Out-Spoken returned back to the Southbank Centre last week, showcasing a range of talented poets and new musical artists. Poetry is an art form that is often made to feel prolific – second-hand almost. Out-spoken has done a brilliant job at creating a space that embraces this form of artistry, forming a space and community where language can be celebrated and enjoyed.

The night included sets of both poetry and music, from Max Porter, Jackie Kay and Simon Armitage; and music from bshp and Kay Young. This evening, the theme of much of the poetry was largely centred around rebellion, protest and defying the system. In a time when the world is going through various crises, it is important to be able to share these ideas, emotions and stories.

Starting with Max Porter – who recited so passionately – and brought natural energy to the room, touching on themes of capitalism and ignorance in society. Porter emphasised the dangers of work culture in Britain, where work is seen as ‘just work’ and separated from the impacts it can have on others’ lives. This was in relation to work in the Arms industry, dealing with refugees and migration, and so on – jobs that deal with the livelihoods of others. The words ‘Safety and Affluence’ were repeated throughout his performance – two words we take for granted living in this country: sometimes at the cost of others’ safety.

This performance was followed by Scottish poet, Jackie Kay (pictured). I thoroughly enjoyed listening to Kay’s poems, as well as the humour and personal stories she added in between. Her poems were centred around protest and rebellion, in the face of racial, gender and LGBT discrimination in the past and present. As a woman of colour, I found that these poems resonated with me personally, and others in the audience. Kay referenced significant moments such as the 1980s Women’s marches to ‘Reclaim the night’, Nelson Mandela protests and the recent BLM protests – all of which sparked a feeling of solidarity in the audience.

Finally, Poet Laureate, Simon Armitage, was welcomed to the stage. He read a selection of poems and music lyrics, all of which were enjoyed by the audience. I particularly liked his poem ‘Let’s Bird Table’ which used various terms used in the corporate world to ridicule working culture.

The musical acts from bshp and Kay Young created a lively atmosphere throughout the evening. Bshp had a spectacularly strong voice, which transcended across the audience. Kay Young, an upcoming jazz and soul artist, recently signed to Jay Z’s management company ‘Roc Nation’ ended the evening on a high note. Kay Young captured the audience as we all danced to the end!

Out-Spoken is an outstanding organisation that creates a space for those who appreciate the artistry of language in all its forms. I thoroughly enjoyed this event and urge you all to join in for the next one!

Out-Spoken will be back at the Southbank Centre on 30 June 2022, book your tickets now at: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/literature-poetry/out-spoken-june?eventId=901400

Photography by Karim Kamar, Out-Spoken / Southbank Centre

Reviewed by Ridha Sheikh – Ridha is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. She is a recent History and Politics graduate from Queen Mary – University of London. Ridha is excited to explore and share her strong passion for London’s art scene.

BRIT School alumna Sarah Meth had the displeasure of releasing her debut EP, Dead End World, in the February of 2020, approximately a month before the nation went into lockdown, and everyone decided that the only two worthwhile pastimes in life were amateur epidemiology and artisanal baking. Perhaps if she had released it only a few months earlier, she would have built up the requisite momentum to be carried through; if she stalled to a couple of months later, she might have seized greater attention from a terminally bored population (as did countless average electronic producers at this time). As is the way of the world, the impact of Dead End World – a strong debut – was blunted by COVID-19. It’s a shame, too, since Dead End World was filled with the intimate, lonerist tunes that an isolated listenership needed, much more than they needed the recently furloughed Kyle’s avant-garde passion project.

At the same time, Dead End World was an almost quintessential debut. It’s an artefact preserved from Meth’s earliest endeavours. ‘What Does It Mean’, for example, is a really good song. It does not demarcate itself stylistically, though. The track sits neatly into the London jazz(?) tradition which dogged the latter half of the 2010s à la Puma Blue etc. (no disrespect to this scene, I am still a big fan). Saturated brushes, crooned vocals, and tapey hiss are well done, but instantly situate the songs in this genre.

While the delays of the pandemic meant Meth was off to a slower start than ideal, she’s wasted no time, and her sophomore EP, Leak Your Own Blues, released this month, is a great demonstration of this. She has bored further into the emotional threads of her music and refined her sound into something recognisably her own.

Meth’s independence was confirmed to me at her sold-out performance at St. Pancras Old Church – her first headline show. The church is still very much in use, and walking in, I wondered if I had walked in through the wrong door to an actual service, since its manner was so undisturbed by the gig. Meth and her band were performing in the sanctuary of the church, and we were all sat in chairs arranged in pews. And as with the other kind of sanctuary, I felt warm and enveloped in her melancholy melodies. There was something unconventional but very sweet about listening to Sarah backdropped by icons of Christ.

