Thursday, May 15, 2025
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“Queering Spires”: Museum’s appeal for queer history exhibition

Freya Marshall Payne
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“Queering Spires”: Museum’s appeal for queer history exhibition

The curators of an upcoming exhibition celebrating Oxford’s everyday queer history are appealing for local people to loan memorabilia.

“Queering Spires” is a collaboration between the Museum of Oxford, Oxford Pride, Tales of Our City and members of the community to tell the “hidden history” of Oxford’s LGBTQIA+ communities.

To highlight local queer history, the curators are focusing on memories and gathering an eclectic range of objects which evoke them – ranging from memorabilia of gay bars and community centres to activist fliers, from boxes of photos to objects with deeply personal, hidden meanings such as a champagne cork from a civil partnership.

Councillor Mary Clarkson, Cabinet Member for Culture and City Centre, said: “People know about the big moments in queer history, like Stonewall and Section 28, but this exhibition is about what life was like for people in Oxford – the spaces, the events, just daily life. 

“The best way to tell this story is through the memories of those who were living here, which is why the Museum of Oxford is calling for people to loan items to the exhibition.”

There are also valuable ways to take part in the initiative for those who do not have objects to loan. Zayna Ratty, Chair of Oxford Pride, told Cherwell she encourages University of Oxford students to support the exhibition “through visiting and engaging with the exhibits, opening dialogues and having conversations about queer life in Oxfordshire”.

She added: “[There has been] historical exclusion and phobia experienced by some members of the LGBTQIA+ acronym. Pivotal people in LGBTQIA+ history have come from marginalised groups and should be remembered for the vital advances made for all of us.

“Oxford Pride with our theme of DiverseCity 2020 hopes to explore and platform these marginalised groups engaging with our community. To be able to better look forward and face the hurdles ahead, it’s vitally important that we have an awareness of where we come from.

Oxford’s LGBTQ+ Society told Cherwell: “This sounds like a wonderful initiative and a great example of grassroots community-building and refining of Oxford’s collective memory. We hope that this project foregrounds the previously unheard stories of the LGBTQ+ communities who have come before us and made their own unique mark here, which we are privileged to discover through this exhibition.” 

“Queering Spires” is part of Oxford Museum’s National Lottery Fund-supported “Oxford Revisited” project to highlight LGBTQIA+ experiences through community exhibitions and a programme of workshops.

The exhibition will be on display from September 2019 until Christmas 2019 in the museum’s Micro-Museum space in Oxford Town Hall. Subsequently, “Queering Spires” will be installed as a permanent exhibition when the Museum’s ongoing £3.2m redevelopment concludes in 2020.

The Museum advises people interested in loaning objects should contact the Community Engagement and Exhibitions Officer at [email protected].

Animals (2019) review

Colette Webber
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Animals (2019) review

Sophie Hyde’s latest film Animals, adapted from Emma Jane Unsworth’s 2015 novel, is a welcome antidote to the friendships of fun, feminist, Glossier-buying millennial women that are only really found on screen. These are the elusive women you’ve heard about- the ones who are out all the time, manage a successful creative career from the tables of various minimal coffee shops, never miss a brunch, and simultaneously keep their equally efficient partners satisfied. Hyde’s film is far more interested in the messy parts we are too ashamed to share.

Animals examines the tender (and often completely raw) aspects of an obsessive friendship between wannabe writer Laura (Holliday Grainger) and sardonic Tyler (Alia Shawkat) as we follow their escapades across Dublin. The first few scenes signpost the gleeful hedonism of their lives. Early on, we glimpse Laura tied to her bed with her own underwear, while Tyler wears only a fur coat and sunglasses. Their boozy haven rapidly darkens when Laura, fuelled by an anxious awareness that her next milestone birthday is 40, begins a serious relationship with the equally serious Jim (Fra Fee), a curly-headed pianist with brooding expressions to match. As Tyler begins to feel her position as partner in crime displaced by Laura’s engagement, both women are forced to question whether living so relentlessly in the present is still possible as they notice their 20-year-old identities shifting beneath their feet.

