Wednesday, May 14, 2025
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Remembering SOPHIE

Jimmy Brewer
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Remembering SOPHIE

CW: Transphobia, Death

On the 30th January 2021, at around 4:00 in the morning, the world suffered an unjust tragedy. The artist SOPHIE fell accidentally from a balcony, and died. Like many musicians taken too soon – Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, Tupac Shakur – SOPHIE’s career was at a stage rich with promise. Having released in 2018 the most daring and powerful album yet, Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides, SOPHIE could only have gone on to bigger and better heights. SOPHIE’s legacy, though maculated by tragedy, is an inspiring one nonetheless.

Sophie Xeon, stage name SOPHIE, grew up in Glasgow. When asked in an interview what sort of images SOPHIE gravitated towards growing up, the innovative artist displayed typically avant-garde sensibilities: ‘I got really into Matthew Barney and Cremaster Cycle and the distortions of form and gender and material and shape’ SOPHIE says. Named in honour of the muscle that raises and lowers the testes in response to changes in temperature, the Cremaster Cycle is a challenging and highly-praised collection of five avant-garde films exploring, among other things, aspects of human reproduction. SOPHIE also recalls a childhood featuring a father taking Sophie to raves from a very young age: ‘He bought me the rave cassette tapes before I went to the events and would play them in the car and be like, “This is going to be important for you.”’ This striking parental technique is remembered fondly by SOPHIE, and the artist remarks on the creativity of SOPHIE’s father’s musical tastes: ‘Not someone that’s like, “Sixties, ’70s, this is the real rock and roll.” He was always like, “That was rubbish. Electronic music’s the future.”’

After an adolescence spent locked away in a bedroom producing music, and jobs as a wedding DJ, the first significant critical attention SOPHIE received came in 2013. SOPHIE’s single ‘Bipp’/’Elle’ topped music magazine XLR8R’s year-end list and placed 17th on Pitchfork’s. Following this, SOPHIE’s debut full-length album Product came out in 2015. Among a release that included the production of accompanying silicon sex toys, Product was received with mixed feeling; some critics praised its eccentricity while others dismissed it as shallow. SOPHIE was working hard during this period – in 2015 SOPHIE co-produced the Madonna track ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’. SOPHIE also had a heavy hand in the production of Charli XCX’s Vroom Vroom EP. The EP helped to shape the sound of Hyperpop, a genre characterised by busy, abrasive electronic production and bold, catchy choruses.

With 2018 came the most defined piece of work SOPHIE would make, Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides. This is my favourite SOPHIE album, by some margin – it is sublime. Gone are sounds of acoustic instruments, and with them any tether to the physical world. The album is a river and you are swept along with it: alternately buffeted amongst its rapids, then soothed by delicious sections of calm – made all the more poignant by the contrast. Individual tracks also stand out: ‘It’s Okay to Cry’, for its empathy and luxuriance; ‘Immaterial’, for its uninhibited danceability. The closing ‘Whole New World/Pretend World’ begins with synth stabs so intense that they deserve a place amongst the clanging hammers and buzzing saws of a steel foundry. The album is breathlessly forward-thinking. Both listenable and challenging, it teases the listener of their prudishness (‘Spit on my face/Put the pony in his place/I am your toy/Just a little ponyboy’) then consoles them that ‘It’s Okay to Cry’. To accommodate these lyrical contrasts, the music is effortlessly malleable: it melts into lush soundscapes, then tightens into rigid synth hits in seconds.

The music video for the album’s first single, ‘It’s Okay To Cry’ featured SOPHIE, semi-naked in front of a backdrop of clouds. This was a clear, powerful gesture of self-acceptance – and for many prompted the realisation that SOPHIE was transgender. When asked about choosing the moment to ‘reveal herself, both literally and metaphorically’, SOHPIE replied that ‘I don’t really agree with the term ‘coming out’.… I’m just going with what feels honest.’ SOHPIE had previously battled critics’ accusations of ‘gender appropriation’. They falsely assumed SOHPIE’s gender identity, and proceeded to attack the artist for using a typically ‘female’ stage-name and projecting a stereotypically ‘girlish’ image. In the face of these hurtful, ignorant and transphobic vilifications, it is truly admirable that in the music video SOPHIE made so bold and public a statement of self.

SOHPIE’s tragically early passing froze music in time. What stands, crowned by Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides, is an impressive but truncated body of work. While we lament SOPHIE’s untimely death, we can also enjoy the music and celebrate the legacy left behind. SOPHIE continues to inspire – both as a person and as a musician – and stands as someone we all can look up to.

Image Credit: KateVEVO/CC BY 3.0

Flinching before a dead god

Sophie Barshall
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Flinching before a dead god

God is Dead, but lots of us miss him.

We look for his shadow in astrological charts, turn that shadow into beams of light that reactivate purple crystals, and then bend quantum physics into crystalline shapes.

I garner spiritual fulfilment through the practice of yoga and have felt smug at my rejection of too much of the attendant ‘woo-woo’. If I hadn’t, you see, I would have had to break up with my boyfriend, whose stars are totally incompatible with my own; and that was definitely not the right thing to do. Spirituality without religion, Sam Harris promised me (see Waking Up, 2014), is something I could find without depositing faith from one dubious source to another.

Atheism has been an intellectual possibility in Western thought since the 19th century. ‘God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him’, declared Friedrich Nietzsche in his work of philosophical fiction, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883-5). The Enlightenment welcomed in new ideas of a universe governed by scientific laws where there had once been Christian divine providence; Darwin’s theory of Evolution, the development of Higher Criticism in Germany which proved Biblical scripture to be a historical document, and the discoveries of geology all ripped a Christian God away from the fabric of European society. Accordingly, the question of His existence does not come up in conversation with my friends. A few are religious; most are not.

