gum
Issue 03 / April 2017
Glasgow University Magazine
features / culture / fashion / politics / science / creative writing
Empathy
Glasgow University Magazine
CONTENTS
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Little acts of kindness KAMP Empathy in Music Contemplating Empathy How to be a Good Ally
CULTURE Engaging with Emotions Open to Interpretation
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POLITICS
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CREATIVE WRITING
Empathy in Form Fashion Editorial Fashion Just Wants to Have Fun
Yankophile
SCIENCE & TECHNOLOGY On the Enhancement of Species Empathy in Translation
12.01.17 Untitled A Nest Steak, Lobster & Sparkling Wine Chord Progression in U Major
contents
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FEATURES
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FASHION
Photo: Silvia Sani
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Editor in Chief Kirsty Dunlop
Deputy Editor Erika Koljonen
Editor’s Note Kirsty Dunlop
Features Editor Clare Patterson
Culture Editor Emmi Joensuu
Fashion Editor Niamh Carey
Politics Editor Neil Weaving
It’s that time of the year when deadlines are mounting up, exams are looming and everyone seems to be just a little bit stressed out. What better time to explore the theme of empathy? Empathy, in its most simple definition, is our ability to understand and share the feelings of someone else. It is a fundamental part of our human connection to each other, and sometimes it can be forgotten about in the chaos of everyday life. The truth is that we are never completely alone in the struggles we face, and sometimes it is worth taking a step back and speaking to each other rather than facing our issues alone. For some, empathy can be found in connections with friends and family, whilst, for many, books and other art forms may open a window into deeper connection and understanding. To write ourselves into someone else’s story is to release us from our own. With this in mind, GUM has embarked upon an exploration into the many forms that empathy can take. In the pages of this issue, you can read about language as a means of connection in homosexuality, the importance of being a good ally to those whose experiences are dramatically different to your own, and culture’s capacity to evoke and create empathy. But it’s not only about empathizing with each other; we also set out to explore the different forms of self care, and the complicated feelings that can arise with learning to love yourself. In the style section, we look at how we can express ourselves in positive ways through the clothes we wear, and the (often overlooked) playful side of fashion. Empathy can also be dangerous: in the politics section you can read about the overly indulgent relationship we have with US politics. Interested in the science behind empathy? Lose yourselves in insightful articles about our evolutionary biology and learn how our relationship with language can affect the way we perceive and connect. Or find empathy in the words of our creative writing section, which capture the complications of human connection in subtle and intriguing ways. For this issue, we also set out to ask all of you about little acts of kindness you have experienced, be that a nice gesture you have given to someone else or a wonderful moment of kindness someone showed you. Turn over the page to read some of these wonderful stories!
Wishing you all the best for the end of the academic year,
Kirsty Dunlop Editor
Dalia Gala
Creative Writing Editor Neil Weaving
Photo Editor Kati Brunk
Copy Editor
Melissa McNair
Online Editors
Silvia Sani and an Berta Kardelyte
Events Managers
Meg Handley and Kaisa Saarinen
Treasurer
Oscar Ronan
Graphic Design Kati Brunk
Cover
Silvia Sani and Kati Brunk
Writers
Oscar Ronan Amy Shimmon Tom Allinson Rachel Walker Pella Ödmann Rachel Walker Capucine Poncet Niamh Carey Erika Koljonen Louise Wylie Maria Marinova Marion Prieler Nour El-Issa Clare Patterson Rachel Brough Maria Sledmere Riana Hull
editor’s note
It’s been a fantastic year for GUM and I would like to take a moment to thank all the illustrators, writers and designers who have put an enormous amount of time and effort into making these issues so wonderful, as well as constantly producing content and artwork to go online. Interested in getting involved? Applications for next year’s team will be coming out shortly and, in the meantime, we will be holding workshops and meetings every Thursday at 6pm in Room 208 of the John Mac. We hope to see you all there!
Science & Technology Editor
Illustrators/Photographers Silvia Sani Eunjoo Lee Diana Wei Dai Julia Rosner Kristýna Šteflová Michael Paget Imogen Whiteley
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Glasgow University Magazine
Gabija, 18, Film & Television A few weeks ago, somebody broke into the pub I work in and stole our charity boxes. Despite this being a very despicable act, people’s reactions amazed us, and one little boy’s reaction in particular: when he heard about the robbery, he decided to give the charity his twenty pounds to help with the losses. He even wrote a handwritten note!
Léa, 24, Communication Design Yesterday I took the train when it was really busy and helped a woman with her pram get on - we had a really nice chat about where we were from.
Amy, 24, Veterinary Medicine I really care about the animal welfare in Hong Kong. I set up a Christmas adoption project to ensure that less attractive animals were able to find homes because Christmas is a time where everyone should have a home. I’m still looking to give more back to animals and would like to promote the use of guide dogs in Hong Kong.
Little
features
Acts
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Kindness 4
Lauren, 22, History of Art Once when I was working at a wedding cake shop, at the end of the shift me and a colleague had a cake spare. We took it to the NHS walk- in centre and gave it to the nurses working there. They said they were working until midnight so they appreciated it a lot.
Issue 3 / April 2017
Cinzia, 25, Creative Writing I had just moved to Scotland and it was very windy in Edinburgh. I was walking to work and an old lady got blown into the road. I ran onto the road and pulled her away from an oncoming bus. She was very grateful but she did complain that my hands were too cold which was true!
Anya, 21, Psychology A customer in M&S baked us baklava as a thank you for our hard work on Christmas Eve.
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Erika, 22, English Literature Malvika, 19, Zoology Back in India, there were some 8-10 year old kids trying to earn a living by selling guavas on the street. They came up to me, when I was waiting for the bus, and tried their best to sell, but I had no money. Instead I just joined them and we ended up selling every single guava they had for the day in under an hour! Missed the bus though!
This one morning during reading week, I was walking through Kelvingrove Park in a terrible mood. It must have shown on my face- or in my stomping- but an elderly gentleman, out for a walk with his dog, wished me a good morning. It definitely brightened up a very bleak and stressful day!