Unsworth’s script captures the mental tug of war between wanting to do something different when the expected next step is represented by the deathly ‘non-sound of the suburbs’ and not feeling guilty for wanting to settle down into the enjoyment of married life. In this way, the emotional lives of the protagonists feel authentic. It is often brutally close to the bone too. Hyde manages to nail the strained atmosphere of one particularly pretentious event with razor-sharp accuracy, from the ambient sounds of The Japanese House playing out, to the meticulously chosen geometric jewellery bedecking bemused faces. The film is helped along by its leads’ witty, potent dialogue which elicited proper laughter, despite on other occasions feeling somewhat forced. Laura’s exclamation: ‘my feminism is about blazing the way through old traditions” serves as one particularly jarring example.

Although it is packed with enjoyable moments, the storyline often feels as aimless as the protagonists. For example, I get the feeling that if you stole an almost full jar of MDMA, you’d be in for a wee confrontation with a disgruntled Dublin dealer at some point (as well as a hefty comedown or two). Of course, in Laura and Tyler’s fantasy world, a figure like this never materialises, and neither do consequences usually. This is kind of the point, but it is still tiresome.  In order to work, Animals requires a hefty helping of poetic licence then, which we also see in Laura’s unexplained ability to live in a gorgeous Georgian townhouse and drink a week’s wages in a single evening while working only a handful of shifts as a barista.

Similarly, after Laura leaves a party at 11 in the morning to attend her fiancé’s event, still not walking quite straight, it only takes her a quick swipe of concealer and little tousle of her shiny locks to look pretty fierce. Maybe it’s just me, but my face after a big night out is not redeemable with just five minutes in the bathroom. As refreshing as it is to see imperfect and frankly unlikeable women on screen, it would have been good to see a more believable hangover. Could we not have been given some pallid skin, bloodshot eyes or greasy hair? It is a very pretty film to watch, but Animals missed a trick by not throwing in a bit more ugliness.

Even so, it can’t be a bad thing that I left the cinema with a desire to read Unsworth’s original vision of fractured female friendship- it has kept me wondering whether the animals in her novel have a bit more bite to their bark.

Lost in Vienna: Reencountering ‘The Third Man’

David Alexander
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Lost in Vienna: Reencountering ‘The Third Man’

I know it’s not cool to like black and white films. OK, so it might be edgy to like Bergman, or better Truffaut, Godard or Fellini, maybe even better still Chaplin or Keaton in a counter-intuitive way. But, generally, black and white movies tend to be scoffed at by far too many.

I can concede some things worthy of criticism. Obviously painted backdrops revealing cramped studio production, for instance. Cut-glass ‘this is the BBC’ accents, or their equally theatrical American equivalents, too. Maybe most of all, a Hays Code enforced lack of the sex, violence and swearing that characterises the real world, and indeed characterised it then, despite the moralising attempts of distribution legislation.

Yet I love many of these films. Limited technologies and petty content restrictions couldn’t stop the flurry of geniuses working in film in this period from exploring timeless human themes and questions, constructing sympathetic relationships or creating genuine tension, and nor should they deter the modern viewer.

If there’s a film that makes my case better and with infinitely more creativity, style and substance than I ever could, it is surely Carol Reed’s 1949 The Third Man, which is fast approaching its 70th birthday. Coming from a story by Graham Greene, the film sees an American writer, Joseph Cotten as Holly Martins, visit Vienna after the end of the Second World War, intending to meet an old friend, the mysterious Harry Lime, only to hear of his recent death on arrival. “I was going to stay with Harry Lime on Thursday, but he died.”, Martins tells a neighbouring hotel guest. “Goodness, how awkward.”, comes the reply.

Unsatisfied with contradictory accounts of his friend’s demise, the writer begins an expedition into Vienna’s criminal underbelly, where he encounters all manner of dangerous European eccentrics, a police chief who’s very English indeed (he is played by Trevor Howard, after all), and Lime’s strong-willed but broken-hearted lover. Played by Alida Valli, she spends most of the film talking about Harry Lime, rather than growing into a fully developed character in her own right, but then this is true of almost everyone in the film.

Lime is the central, spectral force that both anchors the film and gnaws away at its veneer of surface realism until finally, spectacularly, Orson Welles appears illuminated in a city square doorway that barely contains him, just as the film appears to stretch to accommodate his sadistic, majestic charisma.

Yes, in perhaps the worst kept secret in movies- beating the identity of Luke Skywalker’s father in longevity- Harry Lime is in fact very much alive, and bending morality towards dollar signs in a world that admittedly feels gone mad. See, Lime is a racketeer; a gangster without the tommy gun. Talking on a Ferris wheel, Lime justifies his stealing of penicillin bound for the children’s hospital by peering down at children in the fairground far below and asking: “Would you feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?” He elaborates:

“If I offered you £20,000 for every dot that stopped – would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money? Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare? Free of income tax, old man……free of income tax. It’s the only way to save money nowadays.”

