Monday, May 14, 2007



When I initially started to think about what I would be putting in my blog, it was the season of the award ceremony. I watched on tv, the baftas, the mobos and the oscars. I loved the glamour of these occasions but more that that I was completely taken in by the back patting that went on._For my blog I wanted to give it the feel of an award ceremony. To achieve this I have asked my friends to be guest contributors. Through my blog I wanted to discus my favourite books and films. Some of the crits for these will be by me and the others will be by my guest contributors._So welcome to a small piece of my world and remember…_If I Didn’t Love You I Wouldn’t Be Here__

1 comments:_Sayshun Jay said...__I like the catch phraise, as a thought I was reading something the other day about "Darshan" which is a hindu religious word which is all to do with giving blessing by being in the presence of it. But anyhow I get of the point your phraise relates to it__



I have been speaking to people to try and puttogether some lists. These are the beginnings of 8.

Christine Anne




Garden gloves
A sparrow feather
Sewing kit
A billion paper hankies
So much shit
I can’t imagine

Cigar cutter
Pocket fish weighing contraption
Hip flask
Duck tape

Chewing gum

Photograph of herself
Paper roll with my name on it
Poison apple


The panic of coming upon a transvestite in the bois de boulogne. it was not the spectre of homosexuality, but the distortion of signs that spread terror. not the fact of mistaking one sex for another, which is close to vaudeville, but the game of signifying woman out of nothing, the signs of woman without woman. Only the feminine can surrealize it's effects in this way without bringing upon it's self that ridicule which immediately threatens masculine values when they attempt the same. besides, the masculine version of the transvestite has become passe; it was merely an appendage of homosexuality


Culture is the meaning of an insufficiently meaningful world.


Just as you don’t really know what to make of his having assumed the name “Rrose” Rrose Selavy might easily have been the name of a transvestite or a whore around St. Denis.
WHY DUCHAMP An essay on aesthetic impact

But not all can enter. Each should follow where the pulse of his own heart leads.
But our pounding heart drives us down, deep down to the source of all.
Then these curiosities become realities – realities of art which help to lift life out of it’s mediocrity.
Paul Klee (1879 – 1940)
MODERN ARTISTS ON ART (Ten Unabridged essays)
Edited by Robert L. Herbert
Published by Prentice-Hall Inc 1964

When he walked by, Darling was smoking, and a slit of abandon in the woman’s hardness of soul chanced just then to be open, a slit that catches the hook cast by innocent looking objects. If one of your openings happens to be loosely fastened or a flap of your softness to be floating, you’re done for.
Published by The Olympia Press 2004

“And in the meantime?” asked the Marquis.
“In the meantime,” said Abrenuncio, “play music for her, fill the house with flowers, have the birds sing, take her to the ocean to see the sunsets, give her everything that can make her happy.” He took his leave with the wave of his hat and the obligatory sentence in Latin.
Published by QPD 1995

Cocteau had not yet seen No Exit he went to see it later with Genet and discussed the production with him in most warmly enthusiastic terms. Generosity of this sort is common enough among writers, but I have seldom observed it in playwrights. Genet arranged for Sartre to meet Cocteau of evening at the bar of the Hotel Saint-Yves, on the Rue Jacob, which was then a popular rendezvous for certain types of persons.
Published by Penguin Books 1962

Anarchy came into English in mC16, from the fw anarchie, F, rw anarchia, GK – a state without a leader. It’s earliest uses are not to far from the early hostile uses of DEMOCRACY (q.v.): “this unleful lyberty or lycence of the multytude is called an Anarchie” (1539). But it came through as primarily a description of any kind or disorder or chaos (Gk – chasm or void). Anarchism, from mC17, and anarchist, from lC17, remained, however, much nearer the political sense: “Anarchism, the Doctrine, Positions or Art of those that teach anarchy; also the being itself of the people without a Prince or Ruler.”
Published by Fontana Press 1988

But she regretted nothing, she had freely chosen to sacrifice her life to art. Her nails were ugly, an artists nails. However short she cut them, they were always smeared with a little cobalt or indigo; fortunately they made nail polish very thick nowadays.
Published by Fontana 1975

Paul Eluard, Louis Aragon, Rene Char and many others in a surrealist chorus of attack against Cocteau, an attack that had a clear homophobic thrust and conflated Cocteau with the figure of the hermaphrodite. Breton having already excluded Cocteau from his elite group in 1926 for daring to write novels, pursued a highly personal vendetta against him as an “unnameable” pederast throughout the 1930’s.
Published by Manchester University Press 2006

