OBJ.ETC issue 1

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OBJ . ETC A CURATION OF THE ARTS

SUMMER 2013 ISSUE ONE

A

CURATION

OF

OBJ.ETC 01 / 2013 / uk £4.50 US $9.99 / AUS $13.50

THE

ARTS


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“DO NOT DRESS LIKE CHILD.” FRENCH CONNECTION FOR MAN // 3

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INDIVIDUAL STYLE UNITED SPIRIT

TAG YOURSELF AT FACEBOOK.COM/DRMARTENS

#FIRSTANDFOREVER WWW.DRMARTENS.COM

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RELIGION

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w w w . religion C lothing . co m

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CON TENTS.

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ISSUE ONE SUMMER 13

EIGHT //

TWELVE //

GRACE KEBBY

Kingston based Photography student, Grace Kebby exhibits her stunning ‘Emilie’ collection in OBJ.ETC

NAMELESS Being let down is something everyone will encounter in life. Antonia Formosa expresses her version of events in this chilling short story

FOURTEEN //

Paris, Je t’aime

EIGHTEEN //

CAMILLE LIERRE

TWENTY SIX // TWENTY EIGHT // THIRTY //

Libby Page reviews her favorite city, Paris. With stunning photographs by Lily Wedge.

Another fabulous photographer showcases her digital and print photography skills

FOETUS OBJ.ETC goes to SKETCH in Oxford Street, and while the cocktails were delicious, the only thing we can pick up on, are the toilets

SHEEP SHAGGIN’ A trip to Cardiff is more expensive then anyone could bargin for, as we find out

THE RICH, THE FAMOUS AND THE CRACK HEADS ALL LIVE IN L.A OBJ.ETC’s Holly Carter, travels to Los Angeles, to understand that its not all cocktails and tinsel town

I AIN’T SAYING SHE’S A HOOKER, SHE’S JUST SELLING HER SOUL

FOURTY // FOURTY TWO //

Billie Piper has come a long way from pop princess, but now OBJ.ETC revisits a BBC classic, The Secret Diary of a Call Girl, and revives a classic TV series

CURL UP AND DYE Emma Lloyd explains her fabulous life of pampering

ROUGH TRADE EAST

FOURTY THREE //

OBJ.ETC’s Features Editor, Antonia Formosa raves about Rough Trade East. She is partial to this spot

JOSH CHOW

FOURTY FOUR // FIFTY FOUR //

OBJ.ETC collaborates with good friend, Josh Chow. This selection of photography was inspired by the capital city, and really captures the essence of London Life

TO THE FALLEN HEROS Emma Lloyd writes a chilling and dark short story

MEAT FEAST

FIFTY EIGHT //

A review of London’s finest steak houses for all OBJ.ETC readers

BEGGERS CAN BE CHOOSERS

SIXTY TWO //

Canadian Student, Shane Dussault, studies and lives within his University campus. He doesn’t pay rent, and has no expenses. OBJ.ETC investigates this bazar choice of lifestyle

ALBUM REVIEWS

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OBJ.ETC presents the new and less cheesy version of one Direction. These 12 year olds have been compared to The Beatles. Now OBJ.ETC reviews what they are really about OBJ.ETC // ISSUE ONE // SUMMER 2013


EDITORS LETTER. MASTHEAD

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ISSUE ONE SUMMER 13

Welcome to issue one of OBJ.ETC! This year we promise to give you a more polished version of our magazine. Through all the ups and downs, the many empty jugs of white wine and chocolate fests, we’ve grown loads and now more able to create a coherent piece of work for your entertainment. Before putting the issue together, the team scoured the pages of our Tumblr that we had been regularly posting to since the publications conception, to find the one similarity in all our content. This one singular thread of OBJ.ETCual idiosyncrasy would be, the tying together of our new issue’s theme. We discovered that OBJ.ETC is wholly reflective of what our team loves; the arts, foodism, hedonistic purchases and travel. We found a prevalence of reviews. We wrote our pieces together, drinking hot brewed tea and scoffing down Rollo Cookies, our own invention and as we wrote, we chatted, creating the amiable tone that is OB.ETC. These reviews were born from an eagerness to share our experiences with our friends and turned into fully fledged content. And thus is how we perceive our readers, as friends that we want to encourage to go to exhibitions that will open their minds and update them on the best places to eat steak. Continuing from issue zero, OBJ.ETC hones their eye in choosing the right photographers to contribute to the magazine. Incredibly talented artists such as Grace Kebby, Camille Lierre and Josh Chow are all exhibited as well as phenomenal work by Simon Boucher Harris, who we decided with little deliberation to use for the front cover. Their work brings to life the simplicity in OBJ.ETC’s minimalistic nature, springing forth out of the pages, captivating the eye. By working with more colour, we bring a full feast of tone and depth throughout the pages. We drafted in contributors to provide new and exciting reviews and stories, all of course keeping in line with the OBJ.ETCual-ness. So until next time guys, but don’t forget to keep up-to-date with OBJ.ETC’s future endeavors on our social platforms, Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr. For now though, enjoy OBJ.ETC issue one! // Holly Carter. Editor.

