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an independent art zine - by the ariists, for the artists.
issue.08 August / September 2006
She’s gone off on another tangentcreating a small, independent art ‘zine.
tangent is a bi-monthly publication produced with the intention of informing and amusing in bite-size chunks. Quick ‘n Dirty, Black ‘n White, each issue
contains contributions by and features on artists as well as arts listings in the South London area and beyond.
To get the skinny on how to submit writing and/or artwork check out the website or contact:
Karen D’Amicovia email: [email protected]
Clapham Art GalleryICA Bookshop
Space Station 65Studio VoltaireThe Residence
The Flea PitTransition Gallery
In Nottingham:Moot Gallery
Further Afield:Eye Level Gallery, Halifax BC
FluxFactory, New YorkSticky, Melbourne
Zeke’s Gallery, Montreal
Events News etc., etc. available on the website:
tangent is a member of Indi&Ink, the independent publishing society
all content © karen d’amico 2006 unless otherwise noted. all contributing artists’ work in the form of text and /or images is used by permission and is copyright by the artist.
no stealing allowed; hey, make up your own ideas FFS! after all, we have.
inside(in no particular order)
Lucy HarrisonAleda Fitzpatrick
Los AngelesBaby Smith
MelbourneThe ‘Dear You’ Project
New York CityNick Normal
[review]Cathy Lomax, ‘Vignettes’
at Rosy Wilde
[reflect]Thoughts on a Grey Day
L O N D O N C A L L I N GIt’s Thursday, I’m
sitting in one of the
only pubs in Shorditch
that seems to be beyond
a London trend. It is not
an eighties revival den,
nor a post punk slum,
not even one of those
understated, to a point
of perfection, ‘genuine’ old man, no-shit pubs- its just a bar. It plays the football
when it’s on, it serves Mediterranean food because the staff are from that belt,
its organic-ish because the chefs believe in it. I remember the first time I saw it-
it somehow looked out of place, too tropical, too happy to be placed where it was,
in an area of such historical economic depression. The location seemed right
for all the other self-consciously styled haunts, homes to equally hyper-aware
youths of the eighties, but somehow didn’t fit the bill for this one. Puzzled by its
lack of place among its companions and thus its lack of a subsequent definition,
I moved on to a smaller, less open space not quite sure why I had made the
decision to avoid the former.
Was it this issue of space, of openness, of exposure that averted me, or was it the
vibrancy and colour that threatened my newly found anonymity? Revisiting this
place a year later, I began to think about this idea of space in a broader content.
[Upon arriving in London and setting off from terminal one to the underground,
the breath breaking words of London as you slap you feet on its open palm are
‘Mind the gap”. Every tourist mimics the rise and fall of this utterance, perhaps
not knowing what it means yet perceiving the urgency and thus importance of
this metropolitan melody. Thinking further about this automatic blurt I can’t
help but think that this gap is perhaps not just a common health and safety
ritual yet is moreover an abyss of the London philosophy that surrounds and
even consumes its daily inhabitants mimicking the door of a near-departing
Mind the gap: A warning. Simply reminding the users of ‘our’ London Transport
system that there is a gap between the carriage and the platform. It is a
geographic cautioning, a call of attention to the physicality of disembarking a
Aleda [email protected]
machine in transit. (Similar to the signs nearing the end of an escalator). Taking
this idea further it seems not only to be about physical space, ‘you are here’,
but also about temporal space, ‘you are here now’, calling its commuters not
only to recognise their departure from a mechanical body onto a static concrete
surface, but moreover to recognise their own bodies mechanics, and awake from
the passivity of the journey in order to fulfil a destiny (destination). It is thus,
the voice of authority: ‘Mind the gap’. It resonates with the foreign commuter
therefore as a safety precaution, a signal of importance but to the regular
commuter as a sort of alarm call. A necessary wake up or shake up.
Upon leaving the train, one is immediately (in rush hour) swept up by an orgy
of bodies simultaneously ‘minding the gap’. In this way, the utterance becomes
a collective caution, to be read perhaps as a statement of caring and concern.