Welcome to the new world, is the message.

Deep within Vienna, behind the frosty love that we periodically see glimpses of between Howard and Valli, and well below the earnest but hopeless attempts of ‘cultural re-education’ to find beauty among the rubble (“last week we looked at Hamlet, the week before….a striptease I think”), lies the dark heart of the post-war European outlook. We don’t need f-bombs or head shots to understand the nihilism of this cinematic vision.

So that’s one black and white movie quibble swept aside, but what of the others? Well the acting is terrific; each of the central four actors capable of being believably earnest, disingenuous, sympathetic, unsympathetic, brutal and flirty, sometimes all at the same time. The cut-glass is there in places, predictably, but you won’t notice after only a little while, promise.

Perhaps the most obvious victim of this startlingly modern (as well as plainly modernist) film is the studio backdrop- tossed aside in favour of the monochrome operatics generated in actual post-war Vienna, as long shadows glide and grow over and between the fine buildings and juxtaposing, omnipresent rubble.

If you see just one black and white film, then, at least consider The Third Man. Citizen Kane and Casablanca seem carved into the memorial bedrock of modern culture, destined never to be forgotten. The Third Man’s future maybe isn’t as certain, but deserves to be.

Vita and Virginia (2019)- Review

Olya Makarova
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Vita and Virginia (2019)- Review

I went into Vita and Virginia with a great deal of trepidation after eyeing the IMDb rating, and it was not without cause. When a film has a trailer with no obvious defects and is yet rated under 6/10, you’re just sitting there in the theatre, waiting for the ball to drop. This comes early on in the film – in fact, with Vita and Virginia’s first meeting. Vita (Gemma Arterton) enters a party and sees Virginia (Elizabeth Debicki) dressed as Shakespeare, doing a strange sort of swaying solo dance akin to Luna Lovegood on Xanax. The visual and auditory cues intend for the audience to empathize with Vita’s wonderment at both Virginia and the general decadence of the Bloomsbury set, and yet it comes off as satire.

The film tonally misses the mark for a number of reasons. Scored by Isobel Waller-Bridge, the film’s music aims for an ambient tone, but ends up closer to an HSBC advertisement. This effect is heightened by the over-polished visuals, which tend to cliche. I mean, did we really need shots of Woolf smoking at the typewriter spliced in every ten minutes, lest we forget she’s a writer?

That notwithstanding, there are some spectacularly constructed scenes in the film, especially the shots of Kew Gardens; director Chanya Button draws visual parallels with Baz Luhrmann’s Great Gatsby. But Gatsby works because it doesn’t claim to be anything other than a fun romp, while Button’s vision lacks that clarity.

Part of the problem is the source material. The film is based of Eileen Atkins’ 1992 play of the same name, which likewise lacked direction. In a 1994 review for the New York Times, critic David Richards writes that Atkins has “cut and arranged” the letters of Woolf and Sackville-West, “but she has been unable to find an organizing principle for the script other than time.” The films’ aimlessness is even worst, spending far too much time on half-blurred scenes of Debicki and Arterton reading letters and making little effort to construct an overarching narrative. This play at realism might have worked with more subtle aesthetic choices, but ultimately just makes the film feel like a muddle. In fairness, Vita and Virginia’s real-life affair was quite obviously a muddle, as we are continuously reminded in the film, but – crucially – this means it doesn’t make for good art in its raw form.

At the end of the film there is a slide telling the viewer that Orlando, Woolf’s 1929 novel inspired by Vita Sackville-West, sold more than any other of Woolf’s books. However, if their relationship is largely significant as a source of literary inspiration, why make a film about it at all? It’s almost an admission that the film does not stand on its own. Which is too bad, because it could have. The relationships built up in the film were engaging but got lost in superfluous detail. Plot elements which went nowhere were constantly introduced, seemingly for purely historical purposes. Button skims over the ‘rest cure’ (the common early 20th c. practice of prescribing strict bed rest to ‘hysterical’ women) administered to Woolf, and presents her mental illness as CGI vines that only Woolf herself can see. Debicki plays the panic attacks well, but the visuals detract from the gravitas of Woolf’s illness, relying once more in the particularly tiresome trend of aestheticizing mental illness.

