LUST

# 001 MAY 2014

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CONTENTSart

Aaron Cumbers

Jenn Pavlick

Sorcha Tucker

fashion

Heidi Oliver

Daisy Snow

Becca H i n c h l i f f e

photography

Daniella Golden

Owen Reed

Phoebe Salmon

Harry Cooke

english

Hannah Smith

Jessica Cole

Willow Vincent

politics

Rosie Salter

LUST

graphics

Jodie Campbell

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Welcome to our first on-line issue of LUST magazine.

LUST magazine is new magazine, which inspires and promotes young talent. All contributors are under the age of 25 and are thriving within their chosen fields.

LUST is looking to help promote individuals and collectives who are starting out, and on their way up in the creative world. A stepping stone towards the creative industry,

We hope you enjoy the first issue, and hope to continue more as a quarterly online magazine. Let us know what you think.

Facebook:w w w . f a c e b o o k . c o m / l u s t m a g a z i n e

Think you have got the talent, or know someone that does? Send in your work too:

sorchatucker@hotmail.com

EDITORAL: SORCHA TUCKER &JODIE CAMPBELL

I do not own any of the images included in this magazine, they are the right of the inidi-viduals involved unless otherwise stated.

Cover Image: Harry Cooke

OWEN REED

“I often find myself standing in front of a view I’ve seen and shot many times before, but every time there’s always something new to add.No matter how many times a subject has been shot there’s always that ex-tra angle, technique or process to be added.For me though the pro-

cess of painting the shot with the camera has al-ways been key. Sometimes Ill set up but framing a shot is impossible be-cause it is so dark, so I take a test shot which is a starting point and gives me a basic idea of angle, exposure etc.From then on its all about works best, I feel that

too many photographers have the technique but lack in what really gives a photo an “edge” and one of the most im-portant things to create that is composition. One thing I try to create is a strongdepth of field because this is anoth-er thing often lacked in seascapes especially.

PHOTOGRAPHY

This can often prove difficult because the sea is flat so a strong foreground and compo-sition is key. One way I feel I make my pho-tos different is the lack of post editing. To me it’s all about the buzz of getting it thereand then. People of-ten ask me what I’ve

used on Photoshop or lightroom and apart from cropping and re-sizing there’s nothing at all. This is because unlike my commercial work, I am not after that 100% perfect shot with my fine art prints but more of a raw shot.

I would say the aim of

my fine art seascapes is to produce an image, which helps emphasize the beauty of the lo-cation, and the time it was shot. Like a lot of artists my favorite work often differs to that of the viewer but none-theless I hope to share all my work with as many people as possible.”

OWEN REED

Should Miley Cyrus take some respon-sibility for female apathy towards the development of Women’s Rights?

Is feminism a dying cause due to developing cultural norms? The re-cent media backlash sur-rounding Miley Cyrus’s ‘Wrecking ball’ and Rob-in Thicke’s misogynis-tic ‘Blurred Lines’ mu-sic video, both suggest that we still live in a society that applauds the objectification of women. These portray a view that without sexu-al appeal women are ir-relevant because pow-er, social-standing and wider appreciation come from image and sexuali-ty. This message is be-ing instilled to a whole generation of young girls, making patriar-chy further ingrained in a web of social norms and understandings, suggesting change may be difficult in the fu-ture. This is embodied by my sister, a 15 year old who, being deeply interested in pop cul-ture, accepts such rep-resentations of women without reflection. Does this in itself undermine the work done by rights organisations as girls

seem more interested in the size of the gap be-tween their thighs than furthering the cause of ‘women’s rights’?

The portrayal of women in the media could lead young women to think that without sexual appeal they lack power. In the 21st century this cul-tural portrayal of women moves the focus to the sexual aspect of femi-ninity, rather than the feminism that was the byword of our mothers and grandmother’s gen-erations; with many role models in politics, the media, music scene and therefore young girls viewing Feminism (with a capital F) with con-tempt. These views sug-gest that many women take their rights for grant-ed and downplay the need for further campaigning for equality domesti-cally and internation-ally because the empha-sis on what is important about women is skewed.