Delving deeper into this cautionary advice one could subsequently interpret it
as a voice of the mother city, warning its flock of the fore mentioned physical
gap yet further still the social gap that is caused by the metropolitan London
existence. Mind the gap, the space, the void and isolation. Be aware of the
gap, it says. Be careful of it, ‘don’t let it swallow
you up now’, it says. A city of estrangement, it is a
mothers premonition of its child’s sensitivity, their
loss of direct support, their loss of a dominant
culture, a way of life, a gap caused by the sudden
unknowing, and negation of everything one has
Mind the gap, as it seems to be filled with
diversions but should infact be enjoyed and
attended to for its emptiness. Its space, its
temporal lull. The gap is the anonymity, the
gap is personalities the gap is peoples desire to
connect yet only at times of necessity. Human
beings are aware of this fundamental need
for each other, it is the infrastructure of the
metropolis yet we are also equally aware that
‘liquidity’ is the desired consistency for these
friendships, for our metropolitan life.
It is also a powerful indication of the friendships
to be made and unmade. The time that it takes
to connect with people and the unjustified rapid
evaporation of these newly established ties.
In a recent article in Ojodepez by Maria Caundas, she observes that “Urban
society [is] woven with fragile personal relationships which are destined to
wither away shortly after they are made…”, such is the gap of London. Like the
‘market exchange’ Richard Sennet introduces, Cuandas describes a world where
social life has become weakened of HUMAN VALUES. Note the author does not
suggest moral, but human values- such is the gap that lays silently at the foot of
the train, such is the gap which infiltrates London and is what we are formally
However, like the announcements themselves, the gaps do not appear
everywhere, they are pocketed, and indeed pocket themselves. Like the tube,
gaps are spackled along the networks of the city and thus the social networks
of the city. People meet, experiences are shared, emotions dispersed, events
dissolved and the gap reappears. It is a cycle, like every other cycle upon which
this life is based. Yet it is important not to view this gap whether spatial or social
as negative – after all, knowledge being power and thus power being introduced
to the stranger upon first arrival, we the inhabitants possess the ability to
control our destiny just as we do our destination.
Estrangement, inhabiting the void must not be viewed as a threat, nor an
advantage. The void is just that, indefinable, infinite and thus ultimately positive.
A non-place (in a lyotardian way) stripped of associations or preconceptions
because of its indefinite landscape. What is the gap if not nothing, and what is
nothing but the basis from which all else springs.
The gap thus is a platform
onto itself, the void a
or pit stop for the
consciousness. It could be
as a cup, half full, yet
the half that is full is all
you, and the remaining
has suddenly been freed
through dislocation, to be
filled by the un-you, the
possible, the infinite. Thus the call of London, London calling can be seen as the
cry of a city for its people to consciousness, to mind the gap, cherish it and enjoy
its endless possibilities, and the infinite potential it offers rather than simply
abiding by your self-selected presupposed ideas of what it should be. London
Calling…Mind: The Gap.
- Aleda Fitzpatrick images: Karen D’Amico
dave also publishes an independent zine based in Nottingham called 88 shades of grey
T R A N S P A R A N C YI saw Sketchy Steve come loping across the square from a mile away…all gangly limbs and toothless smile. It was the fourth time our paths had crossed that day and with each crossing Steve had grown increasingly incoherent and booze-riddled, all the while proclaiming with an ever increased volume that he was evermore sober and worthy of our pennies…he sat with us for a spell on the blocks that surround the square, chewing the fat, preaching of his past as a member of our very clan (skateboarders) and his prowess upon the holy board…man, if Steve could skate anywhere as near as well as he could spin a yarn, then he was surely a lord and master of the early nineties scene.
We never went out of our way to hang out with Sketchy Steve, nor any of the other loners, vagrants, wanderers and nay-do-wells that settle into the very fabric of the city, its just we didn’t shun them as the vast majority do - when you spend as much time skating and in-turn loitering around the public spaces and forgotten corners with all the other weirdoes and lurkers, then its just easier for all involved to get along.
