Tuesday 8th July 2025
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Racism tarnished my European year abroad experience

Peter Chen
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Racism tarnished my European year abroad experience

We’re often told that a year abroad in Europe is meant to be the time of our lives. It can be both intellectually enriching and personally fulfilling to spend a year in a foreign country, learning a new language and connecting with a different culture. As someone who spent a year doing just that, I can tell you that in many ways, I learned more during those twelve months away from Oxford than in the two years I spent there. I picked up rowing, learned Dutch, and explored areas of my discipline that were not on offer back home.

But for some of us, that’s not the whole picture. Because when you’re abroad and visibly different, even the most mundane experiences – like buying fish at a market – can turn into moments of confrontation, confusion, or fear.

This year, even though I was technically living in the Netherlands, I found myself back in Oxford more often than I expected. Partly because I missed my friends: many of them are graduating this summer, and I wanted to spend more time with them before they left. But there was another reason, one I don’t usually talk about.

As a person of colour, I found living in the Netherlands unexpectedly difficult.

I want to be clear: I don’t claim to speak for anyone else. Everyone’s experience abroad is different, and this is just mine. But having lived in Leiden for nearly ten months, I can say I was racially harassed and abused on a regular basis.

Some of it was subtle. One afternoon in a shop, wearing my puffer jacket — the only warm coat I had — a man approached me.

“Do you go to Oxford?” he asked.

I smiled. “Yes, I do.” As the first in my family to go to university, I carry enormous pride in that.

He frowned. “Well, that can’t be right.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t look like you go to Oxford,” he said. I must have looked confused, because he scoffed and added, “You know what I mean.”

I didn’t reply. I walked away, unsettled and unsure if I’d imagined it. But I hadn’t.

Then there were other moments, uglier ones. Soon after I arrived, I visited the famous Saturday market in Leiden; in a tradition dating back centuries, farmers and fishermen would bring their fresh produce and set up stalls around Nieuwe Rijn – literally ‘New Rhine’ – with bikes and fresh tulips adorning the canal path.

On that visit, I had a handful of herring and hatred from the locals.

First, a group of young men screamed ‘Chinese’ (pronounced SHE-nase in Dutch) to me and my friend; we shrug it off. Then, an old man stops me in my tracks, blocks the busy pavement, and starts lecturing me with everyone else around us watching. My mind goes blank. What is happening? His speech is mumbled and hard to discern, all I could comprehend is something along the lines of how no one speaks Dutch anymore. Passers-by stared. I stood frozen. When he finally walked away, I did too, numb and shaken, unable to understand what had just happened to me.

I stopped going to the market.

If you know me at all, you’d know that this isn’t my normal style. There are lots of reasons for that. Often, when minorities speak out about their experience of hatred and bigotry, they are simply met with more vitriol and abuse. Some will say I made this up; some will call me an attention seeker. At the same time, writing about these things is hard; it is both mentally demanding and emotionally exhausting to dig up something that I would much rather never have to think about, let alone write down.

Sometimes I also wonder why I have to do this at all. Why I need to remind people that Europe isn’t just cobbled streets and cathedrals. That your experience in Burgundy or Bologna may not be the same as mine. That people who look like me move through the world differently. My friends, who spoke so fondly of their time abroad, meant no harm. I don’t blame them. And the vast majority of Dutch people I met were warm, kind, and patient with me as I struggled through conversations in my broken language.

All I want to tell you, dear reader, is that the next time your friend comes back from their time in Europe, in the quieter moments between the funny stories of that time in an Irish pub or failing that language exam, ask them gently: What was it really like?

Exclusive: St Catz racks up £3.4 million bill on concrete repairs

Amelia Gibbins
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Exclusive: St Catz racks up £3.4 million bill on concrete repairs

St Catherine’s College spent over £3.4 million in less than one year due to ongoing concrete issues, Cherwell can reveal.

Catz spent £2.4 million on “temporary measures”, which was deducted from the College’s revenue account. The temporary measures that were put in place in 2023 include the marquees that currently house the bar and dining hall. The College also spent £1 million on capital expenditure, which includes long-term, physical assets like buildings.

The College’s Contribution Scheme has contributed £1.04 million over four years to mitigate the expenditure, though Cherwell understands that the predicted costs are fluctuating daily. Catz told Cherwell: “The total cost of the works depends on the scope and scale … which is being developed as the project progresses, with the intention to bring the College’s buildings back into operation as soon as is practicable.”

The affected buildings at Catz include 152 top floor student bedrooms, the JCR and SCR, the dining hall, the library, administration offices, and the Bernard Sunley Building.

On the expected timeframe, Catz told Cherwell that they were looking “to occupy our Administration block, SCR and JCR towards the end of the year,” followed by “the Dining Hall very early in 2026”.

Access to these buildings has been limited since September 2023, when reinforced autoclaved aerated concrete (Raac) was discovered in the roofs. Raac was used for building between the 1950s and 1990s, and has a lifespan of 30 years. Structural issues came to a head in 2023, when schools across the UK were ordered to be closed due to the risk of Raac instability.

Fundraising efforts were ramped up by Catz following the discovery of Raac, and the College hosted its first giving day in May 2024 which raised over £200k in 36 hours. Money raised through fundraising has more-than-doubled, reaching £2 million last year alone.

A further £1.5m was budgeted for Raac-related interventions for 2024/25, though Catz states that the presence of Raac has posed a significant risk to the College’s financial objectives.

Perhaps, Oxford

Ngoc Diep
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Perhaps, Oxford

We met at a Latin meeting hosted by the Oxford Ancient Languages Society at University College.

I signed up for Latin partly out of curiosity, partly out of guilt. I’d always wanted to study it, but growing up in Vietnam, Latin wasn’t something schools offered. Two years into my undergraduate degree in Linguistics and Philosophy, I still hadn’t learned it. At Keble, where I was spending the year as a visiting student from an American university, Latin felt like the perfect bridge: a way to read Cicero in the original, finally, and to make sense of the syntax and semantics that shaped so many Indo-European languages.

That was where I first saw her. She always walked a few paces ahead of me on the way to class, purposeful and brisk, clearly not there for sightseeing. I later learned that she was from Trinity College and a visiting student from a Chinese university in Germany, working on her second Master’s degree in Finance. Compared to my wide-eyed fascination with ancient languages, she brought a different energy to the seminar room: precise, pragmatic, and efficient.

We had little in common, except for one hour each week, reciting Latin verbs side by side.

After a few lessons, we grew closer to one another as we needed study partners. I would cover her notes when she was absent, and she did the same for me, which we joked about as a kind of academic ‘friends with benefits’.

In the penultimate week of the term, she invited me to a Trinity College formal, followed by drinks at the bar, and we ended up having apple cider at the King’s Arms. 

