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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...

VISA GODS   In this story, Eurydice is dark & deadly & has lived all her life in Hades In this story, Orpheus plays the drums   A semester-at-sea program  Tamil refugee solidarity group makes them meet Orpheus is ensnared watching the way she talks with her hands and laughs with her eyes and speaks with an accent he has never taken to bed Skin sun-kissed as cinnamon stick, long hair that anchors storms, a mouth filled with the coarsest curses on land Gossip says it was the spice in her meals, it may well have been the sex   For the sake of this story, Orpheus has to bring her into the first world In his contract with the overlords there’s no clause about looking back, about trust, about hearing the footsteps of the loved one before walking ahead— that is not a white people thing at all   Here, Orpheus must leave Eurydice must follow   In other words, Eurydice, to smuggle their love, must screw her way into Europe   Eurydice must cross the seas, pass through border controls, fight for a Schengen, chant prayers for her visa, borrow recklessly with her bank, get her passport stamped She must do this six hundred times over a lifetime   Hostage to nation-state, our man Orpheus must wait, must will himself to live for a woman who weeps when she is away, weeps when it’s time to leave, weeps when she cannot come, who weeps in his arms because their love story is not in their hands   Orpheus no longer plays the drums   Now, there is no music in his life— only the silence at parting, the white noise of waiting     A CAT CLOSING HER EYES   Poonai kanmoodi kondaal, Poolokam irundu vidaathu When a cat shuts its eyes, the world does not turn dark   It is said that mothers have a proverb for every occasion— amma recycled the same one to see me through everything   To tackle my teenage tantrums Poonai kanmoodi kondaal Your sulking does not affect me, girl!   To combat my depression Poonai kanmoodi kondaal Just stop wallowing in your sorrows, girl!   To stop me giving up Poonai kanmoodi kondaal The world will move on without you, girl!   Most of all, to put me together, heartbreak after heartbreak Poonai kanmoodi kondaal He doesn’t see you, girl, you are beautiful, men will find you, and you will find love!     INDIA IS MY COUNTRY   Like the fascist who led us to this ruin, death has also learnt to wear a different disguise these days   No heavy as sorrow

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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fiction

April 2013

Towards White, 1975

Scott Morris

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April 2013

In the morning, the square was white. Voula’s hair was white. A pigeon on a bronze horse shifted, sent...

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Issue No. 10

Vern Blosum, Phantom

William E. Jones

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Issue No. 10

Chatsworth, established in 1888 in the northwest corner of the San Fernando Valley, took its name from the family...

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...

 

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