Blank Pages Issue 11 by Rob Dunne

Issue 11 March 2009

blankpages

Blank Media is kindly supported by:

www.fredaldous.co.uk

Fuel Cafe Bar, Manchester

At the time of publication, Iain Goodyear, Blank Media Presents... Manager was taken ill - our thoughts are with you Iain.

from Phil Craggs, blankpages Editor

Joe Booker Angel Cossigny Gareth Hacking Marcelle Holt Justin Watson

a word...

Blank Media team... Chairperson: Mark Devereux Web: Simon Mills Moving image: Dan Hopkins Jamie Hyde Blank Media Presents... : Iain Goodyear Steve Goosens Financial Administrator: Steven Porter blankpages Editor: Phil Craggs blankpages Poetry Editor: Baiba Auria

Hello, and welcome to March’s issue of blankpages. It’s an exciting time for blankpages. Over the last 11 issues we have done our best to entertain, interest, challenge and possibly even inform our readership. And, I think we’ve done a decent job. We have some ideas we want to pursue, but there is a limit to what the core team can do so we looked for new Fiction, Visual and Music editors to bolster the team. We were looking for people with enthusiasm, ideas, and the technical skill to carry out those roles. Within days of the adverts being placed we’d had more applications than we thought we’d get in weeks. And they were all good applications. We interviewed everyone available, and every one of them gave a good interview. This made our task more difficult, but extremely satisfying. Firstly, we knew we would get someone who could really add to the team, and secondly it was immensely flattering that the calibre of people who applied would be interested in an unpaid position on the editorial team. It’s not always easy to gauge what people think of what you’re doing, so this was a real affirmation of what we had been doing already. Selecting the successful applicants was extremely difficult as Mark, Baiba and I spent a long evening in discussion. Whoever we chose, it would mean turning down some excellent people. It is my great pleasure to introduce John Leyland as our new Fiction Editor, Rob Dunne as our new Visual Editor and Dan Bridgwood-Hill as our new Music Editor. We’re looking forward to working with them from the next issue. Also a warm welcome to Kate Butler, who joins the Blank Media team as Marketing & PR Manager. As an introduction to the new blankpages team, we’re featuring some of John’s, Rob’s and Dan’s creative work in this issue. So, why them? Well, without going into specifics, they met the criteria listed above whilst also suggesting ways in which blankpages could be developed and taken to the next level. What those ideas were, and how they will be put into place, you’ll have to wait and see because we’re taking a break next month to give the new team chance to make blankpages bigger and better. We’re excited, and hope you are too. See you in May...

Website www.blankmediacollective.org General Enquiries info@blankmediacollective.org blankpages Enquiries editor@blankmediacollective.org MySpace www.myspace.com/ blankmediacollective * You can also find us on other Social Networking sites such as Facebook, YouTube & ArtReview

blankverse... poetry atomic bombs must get lonely sometimes by Joseph Leon Kazer

spotlight...

FEATURE: New blankpages team...

blankpages poses some quick questions to cover artist, Hilton Vasey

Blank Media are delighted to introduce you to the work from John Leyland, Rob Dunne & Dan Bridgwood-Hill

blankverse... poetry

blankpicks...

blankverse... short story

blankgallery...

blankverse... poetry

profiles...

blankmediarecommends...

i want to lie like the rocks between the tracks at takashima station by Joseph Leon Kazer

Phil Craggs and Baiba Auria reveal what’s turning them on in the art world

Front Cover: ‘Tesla Thought Photography Helmet’, Hilton Vasey www.hiltonvasey.co.uk Copyright © Hilton Vasey * If you are interested in contributing to blankpages visit www.blankmediacollective.org for submission guidelines blankpages copyright © 2006 - 2009 Blank Media, unless otherwise noted. Copyright of all artworks remains with the artist. Blank Media logo copyright © Ben Rose 2008, www.graphicstateofmind.com

Everything Once by Calum Kerr

Recent work from painter Lisa V Robinson

this one’s for you mooney by Joseph Leon Kazer

Contributer’s biographies and further information

Curiosity & A New Age

contents...