EDITORIAL EDITOR Holly Carter AssoCIATE EDITOR Ben Lifton Creative Director Ben Lifton & Emma Lloyd

ILLUSTRATORS Kameron Rajput Izzie Orton CONTACT

Features Editor Antonia Formosa

Email OBJ.ETC@GMAIL.COM

Design Ben Lifton & Matthew Craig

FACEBOOK .OBJ.ECTMAGAZINE

Production MANAGER Ben Lifton CONTRIBUTORS WRITERS Ben Lifton Emma Lloyd Holly Carter Antonia Formosa Libby Page Kelly Dark

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Photographers Josh Chow Grace Kebby Camille Lierre Lily Wedge

TWITTER @READOBJETC TUMBLR .OBJETCMAGAZINE. COM

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OBJ.ETC Magazine is published independently by UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS LONDON. No part of this magazine may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or resold without prior written consent of the publisher. OBJ.ETC Magazine recognises all copyrights contained in this issue. The articles appearing within this publication reflect the opinions and attitudes of their respective authors and not necessarily those of the publishers or editorial team. OBJ.ETC Magazine is published Once a year ISSN 1745-9168

Cover Design: Ben Lifton Photographer: SIMON HARRIS

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Distribution by Slam City Skates: 130 Talbot Road, London W11 1JA

TEL: 01-221-7495

16 Neal’s Yard, Covent Garden, London WC2H 9DP

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TEL: 01-240-0928

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words. BEN LIFTON // photography. GRACE KEBBY

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GRACE KEBBY. “Throughout my practice I concentrate on colour and form over context. Light and shadows is a constant element in my photography and something that I will continuously explore. By eliminating the element of context I am able to question the meaning of a photograph. Personally I feel that context is something that can develop through your practice and for me I try to approach my work with an open mind and just see where a photograph can end up. These two images are the beginnings of a new collection of images I am currently working on.� // Grace Kebby

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Grace Kebby presents her photography collection entitled ‘Emile’. I went along to a friend’s photography exhibition recently in The Cob Gallery, Camden. The work exhibited was all second year students studying Photography in Kingston University. One piece that I was drawn to was the work of Kebby. I’m attracted to all things associated with colour, and this was no exception. Her work was framed simply, allowing the image to showcase itself in all its beauty. I got chatting to Kebby, and told her I had to share her work through OBJ.ETC. She was more then forthcoming with this proposal, and now we are proud to present her work to you. The images were produced in the dark room, not digitally, which is just phenomenal. The colours explode on the page, and we here at OBJ.ETC are huge fans of this collection, and look forward to seeing what is coming next. // BL // 12

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words. ANTONIA FORMOSA // illustration. KAMERON RAJPUT

NAME LESS. A dark, grey cloud filled with tobacco fumes, exit through her nose and follow her down the sidewalk. The click, clack of her pointed stilettos, side step the mounds of crippled, orange leaves. ‘Coffee, black.’ The rich aroma of the brown bean, flows down her throat and awakens the senses. Pulling the collar of her grey fur tighter against the chest, willing the sharp, dry cold away from seeping into her bones. ‘64th & Madison.’ Removing the soft kid gloves, she massages her fingers to breathe, whilst dreaming of this season’s tweed. Her legs lull to sleep in the comfort of the well heated yellow cab, feeling the car jerk from first to third. ‘WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING PAL!’ Cyclists shoot around her, barely able to register their existence. The only conceivable signs being loud aggressive sounds of blaring horns. Red, amber, green, the traffic lights continued. Each colour timed to the minute, each seeming infinite. ‘Can I help you with anything Ms?’ Tulle gowns suspended by satin hangers. Champagne bubbles floating in her hand. Interlocking yellow gold ‘C’s’ making her feel at home. Staring at her reflection with a narrow eye, twisting her contours to see from all angles, firmly pressing her hands against