I liked Steve and the others anyway, once you get past the sometimes dubious intent and noxious smell, then they’re folk the same as anyone else, albeit laden down with the stifling problems poverty produces in addition to their multitude of plastic bags, but I never begrudged the time spent listening to Steve’s or the others rambling histories and tall tales or the loose change spared for some relief from their day. Before he left his perch amongst us for another pitch somewhere across town, I noticed the looks that passers-by would inadvertently shoot at our merry group, scornful and apprehensive and fleeting, before their collective gaze would return, fixed unwaveringly upon their destination, be it bus-stop, fast food outlet or shopping precinct. Streams of people all flowing in one of two directions (either left or right) never diverting from their course, save for the odd disparaging glance, as if their route were etched into the very stone they flowed over. No one appeared to take note of the line of 5 drain covers in a row that send you flying if they catch you unaware when on four small wheels, or the curved plant pots, charred black and crumbling from past conquests and failures, no one looked up and recognised the beautiful architecture of the cities rooftops and chimneys, observing all from above, silent, forgotten and majestic.
I’m sure no one recognised our group either, maybe a slight jolt of familiar unease would resonate upon hearing the clanking of trucks and scraping of wood on concrete, but no actual concept of what our purpose or reason for us being there was, no recognition of our place within the shared larger surroundings, despite this being one of the main haunts within the city centre and almost always populated by at least a handful of rolling figures. We became like the
planters and ledges, dirty, broken but largely transparent.
- Dave BevanFollowing page:
Dave Bevan , excerpts from Interzone, a self published book; 2005
The evening of the 4th of June found me in Soho to catch Cathy Lomax’s solo show,Vignettes, which launched Stella Vine’s recently re-located gallery, Rosy Wilde. Soho on a hot, sultry evening in June is always an entertaining place to be, and on this night in particular, the streets, bars
and cafes were heaving with what seemed like a million people preparing to watch Germany v Italy battle it out in what was to be a heart-stopping World Cup semi final. So, a cracking atmosphere it itself, but I digress.
Never having been to the previous incarnation of Rosy Wilde, I had no idea what to expect in terms of All Things Private View, and was plesantly surprised to find that, in addition to the requisite bevvie, there was also some rather nice food available. A nice touch, and I heartily agree with Russel Herron’s comment about Stella knowing how to treat her guests.
Stella also knows how to hang a show. The gallery, located just above Ann Summers in Wardour Street, is small, unpretentious and well utilised space. I liked the way this show was curated; each piece had enough room to breathe, something that can be difficult to achieve in a small space, and there was a nice mix of large and small work. In spite of it being packed to the rafters with people on the night, I did manage to actually get a good look at the work.
Vignettes is a collection of paintings depicting “sad stories of beauty, exploitation and prestige” in which Lomax addresses ideas such as nostalgia, sentimentality, romance and melancholia from the vantage point of an ongoing, very personal investigation of the notion of Englishness. Concealment and disruption are key elements in this work, with many of the subjects only partially revealed, as though peering over a fence, or having been caught unawares. Muted tones and a considered choice of colour contribute to create the feeling of recalling a bygone era, a sort of ‘faded glory’, impossible to recapture yet evocative all the same.
cathy lomax at rosie wildewww.cathylomax.blogspot.com www.rosiewilde.co.uk
Especially successful for me was ‘Little Mary’, a group of tiny paintings in metal frames, set up as a sort of tableau on a small glass shelf. Their size required intimate scrutiny, which nicely balanced with the larger works, most notably, ‘Goodbye 20C’, which was on the opposite wall.
I felt that these furtive glimpses offered a sense of vulnerability and exposure, whilst also having a somewhat voyeuristic quality about them. Each subjects’ very existance felt as though it were a sort of secret it itself, a story perhaps yet to be revealed, leaving me feeling both wistful and curious.
- Karen D’Amico
Rosy WildeArt Projects79 Wardour Street London WC1
tel: +44 (0)20 7851 8547fax: +44 (0)20 7851 8548
Tube: Piccadelly Circus, Leicester Square
Bus: 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 23, 148, 159, 453
Parking: You must be joking...