So, when I arrive at C. S. Lewis Society, I do not know that it is a Christian society. I do not attend in some kind of challenge to myself; I think that, as a Harry Potter fan who has been deprived of magic in adulthood, the mysteries of Narnia will nourish my inner child. I am surprised, then, when a girl with dark curls stands up and starts reading aloud from Lewis’s The Four Loves:

‘‘God is love’ says St John’; this is how the book begins. Oh no. I quickly realise my mistake – of course, C. S. Lewis was a devoted Christian. It would have been absurd to have a society devoted solely to him that wasn’t religious.

The Four Loves distinguishes Eros from Friendship, Affection and Charity. I like the sound of it and will order it on eBay that evening when I get home. What makes it such a delightful book is that it addresses questions of love with total sincerity, and consequently, I find myself open to receiving them in earnest. It’s not that a secular book – maybe self-help style – couldn’t do the same; it’s just that I imagine finding it repulsively cringey. Perhaps this is my own problem – that I must receive ‘big’ ideas padded with irony or veiled beneath a layer of fiction. Only, belief in a deity does allow you to approach these questions – questions that we have been and will always be concerned with – with such clarity and unflinching candour.

But I am a flincher. Do I believe in God? I blush even asking myself. I feel intellectually inadequate, late to the party, and wholly bamboozled.

It’s not that I have an aversion to talking about Him – I grew up going to church fairly regularly, and since my teenage years we’ve done the ‘right’ thing of attending at Christmas and Easter and I have always enjoyed it. But I’m not sure if church is really about God for me. It is about family, ceremony and smells; it is space to think, time outside of normal life marked by wine and white robes and wood under-body.

This church-as-contemplative-space thing I’ve got going is one way of trying to reconcile rationalism with religion, and I feel comfortable with it. But C. S. Lewis Society –  a Christian society – this is the real deal, a level up, a stretch. I feel nervous that I might leave the room Reborn and not even know how it happened. Staying silent, clandestine, I listen as members take turns to read passages aloud; and once the shock subsides, begin to enjoy the intimacy of sharing in this small group.

People have been trying to prise worship apart from God for a long time: in 1799, Reformed theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher gave an address in which he declared ‘God’ no more than an allegorical tool for reflection, and worship ‘pure contemplation of the Universe’, so that ‘belief in God, and in personal immortality, are not necessarily a part of religion’. Almost 170 years later, John T Elson wrote in Time magazine that, ‘even within Christianity . . . a small band of radical theologians has seriously argued that the churches must accept the fact of God’s death, and get along without him’. Should we embrace a cultural life of faith absent of any supernatural claims, and pray to a dead God? I suppose that, inadvertently, this is what I have been trying to do. But as the meeting continues, my way of inhabiting religious space starts to feel like a compromise and not an answer; and I realise that I experience some indifference when it comes to worship because this middle ground demands very little by way of conviction.

But this is about life! And death! I must commit, I realise at C. S. Lewis Society. Or, at least, I must try and have a good old think about this transcendental stuff.

When the meeting ends, I follow some members into the chapel of Pusey House for the Compline service and contemplate the Universe, Schleiermacher-style, by candlelight and song. It is undeniably beautiful.

And then the next week, I return to C. S. Lewis Society. And the next. And then the next.

At the end of the fourth session, it is announced that Stewart Lee will be coming to speak next week. Stewart Lee! The stand-up comedian Stewart Lee? No – it isn’t, I’m afraid. Dr Stuart Lee is a Professor in the English department. Oh.

Dr Stuart Lee, Professor in the English department, leads us through an excellent close text analysis of a passage from the Lord of the Rings, referencing J. R. R. Tolkien’s On Fairy-Stories (1939) which has been mentioned several times already at C. S. Lewis Society (where I still haven’t spoken a word): a long essay which discusses the fairy-story as a literary form. This sounds very inner-child-friendly and God-free, and so I read it in the quest for new directions. If we are to live without God, we are to be responsible for enchanting our own lives; and what better way to do this than through fantasy, I suppose.

Tolkien quickly mentions our cultural affliction: “rationalization’ transformed the glamour of Elfland into mere finesse’ he writes, which ‘seems to become fashionable soon after the great voyages have begun to make the world seem too narrow to hold both men and elves’. The problem is not that we do not have fairy stories anymore, then, but that we do not allow them the space to charm our lives. Perhaps all we must do is widen our world again with the mysteries of magic! Tolkien argues that the use of imagination to create a world that is rational and consistent and yet different from our own can lend us fresh insight into life; ‘it was in fairy-stories that I first divined the potency of the words, and the wonder of things, such as stone, and wood, and iron; tree and grass; house and fire; bread and wine’, he writes. Unchallenged preconceptions will be challenged in these new worlds, he believes; their wonders will bring us joy, and they will help us to be more moral.

On Fairy-Stories is not as God-free as I had hoped, but it offers me a new way of living with religion. The essay ends with Tolkien asking us to consider Christianity: ‘The Gospels contain a fairy-story, or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essence of fairy-stories . . . and among its marvels is the greatest and most complete conceivable eucatastrophe. The Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man’s history’. I recall the magic of living through a novel, a film or a good television show; the way it colours interactions with friends, walks through the park and the way that I see myself in the mirror for those few days in which my consciousness is bound up with a seductive storyline. I am excited, thanks to Tolkien, by the idea of bewitching my life with the ancient stories of Gods in a similar way; so that I can live through them and believe in them and at the same time never believe in any of it at all.

In 1946, faced with the meaninglessness of human life in a world without God in the wake of the horrors of the second world war, Jean-Paul Sartre declared that ‘existence precedes essence’: that our life is only as meaningful as we choose to make it. This might sound like if-you-work-hard-you-will-succeed messaging, which we all know isn’t true in a society rife with inequalities, but Sartre distinguishes Facticity – the facts about ourselves and the circumstances that constrain us – from Transcendence – our freedom to act. Actualising our potential by doing (within the constraints of our Facticity) is the path to existential freedom – and denying this freedom, Sartre says, plunges us into anxiety. Nevertheless, existential theory has been an uplifting driving force in my life; it shows us how to derive significance from coincidence, absurdity and meaninglessness, and reminds me that ‘I could have been good at the piano’ isn’t the same as being good at the piano. The problem is, existentialism doesn’t leave much room for worship: its entire premise is meaning-making sans God.

