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Lauren Elkin
Lauren Elkin is most recently the author of No. 91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK translator of Simone de Beauvoir's previously unpublished novel, The Inseparables (Vintage). Her previous book Flâneuse: Women Walk the City (Chatto/FSG) was a finalist for the PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay, a New York Times Notable Book of 2017, and a BBC Radio 4 Book of the Week. Her essays have appeared in Granta, the London Review of Books, Harper’s, the New York Times, and Frieze, among others. Her next book, Art Monsters, will be out in July 2023 (Chatto/FSG). She lives in London.

Articles Available Online


Maria Gainza’s ‘Optic Nerve’

Book Review

May 2019

Lauren Elkin

Book Review

May 2019

In his foreword to A Thousand Plateaus, on the pleasures of philosophy, and of Deleuze and Guattari’s philosophy in particular, Brian Massumi writes:  ...

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Issue No. 8

Barking From the Margins: On écriture féminine

Lauren Elkin

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Issue No. 8

 I. Two moments in May May 2, 2011. The novelists Siri Hustvedt and Céline Curiol are giving a talk...

The heritage of conceptualism and minimalism leaves a tendency to interpret a reduction in form as intellectually rigorous If there is less for the eye to see, so it seems to follow that there’s more for the mind to read into Amy Sillman swings the pendulum in the opposite direction; her work is formalist to the extent that we see the thought process visually manifested rather than suggested or signified The proof is in the paint, as opposed to in the accompanying essay or press release With a practice that grinds to dust a binary of figuration versus abstraction, the purity of abstract painting is corrupted in her work, where forms are blocks of colour floating in gentle encounters or sometimes clamouring for the eye’s attention before spluttering out into a hand, a foot, or a plumbing spigot Her shapes and colours are gaily capricious; when they stumble and smear, they laugh it off and say ‘I meant to do that’   Sillman’s images together are like sentences that speak in the timbre of drawing but wear a light jacket of painting In fact, she has described her practice as being really more like writing[1] As in writing, where words cluster into packs of roaming meaning, a Sillman painting is emboldened among its own kind Her paintings are like the building momentum of jokes, always writing towards a punch line forever carried over into the next painting Alone, they can look lost, like a drawing cell from an animated film In recent paintings such as ‘Fast painting #1’ (2013) and ‘untitled’ (2013) the quickly laid colours sit on the canvas with a liveliness like that of a runner bouncing on the balls of their feet, as if they might pick up and zoom off at any moment   Along with David Hockney, Amy Sillman is one of the most visible artists incorporating the iPhone/iPad drawing apps as a regular part of their practice In ‘Draft of a Voice-Over for Split-Screen Video Loop’ (2012), made in collaboration with the poet Lisa Robertson, Sillman recites Robertson’s words over a six-minute film made

Contributor

August 2014

Lauren Elkin

Contributor

August 2014

Lauren Elkin is most recently the author of No. 91/92: notes on a Parisian commute (Semiotext(e)/Fugitives) and the UK...

The End of Francophonie: The Politics of French Literature

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Issue No. 2

Lauren Elkin

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Issue No. 2

I. We were a couple of minutes late for the panel we’d hoped to attend. The doors were closed and there was a surly-looking...

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poetry

Issue No. 2

Letter to Jim Jarmusch [Broken Flowers]

Jon Thompson

poetry

Issue No. 2

What they’ll know of us in future years: the large interiors of our suburban homes were designed by others...

Interview

January 2016

Interview with Tor Ulven

Cecilie Schram Hoel

Alf van der Hagen

TR. Benjamin Mier-Cruz

Interview

January 2016

Tor Ulven gave this interview, his last, a year and a half before he died, leaving behind a language...

Prize Entry

April 2016

Seasickness

David Isaacs

Prize Entry

April 2016

‘How would you begin?’   She puts a finger to her lips, a little wrinkled still from the water,...

 

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