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Tausif Noor
Tausif Noor is a critic and doctoral student at the University of California Berkeley, where he studies modern and contemporary art history. His writing on art, literature, and visual culture appears in Artforum, frieze, The Nation, The New York Times and other venues, as well as in artist catalogues and various edited volumes.

Articles Available Online


Devil in the Detail: on Leesa Gazi’s ‘Hellfire’

Book Review

July 2021

Tausif Noor

Book Review

July 2021

British-Bangladeshi novelist Tahmima Anam’s debut A Golden Age (2007) tracks the early stirrings of revolution in East Bengal from the 1950s to the climax...

Art Review

May 2019

Simone Fattal, Works and Days

Tausif Noor

Art Review

May 2019

For the last five decades, Simone Fattal has produced works that refract the particularities of the present vis-à-vis a...

I am standing in a parallelogram of shrubbery outside London City Airport Ed is twisting a dial on his Mamiya RZ67 and squinting into its viewfinder He is wearing a Berghaus anorak, as standard, with a beanie hat, hiking boots and a flannel shirt His breath is clouding up around his face The camera’s lens is pointing at a factory in the distance, a complex heap of blocks and towers known locally as Sugar Mountain, officially as Tate & Lyle It rises abruptly at the end of the residential street, a gargantuan prison-like structure that might have functioned as a set for the film adaptation of 1984 had they not used the ruinous Beckton Gas Works a few miles east of here It is an architecturally hermetic building, anxious to preserve the final vestige of industrial productivity in an otherwise idle landscape Directly in front of us is a two-lane arterial road Cars zip past like urgent telegrams Every surface has been designed to enclose, repel or separate There are wooden fences embedded in concrete troughs There are concrete bridges and glass walls There are barriers, railings and painted lines—   ‘Excuse me? You’re not allowed to take pictures here!’   We turn to see a man in a hi-vis vest His nylon shirt is of that municipal noncolour that sits somewhere between turquoise and grey An ID card hangs from a branded lanyard at his neck   The best thing to do in situations like these is ignore the non-threats, take the photograph you’ve come to take and defend that tiny patch of civil freedom from the powers that seek to invade The official seems reluctant to break the invisible screen that separates the designated walking space from the decorative shrubs in which we stand It isn’t long before he strides forth, stepping through the plants in standard-issue boots, to reiterate his demands     * Consciously structured to minimise friction, slowness and delay, airports are places of social and spatial control Their architecture tends towards the abstraction of geometry, lines, lanes, parabolas and arcs; grids across which the traveller moves like a mathematical function Passengers

Contributor

March 2018

Tausif Noor

Contributor

March 2018

Tausif Noor is a critic and doctoral student at the University of California Berkeley, where he studies modern and contemporary art...

INTERVIEW WITH ANAND PATWARDHAN

Art Review

July 2018

Tausif Noor

Art Review

July 2018

By the late 1990s a right wing government in the shape of a BJP-Shiv Sena alliance had come to power for the first time...
Danh Vo, Take My Breath Away

Art Review

April 2018

Tausif Noor

Art Review

April 2018

‘When you love, you are nailed to the cross,’ says a character in Rainer Fassbinder’s film In a Year of 13 Moons (1978). In...

READ NEXT

Art

September 2016

Sitting, scrawling, playing

Emily Gosling

Art

September 2016

Amidst the drills and concrete, white walls and big names of London’s Cork Street stands a new gallery, Nahmad Projects,...

feature

Issue No. 20

Editorial

The Editors

feature

Issue No. 20

    As a bookish schoolchild in Galilee, the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish was invited to compose, and read...

poetry

December 2011

The Pitch

Minashita Kiriu

TR. Jeffrey Angles

poetry

December 2011

Dripping excitedly from my earlobes And falling over my crowded routines A rain of Lucretius’ atoms Is just beginning...

 

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