By the third glass, I felt tipsy enough to let our guard down and talk. I shared all about the anxiety of moving around the globe and crazy American stories. She revealed how stressful it was to study in Germany without speaking much German. The conversation drifted, past Oxford, over the Atlantic to America, across Europe to Germany, France, and Spain, winding through memories from China and Vietnam, until we circled back again to our colleges and recounted every rumour and gossip, as well as complaints, about our tutorials that happened in the Hilary term.  

I can’t recall everything we shared, but we spoke from 9 p.m. until the stroke of midnight, until my facial muscles felt fatigued and the midnight starvation kicked in, and we headed out for kebab. 

“You know what is so crazy?” She asked. Her eyes were bright, and a grin bloomed on her face.

Before I could proceed with an answer, she ran a few steps in front of me, turned around, and tilted her head toward the sky.“We are at Oxford!” 

I pause. Yes, we are at Oxford. Something so simple, yet sometimes, I forget. Tutorials and my hectic schedule often distract me from this significant fact. In primary school, I had read so many stories about Oxford, and now, somehow, I had made it here, the city of books, dreams, and curiosity. I met someone I had never imagined I would meet, and had the best conversation under the most beautiful night sky. 

It had been far too long since I last grew so close and felt so safe around someone. Yet, it was a girl I met abroad whom I genuinely connected with, communicating in a language foreign to us both and with a startlingly different background.  And, if not for that fated encounter in Latin class, our paths would have never crossed.

We ended the meeting with a promise. A big promise. For her, she would complete her master’s in Germany and return to Oxford to pursue her interest in History as a DPhil student. For me, I would return to the US, finish my undergraduate degree, and then come back as a Master’s student. 

Perhaps we’d meet again at a classics meeting, and we’d have cream tea at The Vault to celebrate. Perhaps, there’d be formals, street walks with wine in hand, quiet “study with me” sessions in a Bodleian corner. Perhaps, we’d speak fluent Latin someday. Perhaps, I’d even get her to try Greek.

Perhaps.

As we wished each other goodnight, exchanged one final hug, parted ways, and walked in opposite directions at Westgate, I considered something she might have contemplated as well: We might never meet each other again. 

Oxford brought us together, but everything else would keep us apart. 

As I walked along St Michael’s Street, I gazed up at the stars, and a quiet sense of insignificance settled over me.

The world is so small that two people from different backgrounds and different stages of life can meet in a city far from their homes. Yet, the world is vast enough that she and I may never meet again. 

But that is what makes life worth living. We live as if we’d never live again, and treat fleeting moments as if they might be our last.

Max Morgan, director of Oxford’s first feature film since the 1980s

Billy Jeffs
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Max Morgan, director of Oxford’s first feature film since the 1980s

Max Morgan is the writer and director of Breakwater, the first feature film to be made by Oxford students since the 1980s, and May Day!, a documentary about the May morning celebrations. He read English at Christ Church, and graduated in 2024.

Cherwell: Can you tell us a little bit about Breakwater and May Day!?

Morgan: Breakwater, for some context, is the first feature film to be produced by students at the University of Oxford since Privileged in 1982. It came about because my friend Jemima Chen [Breakwater’s producer] and I were speaking to original members of the crew and cast, and they encouraged us to make a feature film and not mess around with shorts, and take on the challenge. The film itself is about the relationship between an Oxford student called Otto and his romance with a retired angler on the east coast of England. It’s about connecting through seemingly nothing but everything. May Day! is a documentary about Britain’s oldest tradition of May morning, and the epicentre of that in Oxford. And it’s about guiding the viewer through all the cultural eccentricities and the different parts of May morning. What was special about that was we had five different roaming cameras around on the morning so we could cover it from all angles, because there is no centre to it – it’s completely scattered all over the city. That’s currently in post-production.

Cherwell: How did you assemble a crew to make these films? Where did you find the students across the university, and how did you get the funding and the technology?

Morgan: The scale of both projects is quite different. Breakwater was pretty big overall; I think we’ve had about a hundred people involved in the project at various different stages. Our production crew for that was about 40 at its largest. I wanted to make the film with a group of mostly students, and so we did a massive call out on the OUFF [Oxford University Filmmaking Foundation] Facebook group, which is such an amazing resource full of people who want to get involved in projects like this. We had a really overwhelming response to the idea of making a feature film, and we pulled most of our crew from that. It was many people’s first time on set because although there’s obviously a really great short film community in Oxford, there’s one camera, so there are limited opportunities to get on set. And so it was a lot of people’s first time, and that’s an exciting challenge for them, and for us as well. 

The other way we found crew was through connections that Jemima and I had made from working on slightly bigger professional sets. We found our director of photography, a guy called Evan Bridges, through one of Jemima’s friends from work – Evan was a student at the University of Westminster at the time, studying cinematography. He brought on board his own camera crew who were all students at Westminster or working in the industry professionally. It was a really nice fusion to have people who had a bit more experience and were willing to teach members of our production crew how working on a set worked. We managed to pull it off because everyone was so up for the challenge and really believed in making the film happen. For May Day!, that was a bit smaller, but again we went through the OUFF Facebook page after Isaaq Tomkins, the co-producer, and I developed a core crew from people we’d worked with. We also just messaged people who we thought might be interested in the project from a journalistic or filmmaking angle.

Cherwell: You mentioned that you’d worked on some professional sets before. When did you decide you wanted to become a filmmaker, and how did you turn that into getting onto professional sets?

Morgan: I came to Oxford and I did lots of theatre, and I really loved the theatre scene here. I think that the creative arts scene in Oxford is superior to literally any other university in the UK. It’s amazing how many different theatre venues there are, as well as production companies. I think it’s a really great way of encouraging people to be entrepreneurial and push themselves to put something on. So I did lots of theatre and always wanted to divert into film, but didn’t really know how to – Jemima and I both really had that ambition to get into film together, and so we started to think about how it would happen. One day they were shooting Endeavour, the TV series for ITV, outside Canterbury Gate at Christ Church. I was watching, and it was a really fascinating scene where some guy gets in a vintage car and puts his foot to the floor and belts it down Merton Street.

I asked a member of the crew if they had any jobs going or wanted to take someone on, and so the next day I was in a hi-vis telling people to stay back from the set. It was really cool to be part of this film set. That was the Easter of first year, and I got some more work with the location manager for that – it was location marshalling work, and then eventually a bit of running and just working on more productions gradually over time, meeting more people and getting invited back to work on new shows. I now mostly freelance on locations and production. I was working with the same boss a couple of weeks ago on Midsomer Murders, which was really nice. Jemima was doing the same thing, which is how we met.

Cherwell: What have been the main obstacles that you faced in terms of getting those films made, and the problems in the pipeline of Oxford student to filmmaker?