This film might be nice to play in the background of a casual gathering if you’re an English student, but that’s probably the highest praise I can give it. The relationships between Vita and Virginia and their respective husbands are legitimately touching, but entirely swept by the wayside. This treatment by Button leads to increasing frustration with both the characters – Vita is especially unlikable – as is the film itself. Vita and Virginia is probably best left a source of nice stills and Pinterest GIFs.

Music and Christianity: What’s it all about?

Lauren Hill
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Music and Christianity: What’s it all about?

*Brief disclaimer: I have focussed on Christian worship music, because it is my own personal experience. I cannot speak for any other faith, but I would always be interested to listen.

When you hear the words ‘Christian worship music,’ what’s the first thing that springs to mind? Maybe a modern Christian song with a repetitive tune and incessant choruses about how ‘Jesus loves us.’ Or a stereotypical village church where the congregation mumbles the hymns, out of time with the organ, and with varying levels of enthusiasm or tunefulness? Maybe you can’t think of anything worse!

Whatever your thoughts, it’s undeniable that music has always been an important part of Christian worship. From Gregorian chant and Bach cantatas to Gospel music, and contemporary Christian hip hop, jazz or rock, there is wealth of music, from all across the world, which is inspired by the Christian faith and written intentionally for liturgical settings. Following on from the tradition of Western art music, twentieth century composers such as Olivier Messiaen, Arvo Pärt, John Tavener, and James Macmillan have been renowned for their ‘spiritual’ and ‘sacred’ compositions. But what do these terms actually mean? How can music be ‘sacred’? Besides, isn’t the idea of a deity who demands that human beings regularly sing to him quite preposterous really? In Oxford today, with so many chapel choirs and frequent performances of ‘religious music,’ maybe it’s the ideal time and place to refresh how we think about this tradition, and to consider what – if anything – it might tell us about humanity, faith, music, or the divine.

Firstly, what is the point? For Christians, worship is a response to God – to who he is and what he has done. This involves giving praise and thanks, especially for what Christ accomplished for us in his death and resurrection, meaning we can be justified by faith, restored to right relationship with the God who made us, and set free from sin and death, knowing we will be raised with Christ to eternal life. That’s a lot to be thankful for! If you’re in love with someone, you probably can’t stop talking about them and overflow with how wonderful they are; for Christians, it’s a similar story with Jesus (as cliché as that sounds). It’s all about him. We worship because God is good and so worthy of praise, but also because of his love for us and ours for him. In this sense, worship is a huge joy. It gives us a glimpse into the eternal dance of love, joy and worship which each person of the Trinity has been wrapped up in since the beginning.

That doesn’t mean you always have to pretend everything in your life is fine. (I am guilty of this, as well as many other Christians I know.) We are called to do the opposite of this: real worship means honesty and vulnerability. It means admitting we need help and turning back to Christ. Just like in any healthy relationship, it doesn’t help to bury your true feelings. There are many Psalms (songs in the Bible) which communicate a deep sense of pain, hopelessness, and abandonment by God; these are valid feelings to express, even if we know from the Bible that God will never abandon us, so our feelings do not always correspond with truth. In worship, as well as praising and adoring God, we can bring ourselves as we are – with all our anxiety, weakness and fear – to the foot of the cross, and trust in the faithful and boundless love of Christ, even (or especially) when we’re struggling.

So why do we use music? Why sing when we could just say it? I think this has something to do with the way music engages our emotions. There are numerous occasions in the Bible where music breaks forth from the human spirit: King David dances and celebrates as the musicians make a joyful sound and the tabernacles are brought into Jerusalem (1 Chronicles); the song of God’s people after he delivered them from the Egyptians and parted the red sea for them (Exodus 15); the Canticles in Luke’s Gospel; Song of Songs, and the music of Revelations (e.g. chapter 4, verse 8) – this is just to name a few. Music is universal to every culture and, like language, it is a powerful form of expression. People often say that music takesthem somewhere else or speaksto them deeply when words do not suffice. I think we need to be careful not to idolise music itself (and as a music student, I often fall into this trap). Human beings are fallible, and obviously not all kinds of music glorify God or edify us, but I do think that music is a gift from God and a unique medium through which we can respond to him. Singing allows us to express our love to God with our whole being – heart, soul, mind, and body. Combined with words from scripture, music helps biblical truth to be firmly etched onto our hearts and can strengthen our faith, as we are transformed on the inside by the Spirit. Additionally, by singing together, Christians show the unity of the Church, and it leads us out of our individualism, towards the collective, ceaseless worship of the saints. 