Despite the memo to wear blue, the title of the single, ‘Blue’, and the incredibly stylish blue scarves being sold as merch, the atmosphere was unanimously happy at the end. Sarah seemed so pleased to be finally playing a headline show, and the trick of her showmanship is that everyone feels invited to feel familiarity with her. The crowd would not relent in insisting an encore, and one member shouted out for her to play ‘What Does It Mean’. She replied that she’d moved past that, and while I really like that song, she is absolutely right. Sarah Meth is sighting greater pastures now. She hadn’t prepared an encore and chose to play one we’d already heard that evening. Not a problem: the sign of a great song is that you’re happy to hear it over and again.

Check out Sarah Meth – Blue (Official Video) here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRYbt_FFAQs

Sarah Meth / Photography by Jody Evans

Cian Kinsella is a Classics teacher and part-time pub quizmaster living in London who is primarily interested in music but is also interested in theatre, literature, and visual arts. He is particularly intrigued by the relationship between art, criticism, and the capital forces always at play. Furthermore, he believes that subjectivity – which is ultimately at the heart of all artistic and cultural criticism – should not be concealed, but probed and perhaps even celebrated. Who decides what we like? How do they construct widely held beliefs about what is good? These are two of the questions Cian looks to address.

Fourty years have passed since the release of the 30-minute television series “Ways of Seeing” created by writer John Berger and adapted to a book of the same name in 1972. In it, we read: “Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.” But what does it mean to be looked at? The Dulwich Picture Gallery answers the question with an exhibition dedicated to the enigmatic motif of the ‘woman in the window’. It makes us re-evaluate the very act of looking.

Inspired by Rembrandt’s 1645 painting ‘Girl at a Window’, the exhibition brings together over 40 works by artists including Dante Gabriel Rossetti, David Hockney, Louise Bourgeois, Cindy Sherman, and Wolfgang Tillmans and reveals how artists have long used the age-old motif of the ‘woman in the window’ to elicit a particular kind of response ranging from empathy to voyeurism. Featuring a range of media including sculpture, painting, print, photography, film, and installation this show makes us re-consider issues of gender and visibility.

‘Reframed: The Woman in the Window’, is filled with revelations. It convincingly denies the widely accepted claim that Dutch artists of the seventeenth century had a monopoly on the woman and window concept. The oldest work here dates right back to 900BC when a Phoenician artist carved the face of a temple prostitute on a piece of ivory. The ancient ivory and pottery on display showed women peering through the open-air windows with such abrupt and defiant frontality as to make the viewer reel back. These works reveal the early history of the motif and its use in representations of power, seduction, spirituality and the afterlife suggesting a view of a spectacle beyond. Here the window seems to act as a door between secular and sacred worlds, ironically referred to as a proxy for the female anatomy.

Warning against the ‘lust of the eyes’ that could lead to sinful thought, dominated Medieval and Early Renaissance depictions of people looking out of a window. Exceptions were made for representations of the Virgin and Child. An example dating to 15^th century recalls her role as Queen of Heaven. The Virgin is staged to be adored while standing at the ‘window to heaven’, yet she cautiously avoids gazing at our eyes looking down at her infant. Her presence expresses her own attitude toward herself and defines what can and cannot be done to her. This idea encouraged fifteenth-century artists to take up the motif as an innovative way of painting female portraits.

For centuries ‘the woman in the window’ represented a female type, a nameless and idealised woman, often reduced to a head or a bust. In defining the ideal nude, Dürer believed that this ought to be constructed by taking the face of one body, the breasts of another, the legs of a third, the shoulders of a fourth, the hands of a fifth – and so on. Similarly, the abstracted or fragmented representations of a woman framed by a window suggest that the female figure is irrelevant and interchangeable, emphasizing the void concealed in her presence. Turning away from the viewer, lost in indecipherable thought Sickert’s woman at the window turns herself into an object, and most importantly an object of vision: a sight. Only the personal and often intimate relationships between artists and their models and muses, witnessed in the works of Picasso and Wolfgang Tillmans, restore a sense of particularity and individuality to those faces flattened by the frame.