Bacchus is chiefly known as the god of wine, although he originated as the god of fruit, trees and fertility but there were other attributes that might have made him appealing to Solomon and his admirers. While absolutely central to the understanding and worship of nature, Bacchus shares notable characteristics with his other aspect, Dionysus, which would have been known to Solomon’s circle. Dionysus was “effeminate” having been disguised as a girl during part of his childhood, and bisexual.
Published by Merrell 2005

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Published by Unirose Ltd 1977

Some people go to priests, others to poetry; I go to my friends and to my own heart. I seek among fragments and phrases, something unbroken. I to whom there is more beauty in the moon and trees. To whom the touch of one person is all, yet sometimes, cannot hold even that. I who am imperfect, weak and so unspeakably vulnerable.
Published by Penguin Books 1969

HEDDA (loud and clear). Yes, that’ll suit you, won’t it, Judge? The only cock on the dunghill –
(A shot is heard from the rear room. TESMAN, MRS ELVSTED AND JUDGE BRACK start from their chairs).
TESMAN Oh she’s playing with those pistols again.
(He pulls the curtains aside and runs in. MRS ELVSTED follows him. HEDDA is lying dead on the sofa. Confusion and shouting. BERTHA enters in alarm from the right).
TESMAN (screams to BRACK). She’s shot herself! She shot herself in the head! Fancy that!
BRACK (half paralysed in the armchair). But, good God! People don’t do such things!
Published by Eyre Methuen 1974

Germans, Americans, Italians and others think they’re buying themselves enchantment as they pour Marks, Dollars and Lire unto the blue carpet of the Mediterranean in which fish die from petrol, where the beaches are filthy by the first day of Spring, and where you need to go armed with a box of plasters if you walk barefoot on the sand at night.
Published by Allison & Busby 1988

He was a skilful man, of sixty and upwards, he wore powder, and shaved his pale face smooth as a pumpkin. He and papa emerged from the room together, and I heard papa laugh, and say as they came out: “Well I do wonder at a wise man like you. What do you say to hippogriffs and dragons?” The doctor was smiling and made answer shaking his head – “Nevertheless, life and death are mysterious states, and we know little of the resources of either.” And so they walked on, and I heard no more. I did not then know what the Doctor had been broaching, but I think I guess it now.
DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS Lesbian Vampire Stories
Published by Cleiss Press Inc 1993

The Spectacle presents itself simultaneously as society itself, as part of society, and as means of unification. As a part of society, it is the focal point of all vision and all consciousness. But due to the very fact that this sector is separate, it is in reality the domain of delusion and false consciousness: the unification it achieves is nothing but an official language of universal separation.
Published by Rebel Press no date

Scorpio must tear the veil from life, regardless of the cost, to quiet his restless spirit, suddenly released from it’s former preoccupation with earthly needs alone, as he cries out: “I DESIRE!”
Published by Pan Books 1980

Objet petit a, the object-cause of desire. A quite ordinary, everyday object that, as soon as it is “elevated to the status of the Thing,” starts to function as a kind of screen, an empty space on which the subject projects the fantasies that support his desire, a surplus of the real that propels us to narrate again and again our first traumatic encounters with jouissance.
Published by MIT press 1991

BEVERLY: Yeah? Laurence, Angela likes Feliciano, Tony likes Feliciano, I like Feliciano, and Sue would like to hear Feliciano: so please: d’you think we could have Feliciano on?
Published by penguin Plays 1986