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the dress to smoothen out its ripples, she studies it all. ‘Enjoy you’re lunch.’ With educated grace, she slides the salmon off her fork and into her mouth. The velvety smoothness a great companion to the watery salad and crunchy pine nuts. Pausing to pat her white linen napkin against the corners of her mouth, expertly keeping her lipstick in tact, she gazes at the scenery. ‘It’s a beautiful piece.’ Couples remain embraced as they point and squint at the delicate brushwork of the impressionist exhibition. Escaping the romance, she decides to trail behind a musky cologne scent and strong shoulders, reminding her of this evening’s secrets. ‘That’ll be $23.55 please.’ Nimbly, climbing out of the black leather seat of her cab, she smiles and thanks the hotel’s doorman. Their exchange a custom, executed perfectly over the years. ‘You’re room key Ms and please let me know if you need anything.’ Settled into the well-known coziness of their usual suite, she casually flicks through the tv channels, unperturbed by the deafening sirens emitting from the outside world. A quick green flash of a key card opens the door and her heart flutters. // AF

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words. LIBBY PAGE // photography. LILY WEDGE

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My head lives in London but my heart lives in Paris. When I’m stressed I just think about the midnight lights of the Eiffel Tower and the wooden boats on the lake at the Jardin de Luxembourg. I think of coffee shops and patisseries, and all is well. I relax into the sound of French conversations and teaspoons singing against espresso cups. Paris is the city of love, and my love is pastries. Angelina’s in Paris does the best millefeuille in all the land – an impressive building of a dessert whose walls of cream and pastry crumble and are destroyed with each bite. Sometimes I wake up at night and would wrestle a tiger for a taste of Angelina’s millefeuille. Walking along the Seine I feel at peace, thinking about all the footsteps that have come before me and all those that will cover my steps when I am gone. Nothing’s quite so bad really. Just watch the river and drink some wine and everything will be ok. Each time I think of Paris it is like I am there. And each time it gets harder and harder to come back. // LP

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words. BEN LIFTON // photography. CAMILLE LIERRE

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C a m ille

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Photography courses run up and down the country, and have spawned photographic Gods such as David Lachapelle, Ellen Von Unwerth and Terry Richardson. All of the aforementioned deal in the Fashion Photography market, one that is incredibly competitive and inevitably bitchy. So what happens when you are a normal, twenty something undergraduate studying Photography? The prospects of the future are a scary thought. The stigma attached with a Photography Degree is that unless you’re the best of the best, or at least willing to fuck people over to get what you want, then you’re not going to get anywhere, right? This is not the case for London Photographer, Camille Lierre. Born in France, she spent most of her life moving, and becoming fluent in both French and English. Lierre is someone who is uncertain of her future, but is certainly on a road to success. She studies at Kingston University, and is preparing herself for her third year // 21

of her degree in September. Like any student her age, Lierre is contemplating her possibilities beyond graduation next year. Her hunger to travel is a driving force behind her ambition, and hopes to one day use her photography to help others, and not end up yet another wedding photographer. Lierre is undoubtedly a Frenchie at heart, her work screams precision, and is so classic and simple. Her work is clean and smart, making the most of dark shades and neutral tones. She is a long way from the over sexualized and commercial Fashion Photographers that clog up other magazines, and all use the same generic formula of tits plus gloss equals success. For Lierre, her work is leaps and bounds more mature than any photographer I know, and her future may be hazy right now, but as her work will show you, she has the talent to make a name for herself some day soon. // BL

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words. BEN LIFTON // photography. CAMILLE LIERRE

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FOETUS. Since I last checked, I cannot really remember what it was like to be in my mothers’ womb. However, I thoroughly enjoyed a very real simulation of what it would be like, in the lavatories in SKETCH bar. Situated in Conduit Street, just off Regent Street, the bar offers a lavish experience for all to enjoy. First thing you notice when you reach SKETCH is the statue of a dog placed on the outside of the building. Completely irrelevant, this somewhat abstract piece stands out to any guests, who can enjoy an elaborate drink, or equally extravagant food in SKETCH. It wasn’t until I had got half way through my ‘Lets Talk About Passion’ cocktail, which comprised itself of gin and an array of syrups and fresh fruit, that I needed a toilet break. After getting very detailed directions from the barman, I managed to gracefully mince through the restaurant, and find in front of me a Mecca of toilet cubicles. To the left was males, and to the right, females. The freestanding egg shaped pods were pristine, and ever so