Morgan: May Day! and Breakwater are such different films. On May Day!, we were running around with a camera and trying to capture as much as we could. And that was a lot more free range – we were just documenting what was in front of us. That still came at a cost, and fortunately it was funded by the Oxford Research Centre for Humanities, which really helped us make it. I think one of the barriers for students making films in Oxford, and for filmmakers in general, is just the cost of making a film. You think you can low-ball it, but when you consider things like transport, additional equipment, lighting gear, covering people for expenses and food, location fees, and insurance, it really starts to rack up.

In Oxford particularly, there’s a lot of amazing resources like the Cameron Mackintosh grant for funding theatre and stage productions, but there’s a real dearth of funding opportunities for short films, and so I think many people rely on grants from colleges. Obviously some colleges have specific art funds, while some colleges don’t, and some colleges don’t really give JCR funding to artistic projects, which I think is a shame. For us, that was a massive challenge with Breakwater and we relied on getting grants from colleges. I was lucky to be at Christ Church, which had at the time quite a good JCR for funding arts – I’m not sure if, because of me, they do anymore. 

We did a crowdfunder, and Jemima also came up with the ingenious idea of doing a student art auction, which we turned into quite a big thing. We also managed to get donations from professional artists like Steven Appleby and a really cool painting from Maggi Hambling, who is this fantastic East Coast-based artist. Her scallop sculpture features really heavily in Breakwater as a symbol, so that was really cool. That auction literally gave us half our production budget, and the crowdfunder basically did the other half. But we were making the film and writing and deciding where to shoot based around the constraints of our budget. We were literally writing to a micro-feature  – writing scenes in that we knew we could shoot for free or we knew would be easily accessible. I think you have to be very creative with your expectations and taking risks and what you can get away with on such a small amount. So funding, to really bluntly answer your question, is and was the biggest difficulty for filmmakers.

Cherwell: I’d also like to ask about the films themselves, rather than just the process of making them – Oxford as a city and university features in both Breakwater and May Day!. Can you speak about that influence?

Morgan: Obviously there’s such a rich cinematic heritage to Oxford. Privileged, the first feature film that was shot by Oxford students, was directed by a guy called Mike Hoffman, who’s a fantastic director. It was produced in part by Rick Stevenson and Andy Patterson, who both work in the film industry – Andy and Mike have been the most unbelievable mentors and guides through this process. That film starred Hugh Grant, Mark Williams and Imogen Stubbs, and the score was composed by Rachel Portman, an Oscar-winning composer. They’ve gone on to do unbelievable things and become titans of the industry in their own right. That film was about a very narcissistic student, and is a satire on privilege in the university and the age of the last hurrah in the eighties, when it was being made.

Additionally to Privileged, Brideshead Revisited cast a massive shadow over our contemporary vision of Oxford and our understanding of it, and there are lots of other great films set at the university. We were very aware of Privileged, and obviously we had Andy and Mike really helping us and encouraging us through the process – they read countless drafts of my scripts and the film is so much better for that. They were so generous with their time. 

We wanted to make the film in Oxford and make use of the beautiful limestone colleges and all the beautiful scenery and that baggage that comes with it, but we also wanted to make Oxford part of the film and break the wall of Oxford and come outside of it. Part of the reason for that was we also wanted to not be considered a student film made by Oxford students, but an independent film made by students at the University of Oxford, which I think for us was a very important decision for our mentality, and for our marketing of the film as well. My favourite day in the whole production was filming in Radcliffe Square one evening, and it’s quite a nice scene where the two characters have had a lovely day in Oxford, and they’re not really sure how they’re feeling about each other anymore. It’s the final chapter in the Oxford part of the film. We locked off the whole of Radcliffe Square using just a couple of students posted in each corner of it. The location lends so much to the story and the film, and makes it look so beautiful.

As for May Day!, Oxford is, as I said, the epicentre of this tradition of May morning, and it has been for 800 years. I’ve had some of the best days and nights of my life on May morning, and I think I shared that feeling with some of the people who made the documentary. It felt like an inherently filmable thing and an idea that immediately worked. I think making that documentary was really fantastic because it enabled us to connect with a community of Oxford that exist outside of the university and is normally very separate from it – Morris dancers, musicians, community artists, community historians, people who love the city for reasons that include the university, but also different areas like Headington, Cowley, Summertown, and the villages around Oxford as well. What was cool about May morning was that it felt like a moment when the ‘town and gown’ were able to meet and see eye to eye and dance and celebrate the coming of summer with each other. It’s a very joyous and unifying celebration.

Cherwell: What filmmakers do you think have had an influence on you? 

Morgan: For different projects there’s different filmmakers, but I think the most influential for Breakwater and the way I understand and see film as a medium and an art form is a Cornish filmmaker called Mark Jenkin. In 2016, he made a film called Bait about a Cornish fisherman and the gentrification of Cornwall, which won a BAFTA. He came to Oxford once and did his screening of his second feature film Enys Men, a really beautiful horror film starring Mary Woodvine. He’s really engaged in grassroots filmmaking – what’s exciting about his work in particular is that he shoots it all on film and then he cuts it himself, and he uses basically a Super 8 camera to shoot, and live mixes the sound. His soundtracks are really haunting, really eerie, and I think his framing is really striking; he sets his stuff on the coast, which is a massive setting for Breakwater as well. He has just shot a film called Rose of Nevada with George MacKay and Callum Turner about a ghost ship in Cornwall that I’m very excited about.

Cherwell: Can you tell us a bit about the post-production life of Breakwater? 

Morgan: Post-production took about 18 months. We were editing that film from Trinity of second year all the way through mine and Jemima’s third year, and finished in December 2024. That was a process of working with various editors who came on board, and each one shaped the film in a really fantastic way.  At the start, that was with some students, who were still involved throughout the process, and then at the end, with a professional post-production house called Box Clever. But the score is all composed by students, it’s being coloured by some students, sound edited by students, so there’s student involvement throughout the process. 

We always knew that we wanted to submit to this iconic British film festival, the largest independent film festival in the UK, called Raindance. That was our goal from before pre-production. Last month we were invited to have our world premiere at Raindance, which is incredibly exciting for us. We have five nominations, which is really exciting because our film, which is in the grand scheme of things really tiny, is competing against much bigger, high-budget productions. It’s such a cool celebration of independent, maverick filmmaking. We’re screening on the 23rd and 24th of June at Vue Piccadilly for our world premiere. There have been some really cool films that have been there over the years like Red Herring, Memento, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape,  Black Pond, which was produced by Sarah Brocklehurst and written by Will Sharpe, which was another big inspiration for us in making our film.
We’re hoping to use Raindance to make as much noise about Breakwater as we can, with the end goal of trying to get a limited theatrical run and some distribution at the end of the project. It’s been a delayed gratification of three years for all the work that the crew did in April and May of 2023. Jemima is also just doing her finals at the moment, which is crazy. We’ve watched the film pretty much every day for the last two years, but for some people who worked in it during production, they hadn’t really seen it until we did a little private screening a couple of months ago. It will be really nice for them to finally see the film how it was intended, after putting in a couple weeks of work ages and ages ago.