If music has a significant place in Christian worship, it’s important that the Church thinks carefully about its musical decisions. Music, in all its richness and variety, can demonstrate something of the beauty of creation, and worship music, as well as being theologically sound and contextually appropriate, should be engaging and meaningful for a wide variety of people from diverse backgrounds and different stages of faith. 

So, let’s go back to where we began, with the tone-deaf congregation, or the Christian pop song which is – to be frank – musically uninspiring and tedious in its repetition. Is this suitable worship? I think it comes down to the attitude and spirit in which it is done. Of course, we want to offer back to God the highest standard of music we can (using the gifts he gave us in the first place), so we need musically talented people to lead us in worship, but I don’t think it’s all about ability. In the same way, a religious piece of music which is sung to an extremely high standard aesthetically, but with an arrogant mindset or a heart that is not thinking of God, is probably worshipping something else instead. The most important thing is worshipping God in the Spirit, from the heart, and fully participating, whatever level of musical skill you think you have (or don’t have). St Paul sums this up in his letter to the Colossians (3:16-17): ‘Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.’ 

Review: No Man’s Land – Frank Turner

Olly Featherstone
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Review: No Man’s Land – Frank Turner

Late June this year, Frank Turner announced his new album (No Man’s Land) – a collection of songs about the forgotten and overlooked women of history who have inspired him and his music. This conjured a sense of doubt in me as it seemed to be a very obvious attempt at a male singer-songwriter playing the hero and trying to reset the historical scales of gender imbalance alone. 

The singles that were released before the album dropped were, on their own, nothing out of the ordinary. The last of the singles to be released: The Hymn of Kassiani, was very much the cherry on top of a disappointing cake and left me completely disenfranchised with the album as a whole. This was until Friday morning, when Spotify threw the album in my face. As I have been a rather big fan of Frank Turner for the best part of 8 years now, I gave the full album a try, and couldn’t have been more pleasantly surprised.

The album as a complete work feels far more like a labour of love than a political statement about gender inequality, giving him an opportunity to marry his love of history with the figures that influenced him. From a purely musical perspective, Turner draws from his various stylings during his solo career, from raw songs that seem very personal to him to full band bangers such as Sister Rosetta. The product of this amalgamation of styles and narratives is an album full of short stories about captivating characters where each song has an individual quality to it both in tone and in tale. 

As you listen through this album, the early worries about Turner playing a White-Knight subside almost immediately. The first song alone is about Camden’s legendary Jinny Bingham, the owner of a halfway house who was accused of being a witch after murdering several of her patrons who assaulted her. Not really the first person one would choose if you were purely out with the intention of playing the role of the saviour of womenkind. This being said, Turner does go on to sing about the lives of historical feminists whose stories have not been popularised or well-remembered. By singing from their perspective Turner runs the risk of coming across as mansplaining these powerful people’s lives, but when listening to the album it is plain to see that Turner is simply using the medium he knows best to communicate how inspirational their actions were.

A personal highlight from this album is the song “Rosemary Jane”, a song for his mother giving thanks to her for the difficult task she had of raising him and his sisters in spite of a father who was less than helpful. It feels like the follow on to a song he released as part of “Sleep is for the Week” in 2007: “Father’s Day”. “Father’s day” was a look in to the strained relationship with his father, which had a rather melancholy feel to it and little mention of the rest of his family life. “Rosemary Jane”, however, acts as the counterbalance to his earlier song casting a more positive light on to his home life whilst thanking his mother for it throughout. Turner has always been very open about the relationships he holds with both of his parents, often showcasing his mother during his live shows and getting her to play the odd harmonica solo. 

This album has proved to be an interesting journey away from Turner’s expected array of songs about his personal life and emotions, whilst maintaining the styles he has developed during his solo career. The result of this is a collection songs that you can find yourself lost in listening to for hours on end, enjoying the journey through time and musical styles he takes you on.

Success for Oxford University’s first postgraduate access programme

Rachel Cordery
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Success for Oxford University’s first postgraduate access programme

Oxford’s postgraduate UNIQ experience finished this week with positive reviews.

The graduate access programme launched this year, following the success of the recently expanded undergraduate equivalent.

UNIQ+ was launched with 33 students from 23 different universities across the country, after receiving almost 200 applicants.