Maybe the Psychedelic Society can help me. I attend a talk – the Art of Self-Inquiry – that they host with artist Rupert Spira, who whispers us through a guided meditation. Ignoring standard practice of upright-sitting, I lie on the floor: my neck and back are sore, which I deserve because I have totally abused the rules of anatomical wellness this week. Spira introduces us to the principles of a non-dual understanding that is the essence, he says, of all the great religious, philosophical, and spiritual traditions. This is the recognition that underlying the diversity of experience there is a single, indivisible and infinite reality that is, as far as I understand, a universal consciousness. Our individual consciousness – which is the only thing that we know to be true, and which feels like an independent existence – is actually part of a unified whole; and the nature of this unified whole, says Spria, is happiness.

Taking some initiative, I have cultivated a ball of light around myself, representing – quite suitably, although perhaps unoriginally – my independent consciousness. Behind fuzzy eyelids, I push the ball into a big pool of everyone else’s. According to Spira, recognition of this reality is foundational for any sustainable relationship with the environment, and the basis for peace between individuals, communities and nations. This experience of consciousness resonates more as ‘peace’ to me than ‘happiness’; but nevertheless – I like it. If the need for religion is a result of our insecurities in the face of nature and an unintelligible universe, Spira’s theory integrates me into the cosmos, and it is comforting.

At the end of a long stint of societies, essays and talks, yoga poses and conversations, I still have some questions; but I know for sure that the act of inquiry has been an enriching and fruitful one. For now, it is time to pause and see how this hodgepodge of ideas holds up in the big bad Real World.

And Stewart Lee did come to Oxford; I saw his stand-up show, Snowflake/Tornado at the Playhouse in January. It did not disappoint. Maybe he’s even worthy of worship…

It’s Complicated: The Status of the Romantic Comedy

Dorothy Scarborough
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It’s Complicated: The Status of the Romantic Comedy

It’s become fashionable to decry the death of the Romantic Comedy, but every article that starts with that headline goes on to publicize the next exception attempting to, purportedly, Frankenstein the genre. These articles often point out that Netflix is the last player in a dying game, providing us with the worst selection imaginable, from the Addison Rae vehicle She’s All That to yet another perky American small-business owner being wooed by a vaguely European prince (at Christmas, naturally). They tell us that the real ones – the high art of the late 80s to early 2000s and slightly more questionable but beloved iterations of the late 90s to mid-aughts – have ceased to be made. 

That hasn’t stopped Jennifer Lopez, an expert in the field, from starring in two this year. In the first, Marry Me (February 11) a world famous pop singer (Lopez) is humiliated by her cheating fiancé just before their wedding-cum-concert and reacts by marrying an Average Joe (Owen Wilson) who has been dragged to the show by his adorable daughter. The second, Shotgun Wedding, is due out in June and partners Lopez with Josh Duhamel (re-cast after  Armie Hammer’s assault allegations forced him to drop out) as they try to save their families – and relationship – from the kidnappers who crashed their destination wedding. Dun dun dun. 

The key to a great romantic comedy is a combination of pitch-perfect acting and an excellent screenplay. Nancy Meyers, for example, whom people associate with the genre, was too focused on creating an aesthetic ‘feel’ and the relationships were backgrounded. The plot should never be overshadowed by its gimmick, if it even has one. In Notting Hill, Julia Roberts’ Anna Scott is a Hollywood actress, but she’s ‘also just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her’. Ten Things I Hate About You is based off of The Taming of the Shrew but ably creates its own poetry. The characters, too, have to be reasonably fleshed out. A 2016 New Yorker piece suggested that the heroine who once owned an independent bookstore might now work in marketing, insist that she ‘loved books’ and carry a Strand (read Daunt) book tote. The hero, meanwhile, who might have been a human rights lawyer now runs an app that ‘connects startups to lawyers’. Yes, today’s jobs tend to be ridiculous, but what, exactly, was Bridget Jones’ role at Sit Up Britain (and why was she not fired)? The characters themselves were idyllic but not unrecognizable. They weren’t self-conscious, and they had no sense of meta-ness, even if the movies they were in did. They weren’t naturally saccharinely sentimental, they were forced into it. They tumbled into love, as if their lives had suddenly been diverted from a straight course. In short, they existed in a world beyond the confines of the movie. Vanessa Hudgens’ triumvirate of Stacey, Margaret, and Fiona, however, do not live in a world that seems to exist beyond the boundaries of the Netflix screen. The Princess Switch, and movies of its ilk, are set in fairyland, not (an admittedly romanticized) Manhattan. 

Dazzlingly witty dialogue (intended if not always successful) similarly defines the genre. The golden age variety are both recognizable and revolutionary, while the silver have moments of genuine humanity and humor. Nora Ephron’s ‘I love that you get cold when it’s seventy one degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich, I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when your looking at me like I’m nuts…’ speech (When Harry Met Sally) became ‘You give me premature ventricular contractions… you make my heart skip a beat’ in No Strings Attached (by New Girl and – yes – Shotgun Wedding writer Elizabeth Meriwether). The scripts are specific and sweeping: no two romances are the same, nor can two declarations be. Though we live in an era of phenomenal screenwriters, big names like Phoebe Waller Bridge and Jeremy O. Harris are more interested in darker stories like No Time to Die or Zola. With what’s going on in the world, who can blame them? Maybe the next true stage of the quality romcom is the dark comedy romance. That may be confirmed when we finally get to see the reportedly excellent Worst Person in the World in March.