Saturday, May 12, 2007



It’s strange when you remember things. You could be doing anything and all of a sudden, you are there again. Even 6 years down the line, you are right back in that moment but this time, as the spectator. I mean, It’s always been like a “it seems like only yesterday” moment but last Saturday evening just as I was about to switch off the hall light. I was right back there again, right back at the start, right back on that day, right back at that time, right back outside that door.
There I am, I’m standing outside the door of the world famous conceptual artists Mildred & Maude. The door hangs on the hinges of a house in a terrace on a very well appointed street and this door, it seems enormous. Of course I’m wearing my best clothes, first impressions and all that but these two are also known to have a penchant for younger men. I look again at the door and it’s then I spot the camera, I smile and press the buzzer.
It was a good 5 minutes before the door opened and I’m sure I let out an audible gasp when I first saw the women M & M call father. She looked like a really bad Sindy Shermen piece. The make-up was almost a prosthetic and my first thoughts were, “poor cow she must have been in some accident”. I stepped into the hall took 3 paces forward and looked up. It was not as I had imagined at all, the inside of this building was cylindrical. There were no rooms on this the ground floor but 2 spiral staircases wound there way around the walls and each other and I was never sure but I could have easily counted 11 floors in this house and on each floor I counted 8 rooms.
Father opened her mouth, I couldn’t believe it, she sounded just like my mother. I don’t mean she was from Derry, she really had my mother’s voice. Father was talking but I was finding it hard taking it in. I heard “privileged”, “work hard”, “well rewarded” and all the while we were climbing these spiral staircases. I think it was the 5th floor but it may have been the 3rd and father and I stop outside a door. I listened and thought, there seems like there was going to be a lot of people in there, as I could hear lots of voices, male, female and such a range of different accents. I was feeling a bit uneasy as I was expecting to be interviewed alone by M & M.
Father opened the door and I followed her in and looked around. The carpet was black and thick so fat I felt like I couldn’t hear my footsteps. The room was empty apart from 2 large leather swivel chairs with the backs toward the door where I stood. I turned to say, “thank you” to father but she had gone. I turned back to face the chairs and they were turned to face me. I smiled because there in front of me was the legendary Mildred & Maude. They wore identical Issey Miakie Pleats Please and their hairs were cut in the exact same sharp blonde bob. They had been around since the 70’s but they looked amazing for women in 50’s, I’m not sure but their complexions, they had a translucent quality.
Mildred spoke she still had a German accent, well, she had been born in Berlin during the 2nd World War, her father had been a cross dresser who sang in clubs, “we have chosen you from among thousands, you will join our elite staff who are identified by a team of scientists, we have really come to appreciate your interpretation of self and others identities, we have heard you are looking for as job and a position has become available which we feel you could fill”. Maude continued I could just make out her Scottish drawl, she also had been born in the 40’s, in Edinburgh the daughter of a prosperous Baptist minister whose mother had committed suicide on her 8th birthday, every Sunday she would sit in the front row of her fathers church listening to his sermons of fire and brimstone, it was her 17th birthday when she had come home early, that she found her father, naked apart from a pair of fishing waders receiving oral sex, from what looked like in profile to be the man who dresses up as tourist destination’s and stands outside the travel agents, “we are not the easiest of employers, we are not the friendliest of folk, this is a family and we are the mothers, we work our people hard but we treat them well, you will maybe see us monthly, all studio direction will come from father, she’s the woman who let you in, you will be here working 4 days, 2 days you will continue with your own work, 1 day you will rest, now go Cornelius Brady”. I felt someone tug my sleeve and turned it was father. I turned again to M & M and the chairs were again facing the other way.
I follow father again, out of the door and up a further 3 flights, all the while she spoke it was my mother, telling me to get ready for school, do my homework. Father opens a door and we walk into a long box square room, the lighting came from the floor and ceiling, long benches ran down either side of the room and by these benches’s stood people, I count 16. A young woman steps forward and smiles, I immediately feel at ease. She tells me her name is Solange and as I start to tell her my name she stops me saying “we know your name, we have almost been expecting you” and starts to introduce me to the other people in the room.
My first 4 days pass and as I am going towards the door I hear my name. I turn and there is M & M. I’m a little taken aback as I try to compose myself Mildred asks “Maude and I wondered what you thought of this sentence?” I recognised the sentence immediately, well, I had embroidered all the vowels, Solange had embroidered the B’s, L’s G’s, V’s and S’s. That was how we worked. We would arrive at 11.00 and father would be waiting for us in the studio. We each would be given a list of letters, these letters we would embroider in vast quantities. When the day was finished we would leave and when we returned the next day, the letters had been turned into sentences. I look at them and say, “this sentence for me sums up the unstoppable excitement of the spectacle”. They look at each other turn to me and smile and Maude says, “we hoped you would say that”. I try to say something else but they are already walking away. So I open the door and leave. The next day I get up to work on my own pieces and when I look at the time and see it’s 20.00. I take a step back from my work and realise I had found part of the answer to the question. That night I slept deep and sound and dreamt of M & M.