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arrogant. However, the experience really began when you step inside the cubical. Trickling water acted as background music, I can only presume to help people who suffer from stage fright. Then in front of you is a slideshow of animals. Why? I fail to understand. The quilted toilet roll was the mother of all toilet roll, and anyone who says the thought of stealing a roll didn’t cross their mind, is lying. Besides, even if I had tried to sneak a roll under my jumper, the very traditional toilet maid would have chased me out with her strangely clean feather duster and frilly apron. So despite going into the bar to have a cocktail with a couple of friends, I ended up getting over excited about the toilets. This resulted in my franticly fast paced walk back through the restaurant, to inform my friends about my fabulous experience in a bathroom. Their excitement was no way near on the same level as mine, but to anyone who is looking for an obnoxious yet pleasant venue for a dinner, party or even graduation dinner, SKETCH would be a top choice. // BL

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words. JACK DUFF // photography. LILY WEDGE

Wales have jumped on the Reality TV bandwagon, and released ‘The Valleys’. I am sure this is something that others may enjoy, but I would rather enjoy embracing Wales for other reasons than another generic and scripted TV show. Recently I took a Megabus to Cardiff to visit some friends. The journey was effortless, and the price of the bus ticket was so inviting, I don’t think I could ever return to paying for a train ticket any more. After three hours of sitting amongst rowdy rugby fans, I arrived in Cardiff. The inviting scent of cool, crisp air as I walked through the town center, was a pleasant escape from London’s thick smog. The pace of life was slower, and there was no shoulders banging past me, unlike Oxford Circus. The bars and clubs in Cardiff I had been told were catastrophically cheap, and provided a good and satisfying night out. However, one thing I was not made aware of was the 10p charge for a bag in any shop. This was something my friends had forgotten momentarily too, as

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SHAGGIN'

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we ladled an abundance of food onto the conveyer belt at her local Tesco. Reluctantly, I parted ways with an extra 50p to fund the bags we so desperately needed. I did not let this extra spend pass my friends mind, and continued to remind her of the extra money I had to spend throughout my stay. Regardless of this though, Cardiff did provide an eventful and unforgettably entertaining evening. The student population is so large, and bars are crawling with fresher’s still rinsing the promotional offers at 5 in the morning. To fund the so called actors on Wales reality TV show ‘The Valleys’ is the only logical reason I can understand the 10p per plastic bag law. Yet, more realistically, it would be something to do with increasing pollution within our country, but for now, we shall keep that one hush hush. // JH

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words. HOLLY CARTER // photography. HOLLY CARTER

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The rich, the famous and .OBJ ETC

the crack heads, all

live in L.A. If you are rolling in the dollar and you want to experience the glamorous side of LA, the place to stay is The Mondrian. With its minimalistic but structured design featuring a purple velvet swing randomly placed in the lobby, this hotel is fit for the cool kids in town. The rooms are not made for sleeping. With enough space in each suite to hold a party worthy of 50 guests and a walk in shower big enough for Mr. Hefner and his playgirls, The Mondrian is not for the faint hearted. Although you may not want to let anyone in, the modern, spacious rooms feature ceiling high fantasy inspired rotating mirrors that turn into TVs, a lavish crisp white sofa with way too many cushions than one needs and strange abstract objects e.g. a mannequins hand perfectly placed on the middle of the marble table. Also the view over looking the whole of the city isn’t bad either!! With a top class AsianAmerican Fusion restaurant ‘Asia De Cuba’ downstairs serving delicious ahi // 33

tuna and black cod brought out by the chef himself, this is not the sort of place that hosts ‘happy hour.’ However, do not fret, American bar men do not mess around with alcohol measures, 2 vodka soda (diet) limes and the night suddenly becomes a lot more interesting. This could be the place to pick up a hot bachelor. By 11pm The Mondrian’s stunning Skye Bar which is lit up around the pool area is filling up with LA’s sharpest business men. Beware though from rags to riches. Walk 5 minutes to your left or right down Sunset Boulevard out of The Mondrian and you can already smell the hobos. That’s right, Hollywood may be glamorous during the night but as soon as the sun comes up, that is when it turns into tramp town. My advice, find a bachelor who has a driver. // HC

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I HOOKER, words. NICOLA CARR // illustration. KAMERON RAJPUT

AIN'T

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Prostitution is a topic that barely surfaces at the top of people’s agenda to discuss. However, when TV programs such as BBC’s Secret Diary of a Call Girl showcased the glamorous and comical side to prostitution; fabulous and accessible were words that I would never immediately associate with a prostitute. Billie Piper’s fictional character, Hannah Baxter, during the day is your typical girl next door. At night, her alter ego, Belle de Jour, comes out to play. The serial drama is something that many saw to be problematic, and an unrealistic portrayal of escorting. However, with blow dry’s, manicures, pedicures and fake lashes flying left right and center, how can this luxurious fictional lifestyle of Belle, propose any harm? The series follows Hannah and her long-term friend, also ex lover, Ben.