In fact the pre- de-termined gender roles stated in Bourdieu’s in ‘Masculine Domination’ are thus legitimized by women openly marketing themselves or by the mu-sic industry, for exam-ple, using overt sex-uality as a marketing tool for the ‘white male gaze’ in order to sell records without consid-ering the implications of this on their young-er market. Constant ex-posure to these views leads these ideas to be-come further ingrained.

It has been 95 years since women were grant-ed full suffrage and the right to vote in the UK. This is a cause our ‘foremothers’ died and starved for in the hope that one day women might be on an equal footing to men and perhaps thought of as something more than an ‘inanimate sex object’ or ‘baby oven.’

You would have thought that nearly 100 years later

ROSIE SALTER POLITICS

we should be closer to this goal. However as Miley Cyrus and her fel-low ‘twerkers’ reveal, women still have a long way to go before they are no longer regarded as sexual objects and if a lack of interest re-mains I can only assume that the rights of women will start to be degrad-ed once again. I think that the exploitation of women in the music in-dustry could be analo-gous within a broader social milieu. The way society views women is argued by theorists such as Bourdieu or McKin-non to be institution-alised and reinforced constantly and subtly as a form of ‘Habitus’. If male patriarchy can’t be removed from soci-ety then there is only so far that conventions such as CEDAW can go. This could be because, as Bunch argues, laws don’t trickle down to people they stay within the male dominated, le-gal sector of the state. In order for anything to actually change for women it is societal and global norms that need to be addressed, wheth-er it is the objectifi-cation of women in the media or the practice of forced genital mutila-tion, neither will end until women are enlight-ened from their ‘false consciousness’ which En-loe argues is pertinent

for the furthering of ‘wom-en rights’ and equality.

Yes, the women’s rights movement may have come a long way since the days of the Pankhurst’s, with women being considered instrumental in econom-ic, business and social sectors. Despite this even, powerful, suc-cessful woman are rid-iculed by the media on their looks. For example Angela Merkel’s dress sense is an important talking point in the me-dia. Hence, reinforcing a belief for many wom-en, regardless of her achievements, that suc-cess is dependent on ap-pearance as ‘she is a failure if she is not beautiful’.Does this suggest that rights have a lower status to oth-er considerations about women in our perpetual-ly masculinised system?

If we in the ‘west’ are looking to be an example of a society of emanci-pated and respected wom-en then the music indus-try and the media alone prove that we are still one that also champi-ons the degradation and sexualisation of women. Sexism and the abuse of women’s rights are glob-al problems and ones that women themselves should seek to reinforce.

POLITICS

In my view these is-sues are not black and white, thus should we question whether wom-en have achieved basic equality? And if we do, we need to keep striving for rights domestical-ly and internationally or we must accept that our campaigning can only achieve basic political equality due to cultur-al distractions such as the importance of a wom-an’s thigh gap rather than a perceived need to be able to identify where Syria is on the map? At least the media hype about Miley Cyrus has brought these issues into the limelight and the fact that they are being discussed suggests women are having their “consciousness raised”. If women are empowered by such actions this can only have positive ef-fects so in this sense maybe Miley’s exploit-ative act was for the greater good in the cause for ‘women rights’. As Enloe states, that stay-ing, “intellectually curious” is “what keeps one taking seriously…the experiences, actions and ideas of women and girls. Take away an ex-plicit interest in femi-ninities, and it will be impossible to develop…”

How can we expect to encourage the equal treatment of women in-ternationally and pre-vent sex trafficking and sexual exploitation of women, when even in the so called ‘devel-oped’ western world we encourage and even cel-ebrate the objectifica-tion of our own bodies?

The Human Rights Act and CEDAW do little to support those wishing to address actual so-cial issues outside of basic civil and politi-cal rights. Whilst some women rely on the Euro-pean Convention on Hu-man Rights, for example, in relation to illegal abortion and rape, gen-erally protection does not go far enough because the rights are defined too narrowly with a fo-cus on state violation. However women also need protecting from the more basic cultural ills of everyday society, yet we could use cultural means to ‘awaken women’

jennifer pavlick

AARON CUMBERS

AARON CUMBERS

Here this selection of my work is inspired by architecture and influences from both past and present artists. It explores shape, form and space, within these three categories I have looked into abstraction through sim-plification of line and description of both positive and negative space, along with the relationship between positive and negative space. For me colour was irrelevant and was seen to be a distraction from these clean pure forms being created. Within my works I have also played with the idea of the impossible, engaging the viewer further by creating pieces that feel as if they are balancing on a needle point and ready to fall, in doing this it emphasises ideas of weight and tension within the pieces.