The graduate summer school helps potential students to experience what life is like as a research student at Oxford, with a focus on medical, biological, mathematical and physical sciences.

With applicants from areas that have a low advancement rate into postgraduate study, the six-week long programme includes research training and events with guidance from current DPhil students and Oxford academic staff.

The programme includes a £2,500 stipend and free accommodation in one of 14 participating colleges.

Haniah, a UNIQ+ participant studying paediatrics, said: “The support and encouragement given to us by UNIQ+ staff to pursue higher education, not just at Oxford but anywhere in the world has been wonderful, and the options for our future are limitless.”

In a separate sphere, the Nuffield Undergraduate Scholars Institute (NUSI) is hosting a social sciences summer school for six undergraduates which offers training in social science methods and the opportunity to gain research experience.

With a view to gauge whether research suits them, participants in both initiatives gain a behind the scenes look into life as a postgraduate at Oxford.

Miles Young, the Warden of New College, said: “Access and widening participation is often seen as an undergraduate issue. But we believe it is just as much a graduate one. The same barrier exists: the false perception that ‘Oxford is not for me’.”

“We hope to dispel that, but also to give some very tangible insights and skills which will help any graduate to apply or to get the most out of a programme.”

Currently limited to scientific subjects, the University announced that planning is underway to expand UNIQ+ in 2020.

Disgust: When does shock equal art?

Cora MacGregor
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Disgust: When does shock equal art?

In his Critique of Judgement Kant alleges that the sensation of disgust alone produces a mental response so adverse to enjoyment, that the artistic representation of an object regarded as disgusting can never be a source of aesthetic pleasure or satisfaction. Yet art that repulses – whether morally, emotionally, or physically – is remarkably common.

While the latter two varieties are likely consistent across the history of the work’s reception, the former changes alongside the ethical and aesthetic sensibilities of a society. Millais’ Ophelia was initially condemned for the natural backdrop, painted with the same level of detail accorded to the piece’s eponymous but un-emphasised subject, a decision regarded by one critic as “perverse”; the depiction of Ophelia post-suicide was received with similar hostility because the representation of death by drowning involved the use of imagery typically associated with fallen women. The purity of the fictional, idealised heroine was tainted by this: it was alleged that Millais’ painting “robs … that maiden of all pathos and beauty.” Today Ophelia is the best-selling postcard of the Tate Britain, renowned worldwide as an image of a tragic, but poetically beautiful, death.

A more recent work of art, ostensibly of a different kind to Millais’ now undisputed masterpiece, but one which treats a comparable theme, and which has courted similar controversy on account of the shocking nature of its technique and effect, is Damien Hirst’s A Thousand Years. This piece has also been attacked on multiple grounds – for its lack of skill and excessive reliance on concept, and for its vulgarity. But one of the most interesting accusations levelled against Hirst involves his dependency on shock tactics. A Thousand Years consists of a decomposing cow’s head, slowly being devoured by maggots, which become flies, then die themselves. The process isn’t merely representative, but real. Even by Hirst’s standards, the spectacle is revolting.

Intellectually, Hirst’s artwork – his notoriously-repulsive shock-factor pieces, at least – does something fairly interesting, in terms of how they challenge pre-conceptions about the aesthetic function of art. He isn’t the first to have done this, of course, but the extreme he takes it to is unprecedented. And even if all A Thousand Years does is shock, its effect shook the artworld and its intellectual aftermath. Nonetheless, emotionally it is lacking. Hirst has claimed that the fear of death is the strongest feeling humans experience, the only idea there is, and what art is all about. But while a decomposing cow’s head must inspire a sense of disgust, even horror, it probably isn’t immediately evocative of fear. The work is almost indisputably about death, but not necessarily about the emotion we connect with it. I’m not convinced that the piece persuades the viewer to be frightened.

If, on a country walk, you had the misfortune to come across the carrion of a dead animal (probably not a cow’s head, since I’m not sure how regularly bovine decapitation occurs in the wild) surrounded by cloud of insect mourners buzzing a funeral dirge, your response would no doubt be similar that which A Thousand Years evoked when exhibited: shock, disgust – the process of decomposition may well even act as a memento mori, as Hirst seems to have intended his piece to be. The impact of putrid flesh on the observer is the same, regardless of whether we view it as art or not.