How to Say Goodbye to the Cities You’ve Loved

Ngoc Diep
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How to Say Goodbye to the Cities You’ve Loved

“Finally.” I sighed, zipping my suitcase shut. 

The streetlights of St Michael’s Hall cast long shadows through the window. My boxes were packed, and in less than 20 hours, this room would no longer be mine.

I lay on my bed, exhausted, thumbing through my camera roll, my favourite form of brain rot. The comforting sensation of lying on something soft overcame me, causing me to momentarily forget that I was leaving soon. Somehow, a series of photo albums popped up before my half-closed eyes: New Orleans, Sevilla, Athens, Vietnam. And now, Oxford, another city I love, another home that I cannot stay in.

Reflecting, my 18-year-old self would shout at me, “LIAR!”, if I ever time-travelled and told her I had at least five homes scattered around the world. That girl barely left Vietnam. But I did.

My first journey among cities began when I left Vietnam to attend university in the United States. My degree in Linguistics and Philosophy has opened up numerous opportunities in various countries worldwide, such as Spain, Greece, and England. I embraced them all and spent my semesters and summers in each new location, one after the next.

Halfway through my degree, after dozens of flights and long nights spent in airports, I have mastered the art of packing. I’ve learned to pack quickly. Not just clothes, but versions of myself.

Some people have a home. I’m lucky to have several, even if none have been mine for a long time.

I still remember the first Mardi Gras I experienced in New Orleans. My roommate lent me her shirt, and we used beads to decorate my dull suits. The night was filled with eating, dancing, and enjoying the parades, which exploded with wonderful jazz music and the festive cheers of visitors worldwide. That’s home.

On my last night in Sevilla, my host mum hugged me as if I’d lived with her my whole life. Her daughter, with whom I barely exchanged words, struggled to hand me my luggage, as if it were laden with memories. That’s home.

Athens, after dark. My friends and I climbed a hill, carrying cheap wine and snacks. The Acropolis lit the sky, and we exchanged visions about a future filled with possibilities, promises, and dreams. That’s home.

And, of course, Vietnam. My first home. The city where I know the stories of nearly every neighbour. The noisy motorbikes, the condensed milk in the coffee, and the cramped yet warm house filled with my beloved extended family. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s the only place that hasn’t changed, or if I’ve changed too much to enjoy what was once all I knew.

Soon, after the next term, Oxford will become another home that I’ll forever carry with me, but never return to. It always begins the same way: awkward hellos, missed buses, and wrong turns. Then there were the wrong groceries, the constant use of Google Translate, and the late-night calls crying to friends back home, trying to seek the comfort that I would not have from the faraway. Then, almost unnoticed, everything changes. One random morning, the café barista remembers my name and my favourite choice of medium matcha latte with whipped cream. I stop using Google Maps. Silence in a language ceases to feel like isolation and begins to feel like a form of peace. Slowly, a city transitions from being somewhere I visited to being somewhere I live. And then I leave.

I’ve stared out the aeroplane window on flights and wondered: Will it ever stop? Will I ever claim one place as my permanent home? And what about the homes I’ve made along the way?

Who am I?

The grinning dancer twirling barefoot at Mardi Gras in New Orleans. 

The study-abroad student speaking just enough Spanish to order Sangria at Las Setas in Sevilla.

The struggling filmmaker spending days climbing Mount Olympus for a beautiful shot.

The quiet girl crying on the last night in Oxford, walking Cornmarket Street with friends and takeaway chips. 

I gazed at my reflection on the phone, the screen black from inactivity. Who am I?

I chase the answers to those questions every night spent on a plane, every time I pack and repack my luggage. Now, I lie in bed in Oxford, still wondering. And maybe I don’t need an answer. I could be every girl, every version of my life, in every city I love; I could dispose of consistency, predictability. Every home of mine contributes to the significant, genuine, undivided me.

I’ve grown to love who I am now. I embrace all the journeys I’ve experienced in my late teens and early twenties because, without each of them, without their mistakes, confusions, and unique stories, I could never be me, the one I love the most. 

I got up from bed, slipping my phone into my pocket as my friends knocked. We were heading out for one final bar crawl, from Flambs to Wetherspoons, for one last night in a city that had, in just a few short months, become our home.

As I applied my lipstick, I studied my reflection in the mirror. I embraced the Oxford girl staring back at me before leaving her behind, adding her to the jar of selves I’ve gathered along the way. She was young, stubborn, and brave. I loved her. 

For those of us between borders, home is not fixed; it’s cumulative.

Each home lives within me, tucked between photos, phrases, and the selves I have packed along the way, reminding me who I genuinely am.

I’ve never said goodbye to the cities I have loved.

I leave pieces of myself behind, and take pieces of the cities with me.

I love them all.

Review: Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light – “A new sensation”

Hassan Akram
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Review: Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light – “A new sensation”

There is a new sensation at Christ Church Drama Society, and it is called Wolf Hall. Adapted from the novel trilogy by Hilary Mantel, the theatrical version of Wolf Hall makes for a marvellous performance, to which this Dramatic Society does more than justice.

The play is performed in the Chapter House at Christ Church, a cathedral-esque room which adjoins the cathedral and gives on to cloisters and a fountain. The setting is ideal for the dark, tragic, but sometimes funny costume drama set in the sixteenth century, a fictionalised biography of Thomas Cromwell which recounts his relationship with Henry VIII and the nefarious court politics underway around them.

Cromwell is played by Tom Allen, one of the best performers of the show, who gives a brilliant picture of a tortured genius. Allen’s bold, hard, sharply controlled features; his complete immersion in Cromwell’s mind and manner; his shrewdness, his dignity, his eloquence, are the marks of an actor of rare and great power. If Cromwell had been recruited by Christ Church Dramatic Society, he could not have made a better job of it.

Ben Groom is vibrant as Henry VIII, interpreting the monarch as a laddish brute, juxtaposed with his moments of tenderness. The scene in which he and Cromwell reminisce about their younger days riding carelessly though the autumn are performed with a sincerity which is difficult to balance with the jaunty tyrant of the rest of the play, but Groom manages it, and he is a pleasure to watch.

Cherwell’s own Billy Jeffs plays Rafe Sadler and, though he has regrettably few scenes and lines, his presence is always magnetic, and the quiet loyalty of the sixteenth-century ambassador is rendered with remarkable subtlety.

Rosie Agnew plays the Lady Rochford with the restraint of character and confidence of acting which is rare and masterful in any performance, let alone student theatre. It is a shame that she was not given a more substantial character with which to display her talents.