I have been with the family for over a year now and I have been so happy, not only that but my own work has progressed in ways I could never have imagined. Its now Thursday my last day in the studio for the week. I’m taking the spiral staircases to the door when I see father. She is standing by the door of the room, where I first met M & M. Father smiles and for once she looks almost human, “they would like to see you, they are very happy with your work here”.
I follow her into the room she closes the door and stays. The chairs are gone and M & M stand behind a long clear glass table, they are resplendent in Yohji Yamamoto. They both start to speak at the same time and I almost fall over from the share encapsulating joy and fear I feel wrapping around me. “We have been watching you and we are very happy with how you have progressed not just for us but for yourself as well” I feel completely overwhelmed and try to steady myself on my feet, then father is beside me, she is holding my arm and smiling. M & M continued “your time with us may be at its end, we have something for you, this will always make you apart of us but will also make you everything you want to be, all you do is ask it for 3 things, these 3 things will be freely given but in return there will be a payback”. The voices stop, I fall to my knees and put my hands on the carpet, sweat falls from my forehead, then as I stand, runs horizontal down my face. I hold out my hand and I feel almost in a trance. The voices start again but this time it seems less intense, take these and in your home, sit on your bed and ask it your 3 wants”. I look into my palm and there sit a box of thumbtacks. Father is now walking me to the door of the room and as we leave I hear Mildred say “ you won’t need to work for us now” we are walking down the stairs to the exit and father is talking “listen to what they say and remember there is always a price to pay, there is always a price to pay”.
I must have sat on my bed for 5 hours thinking this is a complete wind-up. A box of thumb tacks for fuck sake how thick can I be and what was with those voices. I bet those 2 met at the circus not at art college at all. I mean a box of thumbtacks how can they give me 3 things I really want and what’s with the there is always a price to pay shit. I mean if they don’t want me there they only have to say, I mean enough of the Hammer Horror. I look at the thumbtacks and think well I could give it a try. No one is here so when it doesn’t
Work no one will be any the wiser and I won’t look like a complete fool. So I hold tight unto this box of thumbtacks and say out loud, “1. I want a beautiful house and studio, with enough money in the bank always to be able to produce work and live sumptuously. 2. To be able to have sex with any man I want just by saying hello, 3. I mean it’s here I should be wishing for world peace or something but it’s not going to come true anyway and when it comes down to it I’m selfish. 3. I want to win the Pepsi Contemporary Art Prize within the next 3 years”. There is no thunder and lightening, there are no doors opening and no bright lights. I knew it was a load of BS. I go to sleep.
I hear my doorbell and look at my bedside clock. It’s 10.00 and I’m not expecting anyone. I get up put on some underwear and try to find some pyjama bottoms to go downstairs in. I open my flat door and there is a rather attractive man standing there in a suit. “These are the keys for your new house, the builders will have finished the final section of painting in the studio by 17.00 and you can’t use the garden for 24 hours, other than that enjoy, you have bought a beautiful house” and he drops a bunch of keys in my hand. I look at them they are all Banham keys and attached to one of them is an address. I go back up to my bedroom and sit on the bed. I open my hand and look at the keys, then the phone rings and it gives me a start. I turn and my leg knocks the box of thumb tacks to the floor where they spill out on the rug, I ignore the phone pick up the thumb tacks and put them back in their box.
I turn around and look at the man beside me in my bed, his name is Yves and yes I have had no problem meeting him. We have been up all night and I’m exhausted, Yves turns the light off at the side of the bed is sleeping. I turn to look at the door and see I have left the light on in the hall downstairs. Yves asks, “are you going to turn off the lights downstairs? I thought you arty types were very carbon footprint aware” and he gives a little laugh. “Of course I’m going to turn it off” I say. I drop my left arm from the bed and my hand hits the floor. I walk my fingers along the reclaimed wood floor to the door. My hand turns left down my corridor followed by my arm and head towards the stairs, down the stairs my hand goes followed by my arm. I remember the first time this happened I was completely spooked but it doesn’t hurt anymore so I enjoy doing it now and there is always a price to pay. My hand is at the bottom of the stairs and moving up the wall to the Phillip Stark light switch. As my index finger and thumb turn off the hall light downstairs. I turn to Yves and say “goodnight”.