safety there’s a safety in the holiday, no? like stories of living dead armies in momentary treaty to sing carols and drink egg nog while the blood dries

and for some reason snoopy just makes sense like some twisted acid incantation of electric bombardiers and machine gun glory fighters i have a moment prideful and abandoned good tidings sounds like some kind of failed suicide or maybe a prostitute with an affection for peppermints santa’s a pagan and no one will mention it until his sleigh is pulled by flaming white mongrels and he’s handing out pine cones with swastikas and then confusion set in, no? there’s a distortion at four in the afternoon when the eastern wind tastes like chalk

atomic bombs must get lonely sometimes by Joseph Kazer

the whole world weeps for a charlie brown christmas tree

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atomic bombs must get lonely sometimes

Personal website: www.hiltonvasey.co.uk BM web: www.blankmediacollective.org/index .php/artists/profile/hilton_vasey1/112

spotlight...

Hilton Vasey

‘Tesla Thought Photography Helmet’ This work looks at how cultural and contextual history is altered by mass perception. Within my work I combine personal memories and associated recollections to produce a personalised memory of a real event. The helmet itself was a real theory proposed by Tesla that memory is directly connected to visual images and could be recorded electronically. Nicola Tesla (1856 – 1943) was the archetypical ‘mad scientist’ lampooned much of his life, and practically forgotten afterwards for his dramatic and fanciful theories in electromagnetism and spiritualism, however he was in fact a highly respected scientist who has been credited as the inventor or thousands of patents many of which include the radio, the robot and electric light to name just a few. The work has been used in live art performances in Berlin and in a collaborative project with Berlin based photographer Heike Schneider-Matzigkeit.

I make work which explores memory and recollection and incorporates elements of performance, repetition and humour. I’m preoccupied with the sinister aspects lurking underneath the everyday surface using elements from both personal history and contextual popular culture. What do you enjoy most in your work?

Who do you admire most and why? I don’t really try to focus on particular ‘heroes’ but I have always admired innovators and people who can see beyond the everyday surface. I’ve always held the idea its best not to get too close to you’re heroes, in case they disappoint you.

My entire collection of John Spencer Blues Explosion vinyl records, an LP player (solar powered of course) and my girlfriend Jules. What job would you be doing if you weren’t an artist? I don’t think I could ever imagine not being an artist, as it’s an integral part of how my head works. If I had to do something else, I think I would make that into an art form. What are your pet hates? Ignorance, snobbery and apathy, that about caps it I think. What projects are you working on right now?

What is the trait you like least in yourself and why?

I’m still developing the Tesla project, I recently col laborated with the Berlin based photographer Heike Schneider-Matzigkeit which was really exciting and brought out some really inspiring ideas. I’m concentrating on exhibiting the Tesla works in the UK and hopefully Heike will exhibit them in Berlin. I’m also developing a number of works around Telsa; currently I’m building a sound installation that utilises a ‘Leslie Hammond’ speaker.

I’m my own worst enemy; best not let him talk about me…

What’s your favourite comfort food?

Who has been your biggest influence?

I’m in love with Italian and Thai food, anything spicy too, the hotter the better. It sounds boring but I’ve recently re-discovered Tofu. Toast in bed with tea is also pretty amazing.

What is your favourite movie? I really love the style, artistry and clothes of early cinema, especially German Modernist and French New Wave. My ‘favourite’ changes constantly, currently I’m into Metropolis, Blade Runner and La Planète sauvage.

Early on I was really influenced by the painters Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele but I think most by the Existentialists and Dada also beat writers such as William S. Burroughs.

Hilton Vasey

Seeing my work take on a life of its own, the best results are always hidden in the making – some of my best work has come out of the blue or surprised me when I turned a corner. Best of all is when people who have never seen my work ‘get it’ without explanation; that really makes my day.

Which three ‘luxury’ items would you take with you on a desert island?

spotlight...

