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Claire-Louise Bennett
Claire-Louise Bennett grew up in Wiltshire and studied literature and drama at the University of Roehampton, before settling in Galway. Her short fiction and essays have been published in The Stinging Fly, The Penny Dreadful, The Moth, Colony, The Irish Times, The White Review and gorse. She was awarded the inaugural White Review Short Story Prize in 2013 and has received bursaries from the Arts Council and Galway City Council. Her debut novel, Pondwas published by Fitzcarraldo Editions in 2015 and shortlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize in 2016. Her second novel, Checkout 19, is published by Jonathan Cape in August 2021.

Articles Available Online


The Russian Man

Fiction

Issue No. 27

Claire-Louise Bennett

Fiction

Issue No. 27

Many years ago a large Russian man with the longest tendrils of the softest white hair came to live in the fastest growing town...

poetry

Issue No. 13

Morning, Noon & Night

Claire-Louise Bennett

poetry

Issue No. 13

Sometimes a banana with coffee is nice. It ought not to be too ripe – in fact there should...

A collection of workers’ shirts, mounted like shopping displays and gathered into the regimented, brightly coloured rows that might mark a labour demonstration, stands as the centrepiece of Jonathas de Andrade’s solo exhibition One to One (2019), at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago (MCA) The shirts are men’s Paint daubs and sweat stains trail across them, and the work, Suar a camisa (Working up a sweat) (2014), captures much of the dense, reticent logic of de Andrade’s art   De Andrade acquired the shirts from male workers in the streets of Recife and the countryside of Brazil’s Nordeste, his home city and region, and a cohering local force in his art He would approach workers on their off hours, as they travelled to work or commuted home, clearly attracted by the shirts’ vividness, their lambent yellows or soiled oranges, as well as their ability to signify – they appear worn, sturdy, industrial, as if they’ve just emerged from under the hood of a car Striking up conversations with the men, he would begin a line of inquiry: could he buy their shirt, or propose a deal, or – the preferred option – exchange his own for theirs? It’s hard to imagine the exchange coming to fruition, and yet the process resulted in de Andrade receiving 120 shirts, hung on poles and assembled in the centre of MCA’s gallery, a crowd of hollow figures   The work unfolds in layers, and my first impression was of a kind of startling political presence, as if 120 working men stood at the centre of MCA Here, it seemed, was a sincere and wishful image of the working class, its labour expressed through the sweat-marks and enlivened into the collective form of a workers’ protest But as I circled the installation, a contradictory possibility soon shadowed my optimistic impression as presence gave way to a more definitive sense of absence Not a popular uprising but shirts without bodies, dead labour rather than labour, adding up not to working-class potency but its waning or disorganisation This feeling was made more potent by the recent election of Jair Bolsonaro,

Contributor

August 2014

Claire-Louise Bennett

Contributor

August 2014

Claire-Louise Bennett grew up in Wiltshire and studied literature and drama at the University of Roehampton, before settling in...

The Lady of the House

fiction

Issue No. 8

Claire-Louise Bennett

fiction

Issue No. 8

Wow it’s so still. Isn’t it eerie. Oh yes. So calm. Everything’s still. That’s right. Look at the rowers – look at how fast...

READ NEXT

poetry

February 2013

Redacted, Redacted

Les Kay

poetry

February 2013

Here the censorship, which you’ve taught yourself, is self-inflicted (low sugar, low fat); it begins with the swinging shadow...

poetry

June 2011

Beautiful Poetry

Camille Guthrie

poetry

June 2011

‘Being so caught up So mastered.’ Yeats     I was too shy to say anything but Your poems...

poetry

September 2011

The Cinematographer, a 42-year-old man named Miyagawa, aimed his camera directly at the sun, which at first probably seemed like a bad idea

Michael Earl Craig

poetry

September 2011

Last night Kurosawa’s woodcutter strode through the forest, his axe on his shoulder. Intense sunlight stabbed and sparkled and...

 

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