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The pair find themselves cross paths with a handful of unforgettable characters throughout the four part series. The constant ambiguity of Hannah’s family’s knowledge of her secret life is a gripping and heartbreaking story. This is Billie Piper’s first long term character, since Rose Tyler in Dr. Who in 2005. Prior to this, Piper was famous for her bubblegum pop music. Her career spawned an array of pop classics, but Belle De Jour is a role and concept so far fetched from what she was, it is almost incomprehensible. The series is something in the past now, but as I sit here, I know my box set of the TV show will stay with me for life. Not only is it an easy 30 minute escape into another world, but it really does glamourize such a taboo subject. Something we should embrace and enjoy, not slate. // NC

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words. EMMA LLOYD

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CURL UP AND DYE. I take part in self-grooming. I wax, I dye my hair I get the occasional blow out, my lower talons however have never been gruesome enough for me to acquire a pedicure. But being a sucker for gimmicks, I couldn’t help myself at the MW Nail Salon in Spitalfields Market. “If you’re looking for a New York style express treatment, we do that. If you’re looking for ultimate indulgence, we do that too” The salons are decked out like a 1970’s aeroplane. The seats, the meal tables to rest your ‘inflight magazine’ and even the appointment card is designed to look like a boarding pass. I turned up for my appointment with a suitcase from a job I had just done, which was hastily stored in the overhead luggage compartments. It did occur to me that I looked like an over keen retro bitch. It was a really fun way to relax for 40 minutes and have your womanly duties tended to (I can hear the feminist cries already… Shhh). It is even just worth a look if you’re in the area. Oh there’s one in Holborn too, book ahead to avoid disappointment. // EL // 44

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words. ANTONIA FORMOSA

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Rough Trade East, Spitafields, Brick Lane, Hookah Lounge, 24hr Bagel service. Have you ever heard a more alternative line up? For my first ever visit, but definitely not last, to the busy and enamouring Rough Trade East, I was privy to a small and intimate gig with Electric Guest. LA-based, the band’s sounds were completely intoxicating and had me doing the wave with my hands whilst twisting my head from side to side, which can only mean good things. They’re described as having; “electronic-tinged soul grooves” and “soulful, funked-up pop” styles, which is entirely true but at its core, the music is dance and smiles conducing which is more than enough reason to check them out. On a cool-note, I hung around after the gig and spoke to front man, Asa Taccone, who literally has the sexiest voice I have ever had the pleasure of conversing with. His words sailed out as though laced with cannabis and Barry White so that whilst he shook my hand, I couldn’t help but swoon. // AF // 45

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JOSH CHOW.

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Josh Chow returns to OBJ.ETC to showcase his insane talents once more. These collections of images are inspired by London life. Taken in various locations throughout the City, Chow manages to capture the essence of Westminster, Covent Garden and Charring Cross. We salute you Sir Chow, your work still remains classic and beautiful.

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FALLEN HEROS. As Sarah unthinkingly stepped into the conservatory the sunlight abruptly disappeared. Everything was a blur. All she could see were faint outlines of figures. It took her a few moments to re-gain her sight during which time she realised the room was still, as if life itself had been put on pause. Silence. But the room was alive. Although Sarah wanted to turn back she couldn’t. It was as if something was holding her there, telling her to stay. ‘ Sarah?’ A long silence. Sarah nervously stepped forward, her heart thudding, and the heels of her shoes clicking and echoing around the room like the sharp crack of fire. He sat in a wheelchair waiting for dark. His pale emotionless face was camouflaged against the cold white walls, and he shivered in his disheveled blue gown. Where once there had been two legs there were now only pinned up trouser legs emphasising the gap. From outside came the sound of life carrying on without him; the lifeless autumn leaves, squelching in the mud, the laugh of a girl filling her lungs with happiness. These sounds brought memories thorn bushes twining around his ankles, clinging onto his clothes. He smelt icy fresh air gushing into his lungs, but with it came the smell of rot and wet earth and destruction. Voices of play and pleasure flooded through his mind confusing him. Before he threw away his knees he had this life, now he would never again run freely, would never feel the sensation of a female presence, soft skin and undersized hands. Now he was // 56