What do you do?

My two biggest achievements were getting my MA in fine art, as I had put it off for 10 years. It really helped me to look at the way I made art and most importantly the reasons I make it. The other was getting back together with my girlfriend Jules as it helped me see beyond myself. What is your idea of a ‘perfect’ night out?

What advice would you give someone struggling to make a career within the arts?

Hilton Vasey

The best night out would simply be to have all my friends together and enjoying themselves. I enjoy myself most when others are in their element.

spotlight...

What do you consider to be your biggest achievement to date?

Don’t give up your day job! Don’t rely on other people to do it for you and don’t let others tell you what you should do – believe in your work. It’s really difficult when starting out in the arts as there isn’t really that much help out there. I really believe in the strength of arts collectives, I would advise anyone starting out to ‘do it yourself ’ and join or create an art collective. I have learnt so much over the years as an exhibiting artist but I think I learnt the most when I developed my own collective – there is a breath of skills, knowledge and even language that early career artists are just not taught. Working in collaboration with your contemporaries gives you so much experience and allows you create your own opportunities.

John Leyland, Rob Dunne & Dan Bridgwood-Hill

blankpages’ new Fiction Editor, Visual Editor/Designer and Music Editor

John Leyland, Fiction Editor During John’s degree in Imaginative Writing at Liverpool John Moores University he specialised in short prose fiction writing. As part of his final project John edited and oversaw production of ‘In The Red’ issue 4 - Liverpool John Moores University Centre for Writing’s literary magazine for new and established writers, soliciting exclusive submissions from Greta Stoddart, Roger McGough and Dave Eggers.

John performing at The Poetry Glam Slam, Dead Good Poets Society

Rob Dunne, Visual Editor/Designer Rob Dunne is an artist who creates works based on interests in, but not exclusively: non-events, surveillance and voyeurism, obfuscation, confusion, communication devices, repetition, numbers stations and minimalism. This output usually take the form video art, installations and happenings.

FEATURE: New blankpages team...

Blank Media are delighted to introduce you to the work from:

rob_ot (Rob in disguise!)

Dan Bridgwood-Hill, Music Editor Dan is a multi-instrumentalist who has been taking part in the Manchester DIY music scene for quite some time. What started out watching Sweep The Leg Johnny in a near empty, smelly, dirty pub has continued in much the same way for nearly 10 glorious years. I have played in numerous rock, folk, postrock, doom, metal and noise bands.

Dan (right) playing in Burnst at Blank Media Presents... 2nd Birthday

Wake Up by John Leyland

This weekend was going to be perfect. ‘Wake up,’ he whispered to her. She was lying down after the long drive. ‘Mandy, wake up.’ He leaned over her and nibbled her earlobe. She did not even move. They had both been working so hard lately. This weekend; no morning arguments, no work, no rushed apologies. He left her alone and walked through to the living room. The bungalow they had rented seemed small to him now. He moved the coffee table out of the way, knelt in front of their suitcase and unravelled her packing job onto the sofa. He automatically made two piles of clothes. On his side he put his suit trousers on top of his check shirt. Her white cotton underwear went on her side. He lingered on the vest top she would wear in bed. He closed his eyes. His hands felt velvet as he fingered the next item in the suitcase. Her red mini-skirt. He smelt her perfume through the washing machine freshness of the garment. She never sprayed just her neck. A black and chrome mini-suitcase, her vanity case, was tucked away underneath a pile of his matched up socks. He stood up to take it to her. ‘I thought you hated this’, he said entering the bedroom. He stopped to look at her asleep. She was curled up on her side of the flowery bedclothes. Her dark hair was draped over her face, her choppy style framing her jawline. He often wanted to take her picture while she was sleeping. She looked so relaxed. He stepped around to her side to place the make-up case on her bedside table. He frowned looking at it. The small repro lamp embedded into the shiny laminate surface, a paddle brush, a handheld mirror, a red lipstick. His side was empty. He picked the lipstick up and got onto the bed. He gently moved her onto her back. He looked at her. Her toenails were red. He touched her bottom jaw and opened her mouth. Inside was red. He closed her mouth and twisted the lid off the lipstick. ‘This colour reminds me so much of you,’ he leant in close and carefully painted her lips. She did not move. He stroked her hair, then her face. He moved his lips to her ear. ‘Why aren’t you talking back? Why have you stopped?’ He moved away, stood beside her, looked at her. He huffed out through his nose. ‘I’m going to cook dinner.’