That said, traditional romantic comedies have been successful in dark times before. My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Maid in Manhattan, and Two Weeks Notice – all of which premiered in the shadow of 9/11 – are some of the most financially successful of all time. What’s more, My Big Fat Greek Wedding is, frankly, high comedic art. Contemporary darkness should not scare Hollywood away from investing in the genre. There is likewise reason to hope that a new crop might approach the heights of the past, and perhaps even begin to rectify the racial homogeneity that has left a stain on nearly every romcom of the past thirty years. Saturday Night Live breakout Bowen Yang and Comedy Central personality Joel Kim Booster are starring in Fire Island, an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice due out this summer. The hilarious Billy Eichner will star in Bros, the plot of which has yet to be revealed. I Want You Back arrived on Valentine’s day, which follows two dumpees (Charlie Day and Jenny Slate) working together to take back their exes (Gina Rodriguez and Scott Eastwood respectively); it also features a scene-stealing Manny Jacinto. 

While culturally we may continue to fret about the beloved and derided genre that made Julia Roberts, Cameron Diaz, and Kate Hudson stars, know that whenever Valentine’s Day rolls around, you can turn to Woman of the Year, When Harry Met Sally, Hitch, The Proposal, Trainwreck, and whatever we’re next lucky enough to call our guilty pleasure. 

Image Credit: Marry Me / Facebook

‘The modern cult of the Girl Boss’ – Review: She Felt Fear

Neily Raymond
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‘The modern cult of the Girl Boss’ – Review: She Felt Fear

CW: insanity, mental illness

She Felt Fear – Kristy Miles’ new play, which premiered at the Burton Taylor Studio in Week 4 – made me think of a Yeats poem. Or the beginning of one, because for the life of me I can’t remember the rest of it:

“I have heard that hysterical women say

They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow,

Of poets that are always gay.”

You’ve got to love the resonance: She Felt Fear has a fiddle, a poet, and a hysterical woman who is sick of them both. 

The plot is uncomplicated. Kathy (Juliette Imbert) is a single university student living alone. A prickly perfectionist, she pours all her energy into her work and an occasional visit with her only friend, Peter (Jules Upson), who is quietly in love with her. When Peter drags Kathy to a party, Kathy meets the lovely Lily (Bethan Draycott) – and finds that she likes to spend time with her. For a misanthrope like Kathy, it’s as if the sky is falling in. As Kathy hurtles into a relationship with Lily, and Peter tries to express his secret love, it becomes clear that nobody will escape with their emotions intact. At any moment, Kathy could snap.

This is all accompanied by Nina Halpenny on violin, while a mysterious poet-narrator (Emma Starbuck) looks on, offering some delicately written verse now and then.

She Felt Fear proceeds in the way of a traditional narrative, which is a relief; it’s easy to understand what’s going on, even when surreal elements creep in. And they do creep in. When the narrator isn’t looming over the corner of the stage, she’s inserting herself into the tale with no regard for the fourth wall. And that’s not to mention Kathy’s scenes of mania. There’s a point in the play’s latter half, when Kathy, devastated and lonely, writhes on a table like some diseased lab animal. Even through these strange images, the audience remains firmly situated in the story –  no easy feat.

This is a testament to the quality of Miles’ script, which is tied tight as a bow. Yes, there are plenty of aphoristic passages – “Listening and saying the right thing in response is some kind of witchcraft,” says Kathy at one point – but they are well-balanced by the earthier sections. Many jokes had audience members snorting. The awkward banter between Kathy and Lily is compelling, a portrait of first-date discomfort that manages to string itself out across an entire relationship. Miles is a playwright to watch.

Adam Possener composed original music for this show, and although the pieces are short, often lasting only a few seconds between scenes, they are outstanding. Possener’s use of alternative violin techniques – like jittering the bow across the strings and tying a windchime to the bow’s end – makes the melody sound like it’s about to fall off the edge of a cliff. It’s unsettling. Lizzy Nightingale’s set design doesn’t draw attention to itself, which, for this show, is ideal. The tables and chairs are easy for cast members to move on their own. Lighting and sound design, by Ava van den Thillart and Luke Drago, and Valerina Tjandra, respectively, is also streamlined – it fleshes out the story without being distracting.

Imbert brings Kathy to terrifying life, in a performance so authentic that you sometimes fear for Imbert’s own sanity (don’t worry, she looked fine at curtain call). Imbert is particularly believable because of her fine control of microexpressions – those facial expressions that flit across one’s features for a tenth of a second. Upson is a lovable wonder as Peter, leaning hard into the friend-zone blues. Draycott as Lily is the stereotypical manic-pixie-dream-girl, and quite a convincing one. Halpenny, our violinist, is clearly engaged with the story, while our narrator, played by Starbuck, defies description; I’d come close by likening her to the best Oscar Wilde fever dream you never had. And, of course, there’s the flamboyant Alfred Dry in a variety of background roles. Together, this ensemble brings the heat.

She Felt Fear sets out to prove that the hysterical woman trope is not dead. To the modern viewer, this might seem distasteful. Why can’t we leave Mrs Rochester locked up in the attic, where she belongs? The modern cult of the Girl Boss has no place for unhinged women.

But Miles’ play recognizes that female empowerment can come at the price of vicious self-criticism, and that female individuals bear a disproportionate amount of the mental health burden. The hysterical woman used to be born crazy; nowadays, she’s driven crazy. Surrounded by the pressure to be beautiful, to craft a beautiful life, and to appreciate beauty, is it any wonder that Kathy goes a bit crazy? She Felt Fear is a portrait of hysteria in the twenty-first century. It’s more progressive than you might expect.

Besides. For all of Kathy’s wild moods, nobody once asks her if she’s on her period. If that’s not an affirmative experience, I don’t know what is.