Opposite: (top) Cathy Lomax, Little Mary (detail)
(bottom) Cathy Lomax Little Mary Oil on Canvas and Frames, variable dimensions, 2006
This page: (top) Cathy Lomax, Sapling Oil on Canvas, 61 x 46cm, 2006
(bottom left) Cathy Lomax, Ella at the Wells Oil on Linen, 61 x 46cm, 2006
(bottom right) Cathy Lomax, Goodbye 20C Oil on Canvas, 97 x 81cm, 2006
Stewart Paleywww. freynorris.com
Stewart Paley Unreal City Acrylic and collage on canvas, 65”
x 74”; 2006
Stewart Paley New York Acrylic and collage on canvas, 65”
x 74”; 2006
Opposite: Karen D’Amico Mass Pile Up (map) Digital collage,15 x 22cm; 2006
when did you first know you wanted to be an artist?when did i first ‘know’ i can’t remember; but when i first declared was sometime in the age of 18. i made a piece whose title was ‘Nick Normal is an artist’ (with a little a). that was more about declaring an artist with a little a. perhaps that is when i knew, as well.
can you remember your first piece of work?as far back as i can remember i used to draw.
smartest thing you ever did in terms of your art practice?when i quit painting and took up photography & ceramics: that taught me a lot about how mediums really work.
worst mistake in terms of your art practice?not falling in love enough.
best / worst bit about being an artist?best is the fun you have with all your peers and those who are producing contemporaneously; worst is seeing how so much of the art world dead-ends with bogus discussions about sales and market value.
any heroes or villains?my friends are my heroes.
you’ve lived and worked in London and now New York. any major differences in terms of contemporary art practice?good question. i would say London likes its art grimy but with a slick edge, inevitably it must be ‘made well’, even if it is made from crap. New York is the opposite: the art is slick, almost by default, but yearns to be grimy, about the things the slickness never looks at.
best and worst bits of living in a metropolis?these places are AMAZING... the recent blackout in Queens exposed our dependency on electricity, the majority of which in the US is generated via fossil fuels (depending on what report you read, around 70-86%). but still, i wouldn’t have it any other way! you could complain about how we’re paying for a service and it’s failing, or how so much of the recovery effort is political, but i’m not interested in either of those arguments. the food is still amazing, there’s plenty to explore, people are still bustling about and you can always talk to them. personally i like the noise.
What shows have you seen recently?the Herzon & de Mueron special exhibit (Artist’s Choice) on at the MoMA right now will be on the tip of my tongue for a little while.
Any words of wisdom for emerging artists?LOVE YOUR LOCAL LIBRARY!
asked & answered
Nick’s work is on the following three pages.
Baby Smith www. geocities.com/~artworkslive/index.html
from the ‘lost & found’ series
Top, from left: Baby Smith, Composite No. 8 and Composite No. 15, (lost & found series)
mixed media and found objects on wood; 3” x 3” x 2” (approx)
Middle, from left: Baby Smith, Composite No. 21 and Composite No. 38, (lost & found series)
mixed media and found objects on wood; 3” x 3” x 2” (approx)
Bottom, from left:
Baby Smith, Composite No. 39 and Composite No. 41, (lost & found series) mixed media and found objects on wood; 3” x 3” x 2” (approx)
this body of work, comprised of 3”x3” wall mounted box
assemblages, was inspired by my recent move from the
midwest to southern california. i began learning my new
surroundings by collecting artifacts right off the streets
in my neighborhood. everything from discarded grocery
lists to scrap metal was fair game, swiftly picked up and
tucked into my junk bag. each found item had a story to tell.
the patina of the objects was weathered by the elements,
but also revealed the very character of those who once
owned them. soon my half-hour walks turned into 3-4 hour
expeditions, accumulating countless found nuggets along
The “composites” are not only a comment on society’s multi
cultural mass consumption, but also an intimate portrait of
the people who touched and gave each material object a life
of its own.- Baby Smith
dear you anonymous, melbourne
I have only played San Andreas a couple
of times and so not being particularly well
practiced was not able to win many points.
It took me a while to work out that you
were supposed to mug and kill policemen
and prostitutes in order to get money and
weapons, and so long periods of time ensued
where I was wandering around the streets
and stealing vehicles solely for the purpose of
listening to the different music which played
from the car radios. My attempts at winning
became even more half hearted when I fell
into the river on the outskirts of the city and
discovered that I could swim around and
catch oysters- although I did not know what
use my ‘oyster score’ could be put to.