FEATURE: New blankpages team...

Wake Up

Wake Up by John Leyland

After eating both meals, he leaned back in his chair, bloated. He looked over at his wife, at the smooth skin on her arms slumped by her sides, at her expressionless cheeks and closed eyes. He head lolled forward. In the quiet he positioned himself behind her. With a jolt he shook her at the shoulders. ‘Come on, Mandy. Wake up!’ The chair’s legs rattled. He looked at his quivering hands and pressed them into his thighs. He felt the vibration dissipate with his deep breaths. He hooked one arm underneath her knees, slid his other arm against her back and lifted her. He took her through to the bedroom, moved the bed covers out of the way and laid down beside her on the bed. Her feet, the only ones he’d ever thought cute. He stroked her sole with the palm of his hand, smooth. He kissed the ball of her foot, and touched her calf. She never wore tights. Just behind her knee was a tiny brown freckle. She called it their secret. He moved in even closer and undid the buttons on her blouse. His hands shook. Her skin was clear, her light tan belly curving out, slight. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He tingled as he traced the curve around her naval with his fingers. He looked at her breast. He touched a soft pink nipple, tweaked it. That would make her smile. He shuddered. Breathing through his teeth he pressed his body against hers, kissing her in the special dip between

FEATURE: New blankpages team...

In the kitchen broccoli simmered, steam rose. He laid the table for two in the dining area. ‘Mandy, you’re missing a great day here.’ He placed wine glasses on the table. ‘Did we remember the wine?’ He went through to their bedroom. He froze in the doorway. Still she had not moved, the lipstick untouched on her lips. ‘Are you still asleep?’ he said to her. Nothing. He touched her cheek. Still warm. He quickly grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse. Waited. He waited for a sign for a few seconds. Nothing. His own heart thumped in his ears. He listened. A few seconds passed like minutes. A few more. Then through the thud in his ears he felt it. Faint. So very faint, but there. There is was again. Again. He sighed and felt his clenched fist of a heart relax. He gathered her up from the bed and struggled with her down the corridor to the table to sit with him. Surely she would wake up. She must be hungry. He flopped her weight into her dining chair, placing her hands on her knife and fork. He collected two plates of steak and a serving dish of vegetables from the kitchen area. ‘Would you like me to cut this up for you?’ He was pointing at her steak. ‘I’ve cooked it just the way you like it. Medium rare. Look.’ He took up his knife and fork and sliced into her meat. The brown surface parted into a succulent pinky red. Steaming juice oozed from its fleshy centre. He licked his lips and ate it for her.

Wake Up by John Leyland

The promenade was empty, apart from one late seagull picking through the crispy leftovers and paper on the floor. The spring sunset reflected on the water. The clouds obscured the dipping orange sun and the whole sky was soothing red. An aeroplane’s diagonal trail sliced white through the sky. She might wake up. He watched the sun’s slight movement and his skin tightened. He had to go back. He looked around. No-one had seen him here. She might wake up. He darted back the way he had come, building up to a run as he got on to the woodland footpath.