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Glasgow University Magazine
Illustration: Eunjoo Lee
Issue 3 / April 2017
KAMP:
the queer struggle for conversation Oscar Ronan explores the history of language as a means of connection in homosexuality.
‘Camp’, I am realising, was one of the big lampoons in my coming-out experience. Unbeknownst to my teenage self, the word is derived from Polari – a lexicon queer men used for centuries to communicate their illicit gay thoughts under the straight radar (more on this later). It was once an acronym: ‘KAMP - Known As Male Prostitute’. Camp men in
history would hang around the docks, waiting for sailors to return from sea. I might not have been paid for sex, but you can bet I’ve thought about men in uniform. Adolescent Oscar wasn’t far off the mark. The lady did protest too much, of course. I eventually came out as a fully-fledged gay. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be writing this. After coming to terms with ourselves, it takes a long time to recognise the embedded self-hatred in our nature (heteronormative environments will do that to you). Coming out is the first big step, but in many ways I’m still extracting that self-hatred – and probably will be for the rest of my life. Being honest with myself in front of the world has allowed for open conversation about who I am and who I want to be. It can be an endless source of self-love, once you work it out. If you ask me, the queer community is still in the process of this self-revelation. On an individual level, coming out is a coarse, difficult process, fraught with fear of judgement and fear of disdain.
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features
“Much as we can bang our pots and pans and have great conversations about all the excellence we represent, so often it comes to empowered straight people to listen to us.”
'I’m not gay, I’m camp!' adolescent Oscar shouts down the hallway. It would have been the fourth or fifth time that day; any fellow queer readers will recognise the struggle to avoid the gaze of the school bully. Years later, I am still appreciating all the little ironies of coming to terms with my sexuality within a heteronormative environment. These ironies are myriad and mutual among all kinds of queer people, but the bittersweet universal we all have is the feeling of alone-ness. In spite of any queer role models that can surround us, the closet is a space in which our default assumption is one of individual experience. We can’t talk to anyone to verify this, so we deflect attention by saying ridiculous things like, 'I’m not gay, I’m just metrosexual. I’m camp.'
Glasgow University Magazine
“Much like coming out, queer social progress is a conversation we have been having with ourselves, that has allowed us to have a conversation with others.”
That disdain is internal as much as it is external. Circumstances these days are far better; the West is slowly embracing an ever-increasing culture of acceptance – and yet, we still must exist in somewhat uncomfortable silence. The queer community is no different. Together, we are struggling to break the uncomfortable silence in the conversations around our rights. Much as we can bang our pots and pans and have great conversations about all the excellence we represent, so often it comes to empowered straight people to listen to us. So often, we struggle to break the silence because we are unsure what exactly we’d like to say. I mean, we’d like to say a million things – but the only real commonality we all have is a desire for equality. Nobody agrees on the meaning of ‘equality’ or the best place to start. Plus it’s exhausting – before anything else, if the primary purpose of our existence is to prove that we are worthy of equal treatment, then existence is pretty dreadful.
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It is far more interesting, far easier and far healthier to exist as ourselves, together. Thus we find one another and converse: spiritually, sexually, intellectually, and more. Such is history. Where today we find each other through social media, previously, we had chatrooms. Saunas. Underground bars. Public toilets. Elite clubs. Drag. And within our forums, we discuss our existence, create cultural reformations that pervade the rest of the world in such a way that straight people don’t even know it’s happening – like through Polari. Gay men used to have full
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conversations over the heads of their unknowing straight peers, using a lexicon derived from amalgamated languages and longstanding homosexual trades. We stopped using Polari because it came to seen as a language for the closet, one that was counter-productive to the open representation of the gay man in the straight world. Today, we can see the remnants of Polari in popular language: drama queen, scarper, naff, butch, camp and more. Much like coming out, queer social progress is a conversation we have been having with ourselves, that has allowed us to have a conversation with others. There once was a time when the safest thing we could do was talk about ourselves in code; now we can celebrate that code, appreciate it for its limitations and repeat it in fond memory. So, to the straights of this world who will see the queer population continue to bloom in exciting new ways, I hope you appreciate the forums we have held to get to this place. To the queers: keep chatting what you’re chatting. And stay fantabulosa.
Issue 3 / April 2017
Empathy in Music Our editors reveal the albums that have evoked empathy or connected with them personally:
Oh Wonder (2015) Oh Wonder Everyone has experienced the way certain music resonates with the way they’re feeling at a particular moment; music is a great source of solace, because it can both assure us that we’re not alone and make us lose ourselves in melody and lyric. Oh Wonder’s debut album is a collection of stories that range from soulfully sad to light-heartedly electric. I discovered it last spring, and often chose it as the soundtrack for an evening walk — the complexity of every song was immersing, and there was nothing more peaceful than focusing on the music and diminishing light, especially when my own worries seemed overwhelming. Although the album features songs with various moods, the overriding atmosphere is one of reassurance, which comes through in both the music and the lyrics. I return to it every time I felt like listening to something hopeful, looking into the light and closing my eyes for just a moment. Emmi Joensuu, Culture Editor
First Love (2009) Emmy the Great
Emmy the Great’s first album is a masterpiece of slight, emotive storytelling. I discovered this album age 13 – entirely inexperienced in all things romantic – and it became my bible for the big, complicated, grown-up world of relationships that I longed to join. Emmy, aka Emma Lee Moss, writes with searing emotional honesty and a poet’s eye for poignant detail. Riding the bus to school full of early-teen angst, I graduated from the histrionics of mid-2000s emo and pop-punk to Emmy’s dazzling, emotionally mature anti-folk. This is my break-up album, my album for grief and for spring and new starts and for travelling. ‘First Love’ is the best portrait of the complexities of millennial young-womanhood I’ve ever heard, a comforting reminder that, no matter what you’re feeling, there’s no way you’re feeling it alone. Clare Patterson, Features Editor
A Seat at the Table (2016) Solange
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This album is a delicate, yet quietly angry exploration of what it means to be a black woman today. Its lush production often stands in contrast to its song topicsSolange’s girlish voice at times pervaded by bassy hip-hop undertones and an understated anger with the world that is palpable- and yet these two sides are never at odds with one another. The joy and pride Solange takes in being black is felt throughout; but at the same time, a sense of injustice and irreparable damage permeates each track. It is a significant piece of work that encourages listeners to reflect on how we treat others. Niamh Carey, Fashion Editor
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Glasgow University Magazine
Contemplating Empathy Amy Shimmon reflects on how we care for ourselves.