Despite this the game was still addictive and I
found I had been playing for a couple of hours
without really realising. I started another game
but then went to do something else (pour
another drink, perhaps) and when I came
back a few minutes later I saw that ‘CJ’, the
main character, was standing where I had left
him at the start of the game. Even though he
Dialectic of flânerie: on one side, the
man who feels himself viewed by
all and sundry as a true suspect and, on
the other side, the man who is utterly
undiscoverable, the hidden man. Presumably, it is
this dialectic that is developed in “The
Man of the Crowd.” Benjamin, Walter; The Arcades Project,
Harvard 1999, pg 420
A misuse of ‘Grand Theft Auto’;
“San Andreas is structured similarly to
the previous two games in the series. The core
gameplay consists of elements of a third-
person shooter and a driving game, affording the player a large, open
environment to move around in. On foot, the
player’s character is capable of walking,
running, and jumping, as well as utilizing weapons and basic
hand to hand combat. Players can steal
and drive a variety of vehicles, including
automobiles, boats, airplanes, helicopters,
and motorcycles.” from Wikepedia, ‘Grand Theft Auto: San
CJ as a passive spectator of the city
had become completely passive, nobody had
attacked him and he was standing watching
the other characters drift past him in the
street. The computer program’s limitations
were slightly exposed as characters became
duplicated- identical prostitutes walking past
each other and repeating the same phrases.
The activity of the street continued without
anyone taking any notice of him. At one point
someone shot a man right in front of him- he
died screaming in the street without anyone
reacting in the slightest. CJ didn’t even jump
or look surprised, but perhaps he knew what
was coming next; the body and the blood spilt
on the street simply faded away into nothing.
I don’t know if CJ would eventually lose
energy or need to eat, but he seemed quite
happy just watching the street go by. The
makers of the game, in their attempt to make
San Andreas as complicated and realistic as
possible, have inadvertently created a Man of
the Crowd within the digital city.
- Lucy Harrison
“The crowd is his element, as the air is
that of birds and water of fishes. His passion
and his profession are to become one flesh
with the crowd. For the perfect flâneur,
for the passionate spectator, it is an
immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow of
movement, in the midst of the fugitive
and the infinite. To be away from home and yet feel oneself
everywhere at home; to see the world, to
be at the centre of the world, and yet remain
hidden from the world.”
- Charles Baudelaire – 1863Baudelaire, C. (1968) The
Painter of Modern Life. Translated from the French
by J. Mayne. London, Phaidon
Ths page: Jack Harris South Bank Digital print, size variable; 2005
Opposite page: top: Jack Harris Las Vegas Digital print, size variable; 2006
bottom: Jack Harris Car Wash Digital print, size variable; 2005
Rod McLaren works in IT, making mobile and internet data services for the government and companies. Occasionally he’s an artist and designer. He studied
Fine Art at Coventry and St. Martins back in the day.
The movement of the tube is an giant invisible hand that pulls and pushes everything and everybody around. Since 2003 I have regularly sat on the tube, working with the train on to
make some drawings. I am the unreliable accelerometer recording the train’s movement. I take the scribbly drawings that the train makes, and composite them in the computer into
landscapes and other images. These ones are from the Northern Line.
This image is a version of Caspar David Friedrich’s Abbey Among Oak Trees,1809-10, in the Altes Nationalgalerie Berlin. Friedrich’s painting is a wonderfully gloomy and desolate scene: a cortege of monks slowly bear a coffin through the doorway in a facade that’s the
only standing remnant of a ruined abbey. About the abbey are shattered, leafless oaks and gravestones, none standing vertically. A horizontal band of light sky silhouettes the black
oaks, the rest of the picture seems shrouded in a murky fog.
Friedrich’s Romantic memento mori is becoming an ambiguous vision of open skies, of landscapes and scale, dreamt by tube trains rattling underground.