FEATURE: New blankpages team...

her neck and shoulder. It took him back. He closed his eyes and her breathing was in his ear, her nails in his back. He groaned, remained with her, firm, for a moment. He opened his eyes and lifted himself off her. She had not responded, still not even moved. He frowned and touched her face. Underneath her eyelids was red. Her blank eyes stared through him, recognising nothing. He knelt between her legs. He pushed his fingers into her belly, over and over, inpatient. Had he imagined her pulse? He grabbed her wrist again quickly. No sign. He had to know she was still here. His vision blurred. He sniffed hot tears. Wiping his face, he looked around the room. The vanity case. He grabbed it and emptied it out onto the bed between them. Nail file. Make-up brush. Scissors. Foundation. Cotton wool. EyelinerScissors. Her wrist. A red line. Blood. The line widened and the dark red spread onto the sheets. His fingers were in his mouth. He backed away from the bed, stumbled into the bathroom, turned on the taps. Cold and hot gushed out, loud into the sink. He soaked a towel in the water and ran back into the bedroom. He pulled the bedclothes from under her and she rolled onto her front. He pulled the sheets away from the bed and rushed to her side. He turned her back over. Frantic now he jumped onto the bed, and with the towel wiped and pressed and scoured the mattress until the blood foamed like soap. ‘What am I doing?’ He looked down at himself. Exhaling, he stood away from the bed. In the bathroom he washed his hands, splashed his face. ‘Take a walk,’ he said into the mirror. Pink swirls rinsed in the sink, down the plughole.

FEATURE: New blankpages team...

Rob Dunne www.robdunne.com

Rob Dunne

non_event_17

FEATURE: New blankpages team... Rob Dunne

13 Repetition # 147

FEATURE: New blankpages team... Dan Bridgwood-Hill

Track playing: Did by dbh (Adobe Acrobat 6 required). Danâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s (dbh) solo work can be found at www.myspace.com/dbhguitar Above: Dan Bridgwood-Hill (dbh)

Joseph Leon Kazer

panting and windswept in scuffed loafers and i’ve missed the fucker again has become my anthem

i hate the bicycle people go fuck yourself i think between candid jangles spokes clawing and dragging upon my dress socks i’ve time to smoke a cigarette and think too much the next one is wet and desperate last call for the train dwellers sordid with malcontent of early morning rice bowls no one will stand directly next to me without a glance so endowed with shame

i want to lie like the rocks... by Joseph Kazer

my swan song of transpatory desolation

blankverse...

i want to lie like the rocks between the tracks at takashima station

that i even feel bad for them navy blazers adorned with pins from forgotten battles with jealous neck ties and now they’ve got to put up with my gangled elbows

This month has seen the return to the live stage of one of Manchester’s finest bands - Magazine. I’ve been listening to them a lot recently, especially their Real Life debut album which for me is their finest (with the caveat that I’ve not yet heard their Secondhand Daylight album). Reading-wise I’m happily making my way through HG Wells’ Marriage - a novel that looks at the situation of women at the beginning of the 20th century with regards to wedlock. So far it is not his best work, but he’s too capable a writer for it to be anything less than easy to read, and there’s some great phrasing. I have also just started Little Infamies by Panos Karnezis, a short story collection set around a small rural village in Greece. And while it may not be considered ‘culture’ I thoroughly enjoyed Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow when I finally got round to watching it recently. Not a lot of depth but that’s hardly the point. It’s a great spectacle, and a lot of fun. If I can enjoy a film with Gwyneth Paltrow in then it must be good! Finally, I’m just delving into The Magic Mirror of M.C. Escher by Bruno Ernst, which looks at the life and work of one of my favourite visual artists.

blankpicks...

Phil Craggs

Baiba Auria Poetry wise I have just finished Charles Bukowski’s The Pleasures of the Damned. Besides being a great prose writer, he is also a brilliant poet. Certainly one of my favourites. He finds unsentimental, strange beauty in what is perceived to be the ugly side of life. He does not romaticise himself as some poets do and the result is compelling, funny and tragic. Now film\music. If you are not a fan of Lou Reed, I doubt it would convert you, so skip this if you like. In fact, I am not forcing anything on anyone, skip it or not, whatever you feel like. I am talking about Julian Schnabel’s (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) film Lou Reed’s Berlin. It is the 2006 live performance of Reed’s concept album Berlin filmed in St. Ann’s Warehouse in Brooklyn. The performance is punctuated with impressionistic projections featuring Emmanuelle Seigner (also of Diving Bell) as Caroline, the character in Berlin’s narrative. The projections, filmed by Schnabel’ s daughter, add to the surreal, dark atmosphere of the music. The story, just like Bukowski’s writing, is about the dark side of humanity. Lou Reed’s masterpiece is an acquired taste for those who can appreciate dark melancholy and surreal, dreamy, rough music and cinematography. It is a majestic, dark, beautiful and intimate experience for Reed’s fans. If you are not one, I suggest you start with something lighter, like Transformer. Considering how grim the above options are, for light relief I am reading Mark Morris’s Forever Autumn, a Doctor Who novel. It is indeed light, written with horror traditions in mind. So not too light... :) 16

