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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...

Marine Le Pen gets into town tonight That’s what I heard Did you hear, Marine Le Pen’s in D the 29th My reaction on hearing this was the reaction of a coma victim, but in the hours that ensued the fact had risen, put it that way, to my head (having already possessed a thigh, the both, an arm, the nape of the neck, little stiffer, the whole neck, the teeth and the jaw, nose by the nostrils because that’s another air you’re breathing now, temples, forehead, my ears, Marine Le Pen is on the ceiling, there she is, making herself at home having fixed up a little room with a bed for one, slipper chair, nightstand on which a Life of Georges Pompidou is resting, she’s switched out the overhead as it was slightly dated with its tulip bulb, she’s put up pink neon in the shape of a toucan and is enjoying a Twix bar while making an inspection of her lacquered toenails)    I don’t know her personally Let’s say that I don’t know her yet, because in a little while, in seven hours, I fully plan on heading up the avenue to see her; she’s supposed to be doing what it is she does on General De Gaulle Square, and so will we be doing our thing, in consequence, on General De Gaulle Square Whatever our intentions may be as we head up the avenue, we’ll all be there, we’ll be at least passing through General De Gaulle Square, whether preoccupied, nonchalant (hey, MLP in D) or focused and concentrated (that MLP is in D), and what I’m wondering is where she’ll touch down In front of the regional paper’s local branch? Because what we could do then would be throw open that glazed door, and the blow would be dealt to her back; or we could watch her out the window, pressing our foreheads against it, squishing our hands to make visors out of them and breathing out a grey cloud, the office being unheated (the temperature being three degrees Celsius) But she’s going to

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

June 2015

Sisterhood

Chelsea Hogue

Art

June 2015

A woman appears onscreen. Her hair is short. While the film is black and white, by the colour gradations...

Art

November 2012

Pending performance: Cally Spooner’s live production

Isabella Maidment

Art

November 2012

It’s 1957 and the press release still isn’t written[1] An actress dressed in black overalls stands on a theatrically...

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Issue No. 18

Editorial

The Editors

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Issue No. 18

This is the editorial from the eighteenth print issue of The White Review, available to buy here.    In 1991...

 

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