Rod McClaren, Abbey Among Oak Trees (Northern Line) Digitial composite; 2006
The parabolic curves on airline route maps
show us where we might travel to - wildly
different cities at varying distances from our own. But Calvino’s
chapter on Trude in Invisible Cities reverses
this - a traveller flies from one airport to
another, only to find that he is in the same
city. It would be like a traveller in London expecting to emerge
from an underground station in a different
country. So this piece redraws the tube
diagram as if it were an airline map, showing a multitude of places to
visit and a near-infinite number of ways to
get there, but one in which we never leave
If on arriving at Trude I had not read the city’s name written in big letters, I would have thought I was landing at the same airport from which I had taken off. The suburbs they drove me through were no different from the others, with the same greenish and yellowish houses. Following the same signs we swung around the same flower beds in the same squares. The downtown streets displayed goods, packages, signs that had not changed at all. This was the first time I had come to Trude, but I already knew the hotel where I happened to be lodged; I had already heard and spoken my dialogues with the buyers and sellers of hardware; I had ended other days identically, looking through the same goblets at the same swaying navels.
Why come to Trude? I asked myself. And I already wanted to leave.
“You can resume your flight whenever you like,” they said to me, “but you will arrive at another Trude, absolutely the same, detail by detail. The world is covered by a sole Trude which does not begin and does not end. Only the name of the airport changes.”
- from Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities
Rod McClaren, Invisible Cities Illustrated #1: Trude (HN30) (2003)
The diagram is a network of curved lines connecting to every other node on a 6 x 5 grid, and has two configurations: if the picture is hung one way up, it illustrates the Ersilia chapter in Calvino’s Invisible Cities (where the lines are like the threads strung between the buildings of Ersilia); if hung the other way up, it shows that of Trude (where the lines are like a complicated airline route map).
In Ersilia, to establish the relationships that sustain the city’s life, the inhabitants stretch strings from the corners of the houses, white or black or gray or black-and-white according to whether they mark a relationship of blood, of trade, or authority, agency. When the strings become so numerous that you can no longer pass among them, the inhabitants leave: the houses are dismantled; only the strings and their supports remain. From a mountainside, camping with their household goods, Ersilia’s refugees look at the labyrinth of taut strings and poles that rise in the plain. That is the city of Ersilia still, and they are nothing.
They rebuild Ersilia elsewhere. They weave a similar pattern of strings which they would like to be more complex and at the same time more regular than the other. Then they abandon it and take themselves and their houses still farther away.
Thus, when travelling in the territory of Ersilia, you come upon the ruins of the abandoned cities, without the walls which do not last, without the bones of the dead which the wind rolls away: spiderwebs of intricate relationships seeking a form.
- from Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities
Rod McClaren, Invisible Cities Illustrated #2: Trude/Ersilia (2003)
Following page: Karen D’Amico City Digital collage, 294 x 220mm; 2006
Thoughts on a Grey Daywww.karendamico.com
I’m an urban creature, most definitely. I feel quite cosy living in
a crowded row of terraced houses where, though you might not
actually know your neighbour, you at least know someone’s there.
I don’t think I could ever live in the country. There’s something
ominous about wide open spaces and having next door neighbours
that you have to drive to; rather like those beautifully desolate
Hopper paintings or being in an episode of Twin Peaks. True,
the countryside is beautiful and often relaxing, but I find it quite
unsettling, foreboding even. Large, uninhabited spaces tend to infuse
my over active imagination with thoughts of the Bates Motel.
Cities, on the other hand, fascinate me. I love visiting big cities and I
love coming home to one. The Really Big, Stuffed-to-the-Sky, Spilling
Out Of Every Possible Opening type Cities are the most exciting, like
New York or London or Bangkok. They’re full on, in your face, over
the top, larger than life, overwhelming and exciting. They never
sleep. They are diversity and excess all crammed together, like a mass
organism with little mini-communities, all interwoven; a cacophony of
people, buildings, sounds, smells and energy.
To me, cities are like heartbeats; expanding, contracting, but always
pulsating. That constant alive-ness is intoxicating. To live in the city is
to be in a continual state of flux, relentlessly moving, never standing
still, always changing yet always somehow remaining the same.
Perhaps that’s what attracts me.