Everything Once by Calum Kerr

Ed sat in the waiting room, waiting. The moulded plastic of the chair bit into his hip, aggravating the pain, and he waited. He thought of all the times he had sat in rooms like this one, on late Saturday nights and early Sunday mornings, with lacerations to his face, fractures in his fingers, sprains of his wrists. He thought of all the fights which had caused him to wait and wait. He thought of all the faces smashed and evenings trashed. He tried to smile at the memory but it no longer did anything for him. He thought of all the plastic chairs he’d bled on. Once he would have found that to be a badge of honour, but now he could only think of the poor cleaners who would have had to wipe away the gore. Thinking of the fights used to remind him of the smell of the late nights: wet streets, salt and vinegar coated chips and cheap aftershave. He used to see neon and car lights, wet pavements reflecting gaudy jewellery and too much skin. He used to hear shrieks of laughter and pain and ‘Leave it, Craig, he’s not worth it.’ He had never been Craig. Now, thinking of the fights made him remember the scared looks on the faces as he hit them with clenched fist, kicked them with booted foot or butted them with bare forehead. The thought of the way they would cry out as they fell, their arms coming up to cover their heads even as his leg aimed itself at the exposed stomach. As the boot went in, the legs would come up and the arms back down, to cover, to hold, to cradle. He remembered the looks on the faces of those standing around, some terrified, some appalled, some excited. He remembered and felt shame. Shame wasn’t new to Ed, but it was only in the last five or so years that he had come to regret what he had done in his youth. Ha! he thought. If it had been his youth, then he had been the only fifty year old youth in town. No, his age was no excuse. His anger was no excuse. The blame was his and he was living with it. Back in the present Ed noticed his hands were up against his cheeks. This was an old habit. He stroked his scars.

blankverse...

Everything Once

blankverse... Everything Once by Calum Kerr

The skin had been split open against his cheekbones so many times that it had the texture of old leather. It was solid and ribboned with scar tissue. He habitually ran his fingers over it, trying to read in the thick lines the truth of who he was. Now self-conscious, Ed pulled his hands down into his lap and twisted them together, running his fingers over the lumps and bumps of rheumatism, the ultimate result of breaking your finger joints time after time. He pulled and smoothed them like worry beads and he watched the door. Today he was not waiting to be stitched or bandaged. This wait had an entirely different reason. It was only a week since he had last been sitting in exactly this chair. That time he had been waiting for a doctor. As his name had been called he had slowly worked his way to his feet and followed the nurse. His right hip had hurt him for years, ever since someone even larger than him had decided it was a good place to concentrate the venom of his steel toe-cap. Kick after kick had slowly fractured the bone. Ed hadn’t found the time to go to a hospital back then, and ever since it had served as a useful reminder to bring down larger men fast and hard before their size could become an advantage. It also told him when it was likely to rain. But now, as he neared his sixty-first birthday, it was more than a reminder. It was a hot and heavy weight hanging from his body, shooting pains down his leg whenever he moved. He walked around in his empty flat and swore he could hear the hip bone grinding in its socket. It was finally time to get something done, so he had gone to see a doctor, and he in turn had sent him to the hospital. The consultant had examined him the previous week and had given him some useful advice and some even more useful pain killers. And he had put him on the list for a new hip. That wasn’t why he was here today. The last week had all led to this moment. He had only come because the pain had finally won its battle. He had woken and been unable to stand from his bed. The screams that ripped from his throat as he tried had resulted in that busy-body downstairs calling the police who kicked his door off the hinges when there was no answer except more screams. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t the first time they’d forced an entry. Rather than whatever they had expected - Ed standing over the body of yet another victim, he supposed - they had had the rare opportunity to call an ambulance for Ed himself. The paramedics had given him a couple of shots straight to the hip and got him on his feet. He’d been advised to get it seen to, and then they’d all left him to it. No ride in an ambulance for Ed. It wasn’t only the police who knew both him and his reputation.

