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Robert Assaye
Robert Assaye is a writer and critic living in London.

Articles Available Online


Issy Wood, When You I Feel

Art Review

December 2017

Robert Assaye

Art Review

December 2017

At the centre of Issy Wood’s solo exhibition at Carlos/Ishikawa is a room-within-a room. The division of the gallery into two viewing spaces –...

Art

April 2017

'Learning from Athens'

Robert Assaye

Art

April 2017

The history of Documenta, a quinquennial contemporary art exhibition founded in the German city of Kassel in 1955, is...

there is no doubt, here it is, on the sign:                Prawn chowder   prawn                                    chowder   (words already unfamiliar but growing more distant as I say them in my head for a third time)   prawn ?           chowder ?   on reflection        cream of cauliflower doesn’t seem so bad which is why I’m ladling (eyebrows peaking, just a little, at how the soup matches the sides of the takeaway container) And now I’m paying                                                               tap your card darling and tapping (darling)          and     walking and my hand!, container too hot, palm softening, losing lines, switching hands (surprisingly pink!), round to the lifts, sound chiming, me picking up pace, just fast enough to make it, stepping in someone else asking                                                             what floor   One ‘One’? Christ, should’ve said ‘first’ rubbing my leg against the side   Intercom, now,                                                                      First Floor Out, doors wide, down into the corridor (averting my eyes, upwards, away from the red and orange concentric circles across the carpet), upper arm preparing to negotiate the swing doors, nudging myself and the soup carefully slowly slowly through   I must walk as if I am not checking whether the sofa and table are free, I have no purpose, nonchalantly wandering, with my soup that is not too hot and my spoon that is just in my hand for whenever I fancy using it, purely making a casual parade of the office, bearing to the left, towards the kitchen area where a certain sofa resides, not that I’m hoping to get that exact sofa and table I use most days, just after the fridge, hidden behind the coffee station, and which may or may not be occupied, no no, just walking, just scheming at how, if someone has their lunchbox firmly on the table, how I can walk (not dejected, not me!) as if I am only passing by, not turning around,   (approaching now, scanning for a foot sticking out, a coat draped on the side) I will keep walking, I decide, walking, and just go

Contributor

August 2014

Robert Assaye

Contributor

August 2014

Robert Assaye is a writer and critic living in London.

New Communities

Art

January 2017

Robert Assaye

Art

January 2017

DeviantArt is the world’s ‘largest online community of artists and art-lovers’ and its thirteenth largest social network. Its forty million members contribute to a...
The Land Art of Julie Brook

Art

Issue No. 4

Robert Assaye

Art

Issue No. 4

Julie Brook works with the land. Over the past twenty years she has lived and worked in a succession of inhospitable locations, creating sculptures...

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poetry

May 2012

Monopoly (after Ashbery)

Sarah Howe

poetry

May 2012

I keep everything until the moment it’s needed. I am the glint in your bank manager’s eye. I never...

feature

February 2012

Stalker, Writer or Professor? Geoff Dyer's Zona and Genre

Rose McLaren

feature

February 2012

‘So what kind of a writer am I, reduced to writing a summary of a film?’ wonders Geoff Dyer...

feature

Issue No. 12

Foreword: A Pound of Flesh

George Szirtes

feature

Issue No. 12

1.   ANALOGIES FOR TRANSLATION ARE MANY, most of them assuming a definable something on one side of the...

 

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