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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...

I lost my faith the year my Grandma passed away She was here and then she was not, and my belief slipped away with similar ease It was a year in which loss was rife: an aunt had passed several months before, and almost a month to the day later, another died suddenly, leaving behind a husband and toddler I watched something break in both father and son The boy stopped speaking and could only communicate his grief in actions He was always opening and closing cupboards and doors, as if he was looking for his mother, or maybe he understood, and was searching for a space large enough to house his ache   The day my Grandma died, something in me broke I spent a long time not knowing how to say this, not knowing what language there was to say this, not knowing that it was okay to say this I spent a long time not knowing The only thing I know now is that I will spend eternity not knowing There are no answers, but there are ways to cope   Instead of language, an image: at the funeral of my aunt, standing slightly to the side as the casket was lowered into the ground Watching my uncle take some crumbling earth in a closed fist, and hearing it scatter on the casket like light rain Other family members were invited to do the same Each fistful of soil felt like a soft hand against a door, knocking, knocking, knocking – knowing there could be no answer   On the first day, my mother paced the house She swept the corners of our living room, gathering all she could I could see that with this simple act she was reaching into the corners of her own mind, gathering all she could there too, hoping not to forget We had a small service in the same room a few days later, during which the pastor assured us that death was not the end He was right Time had taken on a different, hazy quality in which we seemed locked in stasis, moving in

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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poetry

September 2011

The Cinematographer, a 42-year-old man named Miyagawa, aimed his camera directly at the sun, which at first probably seemed like a bad idea

Michael Earl Craig

poetry

September 2011

Last night Kurosawa’s woodcutter strode through the forest, his axe on his shoulder. Intense sunlight stabbed and sparkled and...

poetry

November 2015

Two Poems

Ko Un

TR. Brother Anthony of Taizé

TR. Lee Sang-Wha

poetry

November 2015

Kim Geung-Ryeol   During the Japanese colonial period he attended Japan’s Military Academy, became squadron leader in the Japanese...

Art

September 2014

Semi Floating Sculpture

Luke Hart

Patrick Langley

Art

September 2014

Luke Hart will meet me at Gate 7. I get the text on the DLR, heading east past Canary...

 

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