Image Credit: Aaron Hammond Duncan

Behind the scenes: fashion and photography in Oxford

Jimmy Brewer
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Behind the scenes: fashion and photography in Oxford

It is 3pm on a Saturday; Oxford is heaving. Cornmarket is thick with charity collectors and religious preachers. (“I know you are young and are probably not thinking about death and eternity right now…” I hear trailing behind me.) I enter a building that I did not know existed, into the Student Union’s social space. A low, square-gridded ceiling and plain furnishing brings to mind my old school’s ICT room.

Why am I here? I am covering the first of three sessions run jointly by the Oxford photography and fashion societies. The sessions are building to a final exhibition, the culmination of the project, in week 7 of Hilary Term. Participants will join one of seven groups, each with designated models, stylists and photographers. Their task today is to brainstorm ideas on the intentionally vague topic of ‘paintings’. The groups will meet one another for the first time, so, naturally, there are social as well as creative waters to navigate.

When I arrive, there are about five people sitting around. “What college are you at?” is the question echoing in the air. Of course, a respectable student is at least five minutes late to any event. Over the next ten minutes, pairs of patterned trousers and wide-cut jeans, with accompanying legs, filter in. A group as sartorially orientated as one named ‘The Oxford Fashion Society’ inevitably attracts those who care about what they wear. Fastidiously dressed, upright, serious-faced characters come in and sit down quickly. Tote bags are removed from shoulders. Sauntering in alongside, generally attired with less panache, are members of the photography society. When the session begins, there are about 30 of us.

Megan Baffoe, one of the event’s organisers, gives a brief overview of the guidelines and goals of the project, then the groups are let loose. After initial ice is broken, things start to happen. People talk about artists they admire. Big personalities of the groups emerge. Bejewelled fingers swivel laptops around to show the rest of the group their screen. Certain artists names’ keep reoccurring, Klimt and Mondrian. One can guess why: the colourful, mosaic-like works Klimt is known for adapt themselves well to clothing. Mondrian, on the other hand, is an attractive choice on account of his simplicity of colour and bold design. This is the kind of chatter floating around the room – a pleasant change to hear a group of Oxford students not complaining about essay deadlines.

Clothing is a dominant topic of discussion, but so too is clothing’s opposite, nudity. Experimentation with nakedness, or aspects of it, is proposed by some, and, though mostly well-hidden, cringed from by others. Megan Baffoe had stressed at the beginning how important it is that everyone is comfortable wearing the outfits – a guideline certainly being put to the test. Alongside these kinds of abrasions, the groups periodically have an idea that snaps together with a momentous synergy. Ideas are scribbled down, pictures sent into group chats. This is typical of the jolting pace of a brainstorm session.

Turning one’s emotional response to artwork into words is a challenging translation of medium and I was impressed at the participants’ ability to do so. Aided by pictures from Pinterest, one of them gives an insightful description of painter Egon Schiele’s contorted, intricate artworks. Another shows me landscape photographs he has taken and explains why it was pictures of nature he likes so much. “It lets me combine walking and photography.” Pragmatic reasoning, but he does not stop there: “landscapes are so vast, and panoramic, that in the moment they can be overwhelming to take in. Photography allows tiny fragments of this bigger picture to be isolated, and details that would have been missed to be brought out.” Showing me a photograph that, he tells me, is a heavily zoomed in section of a much larger landscape, I can see a road winding daintily past a forest, over which a thick bank of cloud hovers. It is an affecting image.

This is the general tenor of the session – interested and interesting students sharing art that excites them. Each participant I ask has taken a different road into the hobby that, thanks to the session, now unites them. Some had started photographing during lockdown; others had been making clothes with a mother since they were very young. The common thread running through the event is a creativity that, though unspoken, defies the definition of a person by such narrow measures as academic performance that so often dominates this university. It reminds me, happily, why art is and will forever be essential.

Image Credit: Zachary Elliott

A Change of Heart

Jimmy Brewer
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A Change of Heart

W.H. Auden concludes the final poem in his 1930 debut collection with instruction to “look shining at/New styles of architecture, a change of heart.” Architecture necessarily thrusts itself into the view of the general public; by choosing it as the art form to “look shining” upon, Auden bestows change in taste accessible to the general population, rather than to merely the rich or highly educated, with promise and hope. However, a change of heart must shift relative to an old perspective.

Indeed, Prince Charles, acting as spokesperson of the old perspective, commented after its completion in 1976 that architect Denis Lasdun’s concrete-heavy, modernist design for the Royal National Theatre was “a clever way of building a nuclear power station in the middle of London without anyone objecting.” A building, in its inability to be hidden – as opposed to, say, the framed print of a nude painting that, when I was little, I embarrassedly made my parents take down when a friend came round – can evoke a strong gut-response repulsion. Prince Charles, used to the neoclassical symmetry of Buckingham Palace, was clearly appalled by the austere National Theatre. One crucial tension in the design of a structure is between aesthetic integrity and the appeasement of a wider audience.

Happily, the same grandness of scale in architecture that facilitates its impulsive censure also enables its reverent praise. For example, last term I signed up, dutifully, to deliver copies of Cherwell, and was driven around by Timmy, Cherwell’s charismatic, 10-year-loyal delivery driver. Between anecdotes of farcically angry porters, the topic of conversation fell upon St Hilda’s College’s recently completed new buildings. Timmy, who had not been afraid to voice disparaging views of the colleges earlier, remarked how ‘in keeping’ he thought the buildings were with the college and wider city, whilst still looking beautiful and distinctive. I agree with him, though being a St Hilda’s student myself, I cannot claim impartiality. What is interesting is the unprompted praise that architecture can generate, an inversion of the gut-response dislike.