elf-care: what is it good for? Quite a lot, it seems. It means what it says on the tin: taking care of yourself. It’s not even necessarily overt self-love, although it can be. Tasks we do all the time, whether that be feeding ourselves, or ensuring we make it through the day, or even getting through difficult times – things that seem irrelevant – can constitute self-care. The word ‘care’ implies it’s something we can always do lovingly, and that we’re actively choosing to do so: not necessarily. To me, self-care can vary – it can be choosing to leave the house when it seems difficult; it can be ensuring I’m fed and watered (like a nice plant); it can be doing things I enjoy to build my spirits ahead of a tough exam period. It depends what the base level is, and to where I need to raise myself.
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The Blurt Foundation, a mental health social enterprise, focuses a lot of its output around self-care (in all its forms). They define self-care very broadly: from ‘the actions we undertake to look after ourselves, physically, emotionally and mentally’, to ‘the things we do that comfort us, calm us, and make us feel good’. This, understandably, is an open page – one person’s idea of self-care might be exhausting for someone who struggles to bathe or eat. Likewise, what one person might consider basic tasks might be the greatest form of self-care
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for another. They also run the #365DaysofSelfCare challenge – a hashtag on Twitter encouraging people to engage, every day for 365 days, in an activity that constitutes self-care. The results are as broad as the concept’s definition: people being consciously aware of mental health triggers, buying themselves something nice, or having a cuppa or a bath. Is this self-care being co-opted? I can see the argument. Self-care should keep us going – poet Audre Lorde wrote ‘caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation’ long before any hashtag or Instagram trend. If the current trend of self-care revolves around treating yourself (thank you, 'Parks and Recreation'), is there a point at all? A glittery bubble bath isn’t going to cure any mental illness – but I don’t think anyone is genuinely pretending it is. Of course, it’s important to recharge. ‘Spoon Theory’ is a metaphor based on energy for people with chronic illnesses. The idea is that you have so many ‘spoons’ a day – one, or multiple ‘spoons’ constituting the energy for a basic activity – and once you’re out, that’s it. You can risk ‘borrowing spoons’ from the following day, and working at a deficit, or you can sign off the day. Knowing your limits, especially when your body or mind work to stop you, is self-care. Is it fair for one person to
Issue 3 / April 2017
Photo: Silvia Sani
Finally, self-care isn’t always easy or enjoyable. Especially in the context of mental ill-health, self-care can be picking up the pieces: applying for extensions for vital pieces of coursework; explaining to tutors why you think you might need a year out; making that first phone call to meet with your counsellor again, even though you swore the last time was the last time. It’s not about feeling good, necessarily, because hard decisions – even if it’s the right choice in the long run – are, by nature, difficult to make. It’s also about creating a routine and network that
benefits you – knowing who to contact when things aren’t going well can be lifesaving. Having a schedule of important tasks can help you to stay on track – but it’s also important to treat yourself well, even if you fall off. Pick it up; start again. Be your own best friend – that’s a hard decision, but it’s one we all deserve. So, on an individual level, what constitutes selfcare? For me, it varies from finally doing my laundry, cooking enough spaghetti bolognese to last a week, taking selfies because – for once! – I can bear to look at my face, or the feeling after a shower when, for days before, showering has seemed as difficult as climbing a mountain. On the days where existence itself is a challenge, engaging in self-care is revolutionary. Take a minute to think about what it means for you.
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“The word ‘care’ implies it’s something we can always do lovingly, and that we’re actively choosing to do so: not necessarily.”
call a spa day an act of ‘self-care’, when to other people, it’s a matter of functionality? It can be alienating to see something necessary to your existence as something luxurious. If, for you, something potentially exclusive is your self-care, by all means, go ahead, but perhaps reserve some courtesy and awareness for experiences that differ from your own.
Self-care is screaming from the hills that I’m still here, and I’m here to stay.
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Glasgow University Magazine
How to be a Good Ally Tom Allinson questions how we empathise with experiences separate from our own.
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he third episode of the third season of Louis CK’s 'Louie', the self-written, self-directed, semi-autobiographical account of the controversial American comedian's rise to fame, has our titular character down and out in Miami. There, Louie meets Cuban-American lifeguard Ramon and an unlikely friendship, reminiscent of 'Lost in Translation' (if Scarlett Johansson had the upper torso of a Greek god), forms between the two, with Ramon keen to show Louie 'the real Miami'. The episode revolves largely around an early scene; Ramon reveals he was born in Havana and emigrated to Florida as a baby and Louie, naively putting his foot in his mouth, asks if he came over on a raft, reinforcing a stereotype that has surrounded Cuban-Americans since Kennedy. The question is clearly not meant to offend and Ramon, interrupting a frantic apology, tells Louie not to worry about it, that his uncle used to have this saying: 'Dice no se, entonces aprendes todo' which Louie recognises and translates: 'Say you don’t know, and you learn everything'. My first experience with racism came when I was about 12 years old. A friend and I were walking home from school and I had been telling him all about this new album I had been listening to. It was called 'Exodus' and was by this band called Bob Marley and the Wailers. My friend stopped, turned around and told me, in a tone that I should have by that point recognised as sarcastic, that I couldn’t listen to Bob Marley because I was white, whereas he, being black,
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could. I was outraged, he found my offended white liberal sensibility hilarious, and we still joke about it ten years later, where I like to remind him that his favourite band at the time was Nirvana. My first experience with racial stereotyping, and the handful of others that I have had since, undoubtedly pale in comparison to my friend’s. My experiences with sexism are essentially non-existent when compared to my sister’s, and my experiences with homophobia, xenophobia, or any other form of discrimination, are essentially nil. I was born in the UK as a white, middleclass, straight male, the historical antagonist of anyone else not born a white, middle-class, straight male. I love history. In the words of Bob Marley, 'if you know your history then you know where you’re coming from', and I agree. I know my history; firstly in the name of God, then in the name of Empire, and then in the name of God again, has my country discriminated against anyone with the audacity to not be born a straight, white male. It is not a history that I’m proud of but it has, however, taught me where I’m coming from today. In a 1971 interview, Muhammad Ali gave the following answer when asked what he thought about 'good' white people who supported black rights: 'If ten thousand snakes were coming down that aisle now, and I had a door that I could shut, and in that ten
Issue 3 / April 2017
“You can learn your place in history and realise that where you’re coming from isn’t necessarily the same place as those you’re trying to help.”