A window is essentially a frame within a frame that might act as a stage as in the case of the woman on the balcony, or as a domestic prison, echoed by all the caged birds in many of the paintings presented in the show. But what it emphasises, almost inevitably, is the loneliness of the figures. Often confined within domestic interiors, occupied in an activity traditionally described as ‘women’s work’ such as sewing or cooking, a woman longingly looks out of the window as in Isabel Codrington’s The Kitchen (1927).

A woman is looking out posing for us, or we are spying on her; we catch her unaware, or the artist holds her in his gaze. She has the world before her, a world she can see but never reach. A key aim of the exhibition is to turn the focus towards women artists who have adopted the concept of the window as a site of communication, connection and inspiration. The last section explores the works of six female artists who have taken ownership of the motif, in some cases using their own body and image to explore the construction of identity.

Men frame women; women reframe themselves with intuition and courage. The show is enthralling, stimulating and intelligent and offers a lesson about both art and life, and the experience of seeing and being seen.

This exhibition is on until 4 September 2022. For more info or to book – dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/2022/may/reframed-the-woman-in-the-window/

Gallery Opening Hours: Tuesday–Sunday, 10 am–5 pm. Closed Mondays except for Bank Holidays.

Reviewed by Rachele Nizi- After completing her MA in Reception of the Classical World at UCL, Rachele joined Abundant Art as a creative writer. Her British and Italian origins have inspired her to want to study Art History and European Literature, with an interest in the afterlife of antiquity in the Western tradition.

Even if you were so on the pulse with new music that you were dubbed the music scene’s Fitbit, you’d be forgiven for briefly daydreaming and wondering how on earth (or away from it) Nukuluk got to where they are today. Admittedly, they haven’t sold out Wembley or the O2, but you would not be forgiven for not knowing where they will be tomorrow, because the proof is in the pudding.* Like all pudding, though, the sum of its parts is greater than its constituent ingredients – unless you really like butter, chocolate, sugar, and dough (I know these things are excellent, but let’s roll with it).

Scrumptious ingredients aside, what really elevates most puddings is time spent in the oven, and the same can be said for salted caramel Nukuluk shortbread. They began as a solo project by frontman Syd Nukuluk (he wasn’t lucky enough to be born with such a cool name – it’s a moniker), which just over a year ago was ‘killed off’, in his own words. He was killed off with the ominous Facebook statement: ‘Syd is gone, Nukuluk remains.’ Intriguing. This was followed, ‘now operating as a collective’. I’m always sceptical of collectives, in addition to platforms, spaces, or any other way of dressing up an arts project as something other than what it is, because it usually implies that the substance is too weak to carry it. What’s wrong with being a band?

At any rate, it would seem more that Syd was actually sacrificed to some pagan deity, because since then, the collective has gone from strength to strength. The deity in question would be Bristol label and promoter Spinny Nights, with whom the South-East London-based performers partnered up in the latter half of 2021. They hosted Nukuluk’s sold-out performance at Brixton’s Windmill in celebration of their debut EP release last November – zombified frontman Syd now duels it out with co-frontman Monika (another pseudonym… get it?), alongside instrumentalists Mateo, Olivia, and Louis.

While the Brixton party was great, it was slightly marred by technological hitches and teething issues. But for the inaugural edition of their monthly residency at the Bermondsey Social Club, it seemed that this collective had collected itself. Even from behind the venue’s shuttered garage door, the metal could not keep the energy from radiating outdoors. The tracks from debut EP Disaster Pop felt more realised and rehearsed; newer tracks were bursting with youth. I see partially why they choose to be called a collective: members know to step back from the limelight at the right time. Syd is even more committed to his role as vulnerable emo, and Monika’s punk-rap hybrid delivery demands and commands the attention of the audience. But they cannot both have all our attention at the same time, and they intuitively showcase each other when necessary, retreating into auxiliary roles.

The raw yet computer-ish sound of Nukuluk could best be described as a desktop PC with the casings torn off in an emotional tantrum, revealing all the wires, hardware, and motherboards underneath. Found sounds and heavy basses abound, occasionally adjoining more traditional rock band instrumentation. Moving forward, they may consider how Monika and Syd can work together; the duelling vocalist thing is cool, but Nukuluk are more than capable of exploring more than one direction. That they have a residency is no surprise – Nukuluk is here to stay. I’ll let them be a collective.

*The pudding is their music.