www.facebook.com/AmCumbersBespokeJewellery

FINE ART

HANNAH SMITH

A MEMOIR OF AN

INSOMNIAC There are reasons why I suffer from insomnia. I take comfort in think-ing that these reasons are the source of my problem; I am not to blame, the fault lies with them. Control is what I lack; they at-tack my sleep, they have no mercy. Perhaps writing these reasons down on paper will be therapeutic. An an-swer may be found this way, a self-made reme-dy to aid my inabili-ty to sleep. This bed I lie on greets me into this night. It appears to be a friend, with its velvet soft blanket that brushes my body,

but everything is an attacker of my sleep. I begin to write. The pencil scratches at the white paper, grey lines begin to form my words, form my voice. Writers of the past have suf-fered from insomnia: a connection can be made between creativity and lack of sleep which is why I choose to write now. F.Scott Fitzger-ald sai d, “The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to”, and I agree; yet I still do try. The time is 23:47; the digital clock flashes the num-bers in a vivid bold red. My eyes throb due to the

intense light. I write this to document my in-somnia, so you may un-derstand the demons that haunt me, the reasons why I sleep so little.

Reason one: thoughts Thoughts are the enemy of slumber. An intrusion on the minds desire to rest; they loom, linger, and disturb my ill-fat-ed sleep. Thoughts are leeches that suck sleep from my soul throughout the night, they stick onto my skin, reluc-tant to let go, they resist against my plea.The friction of their

grasp is a violent tug that awakes me further, a sudden suction that shocks. My mind feels heavy, it aches with their presence. Perhaps they are frustrated be-ings themselves? An army of thoughts that fight as one against their similar enemy. A march can be heard. Strong footsteps pound on my mind, a ricochet that resounds through-out my body, from my head to the tips of my fingers. They seek es-cape from the boundar-ies of my skull. Escape these thoughts. Reach slumber and laugh at the thoughts that mock you. I once visited the surgery about my insom-nia. I sat on a clean white chair and asked the doctor why can I not sleep, to which he said, “Your mind is too full”. I turn on my side. Why do they continue to ir-ritate me? Do you think they will climb over the walls of my skull? Fall out of my head onto the pillow that feels warm and supple on my face? Run free and cause hav-oc across my bed? May-be I should surren-der now, let this army of thoughts scorn my alert, aware mind. They will take me hostage; shrieks and screams will penetrate my ears, shouts of hatred, they will protest against their secluded exis-tence; a protest against their life as prisoners of my mind. While these

thoughts have been cre-ated, I still lie here, exhausted and in des-perate need of sleep. The scent of laven-der hits my nostrils, I sprayed this aroma over my sheets before I tried to rest, it was meant to soothe. Unsuc-cessful. Why did I pur-chase another gimmick in the hope of a peace-ful night? The realisa-tion that I have been thinking causes panic; I have wasted more time. Sleep has been lost due to foolish thoughts.

Reason two: noise.There are noises of the night that reach out, wrap and suffocate my existence. They glide over the waves of si-lence, like an elegant eagle that scouts for a helpless prey. When they have found the de-fenceless victim, they bounce off the walls, a game of hopscotch that echoes and pro-vokes. Noises remind me of playground bul-lies, sinister young children that torment others; they seclude me from their fun, rel-ish in my grief. To-night I decided to flee from these bullies in my bedroom; their mis-sion is accomplished, I award them the gold stars that they crave. Maybe they will run back to their classrooms now that playtime is over.