scarred, he had a disease, one that would never go away. Sarah’s eyes drifted to his nametag, William Brown. ‘William?’ she said quietly, the disbelief at his changed state evident in her whispered question. A long pause. ‘Yes,’ replied William. Their eyes met. Not knowing what to say or do Sarah reached out and softly held his cold, pale, gaunt hand. ‘It’s been so long.’ ‘It seems like a life time ago,’ he said. ‘I daren’t ask what happened. William, I’m so sorry.’ ‘I suppose I’m the lucky one; a lot don’t even make it back.’ A chilled silence. ‘There were days in the trenches when I would look out at no man’s land and all the stumps of dead burnt remains of trees and always in my mind I would go back to us playing war games at Hopetoun wood where the trees would tower over us.’ ‘I remember,’ said Sarah. William looked at her with a distant haunted look in his eye, ‘My war was so different.’ Suddenly he was back there, back to the harsh brutality of the Western Front and suddenly he wanted to take her there too. There was the ever-present smell of rotting bodies in shallow graves, the lingering odor of poisonous gases, rotting sandbags, cigarette smoke. The smell of the men, their unwashed bodies and >> dirty uniforms. ‘The smell I got used to but OBJ.ETC // ISSUE ONE // SUMMER 2013


words. EMMA LLOYD

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words. EMMA LLOYD // photography. CAMILLE LIERRE & VICTORIA CADISCH

the lice, it was a never-ending problem. Death was everywhere in the trenches. At any time it could be your corpse lying in the mud.’ Darkness. Tense, alert to every sound, every movement, they were breathing deeply waiting for their ration of rum to take hold. His company was stiffly standing, waiting to clamber up the steep parapets lined with several feet of sandbags, waiting for the officer to give the go ahead. They didn’t have to wait long until a swift wave from their officer and a hissed whisper instructed them to move. They cautiously scaled the ladders; and could feel the blood pulsating through their veins. Slowly, silently, creeping over the top, they made their line of attack across the field. Step by step, their boots sank deeper into the thick stinking mud which had become the resting place of many men who had not made it across the sea of explosions and fire. The men were frantically sheering the barbed wire, their ankles ripped, wire piercing trousers, holding them back. The alien voices of the Germans were getting louder and clearer as they talked to each other in their trench. A slight click of cutters gnawing through the wires and a bright orange flare suddenly sailing into the sky from the German trench lighting up the death landscape of no mans land. The men froze like mice, as the silhouettes of their crouched bodies came into view; bunched together suffocating by the copious amounts of mud, evidence // 59

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of slaughter strewn across their aching bodies, waiting by the wire they were sitting targets. Within an instant shells were exploding around them, recklessly taking refuge in a shell hole sufficient enough to shield them. As soon as the firing began men were hit before they could move. The screams and sounds of the men’s cries for help could be heard above the rattling waves of bullets that swept over them. At that moment there was an intense blast of fire, followed by a rush of smoke spilling its way into their lungs. Before William had realised what had happened, he was struck with a pain so excruciating it was like liquid metal running through his veins. Darkness. As Sarah slowly released William’s hand it was no longer cold or pale but warm as if part of him had come back to life, despite the scarring and bruising. All Sarah could feel was guilt, guilt that while these boys had been in hell she had been enjoying the sense of freedom that working in the munitions factory gave her. She had felt liberated, been given new opportunities, enjoyed the independency of earning money, whereas these young boys had been to hell and back. Although the injured were back they were not free from the horror of the trenches and never will, they are trapped in the trenches of injury, innocent boys condemned to a future of dependability. Silence falls around, and is a haunting and dull sound. What is done, is done. // EL OBJ.ETC // ISSUE ONE // SUMMER 2013