thousand, one thousand meant right, one thousand rattlesnakes didn’t want to bite me, I knew they were good... Should I let all these rattlesnakes come down, hoping that that thousand get together and form a shield? Or should I just close the door and stay safe?' If any persecuted group decides to close the door on us, we shouldn’t insist that they open it because we think we know the best way to deal with snakes; we are the snakes, whether we’ve bitten anyone or not. We shouldn’t get angry that we’ve been kept outside, we shouldn’t become disillusioned by the closed door, and we shouldn’t then turn against the people on the other side of it. We should recognise that, at the end of the day, the people inside and those of us outside want the same thing: we all want the door gone. It’s okay to have different ideas about how we can get rid of the door, as long as we don’t insist that our idea is the only one that’ll work.
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How can you be a good ally? You can learn your place in history and realise that where you’re coming from isn’t necessarily the same place as those you’re trying to help. You can wait until you’re needed, not insist on giving your help when it’s not wanted; you can hope that your help won’t be needed at all. You can empathise, you can joke, you can talk. And if you’re ever unsure, just say you don’t know, and you’ll learn everything. Photo/Illustration: Kati Brunk
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Glasgow University Magazine
Engaging with
culture
“... the very act of being absorbed in something other than your own concerns has the power to be immediately uplifting."
Photo: Kati Brunk
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Issue 3 / April 2017
Emotions Rachel Walker highlights culture’s capacity to evoke and create empathy.
y favourite novelist is Jane Austen, and I’ve always loved the story of soldiers reading her books during the First World War. Although typically seen nowadays as a boringly ‘feminine’ read, her works were extremely popular amongst soldiers in the trenches, and were even prescribed to shell-shocked soldiers recovering in hospital. During moments of unbelievable horror, soldiers reached for books from which they would derive escapist comfort – a paean to the transformative power of culture if there ever was one. Although I can’t possibly relate to fighting a war, the idea that culture exists partly to engage our emotions is a notion that definitely resonates with me. In my mind, there’s nothing more appropriate than wasting valuable exam prep time by re-reading a childhood favourite (last year it was The Princess Diaries, and the year before it was Harry Potter – I have no regrets). Similarly, there’s nothing quite as soothing as bingeing on Parks and Recreation during a hangover and, inexplicably enough, nothing made me feel better about my non-existent teenage love life than watching lots of romantic comedies. (You’d think it would be the opposite – I have no idea why a reminder of all the boyfriends that I categorically didn’t have actually managed to cheer me up).
Although I’m a little sceptical of their programmatic approach, the success of volumes such as these clearly demonstrates the universal appeal of linking culture and emotion. Why is this link so potent? Why do so many people immediately look to culture to ease their pains, heighten their joys, indulge their sorrows? The most practical response is possibly that the very act of being absorbed in something other than your own concerns has the power to be immediately uplifting. If you’re feeling sad, being immersed in a book or film tends to focus your concentration and imagination on something entirely different than your own thoughts. Of course, if the issue at hand is something bigger than a minor disappointment, then it’s difficult to entirely distract your attention – but sometimes it helps, if only for a moment or two. Culture also has the incredibly important capacity of giving people a purpose; a positive emotional outlet. In particular, music has functioned as an especially persuasive example of culture’s ability to provide solace: just think of the myriad of musical subcultures that have existed over the past fifty or so years, all of which have unquestionably helped lonely and isolated teenagers to formulate their identities; to discover other kindred spirits through a love of a particular musician or band. Because of its immediacy, music is often the first thing we turn to for artistic expression – a clear, easy way of signifying what you’re like and how you feel, something that’s as manifest today as it was in school. When I’m feeling tired on the bus to work, I’ll put on some dance music to convince myself that I’m much more awake than I actually am; and, conversely, when I’m in a good mood, introspective melodies are the last thing I want to hear.
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However, culture’s potentiality for creating sympathy undoubtedly extends beyond comfort. Culture can be used to mirror a vast array of emotion. There are some obvious and widespread examples rooted in the fabric of British culture today, like the ability of politicised theatre to build on the audience’s feelings of disillusionment and anger, and on the opposite side of the scale, the Christmas film genre which definitely goes a long way in getting all of its devotees in the festive mood. And what about all the people who appreciate a good cathartic cry at sad films when they’re feeling a little low? That’s as valid a use of
emotional culture as the notion of using your own art as an outlet – something that, as a short story writer, people always assume that I do. There’s even a book, which caters to this idea of ‘culture by mood’ –‘The Novel Cure’, written by Ella Berthoud and Susan Elderkin, which supposedly provides a list of novels to aid any literary ailment. Broken heart? Read the Brontës. Feeling left out? Why not try Carson McCullers’ ‘Member of the Wedding’.
So next time you’re at an emotional loss, don’t bother moaning to your friends and family or eating your weight in food (guilty) – why not put on your favourite film, or pick up your favourite book? I can’t guarantee that it will transport all your worries away, but, really, since when did we need an excuse for indulging in culture?
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Glasgow University Magazine
Open to Interpretation Capucine Poncet emphasises how interaction with artwork facilitates mutual responsiveness between artist and spectator. 'Artworks derive from the world of things... There is nothing in them that doesn’t belong to this world.' Theodor W. Adornoa
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"The artist provides you with a composition of materials and shapes, creating a new space, and it is you who gives it meaning."
