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Rosanna Mclaughlin
Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Articles Available Online


The Pious and the Pommery

Essay

Issue No. 18

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

Issue No. 18

I.   Where is the champagne? On second thoughts this is not entirely the right question. The champagne is in the ice trough, on...

Essay

April 2019

Ariana and the Lesbian Narcissus

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

April 2019

‘Avoid me not!’ ‘Avoid me not!’                                   Narcissus   Let me describe a GIF I’ve been watching. A lot....

A pale three-quarter moon lit up the state highway at two in the morning The road connected the province of Taranto to Bari, and at that time of night it was usually deserted As it ran north, the road oscillated, aligning with and diverging from an imaginary axis, leaving behind it olive groves and vineyards and short rows of industrial sheds that resembled aeroplane hangars At kilometre marker 38, a service station appeared It was the last one for a while, and aside from the self-service pumps, vending machines serving coffee and cold food had recently been installed To promote the new attractions, the owner had installed a sky dancer on the roof of the auto repair shop One of those puppets that stand 15 feet tall, pumped up by powerful motorised fans   The inflatable barker fluttered in the empty air and would continue to do so until the morning light More than anything else, it made one think of a restless ghost   After passing that strange apparition the countryside ran on, flat and unvarying for miles It was almost like moving through the desert Then, in the distance, a sizzling tiara marked the city Beyond the guardrail, in contrast, lay untilled fields, fruit trees, and a few country houses nicely concealed by hedges Through those expanses moved nocturnal animals   Tawny owls traced long slanting lines through the air Gliding, they waited to flap their wings until they were just inches from the ground so that insects, terrified by the sudden tempest of shrubs and dead leaves, would rush out into the open, sealing their own fates A cricket, perched on a jasmine leaf, extended its antennae unevenly And, all around, impalpably, like a vast tide suspended in the air, a fleet of moths moved in the polarised light of the celestial vault   Unchanged over millions of years, the tiny, fuzzy-winged creatures were one with the formula that ensured their stability in flight Tied to the moon’s invisible thread, they were scouring the territory in their thousands, swaying from side to side to dodge the attacks of birds of prey Then, as had

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Ten Years at Garage Moscow

Art Review

November 2018

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art Review

November 2018

When I arrive in Moscow, I am picked up from the airport by Roman, a patriotic taxi driver sent to collect me courtesy of...
Becoming Alice Neel

Art

August 2017

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art

August 2017

From the first time I saw Alice Neel’s portraits, I wanted to see the world as she did. Neel was the Matisse of the...

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Prize Entry

April 2015

Posman

Nick Mulgrew

Prize Entry

April 2015

After a while you memorise the steps. You read the addresses and your calves just know, hey. They just...

feature

March 2016

Behind the Yellow Curtain

Annina Lehmann

feature

March 2016

Notes from a workshop   At first, there is nothing but a yellow curtain at the back of the...

feature

September 2012

Existere: Documenting Performance Art

David Gothard

Jo Melvin

John James

Rye Dag Holmboe

feature

September 2012

The following conversation was held at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London, in May 2012. The event took place...

 

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