It was this gut-response dislike, though, that made popular the photograph-based blog and subsequent book, Ugly Belgian Houses. Some of the homes that feature only narrowly miss looking stylish, having lost balance tip-toeing on the cutting edge and ending up notably hideous rather than refreshingly inventive; others are temples to poor taste. There are penny-farthing proportions, mismatched exteriors, and vulgar extensions aplenty. Yet the blog’s creator, Hannes Coudenys, remarked on a shift in perspective he had while photographing more and more of these houses. What began as exasperation at ludicrous design became admiration of his country’s propensity to experiment, even when it goes wrong: “It is better to be ugly than to be boring.”

With deviation from norms of style comes risk of ugliness. Being ugly is different from being bland, it is to be distinctive in repulsiveness. Perhaps, though, ugliness is too routinely vilified; to eliminate ugliness in art, the ‘failed’ experiments, is to eliminate experimentation. Auden is defending ugliness when he urges us to “look shining” at new styles of architecture – for new styles, good or bad, are evidence of a humanity leaning towards change, refusing stagnation. The “change of heart” is both the architect’s and the reader’s; the same realisation made by Coudenys, that life is better ugly than boring. Symbolically positioned at the end of his first book, the words point forward to a future forgiving of failure and afire with change. To root for progress, we must also root for ugliness.

Image Credit: Flora Dyson

“Now it’s just around the corner”: Impacts of the Russo-Ukrainian crisis in Romania

Jack Twyman
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“Now it’s just around the corner”: Impacts of the Russo-Ukrainian crisis in Romania

CW: war, displacement

The effect of the conflict in Ukraine on its surrounding countries has been unprecedented. A refugee crisis has unfolded on an enormous scale. In this article I will focus on Romania, a country with historic ties to Ukraine, and one whose response to the unfolding crisis has outdone expectations with an astonishing display of generosity. It has proven to be a lifeline in ensuring those on the frontline of the crisis have the funds to continue their work.

For this article, I interviewed Florin Misiuc, a Romanian engineer, who now lives and works in Hertfordshire. His hometown of Gura-Humorului is located in a northern Romanian county called Suceava, which borders Ukraine.  The neighbouring town, Siret, is a crossing point with Ukraine, and many stories have been shared with him of the events there.

I begin by asking him what the initial reactions were to the outbreak of the invasion and ensuing refugee crisis. He says that people were “surprised” but not shocked; that “none of us have been through this situation and we just don’t know how to behave. You’re trying to stay sane and rational, but you can’t stop asking yourself questions of where this is going to end or how it is going to unfold”. He adds that “I think people were expecting the refugees, but it was a surprise to see how sympathetic locals were there,” particularly given that “we don’t see many foreigners here. There might be some Ukrainian traders but not big waves of immigrants”.

Romanians came together to meet the crisis head-on. Florin has never seen such a massive mobilisation to a migrant cause in Romania, and indeed there has never been a comparable event. “It was just amazing to see people from all sorts of backgrounds and various trades come together,” he says. “Churches of all factions put differences aside to help organise the response and to buy and supply toiletries and nappies”. Since the Ukrainian government declared martial law, the refugees coming from Ukraine are now mainly women and children; men aged 18-60 have been prevented from leaving the country and instead conscripted to join the resistance movement.

Florin tells me that Romanians collected Ukrainians from the border and provided accommodation and food “no questions asked”. Even at the onset of the crisis, “they did not ask for money even though a lot of Ukrainians wanted to pay and had money”. Since limits on cash withdrawals have been imposed on Ukrainians, Romanian generosity has been vital in avoiding a humanitarian crisis. The daily withdrawal limit “is nearly nothing in Romanian currency” and so worth even less in Europe, meaning that “people are stuck there and can’t move on”.  

He tells me about a woman with five children, aged two months to 14 years old, who fled Ukraine to Romania. The rest of her family headed to Warsaw in Poland. The limit on cash withdrawals was not enough for her to pay for transport or food or communication. “It’s just heart-breaking thinking that they [her family] don’t know about each other”, Florin says; “all they know is that some of them took the path to Warsaw and some took the path south to Romania”. She is now trying to find other people wanting to go to Warsaw so that they can hire a coach or bus together. Without Romanian generosity, her situation would be substantially more desperate.

Local businesses have given their services and “helped however they could”. Many transport companies offered to take Ukrainians to airports. Florin has heard of people driving from Bucharest, 300 miles to the north, to collect Ukrainians and drop them off at airports in Bucharest. “These extraordinary levels of solidarity are not what you see day by day”, Florin comments.  So far, it is mainly people who are in a better financial position – “the ones with cars who could travel quickly” – who have made it to Romania. Most of this first wave are hoping to travel westwards and seek refuge in other countries where they have relatives or friends. There are likely to be further waves of refugees, depending on how the situation unfolds.

Romanian communities abroad have played a key role in funding the relief effort. I ask Florin to tell me a bit more about how he personally has been involved. He tells me about a friend whose extended family owns tourist chalets in their hometown, Gura-Humorului. Since the crisis began, they have swapped tourists for 60 Ukrainian refugees. The family’s resources are limited, and so they sought help from those abroad. Florin’s friend works in London and “explained the situation to his mainly British colleagues in the office, who all felt sympathetic and put in whatever they could”. Florin, too, provided money and asked his colleagues and friends for help. Florin’s generosity is humbling: “You might think it’s cheap to buy food, but it’s not, and it’s not only food; there are young children there, so you need nappies, toiletries and more.” He tells me that “we’ve managed to raise about a thousand pounds in 48 hours, which will feed those women and children for a few days”.

I ask if the power of social media has been important. “Absolutely” is his response. This is the first major European conflict which has been fought in the social media age. The management of the crisis has been made more effective as a result. Romanian communities across Europe can coordinate the donation and transport logistics of essential goods through online platforms like Facebook groups, where requests from those in need can also be made. Florin reports that after one request, “a lot of people brought water and sandwiches to help the refugees – at one point there was just too much food there.”.