Vanish from my room and learn that you should not bully an insomniac, especially one that is as tired as this. I wan-der the house to abandon the noises. A grand-fa-ther clock stands in the hall, a figure that projects a deep chime at every hour, a sound that penetrates through the paper thin walls, a constant reminder that another hour has passed, and another hour of sleep is lost forever. Pity trans-mits towards me as I stare at this clock; it towers above and looks down, a watchful God of the night, a source of company, a friend. The darkened chestnut wood feels smooth to the touch, yet the surface chills my fingers and I hesitate. Fragments of gold etched into the clock face gleam and re-flect the light of the moon. The light shines through the arched win-dows of our hallway; it illuminates everything it touches, a hypnotic glow is created. Trans-fixed on the rebounds of light, I enter a dream-like state; my imagina-tion is a gentle caress of sympathy, yet it fo-cuses on the sounds I try to block. In this world I hear all the noises of the house am-plified to an immense volume. A tap drips ina consistent rhythm, a sound that loiters in my ears; it hovers through the air around

The MorningThe morning has come now. I greet it as both an enemy and a friend. I view the morning as a burden, it rests heavy on my shoulders throughout the night, I am fearful of facing it when I have had no sleep. Yet I see it as a rescue from the worries, the thoughts, and the noise; a hero that saves me from the monsters that create my insomnia. Sunlight now comforts me; I am no longer alone in the darkness, I no longer suffer. The warmth of the sun hits my face; it holds my cheeks in its hands. I feel calm. The kettle screams and I pour the boiling wa-ter into my china mug. The coffee heats my hands and I sip; the sharp earth like taste awakens me, a connec-tion is formed to this day and to the earth around me. I walk to-wards the doorway. The mirror on the wall re-flects a familiar face; a face with imperfec-tions; dark shadows fall below the eyes, a pale complexion against jet black hair. A frag-ile ghost. I leave the house for work. Sleep has been unkind again.

conquer my mind, and they know when I am at my weakest. Objects in my room can sometimes help me during these sleepless times, in the form of distractions.The patchwork quilt that covers me catches my fingertips, its reg-ular stitches contrast to the cotton squares of fabric; they are sol-id unlike the cushioned material that they are sewn to. The bottle of Night Nurse, a vibrant green liquid that re-sembles the spirit ab-sinthe, perches on my bedside table. The hor-rid taste of bitter menthol remains in my throat like a persistent stain that is difficult to remove. For this brief moment I forget my worries, observation is a tool to block anx-iety, but I lose sense of focus this time. I can feel my lungs begin to take in air, a fast quick cycle of inhal-ing and exhaling, deep breathes that make me panic. My cheeks ignite; they burn and smolder, a spread of heat orbits my body. I am the sun. The temperature of my skin raises higher, the levels of anxiety grow. The worry of being awake at this hour is the cause of this anxiety attack. Heart palpita-tions thud through my chest, the beat of my heart aches in my throat

me. The noise is sharp, it echoes a fraction longer than it should, and this unsettles me. I hear the tick of the grandfather clock op-posite where I stand, a single high tone re-peated every second, a never-ending beat of the time that passes. The wind outside suffers alone, swirls through the night sky, and hits the foundations of the house with force; a sound that suggests that it is afraid to be out in the cold. The whis-tles and whines I hear could be a cry for help, like a siren to alert its presence. Bangs against the roof can be heard from downstairs, the wind is strong and forceful. These nois-es keep me awake long through the night.

Reason three: anxietyAnxiety takes shape in many forms; a chameleon of worries. The worries float in my mind like buoys in the sea, the changing current var-ies their motions. I can smell the bitter salt water that sur-rounds these buoys in the ocean; the stench makes me quiver. Always on the surface and nev-er hidden from view, my worries are positioned to be noticed, they are clever and know when to

HANNAH SMITH

BECCA HINCHLIFFE

Like most girls in the industry I never imag-ined I would be a mod-el. I was scouted by elite London when I was 13, too young and too short. Although I’ve switched agencies a few times, at 17 I spend most of my free week-ends in London travel-ing around to castings and shoots meeting very talented people. I plan to work in my gap year hopefully meeting with agencies in New York, Paris, Milan and oth-er fashion capitals of the world, however the industry is volatile so nothing’s certain. Mod-elling rarely lasts for-ever so Ive applied to study law at uni after I complete my a-levels. I’m pretty happy to see how things go working wise. I haven’t set my mind to anything in par-ticular but I’m content with how balanced things are at the moment.