Oona Gibbons possesses a restrained power in her turn as the ill-starred Jane Seymour, but is also capable of unselfconscious humour, as can be seen in her exchanges with Harry Williams, who plays her brother Edward Seymour. Williams is a bright and revelatory performer who has not, to my knowledge, acted in student theatre before, but who seems to have found his calling.

Harriet Wellock acts very convincingly as Dorothea, the illegitimate daughter of Thomas Wolsey, but she would have benefitted from more stage time.

Milo Marsh plays Ambassador Chapuys, and such is his complete understanding of that character that the audience does not for a moment doubt that he is the sixteenth-century ambassador of the play. It is a rare talent which can embody a character so well.

Dorina Nencheva plays the fourth of Henry’s wives and does so with a restraint, subtlety, and complete unselfconsciousness in her acting which makes her portrayal excellent.

Cameron Spruce is the scheming, arrogant, contemptuous Wriothesley, who helps plot Cromwell’s downfall. His passionate jealousy makes the room ring, and when he loudly stresses the plosive in “Putney!”, as a mark of his contempt for Cromwell’s birthplace, it is one of the most impactful moments of the play.

Charlie White plays the Duke of Norfolk, a character who has always confused me, because there seemed to be about forty Dukes of Norfolk in the A Level Tudors textbook. There is nothing confusing about White’s performance: it is bold and fantastic; Norfolk’s crudeness and his jealousy against Cromwell are superbly done.

Another of the best performers of the evening is Georgie Cotes, who acts as the future Bloody Mary. She only occupies a handful of scenes and is missing from the second half of the play. But her vivid, ruthless passion, the hard glint of her eye and subtle changes of expression as she performs, the frightening ring of her shouts as she loses her temper – all betoken a truly great performer.

Directors Harriet Wellock and Catherine Williams-Boyle, as well as producers Billy Jeffs and Felix Kerrison-Adams, have done a fantastic job with this production. Anyone who enjoys good theatre should watch it.

‘A constant negative spiral’: Students on Britain’s economic future

Subhan Aslam
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‘A constant negative spiral’: Students on Britain’s economic future

With the UK facing stubborn inflation, stagnant wages, and rent hikes, the country faces pressing questions about its economic direction. We brought together four undergrads for a roundtable discussion. They came from different subjects and different political perspectives, but shared similar frustrations about the economic outlook, the sustainability of pensions, and the strain on public services. They argued over the triple lock on state pensions, debated how to fund the NHS, and considered whether Britain should rejoin the European Union. Despite small points of optimism, the group agreed on one thing: politics as usual is not working, and no party seems ready to change that anytime soon.

If you had to describe how you feel about the direction of the UK right now in one word what would it be?

Michal: Dire

Yassin: Overstretched

Charlie: Apathy

Catherine: Nostalgia

Nostalgia?

Catherine: Not a good sense of nostalgia. When I say nostalgia, I mean a lot of the sort of populist right has this nostalgic rose-tinted view of the past, which seems to be colouring a lot of present politics.

You’re all very negative in your words, care to expand?

Michal: Well the budget is not looking particularly good. Just for some brief background, Labour has been banging on about the £22 billion fiscal black hole that we’ve had since the Conservatives lost the election. And in order to try and mitigate this, they have tried raising taxes to raise about £40 billion, and this is all underpinned by the context of huge inflation, which cumulative from 2019 till April 2025 was 28% which to put in perspective is the equivalent of 14 years of inflation. So it’s not looking good.

Yassin: Since 2008, the average real wage growth in this country has been 1%. That is less than half of the baseline rate from 1997 to 2010 and it’s even lower than under the Thatcher years. And so we’re looking at stagnation at the same time we also have insane structural pressures. Currently 55% of the social welfare budget goes to pensioners. We are spending £145 billion on the state pension, which is triple locked, so it will increase. So you’re telling me, in a situation like that, every pensioner who may own a house, who has enjoyed generational wealth, often enjoy tax-free benefits. They have guaranteed state income, whereas people who are working have more and more precarious working conditions. And on top of that, you have surging property prices and rents. So it’s a very gloomy economic situation. So I would say pretty overstretched and that’s before the defence budget has to increase.

Charlie:  I say apathy, because you have all of these problems, this sort of general sense that the economy is not going anywhere. It’s literally just a constant negative spiral. And neither party seems to be willing to, like, take a look at the bigger picture. Everyone’s chasing, like, 1% growth in the next year. What good’s that actually going to do anyone in the long run? It’s like they’re rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic as it’s going down.

So we’re all fairly gloomy about the future but now I want to try and push on the specifics of what we’re doing wrong and what we should be doing instead. We’ll start with something you mentioned. The triple-lock on pensions, keep or scrap?

Michal: Scrap

Yassin: Scrap

Charlie: Scrap

Catherine: Scrap

Yassin: First of all, we have to understand the triple lock only came in in 2010 and the UK debt-to-GDP ratio in 2010 because of the recession and the bank crisis, obviously went from around 60% to around 80% but then it was on a decreasing trend. And then we started immediately having austerity. But the triple lock, crucially, was the only part that was spared from austerity. And so you have this concentration of wealth, which is unfair because you’re taxing working people to basically subsidise people who are benefiting from rising state pensions, and it’s unsustainable. Why should I be paying taxes that are if you earn £100,000, 45 plus percent, when some geezer who has a million pounds in wealth is entitled to £11,000 per year, as I get basically no real income wage, and I’m the one suffering in the private rental market. He owns the house which he bought because the government built it cheaply. I don’t think it’s generationally fair. I don’t think it’s sustainably fair. 

Charlie: I absolutely agree that it’s completely unsustainable. And I mean, we know that as a broad sort of growth perspective, the wealth being concentrated in the hands of people with pensions is generating less economic activity. If it’s in the hands of young people, they’re going to spend it and put it back into the economy, whereas if it’s just sat there in someone’s pension fund, then it’s less likely to be providing further economic stimulus.

Charlie: What’s so frustrating about it is, we can all sit here, and all of us know it’s not working, but do any of us actually think that the Labour Party are going to axe the triple lock any time soon? And it’s so evident that we’re just headed for disaster, or things are just going to get worse, and yet no one is willing to actually change it. Because it’s just like political suicide, like everyone is chasing that voter block because they actually turn out. And it’s just like, we all know that they’re not going to change.

Next big issue, do we want to increase NHS funding?

Charlie: Yes, but you need to do so in an efficient manner. You don’t just go in the black hole of NHS management. More investment is needed, but there also needs to be a serious rethink of exactly how we’re spending it to get the best results for the population. 

