate a canvas stretched across the width of the gallery, so that viewers can put their head next to three loosely female forms which make general reference to works by Hans Baldung and Dürer, as well as Macbeth’s coven of witches. From left to right: Albrecht Dürer, Four Naked Women (1497), Anna Perach, Holes (2024), Hans Baldung, The Seven Ages of Woman (1544) Like the brightly coloured, clashing faces woven into the gallery doors, which reproduce the Polish painter Tamara de Lempicka’s highly stylised and angular art deco women, figures from cultural history are remade in supposed states of agitation. However, instead of appearing grotesque, the soft fleecy texture of the tufting renders the forms fluid, floating as though in agar and their monstrousness, again, is outweighed by the beauty of the craftmanship. Like Venus, there is nothing so very monstrous about the bodies on display. How far does the abstracting of these conventional bodies within the works of male artists build upon the writing of theorists like Creed to challenge oppressive notions of embodiment? From left to right: Tamara de Lempicka, Young Ladies (1927), Anna Perach, Gateway (2023) When I think about artists and activists who made and make work about their lives and the inequalities that informed them - artists such as Jo Spence, who spent the last decade of her life photographing her body as she underwent treatment for breast cancer; Anne Boyer’s documentation of teaching while connected to drainage bags;  the rippling folds of flesh built by Jenny Saville’s paint; La Toya Ruby Frazier’s photographs of the water crisis in Flint; Penny Goring’s dark scribbly waif drawings - there is an emotional depth, an emotionality that feels very close to the surface, protruding through. There is something at stake in these works which put the naked, the disabled and sick body on full view; a vulnerability and darkness which feels absent from Holes. Agnès Houghton-Boyle is a critic and programmer based in London. Her writing features in Talking Shorts Magazine and Fetch London.

If anyone portrayed the electrifying feminism of 1970s London, it was New Zealand painter and photographer Alexis Hunter (1948 - 2014). In a riveting solo exhibition at Richard Saltoun, Hunter’s works remind us of the power and impact of the Feminist movement and much more. Alexis Hunter: 10 Seconds at Richard Saltoun, 2024 Natasha Hoare, Senior Curator at Goldsmiths CCA, curated an extensive exhibition of Alexis Hunter’s works, the largest since her acclaimed exhibition Sexual Warfare in 2018. While 10 Seconds focuses mostly on Hunter’s critically acclaimed works produced in the 1970s, the thematic approach was primarily “focused on aligning with Hunter’s vision,” says Richard Saltoun's Sonja Teszler, emphasising the numerous works that have not been shown earlier or have not achieved as much celebrity as her more iconic pieces. Hoare's curation worked to place the works in a new dialogue. Alexis Hunter, Domestic Warfare, 1979 The exhibition spreads across three rooms at the gallery, each with its unique theme. With the entrance to the gallery, the viewer comes across a series of photographs, mostly Hunter’s self-portraits. It also houses the famous Domestic Warfare series, a series of 20 photographs depicting a collapse of domestic bliss. Greeted with several of Hunter’s self-portraits, the first room contains photographs that examine questions of identity, capturing the essence of her subjects and their individuality. The second room showcases political works, reflecting Hunter’s strong political messages and engagement with social activism. Another key factor was to highlight Hunter’s portrayal of humour, and some of the pieces contain a playful aspect to them. The third and final room displays Hunter’s later works from the 1990s, including role-reversal works that explored how the male body could be seen through the female gaze. Alexis’ photography was a visual language that could be understood by diverse audiences. She actively challenged gender stereotypes and the patriarchal image of culture during a decade of feminism. Her work in this room is thought-provoking and inspiring, showcasing Hunter’s unique perspective on gender and society. To Silent Women (alone we failed), the poignant sequential photo narrative, is a hallmark of Hunter’s conceptual art, beautifully weaving together themes of feminism, psychoanalysis, and socialism. The series of 24 images depicts a woman’s hands with red nails holding a blade while a glass of wine sits nearby. The woman then cuts the tip of her index finger and writes on a white-tiled surface. Interestingly, the image with the word “alone” omits the woman’s hands. After writing “alone we failed,” she moves the glass closer and smudges the words with it. Alexis Hunter, To Silent Women (alone we failed), 1981 The exhibition centres around Hunter’s artistic vision and her use of mass media and moving images to create an immersive experience for viewers. Through her art, Hunter invites viewers to question their perceptions of the world and to consider new perspectives. Her work reflected her time, challenging the status quo and advocating for social change. Although Hunter sets “up the narrative sequences to work as advertising does, within a minimum of 10 seconds”, each work demands far more than ten seconds from the viewer. It is fascinating to note that despite - or because because - of Hunter’s use of narrative sequencing, her images still manage to spark profound introspection in the audience today, reflecting on the gender norms and stereotypes that have been and still are prevalent in society today. Avantika Pathania is a London-based writer and arts journalist.

Bekk performing in 2023 DJ Louis Bekk and his co-founder, Jan De Corte, have announced their next show Louis Bekk & Friends, scheduled for February 16th at 229 London. The group has previously played to sold-out audiences at venues such as L’Olympia, Maroto, and Bonnie Paris in France, sharing the stage with notable artists including Steve Angelo, Mike Williams, Hugel, W&W, Bakermat, Blondish, and Merk&Kremont. The core of their movement was born of a strong desire within the local community for more intimate gatherings amidst the bustling nightlife of Mayfair and to create events that eschewed the elitism often associated with upscale venues, where attendees are judged by the contents of their wallets or the size of their Instagram followings. Instead, they seek to cultivate a sense of community around the music itself. DJ Mag has noted "It is so rare to see such a strong community behind such a fresh project. Louis Bekk shows us once again that magic can really happen when true talent meets the right audience". Tickets are available for purchase here.