BECCA HINCHLIFFE

BECCA HINCHLIFFE

MODELLING

DAISY SNOW Why I did it?Well I could never find any clothes I liked really and whenever I come across a prob-lem like that I have to take radical action to sort it out- so had to start my own cloth-ing brand basically. ‘Classy but adequately brassy’ is how I would describe my style. I was thinking about the lack of clothes I liked in the back of a rickshaw going through the streets of Jaipur whilst vis-iting factories to buy from for our homewares business which I dropped out of school to work within when I was 15. Whats it all about?India- I love India like it’s my home, I know the producers we buy from like they are my family and I dig the culture big time! My first range is called the Jaipur collection, because that’s where it all be-gan, the idea sprung whilst I was in this colourful city, tex-tile paradise and this is also where the clothes are made, by hand, ethically and complete-ly fair trade. This collection is based on old block prints – just funked up a little!! Block prints originate from Jaipur.

Whats it like designing clothes?The most incredible feeling is when you go out and peo-ple compliment what you are wearing – and you can say thankyou, its my from my own range!!!! Its so exciting!!Dealing with India is all I’ve ever known, I know the retail industry extremely well so the running of things doesnt phase me but pulling off a photoshoot with real life models when I’m used to chairs and cushions was a bit daunting, however it hap-pened and I was over the moon with the results. I’ve now got Pure Fashion Show coming up in February which is the of-ficial launch of this range. I’ve tried to plan everything but I’m sure there will be lit-tle hiccups along the way!!

The clothing will be available from us directly on our website www.daisysnowclothing.com – but not until around May time as lead times are slow when dealing with India, ‘In-dian Time’ – 50 times slow-er than what we are used to!!

FASHION www.daisysnowclothing.com

www.daisysnowclothing.com

Phoebe Salmon, Photographer; 19. Born in Devon, living in London.‘I strive to maintain an unusual and adventurous approach to my photograph-ic and abstract art works. Concentrating on arous-ing strong interaction with the viewer, I aim to project a depth which en-courages and invites in-dividual interpretation’

www.phoebesalmon.co.uk

PHOEBE SALMON

www.phoebesalmon.co.uk

www.phoebesalmon.co.uk

www.phoebesalmon.co.uk

21st Century interaction. This whole massive swinging pendulum of communication, that smashes in our face at every conceivable interval Facebook, Twitter , In-stagram and that’s naming just a grain of the sand bag of electri-cal interaction that we have to hand. I mean EVERYONE when I say us (well everyone in the west-ern world) , cos even my Gran (whose like well old) emails me now instead of writing letters. Yet I get this horrible, horrible feeling that by having all this communication we sort of iron-ically are communicating less.

For instance, OK, take your aver-age you know meal out with some friends. I don’t know let’s say for argument’s sake you go to your local Prezzo. So Step one you have a group convo on Face-book to discuss the idea blah, Step two you go to meet the ‘Man-Dem’ texting them on the way ( you know just in case they forgot about the FB convo, that happened about an hour prior) Step three, see something funny on way to Prezzo ( seagull pooing on child) so, you Snapchat it to everyone on your contacts. OK just coming round the corner, little vibra-tion of the phone, ooh is some-one ringing? Don’t be silly! Who needs to speak when… You have a Facebook notification – stating that Carlos has tagged you in a post – you Dick and Joe are all going to Prezzo for lunch LOLZ. BECAUSE EVERYONE TOTES NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOUR DOING FOR LUNCH RIGHT?. OK so you’ve got to Prez-zo now. Phew. Sit down. Obviously do a quick check of the news feed (obviously), to see if anyone is doing anything better than you are right now (they aren’t, good).

Friends at meal follow suit, all be it at different intervals. Cue some ‘hilarious’ Snap chats in-volving spoons on noses, whilst waiting for meal. Meal arrives. OMG the pasta looks so amazing, all four bits of it are so beau-tifully laid out, and it has a skirt on made out of parsley. OMG. Hashtag time. #pizzaexpress #food blah blah blah. * All friends follow suit posting variations of their orders on Instagram. Next comes the tense moment when Dick get’s more likes on Instagram for his ravioli then Jo did for his shitty Calzone #wellcultured.