I think that’s one of the crucial differences between Hirst’s A Thousand Years and Duchamp’s Fountain, another piece which famously uses shock as a means of forcing upon its spectators an awareness of what exactly it means to look upon something as art. The response you have to a urinal in a gallery is entirely different to response you have when encounter one in a toilet (which, at its most extreme, is probably relief or maybe revulsion, depending on its state). The transposition of the urinal to an artistic context transforms the object; the transposition of the cow’s head to a vitrine with the addition of a pretentious title does not. The artist, in the context of A Thousand Years is making you look at something disgusting, at death, but besides that his role is essentially expendable: he isn’t changing the way you look at it. The physical repulsion you experience may be augmented by additional shock at seeing such an unorthodox spectacle within a gallery (although given Hirst’s reputation this is increasingly unlikely). But by playing off something already bound to produce a certain instinctive reaction, Hirst is cheapening the emotional impact and value art can have.

Mid-table mentality and the perennial notion of ‘Kicking On’

Joe Hyland Deeson
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Mid-table mentality and the perennial notion of ‘Kicking On’

Wolves won the league title last year in impressive style, taking the crown from Burnley who, in turn, took it from its more regular holders Everton. Of course, this is not the title, but this alternative league will be all too familiar for Premier League fans who follow teams outside the ‘Big Six’ who are traditionally so dominant. The last to break the hegemony of these clubs was Leicester in 2016, and it would be something of an understatement to describe that season as anomalous. Even with such an achievement in recent memory, it is impossible to conceive of the feat of winning the top division of English football immediately after promotion, last completed by Nottingham Forest in 1978.

So what must these other fourteen teams strive for? After Leicester’s goalless draw with Chelsea on the final day of 2018-19, manager Brendan Rodgers expressed the familiar sentiment that “hopefully we can go on and finish higher up the table next season”. This perennial concept of ‘kicking on’ is a staple of post-match interviews at the end of the season. Its foundation is the strong feeling that the season just finished was particularly unlucky for injuries and refereeing decisions, far more so than competitors, and that real progress can be made if a team can ‘start where they left off’ when August comes around again.

But this is an elusive ideal. Eight of the eleven teams who finished from 7th to 17th in 2019 also finished somewhere within these positions the previous two seasons and only West Ham, Watford and newly-promoted Wolves significantly improved on their positions from 2018. Momentum that is built up towards the end of a season seems to regularly come to nothing in August, while teams that are tailing off in April are just as likely to start the new season strongly.

For most clubs, other than Everton, whose supporters perhaps possess a stubborn superiority complex, there is that nervous section of fans who fear relegation as each season begins. Acutely aware that the lottery of each Premier League season can throw up surprising results, they are the antidote to those who seek to ‘kick on’. In 2016, for example, West Brom and Stoke finished secure in 10th and 13th. A year later, they were relegated in 19th and 20th with just thirteen wins between them.

One solution to this concern would be increased investment, but this is a hit and miss strategy at best. In the summer of 2018, Leicester and Everton spent a combined £193 million but were both unmoved in the table a year later, finding the mini-league impossible to break out of; whereas Watford spent just £24 million but rose three places to 11th and reached only the second FA Cup final in their history.

There is hope for smaller teams. In the summer of 2017, Burnley barely reinvested the money made from the sales of Michael Keane and Andre Gray, arguably their two best players, but finished nine places higher in May 2018 than a year earlier, gaining that coveted Europa League place. However, their success came from a series of narrow victories, with eleven out of their fourteen wins coming from a margin of one goal. It would still seem, therefore, that their success was unpredictable, and, apparently, unreliable, with the side only managing 15th place in the 2018-19 season.

The Sisyphean trials and tribulations of the Premier League’s mid-table sides, so often finding the climb into the top six an unassailable mountain, are a disheartening experience for supporters. These teams may be less eye-catching, but they are far more unpredictable, all wavering between the success of a Europa League place, and the chance of relegation. No-one has yet found the key to realising the aim of ‘kicking on’ and thus, for now, it must remain a mythical post-match soundbite.

Time to tilt the lens- part 2: which inclusive approaches make sense in fashion?

Sophie Grapentin
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Time to tilt the lens- part 2: which inclusive approaches make sense in fashion?

With Sinead Burke being the first little person to ever attend the Met Gala and Selma Blair walking the red carpet of this year’s Oscars with a walking stick made of black ebony and bedazzled with a pink diamond, 2019 has certainly had its moments of glamorous disability representation. But when it comes to incorporating disability in the world of fashion there is more than visibility to address: accessibility of shopping spaces or the actual products available are equally important.