Cian Kinsella is a Classics teacher and part-time pub quizmaster living in London who is primarily interested in music but is also interested in theatre, literature, and visual arts. He is particularly intrigued by the relationship between art, criticism, and the capital forces always at play. Furthermore, he believes that subjectivity – which is ultimately at the heart of all artistic and cultural criticism – should not be concealed, but probed and perhaps even celebrated. Who decides what we like? How do they construct widely held beliefs about what is good? These are two of the questions Cian looks to address.

Livia Rita – singer, designer, choreographer, film maker and visual artist – is without a doubt the textbook multihyphenate, and rest assured their Wild Card premiere of FUTURA Glitch at the Lilian Baylis Studio adjoining Sadler’s Wells was hyphens abound. Even as I sat eating soup in the café before the show, I was drawn to a small interactive installation ran by their ‘coven’. At various stations I was guided through sound art, homemade scents, and a manifestation ritual involving horseradish, parsley, and cranberry juice. The walls were adorned with images and small eclogues of text relating to different themes.

In spite of this initiation, I had no idea what to expect when the show actually begun. Ostensibly this is part of the idea: according to the Sadler’s Wells website, the appropriately named Wild Card entails ‘a new generation of artists [being[ invited to curate their own night.’ At the very least, I inferred there would be music, dance, and elaborate costumes. As Rita began singing while emerging from a blossoming flower, I thought I knew what I was in for: a highly choreographed and ‘showy’ live performance by a singer with a small ensemble. Rita’s presence on stage (or in this case, in studio) is undeniable, and her voice is categorically good. As are their songs – this was hyper/electropop done well. She wormed her way through the audience and covertly demanded they reformulate themselves as she uncovered new audience-performer paradigms for each segment.

Then the coven came out, bringing Rita’s hyphens with them. Up until this point in the first act, Rita was alone, other than a sole performer who mostly remained stationary. As the performance progressed, we came to know and (maybe) love each member of the coven. There was the ivy-covered moss creature, the shroud in stilts, the pale duo who looked like woodland sprites. And with their introduction, Rita knew to pull away in the interest of the show, and at times, the music gave way to movement: there was now a glimpse of narrative. Individual members even had their own talents which shone, such as the moss creature’s brass solo, and the extended harp solo.

If the first act was the whacky act, the second half was the concerted act. From the get-go, something was different – the narrative choreography was more synchronic, and the music felt like a setlist, like songs rather than an experience. Where the electronic sounds of the first act sometimes felt like a backing track, one of the coven was now a visible DJ in the second. Perhaps to some, this is less of an achievement. I would argue that what the second half achieved was greater than the achievement of the first. While the harp, brass, movement, et. al. in the first act was wonderful, they dragged. While the costume changes of the first act were cool, they occurred in the second with a lesser frequency but a greater impact.

The finale of the second act was truly the highlight, however: the DJ began to play a simple, repetitive, but rhythmically addictive techno beat, and Rita began a dance routine. Then, the coven joined in. Then, a couple of audience members. This continued for between 15 and 20 minutes – take this with a pinch of salt, since time dissolved during this period – with everyone in the audience gradually being drawn into this iterative dance. FUTURA Glitch was intensely at its most organic now, and I think this is what it was trying to achieve throughout: a magical space at the crossroads between technology and nature.

At one of the installations before the show, I was told that FUTURA Glitch was ‘kind of’ about the earth, and truthfully, some parts of the show were lost in translation and in the hyphens. I never figured out what the sole performer who remained stationary was doing. Rita should chase the flame which kindled towards the end of the second act. The symbiosis peaked as we were escorted out – artist applauded audience, and audience applauded artist. What a feeling.

You can watch the trailer here:  www.sadlerswells.com/whats-on/wild-card-livia-rita-futura-glitch/

For upcoming shows / Livia Rita’s 2022 tour: liviarita.com/upcomingshows

Wild Card Livia Rita Futura Glitch / Photography by Camilla Greenwell

Cian Kinsella is a Classics teacher and part-time pub quizmaster living in London who is primarily interested in music but is also interested in theatre, literature, and visual arts. He is particularly intrigued by the relationship between art, criticism, and the capital forces always at play. Furthermore, he believes that subjectivity – which is ultimately at the heart of all artistic and cultural criticism – should not be concealed, but probed and perhaps even celebrated. Who decides what we like? How do they construct widely held beliefs about what is good? These are two of the questions Cian looks to address.

Exploring radical ideas around the climate crisis, Barbican’s latest immersive exhibition, Our Time On Earth transforms their Curve gallery. 