blankverse... Everything Once by Calum Kerr

But what had happened when he got here had changed him more than any pain, more than any examination, more than any injection. He hadn’t slept properly all week, he’s sat drinking with his mates but found he could no longer laugh at the tales of blood and splintered teeth. He wasn’t interesting in comparing scars. He was just waiting. Waiting for today. And now it was here. Last week, the doctor had taken an age to see him. It seemed it wasn’t only the police and the paramedics who had heard of him. The entire waiting room had emptied and refilled twice before he was called in. They gave him and quick looky-see and then told to go back to the waiting room to wait. To sit and wait for someone to come back with a form. They needed him to fill out his details and sign his name so they could arrange to replace his hip bone with a piece of titanium that would last a thousand years. And then it happened. As he sat waiting, a woman walked into the hospital, and he was finally Craig. Her presence was a blow. He felt like he had been thumped and kicked. He felt like he had been knocked flat to the floor and stamped on. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, whether to cover his head or his heart. He had watched her walk in and talk to the receptionist. Her dark hair was traced at the edges with grey and, when she lifted a hand to hook it behind her ears, he saw the start of a loosening to the skin on her wrists. None of this mattered to Ed who was tracing the curve of her nose and the soft scoop of her cheek with his eyes. The long black coat had swung open as she turned and he saw a red lining and two slim, cuppable calves emerging from the bottom of a long black skirt. He had heard her voice utter the words ‘next week’ then watched her walk over to the banks of chairs and collect a magazine from the table. He had watched as she sat opposite him and flashed a smile which rebounded off the stunned expression he could feel upon his features. He watched her read. And he tried to understand what the hell was going on. He had signed the form with a shaking hand, a signature so unrecognisable it would have no validity in law. He handed back the clipboard to the waiting administrator and, pulling himself upright with more than even the usual amount of effort, he left, looking back only briefly. Her eyes were following him and her smile hit him with a slap that knocked him through the widening gap in the automatic doors. He hurried home and tried to understand the effect that the strange woman had had on him. It was nothing he had ever known.

blankverse... Everything Once by Calum Kerr

And now, a week later, he was back. He wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t scheduled to see any of the doctors. This was a totally different kind of appointment. He had been here since the Outpatients Department started its sessions at nine oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;clock; just sitting, and waiting, and he would be here for as long as it took. He was terrified. Finally, at exactly the same time as the previous week, she walked in. This time there was no side-trip to the receptionist. Head high, low sunlight outlining her silhouette, she walked through to the waiting area. As she sat, her face finally emerging from its shadow, Ed once again felt the force of her gaze like a punch to the chest, and the slice of her gaze like a razor across his brain. She smiled, and he trembled. Taking control of his fear, he worked his way to his feet, and painfully reached down for the small bunch of flowers he had brought with him. He straightened, flowers clutched too tightly in his hand, crushing stems. One deep breath followed another, and then finally he met her smile with one of his own. His heart beating faster than he had ever known it, Ed stepped forward into the unknown.

