I'm writing this as I return from my annual trip to Edinburgh's Fringe Festival. I tend to head up for a couple of days each year to catch shows, catch up with colleagues (and this year catch a cold too). Every year, I look to see where disabled artists are in the mix - and this year the spread is impressive.
What were we dancing to back then? Talking Heads' Life During Wartime and Kraftwerk's Computer Love. It sums up a lot. What was I trying to do? To be a composer, musician, artist. To make records like a band or producer would, in the studio but also to be a composer like Stravinsky and Philip Glass - whatever that meant.
From homicides to war, the human condition and homosexuality to great achievements, sex trafficking to acid-burning of women, the common thread running underneath these photographs, selected out of over 103,000 entries worldwide, is the deep seated human desire to live out a life of irrevocable dignity.
Another huge 'family' wall comes from Stik in London. Super-sized, brighly coloured and highly stilized, the human figures Stik paints are surprisingly capable of conveying intense body language and complex emotions. We love this family themed piece under the Hungerford Bridge at the Southbank Centre.
Michael was that rarity, a creative artist who was fanatically devoted to his work, yet enjoyed and indeed relished the company of ordinary people. The classical music world nowadays is in need of figures like Tippett: in this time of economical uncertainties and general disillusion, people would benefit greatly from the example a composer who constantly engages with the world outside his studio.
This past weekend during Yoko Ono's Meltdown festival, I sat down to discuss with Emely Neu her recent curatorial project and text, Let's Start a Pussy Riot (Rough Trade, 2012). Neu shares with me her work with Pussy Riot and talks about the perpetually changing definitions and performances of activism and artistic practices.
Sarah Brown will join a host of successful women from across the UK at the London Eye as they celebrate the United Nation’s first International Day ...
I've never been a fan of poets navel-gazing, but I suppose the truth is that if poetry doesn't gaze into its own navel once in a while, no one else is going to do it for it. And we ought to remember that the medium in which most people encounter poetry isn't the sold book, but the individual poem, read or heard.