Our Time On Earth is a meditative experience. In the first space, visitors are encouraged to pause and listen to the voice playing overhead, “your breath comes from sea creatures and trees”, and “just one breath shared by all living things”. This novel way to begin viewing an exhibition sets the tone – not dissimilar to adjusting your breathing and setting your intention at the start of a yoga class. 

The exhibition features work from 18 artists including Marshmallow Lazor Feast, SUPERFLUX and Silent Studio. Many of the works presented explore the role of technology in connecting with nature and our approach to the climate crisis. Consequently, Our Time On Earth is quite tech-heavy; animation, video, and interactive screens. However, this focus prompts interesting questions, which are explored throughout the show; can we live sustainably and continue to focus on the digital? Is it possible to truly connect with nature digitally? …Is this exhibition environmentally friendly?

Marshmallow Lazor Feast’s Sanctuary of the Unseen Forest explores this idea further, presenting a viewer-engulfing digital animation of the intricate nerve network of a tree and its roots. Created in collaboration with Bio-Leadership Project founder Andres Roberts, the piece demonstrates the tree’s role in connecting the soil and the sky, and ultimately, creating the air we breathe. The gentle ebb and flow of the video are equally part fascinating and part mesmerising. 

In the next space along we see SUPERFLUX’s Refuge for Resistance, a dining table installation ready to host a multi-species dinner party. The work encourages the viewer to consider their place in a natural world where all living beings are considered equal. In contrast, positioned alongside Refuge for Resistance is a digital image of a city, devoid of human activity and reclaimed by nature; animals wander, vines grow freely, and tower blocks crumble. It’s peaceful but unnerving – reminiscent of a shot from The Last Of Us. This dystopian feeling is definitely not recurrent in Our Time On Earth, instead, viewers are prompted to slow down, consider and reflect on our relationship with nature.

A little deeper in the exhibition there is a focus on textile production. We’re shown examples of innovative sustainable materials currently being tested, developed and even sold. In one of the glass cabinets we see a dress with a Zara label, raising perhaps one of the most fundamental questions of the climate crisis – can we live sustainably whilst still being ruled by capitalism? 

Our Time On Earth is pragmatic, inspiring…maybe even, hopeful. In the midst of the ever-worsening climate crisis, it’s great to see the power of collective creativity and its application to envisioning a better future for Earth.

Our Time on Earth runs from 5 May – 29 August 2022. Find out more and book tickets here.

“Sanctuary of the Unseen Forest” by Marshmallow Lazor Feast photographed by Amy Melling (see biog below)

Reviewed by Amy Melling – Amy is a Curator and Creative Producer whose practice is centred around community-led arts projects. Her current research is focused on curatorial methods for exhibiting artworks outside. Amy has a keen interest in the arts and recently completed an MA in Curating and Collections at Chelsea College of Arts, UAL.

Park Motive, the musical moniker of home producer Sam Herschmann, has been performing and releasing music for approximately seven years or so now.  Their first release, ‘No Slip’, was released on the Slow Dance ’16 EP alongside tracks by Glows and Asha Lorenz, the vocalist of Sorry, who are currently touring the States. In between bands at Brixton’s Windmill, Sam tells me that Park Motive’s first ever gig – also Sorry’s first gig – was at the embryonic form of what became Slow Dance: a boat party in Royal Victoria. Supposedly it was a legendary night that is still spoken of by the happy few who attended.

In the time that has elapsed since then, Park Motive has been gestating and confidently realising itself, while many of their peers have prematurely entered the ring, not yet fully formed. Herschmann has spent this time succinctly incorporating influences ranging from house and techno to folk and Brazilian pop, and has smithed his own introverted interpretation of dance music. Meanwhile, the live iteration of the act has consisted of the same six members for the best part of four years. The culmination of this is the exemplary sophomore single ‘Undark’, released at the end of April alongside a music video (see below) directed by Cuan Roche.

The current series of Slow Dance’s monthly residency at the Windmill is called ‘Slow Dance <3 [i.e. ‘loves’]’, and the idea is to showcase smaller acts that the Slow Dance team is big on, and who may not get much exposure otherwise. For the ninth night of this series, they elected to host a special electronic and dance edition. And like most electronic events on a Wednesday evening, it was not that busy. However, it was great – the dual threads running through the evening were experimentation and fun.