www.lisavrobinson.co.uk

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Lisa V Robinson

Untitled, oil on canvas ,183 x 122cm, 2008

blankgallery... Lisa V Robinson

Untitled, oil on canvas, 183 x 122 cm, 2008

by Joseph Leon Kazer

this one’s for you mooney he’d put up with me drunk and sweating out the memories of home i’ll give him that much he wore a new york company hat and drank apricot soda like it was brandy when i’d eat he’d stare like i was a dead language he showed me his knife collection the second time we met he’d talk about his girlfriend which made me lonely as shit sometimes i wish i was ugly it would make it less embarrassing everywhere we went something went wrong but we stood where they dropped little boy we drank tea in the park and fed the obese coi together we were miserable and loving it he still leaves me messages that i can’t return about meeting in Kyoto talking hockey scores while he ordered plain hamburgers you should hear him teach, i remember it’s like surviving a train derailment

this one’s for you mooney by Joseph Kazer

they were convenient and he took them everywhere

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this one’s for you mooney

it’s like a tour through fucking cambodia funny though and sometimes when i’m alone without heating i think about him he was alright i think he was alright

JOSEPH LEON KAZER Originally from southern California, Joseph Kazer is a poet and short story writer currently lost in the Japanese countryside. A graduate of the University of Colorado creative writing school, his work can be found compromised by several attempts at a music career and an affinity for whiskey.

CALUM KERR Calum Kerr is a freelance writer and academic who lives near Stockport. He writes all kinds of things (enquire within for details) and is about to start work on draft two of his latest novel, ‘Endless Days’. For further information please visit www.calumkerr.co.uk.

LISA V ROBINSON Lisa V Robinson is an emerging contemporary painter, currently based near Leeds in West Yorkshire. Her unique abstract paintings have been exhibited across England including; Leeds, Manchester and Nottingham. In 2008 she graduated from Manchester School of Art gaining first class honours in Fine Art Painting. Lisa describes her paintings as “hovering between abstraction and figuration” and that they are “an exploration of the physicality of paint and the possibilities of what can be achieved with space and colour”. She often begins a painting by pouring and splashing paint onto a blank canvas, allowing the resulting forms to provide inspiration to place further elements on top of the resulting painterly surface. Due to this process, no end result can be preconceived, which she finds an exciting challenge. For further information please visit www.lisavrobinson.co.uk

contributer’s biographies and information

Hilton’s work explores the mutability of memory and recollection exploring the process the mind takes through recollection. Performance, repetition and humour are utilised to explore the sinister aspects lurking underneath the everyday surface, using elements from both personal history and contextual popular culture. “Repetition calls attention to variation within sameness, focusing attention on personal vision, or engaging the passage of time through repetition, reverberations of prior use or suggesting the impossibility of full retrieval” Henri Bergson. For further information please visit www.hiltonvasey.co.uk

profiles...

HILTON VASEY

The VAULT Gallery, Lancaster Thursday 5th March - Saturday 21st March This March, Lancaster’s VAULT Gallery presents its first selective group exhibition. Entitled ‘Curiosity’, the Church Street space plays host to artworks ranging from the peculiar to the downright strange. The usual collection of objects- spanning the fearful, freakish and fantasticalcome courtesy of artists from across the north-west and nationwide. Featuring work by: Debbie-Adele Cooper, Bryn Llyoyd Evans, Lesley Joan Guy, Lucy Harvey, Pietro Mele, Alicja Rogalska, Hilton Vasey For further information please visit www.vaultgallery.org

A NEW AGE Airspace Gallery, Stoke-on-Trent Friday 27th February - Saturday 7th March The term A New Age is often used to describe a change or transition from the old to the new; it could describe recognition of a new way of thinking or behaving. It talks of being able to address particular aspects of the present, which are more important or salient than they possibly would, or could, have been in the past. It is often used to describe a currency of ideas related to a particular subject matter and so for these artists the exhibition is about questioning their own practice and how it can be seen as being important to us now, at this point in time. Featuring new work by: Linda Birmingham Barry Felton Richard Hepenstal Jill Impey Matthew Mcafferty Sarah Morgan Andrew Nash John Newton Stephan Oates Chris Parkes Laura Slack Russell Willett Cal Woolley For further information please visit www.airspacegallery.org

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Curiosity