Numerous are those who think that contemporary art sculptures belong to a world beyond them; a world to which we, the laymen of the general public cannot access; a world that can be reached only by certain intellectuals of our society. On the other side of the coin are those who think that there is no superior meaning to access, and that contemporary art historians and critics make up their interpretations. These people would also be inclined to think that there is nothing artistic about contemporary pieces, such as Marcel Duchamp infamously placing a urinal in a gallery. However, T.W. Adornor’s insight helps us realise that artworks emerge from the world in which we live. The object and the viewer exist within the same social, cultural, and historical context. This context creates a specific frame within which the world can be represented and understood. By sharing the work’s context and space, viewers are provided with all the codes they need to understand it. Still, attempting to interpret an abstract work of art feels challenging. Faced with a sculpture of Venus, I may instantly think that the artist’s intention was to represent beauty. But what am I expected to think when faced with a steel and rubber structure such as Claire Barclay’s? Over the past few decades, there has been a change in art and the manner in which it is displayed. A shift has taken place from instructive displays to experiential ones. Many galleries have removed the labels from their walls in order to leave the viewer completely free to create meaning rather than be spoon-fed an institutionalized explanation; viewers are no longer provided with explanations of the mind and intentions of the artist. This guidance has little importance nowadays: the artwork acquires its meaning from the viewer’s own interpretation. Contemporary structures such are Claire Barclay’s are hyper social. They stimulate social behavior
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that distinguishes humans from other species. Faced with one of those structures, we can’t help but interpret it: what are those shapes cut in beige rubber suspended from the ceiling? Is it a butcher’s apron hung up by a craftsman after a day of work or the murder of a gingerbread man? By suggesting a scenario, you fulfill your job as an interactive viewer. Additionally, your interpretation will not only be unique in its narrative but also completely different from those that the artist may have thought about in the first place. Viewers are no longer the passive consumers of museums’ycollections. They play an active role in the creation of meaning. The artist provides you with a composition of materials and shapes, creating a new space, and it is you who gives it meaning. You become a part of the installation, and the history of the work depends on the dialogue you establish with it. Some artists have even extended this dialogue between the viewer and the artwork by requiring you to touch it. Jesús Rafael Soto created 'penetrable' structures that viewers cross, touch, play and hide within. Its shape varies continuously as visitors walk through. The work is perpetually reinvented. However, it seems that when such artworks become 'part of the art history', viewers are no longer allowed to touch. By wanting to conserve them, curators and collectors entirely ablate the interactive nature of the artworks, thus changing the intended experience. The concept lives on only by testimony in the archives. The original dialogue established through physical contact becomes historical and belongs to the past. Consequently, the contemporary viewer is left with nothing but frustration resulting from the prohibition of fully interacting with the artwork in the way the artist originally meant. Instead of attempting to relive an ephemeral past, art enthusiasts should thrive to discover the art of their time while it still retains its interactive experience and that excitingly enticing sign saying 'please DO touch'.
Issue 3 / April 2017
Photo: Diana Wei Dai
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Glasgow University Magazine
Empathy in Form Niamh Carey takes a walk through Glasgow's hidden creative spaces.
hat does empathy ‘look’ like? Or, more specifically, can one dress ‘empathetically’? In one sense, it’s about the way we interact with clothes. How clothes fit on our bodies, and how they make us feel, can change our experience of design entirely. So what happens when fashion plays with form? Morag Taylor, the designer featured in this issue’s shoot, creates remarkable designs that throw conservative form out the window and make for some very interesting shapes. Taylor’s plush fabric frills, opulent yet at turns understated, explicate a fresh sense of luxury that is deliciously fun. The playful form allows for endless interpretation of how to wear the garments, establishing a relationship between piece and wearer that is tangibly creative on both sides. ‘Empathy’ in this sense, then, can be utilised in fashion to create a more dynamic and less fixed approach to wearing clothes. Sure, the designer must have the innovative ideas, but the wearer too can play a creative role in deciding what looks good. Taylor’s pieces not only encourage this reciprocal relationship; their very design enables a plethora of ways to wear them.
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Maybe it’s time we saw a little more flexibility in fashion design. After all, what is fashion if not collaborative? Empathy, too, is about sharing, understanding, and (in a sense) collaborating with others; perhaps we need to bring this sentiment into fashion. In any case, it sure makes for a hella fun fashion shoot. Want to see more of Morag’s work? Go to http:// www.moragtaylor.com for extra fun with form.
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Issue 3 / April 2017
Stylist Niamh Carey
Photographer LĂŠa Cyrielle
Model Lara Delmage
Designer Morag Taylor
Issue 3 / April 2017
Fashion Just Wants to Have Fun
Sunglasses dot the rows like ellipses. Sour faces sit in silence, judging the equally expressionless models as they strut down the runway. Somewhere, Anna Wintour’s mouth twitches with disapproval. Silence encroaches as North West’s cries echo through the hallowed hall. Backstage, the businessmen and women behind it all – all in black, of course – clink champagne flutes and chortle with triumph. 'We’ve tricked them again!' they exclaim with glee. This is the impression most people have of fashion: cold, esoteric, vain, and excessively capitalist. And whilst this may be true to an extent (seriously, when was the last time anyone saw Karl Lagerfeld smile?), I think fashion deserves a bit more credit. So what do we owe fashion? Self-expression, for one. Liberation, too; think Coco Chanel reinventing the way women dress. And, equally important, is resistance. During the Nazi occupation of France, for example, women would embroider the notes of patriotic songs onto their belts as a show of solidarity. There is a vast and complex history in dress and its surrounding culture; to dismiss the industry as vapid seems incredibly reductionist. That being said, fashion’s tendency to take itself too seriously tends to alienate many of us from it. So let’s shift our focus to the other side of the spectrum: the fun side.
fashion
Erika Koljonen opens up the wardrobe doors on our relationship with fashion.
he runway cuts through a darkened room, trailing into the abyss.