Social media has also brought the conflict much closer to all Romanians – regardless of geographical location – and made it feel more real. “Individual stories aren’t that touching, but when you open social media, you are instantly flooded with countless stories – it hits different,” Florin says. Florin is also a part-time DJ, and is in contact with numerous Ukrainian musicians who are constantly giving updates on their situation: “They treat each message as if it’s their last one.” There is a lot of hate towards Putin. They just don’t understand why this is happening.

I ask Florin if he thinks the Romanian generosity being expressed stems from a sense of shared history, or mainly from pure sympathy. He agrees that there is an element of common culture; the southern side of Ukraine was part of Romania until it was lost during the Second World War to the Russians, and many ethnic Romanians still live on the Ukrainian side of the border. However, with the Ukrainians from Kyiv now reaching the border, the cultural tie is far weaker. Despite this, Florin thinks hard times generally bring people together, especially given geographical proximity: “The wars in the Middle East and elsewhere never felt that threatening, but now it’s just around the corner.”

The stoicism of the Ukrainian defence has been admirable and has drawn respect from Romanians. “I think no-one expected Ukraine to resist that much,” Florin admits. Ukrainians are conscious that on their own they don’t have the military capabilities to defeat an army like Russia’s, but morale is still high and is being boosted by crucial external support. A story spung to Florin’s mind about two of the first families that arrived at the chalets in the first days of conflict, when men were still allowed to leave Ukraine.  “The men said at some point that they will make sure their families get safely to Spain where they have some friends and then they will return back to fight. And I thought that is just absolutely brave”.

I ask Florin whether he thinks that the images that have been shared by the people he follows on social media present a different narrative to that of mainstream media. He replies, “Generally not, but of course it depends on what media you tend to follow. There is lots of misinformation. I have learnt to take everything with a pinch of salt. Both Russians and Ukrainians have war propaganda to motivate their troops and that isn’t informational.” Social media misinformation is present in Romania and has intensified since the invasion with “trolls commenting on nearly every post”. I ask if this has the capacity to stir unrest in Romania, but Florin is confident that few Romanians will fall into the trap of misinformation given the historic relations between the countries. Romanians harbour a general distrust and dislike of Russia because of their experiences during and after the Second World War.

Are people fearful for the future? Florin is upbeat, as, while opinions are split, the population is generally not frightened, and trusts the NATO alliance and the EU: “There is big support for the European community”. There has also been a collective realisation of the importance of joining NATO, “because otherwise we would have been in the situation of the Republic of Moldova, which does not belong to a military alliance; they are quite frightened at the moment because they don’t enjoy the protection we have”. Florin concedes that “of course, there are concerns economically,”, but affirms that “people are generally not afraid of hot war on Romanian territory”.

However, there was a lot of concern last Thursday (24th February) about increased jet activity in Romanian skies. This was in response to Article 4 of the North Atlantic Treaty being invoked by Romania together with Poland, the Baltics and Hungary, which convened NATO’s main decision-making body, the North Atlantic Council. The invocation of this collective defence article, which is triggered when one or more of NATO’s member states consider their “territorial integrity, political independence or security” to be threatened, reinforced the operations of the NATO airpolice. Despite this activity being intended to ensure the safety of NATO members, Florin says that for those on the ground “there is a lot of noise which is a bit frightening, and when you don’t know what’s happening and nothing is displayed on flight radar, it is really concerning.”.

Over the coming days, weeks, and months, Romania is expecting many more refugees, as indeed are many other Eastern European countries such as Poland, Hungary, and Slovakia. The European Commission’s aid packages will be important to ensure that these countries can cope with the pressures they will face; Florin notes that the Romanian capacity to help is limited due to its finite ability to accommodate the enormous number of refugees. From the accounts Florin has received, it seems that the Ukrainian refugees are conscious of their compatriots on the trail behind them and want to move on quickly. It is difficult to predict what will happen next and when this tragedy will end; we can only hope that peace and justice will come swiftly to Ukraine and that its people can safely return to their land.

Image Credit: Public Domain

Lentil and Carrot Stew Recipe

Maisie Burgess
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Lentil and Carrot Stew Recipe

I know, I know, lentil and carrot stew doesn’t sound like the most exciting recipe in the world. But trust me, this is one of my favourites. Inspired by a Turkish recipe in an old book my mum used to have, I now use this pared down and sped up version as one of my go-to meals at university. It is simple, cheap, nutritious, and totally delicious.

Ingredients (makes about 4 portions which are good to freeze, but you can easily quarter the ingredients to serve 1)

·        Olive oil

·        3 carrots, chopped

·        1 onion, chopped

·        1 can of green lentils, drained

·        ½ tsp of stock powder/cube

·        A tomato (if you have one handy)

 ½ tsp of coriander seeds (or any spice you have really! Try fennel, cumin, pepper, smoked paprika etc.)

·        Salt and pepper

·        Yoghurt (to serve)

Method

1.     Heat some oil in the pan and add the onion, carrots and coriander seeds. Put a lid on it, and turn the heat down to soften it all off. This will be the longest bit of the cooking, so be patient if you can, but if not, a slightly crunchy carrot never killed anyone!

2.     Now add the lentils, stock powder, the tomato (if you want to) and about a quarter of a can of water. Turn the heat up a little bit and let this all cook for about 5-10 minutes so that the flavours all combine deliciously and the sauce becomes a little thicker and richer.

3.     When this is done, season well with salt and pepper to your taste.

4.     Voila! Easy as that. I like to serve mine with a big blob of yoghurt, and sometimes some kind of bread to mop it all up.

 This is a very flexible recipe and you can really add what you have or what you want to it. You can mix other vegetables in with the onion and carrot like pepper (pretty sure everyone has an old red pepper sitting in the bottom of the fridge which was on sale in Tesco), use any number of flavourings, serve it with some salad, or use a different pulse (like chickpeas, or haricot beans). Once you have made this you will see how versatile and useful a recipe it can be.