- Karen D’Amico
catch: Arts Listingsgalleries, weblinks, etc.Publications
Anxiety Culture www.anxietyculture.com/ [an] magazine www.a-n.co.uk Arty Magazine www.artymagazine.comFound Magazine www.foundmagazine.comInterlude Magazine www.interludemagazine.co.ukLeisure Centre www.leisurecentre.org.ukPublish and Be Damned www.publishandbedamned.orgRant Magazine www.rant-magazine.comrifRAG www.riffrag.org/Smoke: a london peculiar www.shink.dircon.co.uk/smoke.htm
WeblinksArtangel www.artangel.org.ukArtinliverpool www.artinliverpool.com/blogArtquest www.artquest.org.ukArts Council England www.artscouncil.org.uk/ Art South Central www.artsouthcentral.org.ukAxis Artists www.axisartists.org.ukEyebeam www.eyebeam.orgFallon & Rosoff www.fallonandrosof.com/artblog.htmlHappy Famous Artists www.happyfamousartists.blogspot.comKollabor8 http://kollabor8.toegristle.com/Newsgrist www.newsgrist.typepad.com/underbelly/weblogs/index.htmlRe-Title www.re-title.comRhizome www.rhizome.orgStunned www.stunned.org Theory.Org www.theory.orgWooster Collective www.woostercollective.com/
Galleries / Studios / ResourcesUK198 Gallery (SE24) www.198gallery.co.uk 020 7978 83092B1 www.2b1studio.co.uk - Bearspace (SE8) www.thebear.tv/bearspace/ 020 8691 2085Cafe’ Gallery Projects (SE16) www.cafegalleryprojects.com 020 7237 1230Castlefield Gallery (M15) www.castlefieldgallery.co.uk 0161 832 8034Cell Project Space (E2) www.cell.org.uk 020 7241 3600Clapham Art Gallery (SW4) www.claphamartgallery.com 020 7720 0955Gasworks (SE11) www.gasworks.org.uk 020 7582 6848Hayward Gallery (SE1) www.hayward.org.uk 020 7921 0813inIVA (EC2) www.iniva.org 020 7729 9616ICA (SW1) www.ica.org.uk 020 7930 3647Levack (W1) www.levack.co.uk 020 7539 1911Moot Gallery (Nottingham NG3) www.mootgallery.org 07786 257213 MOT (E8) www.motinternational.org 020 7923 9561Photographers Gallery (WC2) www.photonet.org.uk 020 7831 1772Photofusion (SW9) www.photofusion.org 020 7738 5774SevenSeven (E8) www.sevenseven.org.uk/ 078 0816 6215South London Gallery (SE5) www.southlondongallery.org 020 7703 6120Space Station 65 (SE22) www.spacestationsixtyfive.com 020 8693 5995Space Studios (E8) www.spacestudios.org.uk 020 8525 4330 Spectacle (Birmingham B16) www.spectacle-gallery.co.uk/ -Stand Assembly (NG3) www.standassembly.org -Standpoint (N1) www.pauperspublications.com/gallery.html 020 7729 5272Studio Voltaire (SW4) www.studiovoltaire.org 020 7622 1294Surface Gallery (Nottingham NG1) www.surfacegallery.org/index.html 0115 934 8435Tate Modern (SE1) www.tate.org.uk 020 7887 8000The Flea Pit (E1) www.myspace.com/tom_and_bob -The Residence(E9) www.residence-gallery.com 020 8986 8866The Wyer Gallery (SW11) www.thewyergallery.co.uk 020 7223 8433 Transition Gallery (E8) www.transitiongallery.co.uk 020 7254 0045Transmission (Glasgow) www.transmissiongallery.org/ 0141 552 4813
Further AfieldFlux Factory (New York) www.fluxfactory.org/ 1 (718) 707 3362Location 1 (New York) www.location1.org 1 (212) 334 3347 Printed Matter (New York) www.printedmatter.org 1 (212) 925 0325White Column (New York) www.whitecolumns.org 1 (212) 924 4214
Platform Artists Group (Melbourne) www.platform.org.au +61 3 9654 8559 Sticky (Melbourne) www.platform.org.au/sticky.html +61 3 9654 8559The Invisible Inc. (Sydney) www.theinvisibleinc.org.au -
Torpedo Artbooks (Oslo) www.torpedobok.no/ +47 48231217
Eye Level Gallery (Halifax, Nova Scotia) www.eyelevelgallery.ca 1 (902) 425 6412Zeke’s Gallery (Montreal) www.zekesgallery.blogspot.com 1 (514) 288-2233
somewhere in Seoulabout 20 years ago; can’t quite recall exactly when though...