Yassin: I’m lucky enough to have avoided having to stay in hospital. But the last time I went to A&E about a decade ago I waited 12 hours to be seen. And I’m judging by the responses around the room that things probably haven’t gotten that much better in the past ten years. So I think the issue with the NHS is threefold. Number one, capacity. Beds are being taken up by people who are recovered but need social care. They can’t go somewhere alone, but there is no one there, and so the safest place to keep them is in the hospital bed. So actually, the NHS crisis isn’t even about healthcare necessarily. It’s actually about social care. And I think, you know, we should be forcing people in social care who can afford to fund it themselves. Because I think it’s absurd again, for lower-income or middle-income people to be paying taxes at the highest rate since 1945, more or less to support a class of people who are comparatively speaking, rich. They can sell their assets and finance it, they just don’t want to. So we pay for it, and then they die, and then they get to pass that on as an inheritance. But number two, the NHS crisis also can be fundamentally pinned down to poor planning. So if I look at UK population growth, the UK population around 2000 was 56, 58 million people. Today it’s about to become 70 million. Almost all of that growth is from immigration. Immigration itself is fine. I mean, if it can be planned, skilled workers. I don’t mind. I myself, I’m an immigrant from the Netherlands. But if you look at the stats, most immigrants cluster in specific areas, so some areas are worse off in terms of pressure on social services, on infrastructure, than others. The NHS just hasn’t planned properly for this in terms of where it should be building hospitals. And finally the third thing is political control. I think the reason I’m waiting for 12 hours is probably because it is controlled by politicians. Most countries in Europe or even in Canada, which is the closest we have in terms of a counterpart to the NHS model, have a much greater acceptance of private healthcare. And I don’t necessarily want to support private healthcare insurance, but if you look at the planning system, it makes sense. Most governments would subsidise it for poor people. Those who are middle class and higher income would have it anyway, because they already do with Bupa. So if you’re looking at a sustainable model, the NHS either needs to move to a totally independent funding body and management.

Do you think there’s a risk at all that if people become reliant on private healthcare they’ll be less willing to fund the NHS?

Michal: No, not at all. I think British people are proud of the NHS.

Catherine: You already have a large portion of people spending on private education. That doesn’t mean that people complain about taxes to fund state schools, right? There’s still an element of public common good.

Charlie: A lot of these discussions are happening with a background of pensions, but also Brexit. If we’re being honest, Britain just would be better off back inside the Common Market.

Does everyone agree with that?

Michal: Leaving the European Union has been a detrimental failure of the British government.

Yassin: Brexit. Yeah. There’s a lot of things. I mean, the first thing that comes to mind is, I remember watching Nigel Farage with his little van, like the picture of the Syrian refugees saying they’re coming here. Remember that? You had before Brexit, 200,000 mainly European Union nationals coming in. Now you have 500,000 people vastly from non-white countries. So like, I guess I say this to Nigel, you know, it didn’t really work out in the end.

Across the country, there’s a lot of things that need fixing, right? How do we pay for this? 

Michal: I think the British government needs to rethink what they spend money on and how. We’ve mentioned several things during the time of this discussion. We’ve mentioned the NHS, we’ve mentioned the triple lock system, we mentioned the military and a lot of these things do have private solutions. I’m not saying we should throw the private sector at all of our problems, but there definitely is a conversation to be had about how we can integrate the British private sector in funding the public sector. 

Charlie: I would definitely agree that we need to rethink how we’re spending money. Pensions is a big one we’ve talked about and who exactly is getting state benefits, how we’re redistributing wealth to which parts of the population. And this may be unpopular, but looking at taxes I think people need to seriously consider that compared to how it was in previous decades, a much higher proportion of our tax incomes come from lower income groups than higher income groups. This needs to be addressed whether that’s in the form of inheritance tax, or like a one-off wealth tax, we do need to rethink our taxes.

What do others think about a wealth tax?

Charlie: I know there are logistical problems but a 1% wealth tax rate could raise billions. Whilst it wouldn’t be exactly popular if we’re looking for a solution to not having enough money it’s certainly an option.

Michal: Just to address some of the logistical problems and administrative problems that you mentioned with the wealth tax, we have to remember that wealth is in one spot. It can’t go away. People say, ‘Oh, well, we’ll get a load of capital flight. We’ll lose all this money. All these billionaires will start leaving.’ Sure, but it’s not like they’re going to sell £5 billion worth of real estate in London because we tax them 1%. That’s not going to happen.

Yassin: I disagree with both of you on this one. Norway is a good example. Do you know the biggest category of net migrant flow out of Norway? Billionaires. So tax revenue actually went down because yeah, you can tax my house that’s still in Oslo, fair enough, but my income can’t be taxed if I’m not a resident. I think the best way to achieve growth is not wealth taxes. It’s really very simple. Get to the European Union. It makes sense to boost our economic growth with existing tax rates. Because of high economic growth, we get more revenue. More importantly, we’ll get the skilled labor that we need from the European Union that right now is cut out. And more importantly it gives businesses confidence to invest. Why would I invest in the car industry in Sunderland? It’s not because people in Sunderland are big Toyota fans, it’ll be because Britain can sell to all of Europe. I think that’s a much more sustainable solution than a wealth tax.

Just to finish off the discussion, if you could introduce one economic policy tomorrow what would it be?

Charlie: Rejoin the EU.

Yassin: Get rid of the 1947 town Planning Act, centralise it, and build some goddamn houses.

Michal: Make legal commitments for business-affecting policies. Business doesn’t believe in the UK, because we have poor governance, we have poor planning structure, and we are one of the least productive countries in the G20 this needs to be addressed. And having a little bit of stability for businesses to rely on is something that I think would benefit the economy greatly.

Stanley Smith also contributed reporting

What can office workers learn from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty?

Saskia Maini
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What can office workers learn from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty?

The character Walter Mitty was first brought to life in James Thurber’s short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, published in a 1939 issue of The New Yorker. At its essence lies the eponymous figure: a man stuck in routine, escaping into vivid daydreams to find meaning beyond his mundane daily life. The short story resonated strongly with readers, resulting in the 1947 film adaptation (though this version strays far from the original). Over time, it even led to the addition of the word ‘Mitty-esque’ to vernacular American speak in economic, artistic, and literary circles, denoting a person who indulges in escapist daydreams and fantasies. 

Most recently, the story was reproduced in the 2013 film of the same title, directed by and starring Ben Stiller. This is the version which most captured my attention and remains one of my favourite films. I believe it can offer some meaningful takeaways for us all. 

Meet our protagonist: Walter Mitty. He’s a mild-mannered New York office worker, whose humdrum, grey life is defined by routine and restraint. Employed as a negative assets manager at Life magazine, Mitty’s days are uninspiring and predictable. In a half-hearted search for love, he signs up to eHarmony. But when customer service worker Todd Mahar rings him – trying to finish setting up Mitty’s profile – he meets a dead end. Walter Mitty’s profile is just… boring. He has nothing notable to say. Nothing, that is, except for his elaborate daydreams. 