Oxford Foundry Launches partnership with FMDQ Private Markets Limited

Khusrau Islam
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Oxford Foundry Launches partnership with FMDQ Private Markets Limited

Last year, the Oxford Foundry (OxFo) announced that they were partnering with FMDQ Private Markets Limited to accelerate Nigeria’s startup ecosystem. In December, they opened up applications for the OXFO-FMDQ Young Entrepreneurs Leadership Programme programme, which is set to begin in April this year. The programme aims to upskill young, Nigerian, aspiring entrepreneurs through various training courses, networks, and resources. Further, it will connect the participants with Oxford and Nigeria investment communities, including high net-worth investors, also known as angel investors. The Innovate Nigeria accelerator programme will leverage Oxford networks and partnerships for five high-potential start-ups. 

Nigeria is an explosive start-up environment. In 2011, it was identified by Citigroup as one of eleven countries who could grow global wealth through great growth potential and profitable investment opportunities. More recently, the World Bank gave it a “Starting a Business Score” of 86.2/100 – this is the highest in Sub-Saharan Africa, whose aggregate score was 80.1. Many successful start-ups have emerged recently from Nigeria, including Flutterwave, which is seeking to triple its valuation to $3 billion, and Paystack, which was acquired by Stripe for $200 million, the largest acquisition by the payments company globally. 

FMDQ Private Markets is a subsidiary of FMDQ Holdings PLC. The parent organisation, Nigeria’s first fully vertically integrated financial market infrastructure group, offers companies and investors support and access to capital markets. They also operate the largest Securities Exchange in Nigeria, with an average annual turnover of $564 billion over the last seven years. The Private Markets group offers these companies data and information services.

In the long-term, this partnership is expected to bolster the Nigerian start-up scene, thereby creating jobs and triggering further socio-economic growth as the country’s business culture continues to expand. FMDQ Group said that they expected the partnership to “develop market solutions in high-potential market solutions in high-potential sectors such as technology, agriculture, green industries, and healthcare”. 

The current culture for Nigeria’s start-ups is extremely promising. Recently, Nigeria’s cabinet approved the Nigeria Startup Bill. Currently, it is waiting to be passed into law by parliament. The proposals in the bill are to “ease regulatory hurdles, offer tax incentives and make it easier for startups to raise capital”. This is expected to stimulate both foreign and local investments in these start-ups. 
As the Nigerian start-up scene continues to expand, both due to the nature of the market and through the government’s investment, we should expect to see more and more exciting companies come out of the country. Through this partnership, OxFo and FMDQ are ready to help companies take advantage of the favourable business environment.

Oxford Union holds emergency panel on Ukraine Crisis

Meg Lintern
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Oxford Union holds emergency panel on Ukraine Crisis

On February 24th, Russia invaded Ukraine. This is the latest in a series of aggressive actions taken by President Putin: having invaded Georgia in 2008 and illegally annexed Crimea in 2014, his aspirations for reviving the Soviet Union have been made painfully apparent. As Ukraine defies expectations by raising a fierce defence against the Russians and maintaining their hold of Kyiv and other major cities, many across the world are wondering what will happen next. To engage its members with the unfolding events, the Oxford Union held a Panel Discussion on Ukraine to discuss the crisis.

Guest speakers included Mr Robert Brinkley CMG, formerly HM Ambassador to Ukraine and Head of the Ukrainian Institute; Professor Neil MacFarlane, a world expert in the international relations of the Former Soviet Union and a professor at St. Anne’s College; and Sir David Manning, who was the UK Permanent Representative at NATO from 2000 to 2001 and served as the British Ambassador to the United States from 2003 to 2007.

A key theme of the panel was the unanimity of the speakers. All three were in agreement that Russia’s actions are both unexpected and condemnable, and that the West’s reaction has pleasantly surprised them in its strength and collaborative nature.

Molly Mantle, President of the Oxford Union, directed questions at the panellists throughout the event. She began by asking whether they were expecting Putin’s invasion.

All three admitted that they had not anticipated the crisis to escalate as it did. Robert Brinkley said of Putin: “He has been locked away for much of the last two years and I think that has not helped his frame of mind.”

Sir David acknowledged: “I didn’t expect this, but I didn’t expect Crimea in 2014. I thought that if he did [invade] he would stop in the Donbass region. I was wrong, and I now suspect he will go the whole way, but I hope there is still a chance for peace.”

However, Sir David suggested that Putin was also surprised by the response of the West. “Putin thought the EU would be divided in a repeat of Crimea… instead, half of Russia’s reserves are out of action and unavailable, with emergency interest rate hikes, a run on the banks, and the collapse of the Ruble.”

He pinpointed the reaction of Germany as greatly significant. Whereas the Germans had previously sought a commercial and cultural relationship with Russia, they have suddenly resolved to spend 2% of their GDP on their military. Sir David said, “this is going to change the balance of power inside Europe and inside NATO… suddenly the Germans are going to be much more powerful military players”.

Nonetheless, there is a very dark side to this military expenditure: Sir John predicted the spread of nuclear weapons becoming harder to control, with Japan requesting nuclear resources in the last 48 hours and others sure to follow.

Discussing the imposition of heavy sanctions on Russia, Professor Neil said: “the 2014 sanctions were pretty marginal in terms of actual effects on the Russian economy. The current sanctions will have a much more substantial impact”. He admitted that “the one apple that nobody wants to bite just yet is the prohibition of the import of Russian oil and gas”.

Professor Neil also noted that “Putin is having trouble at the moment militarily… the temptation must occur to him to do something about that by retaliating.” The possibility of a nuclear retaliation by Putin was held up as a terrifying but plausible consequence of Western sanctions.

However, Sir David emphasised the need for a strong response to Putin’s advances: “our values remain extraordinarily powerful … it’s terribly important that we take on our role of championing them and defending them, particularly at a time when our democracies are somewhat in disarray.”

Image Credit: Max Kukurudziak

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