Opener Bubble People is a lone performer with a table of modular synths and equipment. The sound was eclectic, nodding to current trends in hyperpop without losing its edge. Towards the end of the setlist, it leapt into the sphere of old school jungle, replete with lo-fi synths and intricate drum breaks. Following this was Pink Eye Club, which sounded like someone who had never been to a weekday student club night before had been told about one between 2003 and 2008 and was then instructed to recreate it. The shoeless man on stage was accompanied by a laptop playing instrumentals that were somewhere at the nexus between house, trance, and football anthems in the vein of Ant & Dec’s ‘We’re on the Ball’ and ‘Three Lions’. While the irreverent lyrics occasionally felt unconsidered, they didn’t detract too much from the music. I’d like to think that in an alternative universe, Mike Skinner moved to Wigan, and The Streets sounded something a little like this.

Headlining was a relatively new formation of the Park Motive live band. In response to the struggle of consistently finding the time for six full-time professionals to perform, a diet line-up of Herschmann and drummer, Ali Horler, has been assembled parallel. Just as with soft drinks, though, the slimmed down product is not objectively worse, but certainly different. Herschmann balances the organic with the electronic; mechanical rhythms with unabashed feeling. The two-man version of Park Motive leaned harder into the glitchy and weird side of the music, but perhaps at the cost of the hypnotic synchronism of the full line-up. Despite relying more on electronics, though, the set felt primal and stripped back to its essential components. At any rate, after years of working in one way, Park Motive is exploring new avenues into their sound. Will this feed back into the sound of their new music? Only time will tell. The forthcoming ‘Incident’, which will feature on Park Motive’s debut EP, felt particularly well-executed and lent itself to the marriage of electronic textures with airy live drums.

Park Motive image by Photographer Genoveva Arteaga

Cian Kinsella is a Classics teacher and part-time pub quizmaster living in London who is primarily interested in music but is also interested in theatre, literature, and visual arts. He is particularly intrigued by the relationship between art, criticism, and the capital forces always at play. Furthermore, he believes that subjectivity – which is ultimately at the heart of all artistic and cultural criticism – should not be concealed, but probed and perhaps even celebrated. Who decides what we like? How do they construct widely held beliefs about what is good? These are two of the questions Cian looks to address.

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When I saw the Soho Theatre was staging a piece of new writing about queer love, I jumped at the chance to attend. My expectations going in were a little guarded; I’m a keen advocate of promoting up-and-coming theatre, but the calibre of writing can differ wildly. That said, the show matched the tone of its blurb: it was fun, energetic, at moments tender, and within the burgeoning canon of queer writing, unfortunately quite clichèd.

The premise is this: Juniper is an out-and-proud lesbian, with a reputation for turning the pretty heads of bicurious women. Meanwhile, Jules has never been with a girl before. They meet at a club and fall madly in love. At the centre of the piece is the question of monogamy: Juniper, who sources comfort in order and routine, isn’t naturally drawn to the unpredictability of opening up her relationship. Jules, the more outgoing and sparky of the two, doesn’t want to limit herself. When the couple starts experimenting with non-monogamy, they are forced to confront the issues in their relationship both inside and outside the bedroom.

The performance of a play about lesbian desire at an established venue in Soho is a phenomenon belonging very much to the contemporary moment. The directorial vision of Bethany Pitts echoed the modernity of the production by making ample use of imaginative physical theatre and non-traditional staging. The audience sat on chairs on both sides of the auditorium, with Juniper (Stella Taylor) and Jules (Gabriella Schmidt) constantly changing orientation so to engage all. The only stage-piece was an oval platform, which often represented the couple’s shared bed. When physically separated and forced to communicate over text, Juniper and Jules stand at opposite ends of the stage, each facing a different part of the audience, so as to enact their distance.

Much of the play illustrates the physical interactions of the two young lovers, with copious use of sexual imagery. The effect was often comedic, but the staging was often so graphic that it verged on gratuitous. Taylor and Schmidt had great chemistry, but I do wonder if we needed to see quite so much. It felt like Pitts was making a spectacle of two women being intimate, so unabashed was the choreography. This felt like a politicised choice, inviting shock for the apparent radicality of watching lesbians have sex on stage. Although the choreography was realistic and avoided the sorts of representation aimed at the male gaze, I still found that amidst a mixed-gender audience the viewing experience was uncomfortable.

Thankfully, the play also captured the gentle affection shared by the couple, as well as the inevitable bickering and eruptions of frustration that come with the territory of living with your partner. What undermined my enjoyment of these scenes is that a lot of the dialogue was cringe-worthy. In fact, it smelled suspiciously of a middle-aged playwright attempting to invoke the cadences of dating in your twenties. Taylor dealt with the tonal woodenness of the script better than Schmidt, whose intonation was irritatingly repetitive. Nevertheless, the physical chemistry of the two actors carried the show forward, even when the writing let them down.