Tuesday, May 8, 2007





The Book Vs The Film

BOOKS are sexy.
You touch them,
you spend time alone with them,
they sit on your shelf quietly smirking because they know they are more

FILMS are more immediate
Less intrusive,
big and bold,
loud and proud.
You can share them,
they, usually, don't demand too much and give instant gratification.

It's kind of like comparing a long-term relationship with a one-night stand.
Sometimes, one thing leads to another, leads to another.

The Shining (King) 5 - 5 The Shining (Kubrick)
LOTR (Tolkien) 4 - 5 LOTR (Jackson)
Fight Club (Palahniuk) 3 - 5 Fight Club (Fincher)
The Beach (Garland 4 - 3 The Beach (Boyle)
The Silence of the Lambs (Harris) 5 - 5 The Silence of The Lambs

And so I tip-toed with trepidation down the flicks to see "Perfume: The
story of a murderer" (Tom Tykwer) and just wanted to devour the whole
enormous screen.
It was disgusting, putrid, beautiful, poinant, rich, ridiculously
extravagant, gravelly and succulent.
Yes, all these adjectives at once.

I read the book a couple of years ago on my weekend away in France (perfect)
and marvelled how Patrick Suskind (and his translator) managed to bring
smello-literature to the outskirts of the mainstream. The lead character's
passion for the sense of smell (which we all take for granted...only ever
being reminded when passing The Body Shop) was surely a vision to behold.
I ponder what it's like being a wolf or a shark or a moth.
Brilliant, I suspect.

My only criticism being that the Film's lead (played by Ben Wishaw) was way
too good looking for a part that demanded he never be noticed, but hell, I'm
sure you'll cope.
But please please please, don't get the DVD out, wait for good old Prince
Charles to do his duty in his entire red, velvety splendor.

And so, to sum up,
It's not a matter of which is better.
It's merely a case of which to do first.

Get to grips the fact that you will always be slightly disappointed with the
film because the unbridled joy of forging your own images and scenes from
books, and not being led by a director, eats this disappointment up and spits
it out.

Forthcoming attractions
(Get reading in time for the film release)
-The Curious Incident of the Dog in the nighttime (Book - Mark Haddon Vs
Director - Steve Kloves & Producer- Brad Pitt)
-His Dark Materials Trilogy (Book-Philip Pullman Vs Director (finally) Chris

(and I just cannot wait to see Hollywood transform Will Self's "Cock and
Bull" into some hardcore, widescreen action)

Kirsty Harris Artist March 2007


Wise Children
Angela Carter

Wise Children was Angela Carter¹s last novel and tells the story of two former chorus girls, Dora and Nora Chance (now Œtwo batty old tarts¹), and their theatrical family.

It is narrated by Dora in the form of her memoirs and tells, amongst other things, of their famous Shakespearean actor father, Melchior Hazard, and their relationship to him as his illegitimate twin daughters. Indeed Shakespeare is a very central figure in the novel ­ many of the characters and plot twists and turns are direct references to his plays. And through Dora¹s exhuberent and comic narrative ­ one gets a real sense of magic realism and of the carnivalesque side of life.

My favourite passage comes about halfway through the book when Dora and Nora visit the cinema to see their younger selves on screen in a production of ŒA Midsummer Night¹s Dream¹.

ŒIt took me donkey¹s till I saw the point but saw the point I did, eventually, though not until the other day, when we were watching The Dream again in Notting HillŠ Then I understood the thing I¹d never grasped back in those days, when I was young, before I lived in history. When I was young, I¹d wanted to be ephemeral, I¹d wanted the moment, to live in just the glorious moment, the rush of blood, the applause. Pluck the day. Eat the peach. Tomorrow never comes. But, oh yes, tomorrow does come all right, and when it comes it lasts a bloody long time, I can tell you. But if you¹ve put your past on celluloid, it keeps. You¹ve stored it away, like jam, for winter. That kid came up and asked us for our autographs. It made out day.¹

It is rumoured that Carter wrote Wise Children after having just been diagnosed with cancer and there is a real sense that its all about living life to the full ­ the closes with a line that recurrs all the way throughout the novel ³What a joy it is to sing and dance².

Stephen Long


“The curtain went back to revel Scott lying on the floor in a light blue 2-piece suit with a microphone held above his face. He launched into “the sun ain’t gonna shine anymore” and there was pandemonium”. 

“However, Scott’s familiarity with the work of Jean Genet, the maverick French play write and novelist suggests a keen interest in gay culture long before the subject became fashionable. The reason Scott found Genet – a barely educated orphan, petty thief, sometime male whore and irredeemable vagabond so compelling probably had less to do with the French man’s sexuality and more to do with his resolutely 2-fingered stance against a world which ultimately destroyed his ability to write by reducing him to the level of society pet.
Sartre excitedly hailed Genet as living proof of existentialist hero – in other words, he choose to be a thief, he choose to be homosexual and he choose to be penniless and adrift. When Edmund White, in his definitive 1993 biography of Genet chronicles the writer’s terrible sense of disenfranchisement, his tendency to teeter on the edge of life and his wish to sink unseen, into the anonymous ground he could almost be writing about Scott. 
Genet, who found hard to retain the freedom to observe from the outside described himself as “a fragment broken from the rest of the world””.
Cornelius Brady