In terms of ‘high’ fashion, Jeremy Scott and Marc Jacobs are trailblazers in fun. Both draw on pop culture for inspiration: Scott pokes fun at lowbrow consumerism through the incorporation of McDonald’s and cleaning products into his designs, whilst Jacobs’s label, ‘Jacobs by Marc Jacobs for Marc by Marc Jacobs’, is clearly intentionally absurd.
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Glasgow University Magazine
“There is a vast and complex history in dress and its surrounding culture; to dismiss the industry as vapid seems incredibly reductionist.”
sner
Illustration: Julia Ro
fashion
On the other end of the spectrum – or should we say, bank balance – you have Monki. I’ve long been a faithful shopper at the Swedish brand, to the point that most of my outfits now comprise of little else. Just stepping into their shop is like entering a five-year-old’s make-believe world: lots of neon, sparkling mirrors, and – brace yourselves – smiling models. Not only on the website, but in their ad campaigns too. I’ll give you a minute to let that sink in. It’s pretty revolutionary. And, as if Monki couldn’t get any more awesome, their new swimwear and underwear collections feature a host of women of different shapes and sizes, who genuinely look like they’re having a lot of fun. Since we’re talking about relatability, I want to finish on a personal note. Like most people, I went through a phase in my teens where I was very conscious of whether or not my clothes were ‘cool’ enough; this was during the rise of the hipster, and, as in ‘Fight Club’, the first rule of being a hipster was
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that you couldn’t talk about being a hipster. Fast forward to today, and whilst I’ll never claim that I don’t care about the clothes I wear, I now view them in a different way: I proudly showcase my purchases to my sceptical friends with the exclamation, 'isn’t this fun?' Last summer I was leaving the house in a pair of Mickey Mouse dungarees, only to be stopped by my grandmother, who, in her wisdom, exclaimed: 'You’re 21. Aren’t you a bit old for clothes like that?' Perhaps she had a point. Perhaps I’m in denial about my aging and impending adulthood. We often try to add depth and meaning to things, especially when they are dismissed as frivolous. But does everything have to contain deeper meaning? With all that’s going on in the world, what’s wrong with just having a bit of fun? So, on that note: they’re just clothes. Let’s have some fun with them.
Issue 3 / April 2017
Sammy, 22, Aeronautical Engineering When I first arrived in Glasgow, my sister and I wanted to get on a bus to see the university. We didn’t know that buses here don’t give change and we only had a ten pound note, so the man who was behind us in the queue payed for both of us so we didn’t have to miss the bus getting change. We later realised we were only a twenty minute walk away.
Niamh, 22, English and Sociology Once I went to put my things down on a library desk and someone had left an unopened packet of orange-flavoured custard creams (yes, they’re a thing, and they are the actual best) with a note saying ‘help yourself.’ Rest assured, I complied.
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Isabelle, 21, Politics and Central Eastern European Studies The woman in the library café gave me two stamps on my drinks card because I was hungover.
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Glasgow University Magazine
Yankophile Louise Wylie examines the UK press’s excessive preoccupation and relationship with American politics. Illustration: Kristýna Šteflová
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Issue 3 / April 2017
t fills our newspapers, dominates conversation, and is plastered across our screens. Nowhere is safe from the plague that is US politics. Although the orange menace has undoubtedly ramped up the focus, this is nothing new – Obama’s victory was celebrated around the world like it was a personal success – but why is this the case when we’re not in San Francisco, New Orleans or Washington D.C., but in good old (definitely not American) Glasgow? Why is it that every time Trump lets a brain fart loose it’s a front-page story, while more local and relevant events are relegated to page four?
“With attention spans shortening, our political activists have to try new, more eye-catching ways of getting their point across...”
It is true that America is not just another country; it is a global power with huge influence, not least over their partners in crime: us. It does make sense that more attention is paid to the US than to Paraguay, for example. The thing is, America is not the only superpower anymore. Granted, China does not go through the circus that is electoral campaigning, but huge policy decisions that will affect billions are made, reported on, and forgotten about in a day or two. India is the biggest democracy in the world and its entire election season was covered in two days max.
Northern Ireland had an election in March. Where was the wall-to-wall coverage of the candidates, of the policies, even of the controversial talking points? A constituent part of our own union witnessed a major scandal that resulted in the Legislative Assembly being dissolved, and no-one seemed to bat an eyelid. The results are unprecedented and will likely have serious ramifications for Northern Ireland and the United Kingdom as
If we look back to the Cold War days, the explanation is simple. Two countries held enormous sway over the rest of the world, and we were very firmly on the side of the Americans. Since then, the situation hasn’t ever been that clear-cut. So maybe the answer lies in how we get our information. It’s a bit of a trope, but everyone knows journalism is undergoing massive changes in the way it presents stories. Hits are king, and when you know you have a sensationalist story, such as the first black president, or the first president to get into a Twitter war with the Australian prime minister, you are pretty much guaranteed a huge readership. Permanent, full-time journalism jobs are an endangered species, and long form pieces are by-andlarge going out of style. Investigative journalism takes a back seat to listicles with clickbait titles, and American politics is a goldmine for potentially viral news. A deep analysis of the power dynamics within the Northern Irish Legislative Assembly isn’t considered as click-inducing by the Londonbased journos. There just isn’t the same amount of wow-factor with local politics.
politics
The dominant force in European politics. Germany, is in the midst of electoral campaigning ahead of what will very likely be the closest election in the past decade. The BBC does not (yet) have a dedicated German election section, with all those contradictory but colourful data sources, and the near-constant churning out of think pieces which are really based solely on wild guesses, is nowhere to be seen. At this stage of the American election we were deep in the debate over whether Ted Cruz’s dad conspired to shoot JFK. You just don’t see that level of scrutiny for any other country. Even closer to home, we prioritise day-to-day American stories over our own news.
a whole, and yet, deafening silence. This all comes a mere twenty years after the end of hostilities, and yet the election received only a fraction of the attention paid to one day in a Trump presidency. While we laugh about the Anglophile Yanks who hang on every word that comes from Benedict Cumberbatch’s gob, drink their oh-so-authentic British tea, and unironically use the word ‘bloody’ as an expletive, we obsess over elections and policies that won’t affect the vast majority of us. I can name more members of Trump’s administration than I can the Cabinet. And to what purpose?