Beyond my issues with the script and staging, I found the central premise of ‘Juniper and Jules’ somewhat problematic. I conjecture that the play relied far too much on the theme of lesbian love for commercial success as its advertising was heavily reliant on queerness. Honestly, I’m not convinced that it really is all that new and radical for an edgy theatre in liberal London to put on a show about two white lesbians, with no apparent money concerns or class conflict. Juniper does briefly allude to past experiences of homophobic violence, at which Jules is shocked and upset. No real-life woman in a queer relationship is shocked to hear those sorts of stories. Juniper and Jules seem to have no awareness of their privilege: their main problem is whether their relationship can sustain the sexual inclusion of others, which is a terribly white and middle-class problem to have.

Perhaps to a more mainstream audience less sensitive to the emerging clichés that dominate representations of queerness, such issues would be less offensive. Perhaps, also, the play simply doesn’t aim to navigate intersectional oppressions, simply finding joy in one instance of lesbian love. To the play’s credit, it was very successful in invoking delight, even if it was at the expense of realism. Despite its reliance on tropes in need of further investigation, ‘Juniper and Jules’ was an undeniably exciting watch.

Juniper and Jules was on at the Soho Theatre from 3 May – 14 May 2022. You can visit the theatre’s website here to see what’s on next: https://sohotheatre.com

Jules and Juniper production image by Photographer Ali Wright.

Sophia Sheera is a writer interested in migration, cultural citizenship, displacement and queerness with a focus on Central Asia and Northern India. Sophia is inspired by talking to the people whose stories are sidetracked by sensationalist headlines, and as such aspires to share those counter-narratives through political journalism.

If. Destroyed. Still. True. tells the epic story of modern everyday lives and asks what happens when the place you were born can no longer be called home. James (Theo Ancient) is home from University with his new girlfriend Charlotte (Whitney Kehinde) and they can’t wait to reunite with John (Jack Condon), James’ best friend. But things have changed since they last met and none of them know yet how significant this day will be for the rest of their lives.

The play is intended to spring an emotional response to the topic of migration in general and makes the point that it is very much a current issue. It’s about displacement, people moving from one place to another; but also about stagnation, which is convincingly illustrated by the character of John, whose words and actions often don’t fit his thoughts and feelings.

Set atop an Essex coastline cliff, this is a three-part play that covers three visits James makes back home to Essex over the course of eight years.  The first time shows him bringing his new girlfriend Charlotte- an utterly classist, metropolitan elitist, and pretentious young black girl to meet his family. She is introduced to his best mate John- a full-blown Essex boy who likes to feed stray cats behind Morrisons and has adopted a hedgehog. The second visit is after Charlotte and James are married, where they check in on John, after a drink driving accident, which left him limping. The third and last visit is with a heavily pregnant Charlotte where James tries to come to terms with what has happened to John. This is for the audience to discover as the story draws to a close.

With the audience on three sides of a runway-style stage (designed by Anna Kelsey), there’s a closeness and intimacy that is impossible to escape from. The play covers a spectrum of difficult topics like mental health and social alienation that lend themselves well to cliché dialogues that dominate the script. James addresses John in the first act, inviting him to walk out of the “shit hole” he’s trapped in just as he has done. As if John could.

After this, John and Charlotte no longer speak. This means that Kehinde is absent from part two where we see the boys’ struggle to reconcile with one another, and the difficulties they face trying to understand who they were once, and to accept who they are now.

As life pulls childhood best mates apart, we bear witness to a dramatic ending and we realize what we stand to lose when we cannot truly communicate. Finding peace and quiet sometimes is farfetched. Jack Condon gives an altogether heartfelt and thoughtful performance as John. We are inclined to empathize with him as he is the character that faces challenges both visible and invisible. His presence is engrossing as he bludgeons his way through nuances of chronic vulnerability and with the false confidence of a man who is fundamentally unsure and in need of help. Theon Ancient portrays a more materially successful but similarly unsure James.  His character lacks depth and is devoid of any light or shade, partly due to the constraints of the cliché-ridden dialogues. They make a sad pair that simultaneously connect us to people who may not be on the same path.

The character of Charlotte gets a chance to redeem herself in the latter half of the performance. Now pregnant, we see a rich and tender woman who has been woven into the two men’s unhealthy web. It’s a renewed portrayal of Charlotte charged with stereotyped feminity. Had she tried harder in having a relationship with her husband’s best friend and soulmate, could things between John and James, as well as between her and James gone differently?

