Herr Lehmann resembled Kafka. He looked less like Kafka at first but more like Kafka as I came to know him. He was Kafka-esque though not in that sense, the sense of being horrifyingly bureaucratic – which he was, though this is not the reason – but in the sense that his face seemed, for always, like Kafka yet imagined with slight errors. Herr Lehmann … Continue reading Fragments: Herr Lehmann’s Pond In Baden-Baden
It came to light in a recent report released by Transport for London that the company had undertaken several investigations into certain disturbances occurring on a number of their main underground lines. These disturbances have been felt by many commuters and several of my colleagues in the department confirm that the descriptions of events in the report are factual and not hearsay. The concern surrounding … Continue reading Fictions: Piccadilly Line “Corpse Rain” Phenomena
“Serene, eternity waits at the crossroad of stars.” – Jorge Luis Borges The actress was due in the studio that morning. She was a star and so every one of the assistants, hairdressers and make-up artists for the shoot were more nervous than usual. This was not a regular star, so I thought, but someone genuinely important; a human vision of culture. This was the reason why … Continue reading Fictions: A Forever-Moment Of Glass
I once had a friend who taught cinema theory at La Fémis in Montmartre. Dr. Stefan Fischer was an expert in early film art and was particularly interested in the role of celluloid in early screenings and installations. It was the celluloid, so he often told me, that allowed early film art to proliferate towards abstraction. Though we taught at different institutes and on differing … Continue reading Fictions: Brakhage’s Dæmon
I first met Jean Arp when he was, in fact, not Jean Arp but Hans Arp. The French authorities after the war had forced the name to be changed but there was more to it than that. Hans, so he told me, was born in Strasbourg at 52 Rue du Vieux-Marché-aux-Poissons not far from the cathedral. We would meet regularly and exchange ideas for we … Continue reading Fictions: Arp
Photos from Andrew Bartram‘s Fenland series. The memory of a day from the my childhood returned to my thoughts recently. It was born of the colour orange, the feeling of sunlight upon my face and memories of my father. Forever being hoisted from the comfort of my house into varied, arid stretches of land in search of animalistic treasure, the day in question was a … Continue reading Fictions: Whixall Moss
Celluloid Wicker Man 