The thing is, if we don’t take a hard look at our own politicians, we let them make decisions that we might not like without scrutiny. Getting distracted by the flashy display over the pond gives the guys at the top, the ones that actually have a concrete impact on our lives, free reign. Examining UK politics may not supply us with juicy talking points like whether Hillary Clinton funded ISIS, but it is crucial to creating the kind of country that we want to live in.
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Glasgow University Magazine
On the Enhancement of Species
science & technology
Maria Marinova explores the ethical issues surrounding evolution driven by intelligent direction rather than natural selection.
volution, as we have been taught, occurred about 3.5 billion years ago, when the simplest life forms emerged. They were nothing more than a tiny fat bag full of simple DNA. However, there was great potential in each of those small bags, and that’s why 2.5 billion years ago, eukaryotes emerged. Inside their cells, they had separate compartments responsible for manipulation of energy and information, which made them much more efficient. Fast forward to just 1.5 billion years ago, and eukaryotes have somehow managed to work together, allowing for multicellular organisms to come into existence, creating a variety of plants and animals in the ocean. Then, just 400 million years ago, a fish crawled out of the ocean, somehow turned into a monkey, and then humans came into existence. Maybe it was not all that simple, but you all know how the story goes. The point is that it took a very long time for all of those wonderful things to happen because it was just a matter of chance. The basic principle is that a random change in the genetic code appears: a mutation, a natural occurrence that happens all the time. If the feature induced by the new, mutated genetic sequence is good, the organism carrying it benefits somehow. As a result, it might not get eaten by predators or it may seem more attractive to females; therefore, they live longer, and have more babies, and the new mutation gets passed on. If it is not good, the organism might die; this only happens if something is very wrong, and a lethal mutation occurs, meaning that the organism cannot survive anymore. Otherwise, it is merely less successful in life (or mating), and its genes slowly disappear.
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Now, after centuries of hard work, we can say that we understand more about how the genetic code works and we have an idea about what most genes do. We have also worked out a way to change them, meaning that scientists know how to introduce new mutations. So, can we therefore transition from evolution driven by natural selection to intelligent direction? And more importantly, should we?
“As we advance in science, we see that much more can be achieved if we join efforts with other fields, and multidisciplinary teams are getting increasingly common.�
Scientists have found a way to go into cells with a system of molecular machinery, borrowed from our old ancestors bacteria, and manipulate the DNA as they wish; this is called CRISPR-Cas9 and it is a molecular machine that can cut our DNA and change it. It sounds like sci-fi, doesn't it? This discovery has taken the biology world by storm in recent years and is currently being used worldwide for research. CRISPR-Cas9 is a very powerful tool that gives us the opportunity to remove, add or alter genes in living organisms, or simply create mutations. If the change
Issue 3 / April 2017
“Evolution up until now has been a blind process, relying merely on random mutations, selected by environmental pressure. Now we have the power to change it."
way to the 3D printing of tissues and organs ready for transplantation. According to many scientists and futurists, this is only the beginning, as scientific and technological advancements are accelerating exponentially.
is introduced into a reproductive cell, it can be passed on to the aforementioned offspring, only this time on purpose. We no longer need to wait for millions of years for some very fortunate event to occur. We can make it happen right now. As we advance in science, we see that much more can be achieved if we join efforts with other fields, and multidisciplinary teams are getting increasingly common. Can we go even further and enhance our race with technology? Mind-controlled prosthetics have already been created. Lenses that not only correct your vision, but also allow you to zoom in and record videos, have been designed. We're on our
science & technology
Illustration: Michael Paget
Evolution up until now has been a blind process, relying merely on random mutations, selected by environmental pressure. Now we have the power to change it. But, as with all great inventions, the future of these tools depends on how we use them. Even if we perfect the technology, there will be serious social and ethical concerns around those issues. Most of us will probably agree that removing a genetic disease before it happens is better than trying to treat it afterwards. But can we go further than correcting flaws, and actually make enhancements? Who decides on the limits? I know that probably everything inside you screams that choosing our place in evolution is unnatural and that it is frightening that society can easily find a way to abuse this power. However, it is worth keeping in mind that the potential benefits from these interventions would solve problems we have been trying to tackle for decades. Dozens of HIV patients have been treated with gene-editing technology, and it will become even more commonly used after the clinical trials have proven to be successful. Gene-editing therapy can even give us hope in the fight with cancer. The ability to alter our genes is therefore an important advancement in overcoming life threatening illnesses, and the ethical concerns, however many, are minor in comparison to the number of lives that could be saved.
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Glasgow University Magazine
Empathy in Translation
science & technology
Marion Prieler explores how our relationship with language affects our everyday reality, and our connections with each other.
nybody who speaks more than one language can relate to the pain of translating, especially when it comes to the cultural minefield of humour and proverbs. Tell a German that they have 'no idea of tooting and blowing' and they’ll be offended for being called a clueless idiot, but utter this in English and at best you’ll get a confused ‘what?’ Despite some underlying parallels in structure and syntax, the languages humans employ to communicate with each other differ fundamentally. Do the peculiarities of our mother tongue shape the way we perceive and think about reality? And more importantly, do people think differently merely because they speak different languages?