This comes with no lack of irony: the magazine Mitty works for (Life) champions adventure and discovery. Yet it appears to be the very thing which limits his life. Based on the real-life Life magazine which has the motto “To see life; to see the world”, the fictional version of the magazine elevates this ideal one step further. Multiple times throughout the film, we are reminded of the adapted version of the magazine’s inspirational motto:

“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”

And yet Mitty – despite working under these very words – appears to be living in total opposition to this philosophy. 

But one day, everything changes when one of his negative assets goes missing: negative #25. It’s an important image taken by the magazine’s elusive photographer, Sean O’Connell. It’s due to be on the front cover of the final issue of Life magazine; the photographer believes it captures the “quintessence of life”. Without the negative, Mitty risks losing his job under the watchful eye of his arrogant, corporate-minded manager, Ted Hendricks, a walking caricature of soulless capitalism. 

Determined to locate the lost negative and track down the aloof O’Connell, Mitty undergoes some extraordinary adventures. He leaps into ice-cold shark-infested waters, hikes through the snow-laced peaks of the Afghan Himalayas, and skateboards through the expansive Icelandic countryside. With every stage of his journey, Mitty seems to develop the very ethos his magazine heralds. Through new adventure, risk, and true human connection, the viewer believes that maybe Mitty is discovering what O’Connell saw through his lens: the quintessence of life. 

In this article I’d like to examine three questions which I believe the average office worker (or hard-working Oxford student) should take from this film to consider. 

First: Does our productivity-focused society turn being ‘Mitty-esque’ into something negative when, in fact, it isn’t negative at all? 

We often hear people described as having their ‘head in the clouds’ or being ‘away with the fairies’. These phrases usually carry a note of subtle condescension. They imply someone is not grounded in ‘real life’ and that is frowned upon. But is this not precisely what creativity demands? Does it not require thinking beyond the confines of reality and entering a more imaginative space, be it the clouds of a magical parallel world? In The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Mitty is mocked for this very tendency. His boss, Ted Hendricks, cruelly mocks Mitty for zoning out, referring to Mitty as ‘Major Tom’ during one of his escapist episodes, to earn a cheap laugh amongst his colleagues. Hendricks even reprimands Mitty for this daydreaming. Presumably, Hendricks views it as straying away from productivity: a threat to profit-making and a distraction from maximising shareholder gains. But this raises a serious question: are such productivity-focused sentiments quashing essential creativity and individuality in creative environments like a magazine office? In a world increasingly pervaded by AI and large language models, we risk forgetting the value of true human creativity altogether. Whilst we have arguably not reached this extreme just yet, in my view we are certainly at risk of doing so. Perhaps this film could be seen as an early meditation of this: modern invention and uniformity demanded by a work culture obsessed with output could be harmful. 

Second: What can we learn from Walter Mitty as a figure in times of hardship? 

Thurber’s original short story was published in 1939, in the wake of the 1929 Wall Street Crash and the economic hardship and uncertainty of the Great Depression. Taken in this context, perhaps the original Mitty’s daydreaming could be interpreted as escapism from this harsh reality. It is understandable to retreat to an imaginary refuge from a harsh reality. 

And can we not all relate to this to some degree? Could we not all sometimes do with a little escapism? In our world today – in which cost of living crises are rife, mental health issues are more abundant than ever, and the pace of life seems to be spinning out of control – perhaps we could all do with a little distraction. We could all enjoy being taken out of our reality for a while. Escapism is not necessarily avoidance, but more akin to self-care. Picking up a novel, watching a film or listening to some music allow for a pause on reality. Engaging in creative outlets is the timeless method of escapism in which we can all indulge to alleviate the pressures that come with our own realities.

Finally: Can life only be fulfilled by undergoing remarkable adventures or is there another way to realize life’s purpose? 

Towards the end of the film, Mitty eventually traces the missing negative. The image is, to our surprise, of Walter Mitty himself. It is a photo of him sitting in his usual work clothes, outside the office, carefully studying a negative. Sean O’Connell could have chosen any of many photos; we see him travelling around the globe to capture photographs of erupting volcanoes and rare snow leopards. And yet O’Connell pronounces that this picture captures the “quintessence of life”. 

O’Connell justifies this by saying that it is the people who are the quintessence of life. While he is, of course, referring to the Life magazine, in my view this should also be taken in a broader sense. The message relates to life itself. While grand adventures and far away travels can undoubtedly enrich us, they are not necessarily what constitute life’s meaning. Sometimes, perhaps it is the quiet moments that are the most significant. 

To my mind, this is the film’s most enduring lesson. Fulfilment does not always require faraway journeys or cinematic heroic acts. Mostly, we can find it in the small things. After all, life is made up of an amalgamation of our todays.  

Former EiCs criticise OxStu independence decision

Laurence Cooke and Noah Robson
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Former EiCs criticise OxStu independence decision

Oxford Student Union’s (SU) announcement that The Oxford Student will begin the process of becoming an independent publication has prompted criticism from multiple former Editors-in-Chief of the paper.

Currently, the newspaper is owned by the Oxford SU. A memorandum of understanding is in place with the organisation which guarantees its editorial independence. However, a Cherwell investigation earlier this year found that this editorial independence had been suppressed on at least one occasion.

In a statement on Instagram, Oxford SU said it “recognises the important role that student journalism plays in holding institutions to account and keeping the student body informed”. The statement continued: “It is with this in mind, that following a period of extensive consultation with our Board … we have taken the decision to support The Oxford Student to transition to become an independent publication.”

One former EiC of OxStu told Cherwell that they were “extremely disappointed by the recent announcement” and that this would “doom a paper that [I] and many other students since 1991 have helped develop alongside the SU to certain financial failure and a significant weakening of its output.

“This decision has been framed to make it seem that The Oxford Student will benefit from being ‘editorially independent’. However, The Oxford Student is already editorially independent; the only impact of this decision will be an almost certain loss of its print edition, which is at the heart of the newspaper’s very identity, as well as the resources it needs to carry out hard-hitting journalism.”

Two further former EiCs expressed their anger at the decision. One called on the SU to “reverse this ill-founded decision and put the effort in to support student journalism”. 

The same editor told Cherwell that “this is a dark day for freedom of the press and student journalism nationwide. The SU is undermining a newspaper that holds it accountable because it published stories over the last two years that did what good journalism is actually supposed to do – speak truth to power.”

Set up in 1991, The OxStu is run and funded through Oxford Student Services Limited, the commercial arm of Oxford SU.

On the process of the paper becoming independent, the statement said: “The SU will work closely alongside the Editors in Chief to ensure a responsible and smooth transition process.”

