Mailing List


Alex Quicho
Alex Quicho is the author of Small Gods (Zero Books, 2021), a book on the terror and transcendence of drone technology. She has written for the White Review, the New Inquiry, Wired, Vogue, Bookforum, and others, and worked with institutions including Singapore Art Museum, Power Station of Art (Shanghai), Julia Stoschek Collection (Berlin), Somerset House (London), Rennie Museum (Vancouver), and Nationalgalerie (Berlin). She is an associate lecturer in speculative futures at Central Saint Martins.

Articles Available Online


Without World

Essay

June 2023

Alex Quicho

Essay

June 2023

‘I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate...

Art Review

December 2020

End Times: Heather Phillipson’s ‘The End’

Alex Quicho

Art Review

December 2020

A huge swirl of whipped cream, garnished with a drone, a fly, and a maraschino cherry: so insistent that...

You are worried about the bird thing but that’s the last thing you want to think about right now, smoking the first of your secret birthday cigarettes You’re outside the house by the giant concrete sink, laundry covering the surface – today it’s the daughter’s underwear, the wife’s scratchy lace bras, the husband’s tennis shirts with holes in the underarm Delicate things, white things, things that deserve to be washed carefully by hand as opposed to thrown into the American-imported washing machine, which will ruthlessly transform anything into a wilted grey smock if you’re not careful about sorting through every single item and removing anything with the slightest hint of darkness The sun’s only just coming up; everyone in the house is still asleep, though the husband’s alarm will be going off soon in order to escape the inevitable Monday morning traffic jams He never needs breakfast prepared though; he’ll have a ham and cheese sandwich in the office, but as soon as you finish this cigarette you’ll have to head to the kitchen to begin preparing the coffee Not just yet though For now, you still have time   As you smoke you hold the cigarette the way a man would, between your thumb and index finger, like the men sitting on stools you used to see during your childhood You inhale deeply, enjoy the brief sight of the flame glowing at the tip before tucking the stub under a triangle-shaped rock, where the stiff orange corpses of previous cigarettes are neatly lined up: buried away, hidden You wash your hands with the thin sliver of blue soap that always leaves your skin terribly dry, the areas between your fingers red and cracking, but there’s nothing quite like it for getting rid of the nicotine stink from your fingertips – just as a precaution Just to be safe This way, you can be sure that nobody will notice   Now the last thing you need to do before heading inside is check on the bird thing, which should take less than two minutes, assuming there aren’t any problems (which there very rarely are)

Contributor

July 2018

Alex Quicho

Contributor

July 2018

Alex Quicho is the author of Small Gods (Zero Books, 2021), a book on the terror and transcendence of...

Emily Pope, The Sitcom Show

Art Review

July 2018

Alex Quicho

Art Review

July 2018

Emily Pope’s five-part web series, The Sitcom Show, is a throwback to the chameleonic class-consciousness and wry pessimism-as-realism embodied by the vein of British pop culture...

READ NEXT

poetry

April 2014

Lives of the Saints

Luke Neima

poetry

April 2014

‘I’m tending to this dead tree,’ he tells me. Last time he was rolling the hard rocks down into...

poetry

July 2012

Poem for the Sightless Man (After Kate Clanchy)

Abigail Nelson

poetry

July 2012

This is just to say,   that the inked glasses that you wear look like the sound of shop...

Art

May 2016

Sharon Hayes

Edwina Attlee

Art

May 2016

Sharon Hayes’ In My Little Corner of the World, Anyone Would Love You at Studio Voltaire features a five-channel...

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required