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words. EMMA LLOYD

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MEAT LIQUOR Okay, okay, I was definitely lagging behind the trendy food crowd with this one, but I still think its worth a mention for all of you who need a bit more persuasion to stand outside in line to gain entry to a burger joint who have a no reservations policy. So fuck here we go. From a burger van, a pop up restaurant in New X and to the swanky streets of Marylebone… I give you Meat Liquor, the all American burger restaurant and cocktail bar. One evening I descended upon the streets of Marylebone slightly tipsy boyfriend in tow and looking forward to consuming something more substantial than the previous 12 hours intake of wheatabix, whisky and a slightly dodgy ‘bakewell tartini’. Having eventually found the place, it was a blessing there was no queue; we were quickly seated and sipping on gin and apricot jam cocktails in no time. I swiftly ordered a chili cheeseburger and chili cheese fries, when it arrived it was bang on, greasy all-American and great. For a place with so much hype, its location and trendiness, the portions were surprisingly massive and at such reasonable prices. Having previously been to ‘Meat Easy’ I knew of the culinary delights I was in for, however the venue itself really took me back. Architects at Shed London are behind the magic, with ornate pillars and a beautiful dome taking Centre stage of the restaurant it really is a breath taking space. Where some foodies would have settled for a simple white wash to accompany the architecture the no// 60

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MEAT MISSION nonsense brains at Meat Liquor took it a step to the next level. Inviting a team of illustrators to camp out in the space and decorate the walls and ceilings in Rock and Roll scrawl, tattoo like images and doodles of darker minds. The final effect creates a restaurant that has the similar ‘Fuck You’ feel as Garlic and shots in Soho or Road trip in Old Street yet with an integral design ethic. To top it all off, they play music that you actually want to listen. Fucking fantastic burgers, good music and great venue, go visit readers. //

Went to Meat Mission the other day Hoxton’s branch of the Meat Liquor guyz. This ones in a converted church… get it meat MISSION. Totally rad as always. Cocktails look tasty as ever. It was snowing when I went and despite not having anything ‘hot and boozy’ on the menu they catered to my demands and whipped me up a Hot Toddy, mmmmm. I’m an awful reviewer and cant remember the name of the burger I had was with swiss cheese and crispy pastrami (or some kinda meaty ham) even the waitress said it was the best one. Heads up, always share a portion of chips between two, especially the chilli cheese fries as they are big portions. And! Theres a photo booth just buy the door which one of the nice waitresses will give you a token for if your polite. You get a set of four different pictures so make sure you get your tits in at least one. //

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words. EMMA LLOYD

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FLAT IRON STEAK I have two confessions. 1. I have never been to Paris (excluding Disney) and 2. I had never had a steak until last Sunday. There is a reason for this madness, I wasn’t allowed to eat beef when I was growing up, my parents were pranging out about mad cow disease and then at about 17 I decided I was going to go veggie, that didn’t last long but a weird TV show where Jamie Oliver castrated a pig live on TV put me off all meat but fish and chicken for 4 years. But upon moving to London where I spent my first year heavily sedated, I was too fucked to even care what I ate, still a big slab of beef still seemed a bit much to take on. That was until last Sunday where myself and the boy were roaming the streets of Soho looking for somewhere to dine when we came a across an untitled door, where a break in the frosted glass revealed communal seating, a queue and upon glancing at the pieces of brown paper hanging form the wall with a bulldog clip… a mono menu…. I turned to him, “this looks exactly like the sort of wanky pretentious I place like”. In all honesty it wasn’t wanky at all, the lovely hostess informed us you couldn’t make reservations (of course) but if I gave her my number she’d call us when a table came up. 20minutes later she calls; we’re promptly seated and served some complimentary pop corn. The venue was all exposed bricks, with aprons hanging form the walls and wooden communal tables with attached stools. Onto ordering, Flat iron just sells one thing // 61

Flat Iron steaks, or what we British call The Butlers cut. Its a cut of beef from the shoulder of the cow and is cheaper but equally if not more tasty that a fillet and has become a popular favourite at top restaurants. Good news for diners as it was only £10 at Flat Iron. There was then about 4 sides to choose from, we went for some fries creamed spinach and both had the Béarnaise sauce. It was so so so tasty. I went for medium rare as they recommend, it was presented beautifully on a board with a min meat cleaver and a side salad in a little glass cup. The Boy went for rare and it really was, so much so he asked if it could be cooked a little longer the waitress replied that it was cooked in a way that it wouldn’t be possible but she offered to bring him a new one, yet not liking to make a fuss he insisted it was fine. To his delight 5 minutes later she bought him a new steak (which we weren’t charged for) he ate it lovingly and to the couples delight that sat next to us he gave them the rest of his rare steak. For dessert we had a salted caramel mouse which was decanted into glasses before us and was just the sort of dessert you want after eating something quite heavy. Flat Iron opened after its success as a pop up in The Owl and the Pussycat in Shoreditch. It’s yet to be swarmed by foodies due to low key opening so get down there before it gets silly. The guys there really look after you and it felt like they genuinely wanted you to go away feeling satisfied, which I certainly did. // EL OBJ.ETC // ISSUE ONE // SUMMER 2013


