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Rose McLaren

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.



Articles Available Online


Talk Into My Bullet Hole

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July 2015

Rose McLaren

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July 2015

‘Someday people are going to read about you in a story or a poem. Will you describe yourself for those people?’ ‘Oh, I don’t...

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May 2014

Art Does Not Know a Beyond: On Karl Ove Knausgaard

Rose McLaren

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May 2014

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle has an oddly medieval form: a cycle, composed of six auto-biographical books about the...

   AZRAEL   at the age you are now your father’s body had built a nest for an angel   you    key stage two    couldn’t place why he coughed wingbeats    cried shameless   the year wisemen saw the stowaway photobomber in a radio wave   today   tapping forty   your neck convexes you bookmark testaments   nothing makes sense like a toddler walking around with your face hurling a sippy cup at the wall   this summer we’re home braising our skirting boards and the bees are brave   buzzing thickets comfort crushed shale into shade and you run to remember not all angels are hereditary   in one version god drops a leaf and seven billion eyes read your name   forty days later a test card   this summer we cling to our tvs like gastropods on a rock the land before time​ washes up on netflix   little foot’s mum is dead like simba’s dad is dead like bambi’s mum is dead like bastian’s mum is dead   if this is how we level up to protagonist you’d rather swim in the shadow of a demiurge   you swing your daughter dizzy in the garden to remember not all childhoods are hereditary   at the age you first met memory she spies her shadow   takes it everywhere   but watches mama dinosaur die dry eyed while you break on the black friday couch   four thousand wings trying you on for size wonder why your kid’s hypothetical loss stings   sharper than your lived one you ask your mother   she says when the angel came she couldn’t look directly at your grief   a wooden doll inside hers   you say kids are resilient   you were ok   she says you weren’t though   were you     T MINUS ZERO   it won’t matter if the water is hot or cold it won’t matter about the plastic tub for the placenta or which pyjamas when you lie on a floor next to the lift trolleys splash rocky down corridors each   contraction a red sun setting over and in you   rise out of water his eyes catching you falling into the room

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.

The Prosaic Sublime of Béla Tarr

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Issue No. 6

Rose McLaren

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Issue No. 6

I have to recognise it’s cosmical; the shit is cosmical. It’s not just social, it’s not just ontological, it’s really huge. And that’s why we...
Stalker, Writer or Professor? Geoff Dyer's Zona and Genre

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February 2012

Rose McLaren

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February 2012

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

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Art

March 2013

Beyond the Mainstream and into the Digital

Vid Simoniti

Art

March 2013

Claire Bishop. Everywhere I go, some curator or artist wants to be rid of this turbulent critic.   In 2006...

poetry

September 2012

Mainline Rail

Eleanor Rees

poetry

September 2012

Back-to-backs, some of the last, and always just below the view   a sunken tide of regular sound west...

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September 2013

To Sing the Love of Danger

Adnan Sarwar

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September 2013

The Gulf War made my first year at Towneley High School uncomfortable. White lads taunted us Pakistanis with pictures...

 

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