As we come to know the characters in different stages of their lives, we see that underneath the mask and layers there’s a fundamental question of what is left when apologies, justifications, goodwill, reasoning, courtesy and forbearance wear thin.

Jack Condon, Whitney Kehinde, Theo Ancient / Photography by Alex Brenner, Jawbones Theatre – If Destroyed Still True at Hope Theatre

Check out behind the scenes footage of the play here – www.thehopetheatre.com

Reviewed by Rachele Nizi- After completing her MA in Reception of the Classical World at UCL, Rachele joined Abundant Art as a creative writer. Her British and Italian origins have inspired her to want to study Art History and European Literature, with an interest in the afterlife of antiquity in the Western tradition.

Tradition and modernity are two concepts that have always been intertwined in the arts. Many artists through the ages have struggled with their relationship with new and old, with canon and creativity. Mark Ravenhill’s reinvention of Puccini’s “La Bohème” plays with this notion by transposing a 19th Century Italian Opera piece to a much more modern stage, for the much more modern small audience of social drinkers of the King’s Head Pub. Queerness, dating apps and modernised dialogue brilliantly mix with the much more atemporal themes of tormented love, loneliness and the difficulties of young adult life.

The story starts with the introduction of the writer Robin (Daniel Koek), who is stuck writing cheap erotica while his sculptor friend Marcus (Matt Kellett) complains about not being able to sell any of his ridiculously ugly artworks. The two friends are heading to a Christmas Eve pub party, but Robin stays behind to meet his Grindr hookup “Mimi”, aka Lucas (Philip Lee). Their palpable awkwardness turns into sparkling chemistry as they duet a reprise of “Che gelida manina” (”What a cold little hand”), and Robin invites Mimi to the pub. At the party, we are introduced to Marcus’s flamboyant ex Marissa (Grace Nyandoro), and similarly to Mimi and Robin, the two ex-lovers get back together by the end of the song. But as foreshadowed by the many flashing scenes where we randomly see Mimi in a hospital surrounded by nurses, tragedy will soon strike the group of friends. The financial struggles, Marissa’s cheating, Mimi’s HIV and alcoholism and Robin’s overprotectiveness all collide in a dramatic turmoil, and yet love and relationships always come out triumphant.

If I were to define the production in a few keywords, it would be as a game of contrasts. Tragedy is paired with comedy; the epic flirts with the mundane; past mixes with present; lyricism encounters vulgarity and the grandiosity of Opera is transposed to the more intimate space of a small pub theatre. Overall, everything was married together with brio, as weird as it may be at first to hear an opera singer vocalise about how they almost “swiped left” on their Grindr match.

The set and costume design were a curious aspect of the story: the setting was a hospital ward and all the characters except Mimi were dressed as nurses, although almost none of the scenes are set in a hospital and the characters aren’t nurses. This stylistic choice was a bit confusing plot-wise, but it cleverly foreshadows the story’s tragic finale in a hospital, which the play hints at multiple times. The public starts to get the uneasy feeling that it will probably not end well for their protagonists. The central aspect of the performance, however, was the vocal prowesses of the actors. The score (David Eaton) is a simplified piano version of Puccini’s original orchestra and chorus, which creates a purer version of the harmony, leaving space for the vocal performances to shine. Philip Lee beautifully expressed the pathetic and tragedy of his character, and his singing performance incorporated all of Mimi’s vulnerability while still delivering some impressively strong notes. Grace Nyandoro’s character was truly a breath of fresh air, both due to her dynamic, more cheerful singing and the fact that she was the only female soprano. Matt Kellet was also given a more lighthearted role and delivered comedy with perfect rhythm and vocal range. Daniel Koek filled the shoes of the main character perfectly, and the fervour and technicality of his performance carried most of the emotional weight of the scenes.

Overall, the play definitely stands out from the many other representations of “La Bohème”. It manages to transpose a story that has still much to communicate to modern audiences and “dust it off” in order to make it more accessible, relatable and inclusive. Tickets are available at https://kingsheadtheatre.com/whats-on/la-bohme.

Photo / Brittain Photography

Reviewed by Céline Galletti- Celine is a volunteer writer for Abundant Art. Originally from France and Italy, she follows her passion for writing and art by studying Comparative Literature at UCL, London. As an international student living in London, she is determined to fully experience and understand the city’s vibrant arts scene, and be a part of its creative storm.