Runways are just one of many spaces in which disabled people are not represented. Have you ever seen a mannequin with a disability? Or a disabled model in a mail-order catalogue, a fashion editorial or a product shoots? Samanta Bullock is determined to change this lack of representation and has not only ensured that the products of her own collection are showcased on a variety of wheelchair users. She is also promoting a prop in the shape of a wheelchair: By being put on this stylised wheelchair seat every store mannequin turns into a wheelchair user. This so called “mannequal” was invented by Sophie Morgan. Disabled women from all over the world have also taken matters into their own hands. They show off their outfits under #babeswithmobilityaids on their social media profiles creating the visibility themselves that the fashion world has denied them so far.

Yet representation is not necessarily the biggest concern for every woman. Don’t get me wrong: representation is important! But when you can’t even enter the store because your wheelchair gets tangled up in T-shirts and dresses, the fact, that your body type is represented somewhere in there, seems less of an achievement.

Overall it appears that there is a discrepancy between the wishes and needs of everyday women and the women who are currently representing people with disabilities in the fashion industry. The first just want to get dressed in a way that works for them and then focus their attention on the things that really matter to them like their jobs, hobbies or families while the second are die-hard fashionistas unrelated to their disability. Sinead Burke’s work with luxury designer brands like Gucci is an exciting step towards social justice in fashion. Samanta Bullock’s vision of wheelchair models on every runway of every fashion show is awe-inspiring. Yet one can’t help but wonder if that is the approach that will give a wide range of disabled women the access to the fashion industry that would create the most equality for the most people. Samanta has compared the visibility of disability to that of black models who starting from a few luxury brands have now become part of mainstream fashion campaigns at all different price points. However, there are a few crucial differences between marginalised parts of the population like black people and ignored groups like women (and for that matter men) with disabilities. While people living with physical disabilities are not a minority per se, the great number of different abilities and needs means that they do not constitute a coherent group from the perspective of clothing.

It is easy to understand Sinead’s desire to be able to own and wear a beautiful beaming yellow silk designer gown. However, if you are not working for Vogue and hanging out at the Met Gala the events in your life that ask for a silk gown are probably few and rare. In addition to the sheer lack of occasions comes the corporeal factor. Anne pointed out how the structured, even stiff materials of high fashion looks are not just restricting but actively uncomfortable against a body that might have had several operations or suffers from chronic pain. After living with a wheelchair every day for the great majority (or all) of their lives, it is difficult to imagine how one’s personal clothing style might be different without the disability. Jo contemplated about her personal style for a while and concluded that she doesn’t know whether her choices of stretchy cotton shirts and skirts is due to her disability or simply because she loves it.

While disabled women like Anne or Jo have a clear understanding of the connections between affordable prices and the need of companies to keep their overhead costs low and therefor do not expect that all brands will ever cater to their specific disability, they also see the advantages of ‘cheap fashion’. Its materials often work very well for customers living with disabilities. The stretchy and soft cotton jersey of an H&M dress is a great fabric choice. It makes the garment easy to pull on and off without any assistance, it feels soft against the skin and can accommodate a great variety of movements without being restrictive. It is also inexpensive. The disability pay gap is a very real issue and it means that luxury fashion is not a real concern for most people with disabilities. Disability rights UK estimates a disability pay gap of 15 percent for the year 2018. In numbers that means that the average disabled worker earns £2,730 less per year than the average non-disabled worker. Just think how many dresses that could buy!

One thing that crystallised itself very quickly was the complete lack of interest in so-called ‘disability brands’. The comments on them were critical and ranged from mentioning their ugly designs to the lack of connections they have to the lives of the disabled women who might buy from them. As Anne puts it, there are only so many wheelchair friendly raincoats one might need, or want. Samanta also emphasised over and over again that she did not create a brand for wheelchair users but designs clothing that is comfortable to wear in a seated position.

More information about the products already on the market would make shopping more accessible. One issue for example is the length of skirts and trousers. What is looking like a chic work-appropriate pencil skirt on the model that is standing, slips up when you wear it while sitting and shows more leg than you ever planned or wanted. One easy solution would be companies providing measurements of skirts and trousers from waist to hem in the descriptions of products on their websites. If the models sit down for one picture when presenting the garment, customers in wheelchair would already get a much better idea of how said skirt would look on them. And I’m sure, after a long day of photo shooting the model would appreciate a chance to put their feet up as well!

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