The transition will not be immediate, with the SU set to “continue providing financial support … for the first year to aid their establishment as an independent publication”. 

The current editors of The Oxford Student, in a statement for their own article reporting on the subject, said that they were “excited to take on the challenge of independent reporting” and to train student journalists. 

The editors-in-chief of OxStu for Michaelmas 2025 told Cherwell: “We are very excited to work with each other to help The Oxford Student thrive as an independent newspaper. 

“We will do our very best to make sure that the paper continues to uphold high journalistic standards and that it sticks to the editorial values it has always emphasised.”

In the 34 years since its foundation, one OxStu highlight was winning The Guardian’s newspaper of the year in 2001. The latter paper reported on the awards with the headline ‘Cherwell rival wins best student paper’. The outlet has also interviewed several former prime ministers, including Tony Blair and Boris Johnson. 

Through this change, The Oxford Student becomes one of very few student print newspapers in the UK to be independent of a student union. Others include Cherwell, Varsity at Cambridge, and Edinburgh’s The Student. These papers are usually reliant on advertising, subscriptions, and alumni donations to make ends meet. 

From classic to controversial: Religious imagery’s bold evolution

Isheta Ahmed
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From classic to controversial: Religious imagery’s bold evolution

Religious imagery has evolved – from an appreciation of spirituality to a damning critique of religion’s role in society. Significant contributions have been made by artistic eras of religious imagery, including the Medieval and Baroque to modern twists. Yet, does this evolution suggest a pivot from ascribing importance to religion to a slow denigration of its past ideals? 

As just one aspect of ‘visual culture,’ religious imagery has played an instrumental and influential role on society over time. Religious sentiments have long been communicated through cultures in the form of artistic Imagery, denoting the historical era and geographic location of a time period. What this imagery communicates can cultivate the environment it inhabits, influence contemporary beliefs and structure people’s identities.

When recalling early Medieval works, the heritage of iconography from the early Christian church is noticeable. This era underscores distinct craftsmanship and innovative stylistic choices representing Christian symbolism in art across Europe. The iconic image of Duccio’s Madonna and Child (13th – 14th century) is an evocative picture of devotion and intimacy between Mary and the Christ Child. Unlike typical Byzantine iconography, Duccio’s attention to objects such as the parapet, the careful expression of the Virgin and the childlike manner of Christ reveals a palpable closeness. This is a touching incision that lets the viewer into their sacred relationship. 

To the spiritually enticed, the features of Byzantine influence, seen in the oval shape of the Virgin’s face, embody the divine and sacred in art. Religious icons were carried by the spread of Christianity from the empire. The spiritual adherence to icons could no doubt be credited to their aesthetic style, symbolic Imagery and rich colours. As the time period shifted into a storm of iconoclasm, the sacred continued to be appreciated, but with an emotional depth that mirrored or perhaps exceeded the Virgin’s hopeless expression. 

The period of Iconoclasm (regarding the destruction or removal of icons in images) saw a mass censoring of religious art, as the Renaissance period took shape. Just after da Vinci’s mural, The Last Supper (1495-1498), was produced, Iconoclasm emerged from German and Swiss territories in 1521. In his book Reformation and the Visual Arts: The Protestant Image Question in Western and Eastern Europe, Sergiusz describes people performing ritual acts of destroying images to preserve their old faith. Whilst the realism of da Vinci’s renowned work resonated with so many, hostility to religious imagery surged in parts of Europe and beyond.

Regardless of the measure of erasure, there was a ‘gulf’ between the Christians who developed polarising relationships with religious imagery after the Medieval period. By refining perspective, spatial acuteness and anatomical accuracy, da Vinci nonetheless conveyed an intricate emotional landscape. It sprung forth to mind a fear-struck devotion, with a classic hint of betrayal. This type of religious imagery was engaged in daily admiration, much to the dismay of some religious groups.   

By the turn of the 17th century, Baroque artists carved the scene with drama, following the High Renaissance. Caravaggio’s Beheading of Saint John the Baptist (1608) and Rubens’ Descent from the Cross (1614) engage with striking scale, darkness, emotive despair and dramatic movement. 

The two masterpieces, alongside Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son (1661-1669), craft light and shadows to move the viewer into a pensive state of piety. Biblical parables, often involving a harrowing theme, unfold like a dark dream to the audience. Brushstrokes full of depth penetrate the emotional surface, making it readily discernible from the pure flatness of Medieval religious art. 

Bold colours and interesting contrast flirt with an idealistic and venerated image of Christ, which aligned with contemporary Catholic sentiments. The Counter-Reformation period saw the portrayal of Christ in art evolve from simpler depictions to a complex and affected Saviour.  At the same time, Ruben transforms the Image of the Virgin, traditionally bowed head and subtle expressions, into an active and supportive figure in the descent of Christ from the Cross. This change in imagery, reflected by a changing audience, illuminated different aspects of Mary’s role in the life of Christ, and was finally being appreciated in art form. 

Oxford is also home to many religious artworks. Keble College holds William Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World (1853). Inspired by the Renaissance, this pre-Raphaelite painting has toured the world and is known to be one of the most viewed art pieces of the 20th century. The works of Rubens, da Vinci and Veronese also feature in the Picture Gallery at Christ Church. The Ashmolean has a beautiful collection of religious pieces, such as Fra Angelico’s Virgin and Child with Saints (1390/95-1455), exhibiting a Renaissance presentation of the Virgin that contrasts with the Baroque depiction.  

However, the image of religious figures like Christ has not always been depicted conventionally. Andres Serranos’ Piss Christ (1987) plays with perspective as the viewer is challenged to, overlooking its material, accept an aesthetically beautiful picture of Christ. In modern times, AI-generated icons similarly reproduce religious images instead of the standard canvas, questioning the perception of religious icons, beliefs and ideas through new-wave mediums. 

This symbolic unfiltered likeness of Christ can barely be said to critique religion’s role in society. Serrano claimed that he was not aware Piss Christ would “blow up” the way it did, admitting he has been “a Catholic all my life.” Despite the national controversy, the artist refutes having any intention to stir trouble implying that his role as an artist merely yields different creative results as a follower of Christ.

In an increasingly secular world, conveying religious meaning traditionally is regarded as an archaic echo of the past. To emulate Medieval, Renaissance, or Baroque religious zeal would be considered unfitting to today’s religious environment. This solemn focus on religious archetypes and symbolism competes with a modern visual culture that embraces a multicolour of faiths, including the growth of non-religious art. 

Blending human curiosity with the unknowable Divine, this bold evolution has seen the survival of religious imagery in unusual forms, from generative AI tools to abhorrent photography practices. As time progresses, devoted outlooks to religious imagery clash captivatingly with the obscene and mundane. All this only provokes the question: how far down the creative rabbit hole can we go before religious imagery ceases to adhere to any religious ideals at all?

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