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Rose McLaren

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.



Articles Available Online


Talk Into My Bullet Hole

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July 2015

Rose McLaren

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July 2015

‘Someday people are going to read about you in a story or a poem. Will you describe yourself for those people?’ ‘Oh, I don’t...

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May 2014

Art Does Not Know a Beyond: On Karl Ove Knausgaard

Rose McLaren

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May 2014

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle has an oddly medieval form: a cycle, composed of six auto-biographical books about the...

Forgive me Sister for I have sinned it’s been seconds since my last confession I sit in the dark accounting compassion Shamefully small change, in these damn tills Recently, I admit, things have dwindled – a tall glass of vermouth, a tin of oysters, a priest that rinses me of wrongness even though I haven’t even the grace to believe It’s not enough, I agree Please understand I am looking for a church where there is no God, there is often holiness within us, needy for its own blessèd house, undo the damage Softly now with your sermon, I am weary Sanctitude, solitude, it’s all language – let them speak so we might overhear them hidden in the vegetation, hostile and hopeful with ancient weapons Let me pay my respects to the gentle-hearted companions If I so desire it Let me pay in faltering litany – ‘O, what did you expect from your life?’ etc Let me set the table with good silver Let me inquire into the navy shoes traipsing through Let me throw open the doors The garden is blooming with news! We must diminish our sap, our sappiness, our sickness, it is ivy, it is stuck to our souls Older, now, I know how pleasure’s finances are a matter of balance How malice can accrue Careless daughter you are you could say I did not pay attention to what I allowed my life, but the truth is, I would allow it, gladly, even now Purposefully, I carried blue tidings (not my own), and when they were taken from me, it was cruel To be so alone with one’s cold papers The shady conservatory The eaves Hard to record this, but why not be faithful in one ledger at least? There are holes in my accounts, and I warned you of this Holes in what I held myself to account for Holes in my red capabilities We women of red We red women Red behind the ears Be still with your redness Please go on Relieving how, years later, I can place an apricot on a scale, and weigh a small blue object against it I can see it is only a tidy fruit of difficulty – manageable! I can divide it, I can lay it on a plate for my sisters, and ask them to eat it on my behalf, and they would do it Just like that Isn’t that the miraculous duty of love? Why must we continue this troubling

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.

The Prosaic Sublime of Béla Tarr

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Issue No. 6

Rose McLaren

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Issue No. 6

I have to recognise it’s cosmical; the shit is cosmical. It’s not just social, it’s not just ontological, it’s really huge. And that’s why we...
Stalker, Writer or Professor? Geoff Dyer's Zona and Genre

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February 2012

Rose McLaren

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February 2012

‘So what kind of a writer am I, reduced to writing a summary of a film?’ wonders Geoff Dyer half way through Zona. Such...

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fiction

June 2013

The Cherry Tree

Sheila Heti

fiction

June 2013

That winter, all the plums froze. All the peaches froze and all the cherries froze, and everything froze so...

poetry

December 2011

Return After Earthquake

Jeffrey Angles

poetry

December 2011

although left for months my house is still standing here on terra firma branches broken by snow fallen into...

Art

May 2014

The Interzone and Dexter Dalwood

Sarah Hegenbart

Dexter Dalwood

Art

May 2014

‘Burroughs in Tangier’ (2005) has captivated me ever since its display in the 2010 Turner Prize Exhibition. The work...

 

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