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words. KELLY DARK // illustration. IZZIE ORTON

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Beggers

CAN

Being homeless is one thing most of us avoid at all costs, but not college student, Shane Dussault. I recently read about this Philosophy majoring student at McGill University in Montreal, Canada. He chooses this for his lifestyle. Inside one of Shane Dussault’s backpacks is a laptop, a small bag of tools, a bag of electronics, and an ultra-absorbent compressed towel the size of a washcloth. In the other is a kettle, food supplies such as olive oil, fruit, cheese and bread, and a spare pair of shoes. Shane is a U1 Philosophy student at McGill, and has been homeless for almost a year. He lives on campus, using its

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facilities like most of us use different rooms in a house. He eats his meals in student lounges and does push-ups in the library. He showers at the gym and stashes extra socks in convenient hiding spots. He never revealed where – he guards his possessions closely. He also sleeps outside year round, on campus in the winter and on the mountain in the summer. Every morning, he packs up his gear and begins another typical student day – he walks to class, takes notes on his mini Acer laptop at lectures, and logs long hours in the library to

stay on top of his courses. At the end of the day, he returns to his spot and sets up again, completing what must be the shortest commute in McGill history. On the weekends, when he visits friends or goes to parties, he’s careful not to drink too much – alcohol slows the blood’s circulation, something Shane can’t risk while sleeping outside in February. And the strangest part? He does it all by choice. // KD

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words. ANTONIA FORMOSA

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The Strypes. The Strypes are said to be a reincarnated 1962, Rolling Stones, without being trite, obviously. Their sound heralding from Cavan, Ireland, these lads have an average age of 16 but I’m seriously doubting they’re Directioners. Currently signed to Sir Elton John’s management company, the boys have an EP dedicated to covering the likes of Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry. They’re enjoying making music and reintroducing the classics that is slowly emerging with an old-fashioned rhythm and blues panache. The blogosphere, Shortlist and Sir Elton himself have drawn comparisons with The Beatles. So let’s pray that even through the early drug habits will make an appearance that these Strypie boys keep on churning out quality stuff. // AF

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ELECTRIC GUEST

ALBUM REVIEW.

For my first ever visit, but definitely not last, to the busy and enamouring Rough Trade East, I was privy to a small and intimate gig with Electric Guest. LA-based, the band’s sounds were completely intoxicating and had me doing the wave with my hands whilst twisting my head from side to side, which can only mean good things. They’re described as having; “electronic-tinged soul grooves” and “soulful, funked-up pop” styles, which is entirely true but at its core, the music is all dance and smiles conducing which is more than enough reason to check them out. On a coolnote, I hung around after the gig and spoke to front man, Asa Taccone, who literally has the sexiest voice I have ever had the pleasure of conversing with. His words sailed out as though laced with cannabis and Barry White, so that whilst he shook my hand I couldn’t help but swoon. // AF

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words. ANTONIA FORMOSA

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Consequence. The snow flake falls into the ocean, spreading its diamond wings like wild fire. The flames rise into the paper thin air, its smokey existence ascending into the heavens. The angels brandish their swords, catching the tails of those tiny, red faced demons. For all the holy water had evaporated, turning them into consequences of humanity. Blood splatters from their swollen bellies, staining the righteous, white walls of God’s kingdom. Its thick, sticky texture, bubbling with excitement at its new home. Springing forth into the nostrils of our tainted angels, breathing new life and with it, old expectations. //AF

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Aaron Basha Boutique • 685 Madison Avenue • New York • 212.935.1960 • www.aaronbasha.com Athens • Dubai • Hong Kong • Italy • Kiev • London • Moscow • Qutar • Tokyo • Toronto // 67

Harrods, Knightsbridge

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HEY, UGLY GIRLS.

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YOU’RE WELCOME. HEY GIRL, JACK DANIEL’S IS A MATCHMAKER. WE SEE YOU WITH ALL THAT MAKEUP ON. GO BRUSH THAT SNAGGLETOOTH, BECAUSE TONIGHT, YOU’RE GONNA LOOK FABOLOUS.

BEST ENJOYED RESPONSIBLY // 68

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