“... do people think differently merely because they speak different languages?” To understand the attempts that have been made to answer these questions we must first look at how we cognitively make sense of the world around us. When we think, we draw from an extensive network of interlinked categories and concepts that we gradually acquire as we grow up. The information we receive is synchronized with this mental database in order to
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either assign it to the right category, or to understand it in the context of existing categories. Since these categories are largely language-induced and differ quite profoundly across languages, we may arrive at slightly different observations even though we experience the same reality. Let’s have a closer look at the field of colour, for instance. Generally, all humans share the same physical abilities to discern colour; however, there is significant variance in colour terminology across languages. The English language comprises eleven essential colour terms, while the New Guinea Dani use as little as two (dark and light). Neither system is any more accurate than the other, because colour categories, like most linguistic categories, are completely arbitrary. Essentially, how we name the things around us is nothing more than a convention between us and speakers of the same language to facilitate communication. Interestingly though, these rather random categories do have a very real effect on our perception; cross-linguistic differences in colour categorisation have been shown to impact how quickly speakers discriminate colours and how accurately they remember them. Another striking difference between languages is how they define space. Nearly all Western languages use spatial prepositions like left and right to describe the location of nearby objects, which are referred to as relative frames of reference because they indicate
Issue 3 / April 2017
where objects are located in relation to the speaker. However, travel to Mexico or North Australia and you will hear people say that something bit them in their 'south-western hand', rather than their 'left hand'. The Mayan Tenejapans or the Aboriginal Kuuk Thaayorre rely exclusively on an absolute frame of reference (the sun), and the effect this has on their mental representation of space is remarkable. Not only do they employ distinctively different strategies to solve spatial array tasks and labyrinths, their navigation skills also surpass what was previously thought to be humanly possible. How do they achieve such mastery? Unlike English speakers, Tenejapans and Kuuk Thaayorre are forced by their language to constantly identify the cardinal directions, otherwise they simply wouldn’t be able to adequately use their own language, making them experts at navigating.
So does this all mean we’re condemned to live in forever separate realities, imprisoned by unsurpassable linguistic barriers? Certainly not. Language doesn’t determine what we can perceive and think about; it merely highlights certain aspects of reality more than others. If you believe Humboldt, any time you learn a new language you gain a new 'worldview', adding richness and details to your experience of the world that would have gone unnoticed otherwise. Illustration: Julia Rosner
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science & technology
Space is a good example of how language dictates what details of the world around us we pay attention to, functioning as a linguistic spotlight. This is even true for completely arbitrary categories like the grammatical gender of objects, a linguistic concept that doesn’t exist in English, but that exists in most other European languages. A key isn’t any more female than male; interestingly, however, mental representations of objects seem to differ profoundly according to the grammatical gender different languages assign to them. Keys were described as ‘hard’ and ‘jagged’ by German speakers (male gender), while Spanish speakers referred to them as “lovely” and “tiny” (female). Apparently, we subconsciously focus on features that correspond with the gender of an object in an attempt to find a meaningful connection between the object and its linguistic category, making feminine properties of a key more salient for Spanish speakers than for German speakers.
Glasgow University Magazine
12.01.17 Nour El-Issa to be a trapeze artist mid-flight occupying the exact centre of a circus tent an implosion of oxygen from the patrons as morbid anticipation displaces air as a viscous arc of death traces a hundred sightlines
Untitled
but for a moment before applause wipes blood from violent hands
Clare Patterson I am in hell and I love you I think about the bogs in Ireland, About snow Your spine Your mother.
creative writing
I think about drowning And I wonder if you Are thinking about drowning, too.
Illustration: Imogen Whiteley
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Issue 3 / April 2017
A Nest Rachel Brough
Steak, Lobster & Sparkling Wine Maria Sledmere There is a rig that tests the distance between us. sometimes its flicker appears between land and sea and mirage. I imagine as you crush the red dark shell, that cutting your skin would spill the oil. Crudely, your leg brushes mine. I am drowning, slowly, in this glass of wine and there are objects which absorb my perception, black holes I might touch or untouch—what matter?
creative writing
You never think me dumb; never laugh. Crouch down to my level, take my hand, point the right direction: ‘Look! There, below that rock.’ The hut catches its breath then lets it out silver air swirls around us the bird disappears from view. An osprey. Back here for one short period every cycle: the caretaker of hatchlings. Full of your confidence, my small eyes only catch the tail end of vanishing gold. ‘Did you see it? Did you?’ Gleaming eyes prove your waiting has paid you back in full. An arm pulls close, your shape moulds against mine: my face pressed against your belly. Not sure of my sighting but unwilling to disappoint. Away from home’s noise, this is your retreat. Now ours. I want to return with the osprey next year. ‘I saw it.’ Your jumper is scratchy but warm. Your grin is worth the half-lie.
There is nectar in the kettle; there are vast clots of luck to take from my saliva. Why do I love the light on the sea; the intervals that ripple between you and me?
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creative writing
Glasgow University Magazine
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Illustration: Michael Paget
Issue 3 / April 2017
Chord Progression in U Major by Riana Hull
creative writing
Never again will you hear the vibrato of their breath against your hair at night, nor the cadence in the way they say they love you. Never again will you feel the legato of the way they rub your back when you cry nor the sweet prelude of their kiss that lingers a moment too long on your lips. Never again will you sense the crescendo of a fight that clashes louder than cymbals nor the requiem of your relationship ending with every undiscussed issue. Your weeping has changed the key of my consolation. Your crying pulls so hard at my heartstrings that I am scared my words of comfort will be out of tune. Your sobs have stretched tight the sinewy, ropey strings meant for a deep double bass to become thin as floss, and they screech a metallic anger at your injustice. The pain of heartbreak is like the tick of the metronome that is louder in the dark, echoey spaces of your once-full bed. Tick. You wanted to move faster, you can feel the music demanding restraint but you don’t want to give it. Tick. You are rushing it. Or they are behind the beat. Tick. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? It doesn’t matter if you are slow or they are behind. All that matters is that there is no harmony. Tick. It’s building, a crescendo is coming; it has to be. Tick. It’s over. But the ticking keeps on clicking in your brain, and the music resets, and you are forced to listen to it, over and over again. The same song; the same horrible, terrible, gutwrenching song that comes crashing to an end. Eventually, that song will begin to fade. And a new one will start out. It may seem thin at first, just the lonely seesaw of a bow on a string. You, as concertmaster of just yourself, as you rewrite the music. But the complexity and liveliness will grow. As you rediscover your sound, your confidence will explode into a stronger section, then fill out and flow over from strings, to winds, and rounding out to percussion. Once the music changes from heartbroken to happy, and you are illuminated alone, playing a melody that is sweet as sunlight, you won’t feel so alone knowing you have the strength of an orchestra just sitting quietly in the dark to support you. But right now, I know you feel like the lonely soloist.
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PA EM H EM P Y PA TH TH EM Y Y PA EM Glasgow University Magazine