I don’t know if anyone can relate to this. But it’s as though we feel the need instead of ring-ing up and actually speaking to each other, like what people did in the 90′s , we just text. Instead of going for a few in-timate drinks with our nearest and dearest. We feel the need to tell EVERYONE on Facebook that we are going to Bar V, and it’s going to be A RIGHT PISS UP YEAH. And what I think is the sorriest sight, seeing a couple having a nice little date and not talking… Nah, Instagram needs to see their well posh Nando’s first.

When did we become so engrossed in this whole massive spectrum of hash tags and tweets? Does anyone else not find it a bit weird about how public we are making our lives? do it). Accept by using social

Slave to the freedom of Technology.

I’ll be the first to admit with both hands held up that, yes I am 100% a Facebook junkie. I’ve wanted so many times to delete my account but, for some reason like the Pete Doherty of FB, I just CAN NOT bring myself to do it. It’s like some weird sort of ulcer that just won’t go away. I try not to post too much stuff on there, because, you know even though I AM on it constantly be it on my phone or on my laptop, I don’t want people to THINK I’m on it constantly. Because that’d be well lame and not mysterious at all. So I appear offline and re-fresh my page to see if I have any notifications which, like little dancing beacons light up and say YOUR POPULAR well done. It’s ri-diculous. Yet I still can’t help but go to that innocent blue icon, and be sucked into six hours of clicking on random peoples photos and trawling through the news feed, sub consciously checking if anyone else is having a better time than I am. ( Most of the time they aren’t)

Social media is perhaps one of the most addictive and also most dan-gerous things in the world. May-be even more addictive than junk and more dangerous than bombs. Yet it’s completely acceptable to be addicted to our society. Every-one has some form of social me-dia even Carpet World. Why does a Carpet need twitter? Madness.

Is anything sacred anymore? Even YouTube wants to pull my number. Why would YouTube need my mobile number? In light of this whole Snowden thing about, you know the big guys watching us little guys, got me thinking more and more about all this data we in-nocently enter into our computer systems. It’s CRAZY. How much in-formation we naively give away. I mean it’s quite easy for some-one to know exactly where you are and what you’re doing within a few minutes, even if you ar-en’t a face booker, FYI google maps. Perfect tool for a murderer right? We are comfortably allow-ing our world to become that of the horrors envisioned by George Orwell in 1984 (If you haven’t read it, get off Facebook now andmedia so excessively, we seem to be giving this massive, me-tallic robot of surveillance, a big lifty up in helping it crash through our right to privacy. Its big old transformer boot is stamping out all of our freedoms.

Slave to the freedom of Technology.Jessica Cole

#http://colandersieve.wordpress.com/

DANIELLA GOLDEN I've always been a fan of hair swishing photos. I can't say what exactly it is - the sense of movement, the freedom, the unexpected facial expres-sions of the poor model who has to throw their face about. Whatever it is, I had want-ed to capture hair move-ment for a while and a por-traiture project at school seemed like the perfect op-portunity to experiment. Luckily enough I had a friend with just the right hair. Her super long and loosely wavy mass of brown hair created a cool texture and defined sense of movement in the images. The image at the end of the series was simply my friend having had enough of flicking her hair about for 20 min-utes, but I think it closes the series nicely: it sort of puts a full stop to the sequence of movement. I find hair movement fascinating and definitely want to ex-periment further with it, as well as abstract portrai-ture: looking into the way obscuring a person's face can still give us access to their feelings and personality.

PHOTOGRAPHY

Sweet, structured and wild-ly contemporary: the Chanel Spring/Summer 2014 Haute Couture show fused Princess like delicacy with the non-chalant cool of trainers, bum bags and skater pads.

Models literally skipped and bounded down the extravagant stair cases in the Grand Pal-ais: letting the soft soles of couture trainers take them on a trip around the vast, swanky night club style space. Bejeweled, embroidered and dyed, these were not your average trainers. These were Lagerfeld crafted, train-ers stitched with glamour.

Sea blues, soft lilacs and sugary sweet pastel colours made up a beautifully iri-descent, mermaid worthy co-lour palette, structured in the house’s classic tweed, or else light organzas and tulles. Be it cropped a-line tops and skirts that sit low on the hips, over sized pock-ets, or sheer fabrics, the collection proved to be strik-ingly sci fi for a couture collection. Youthfulness was the planted seed it seems.

CHANEL SS14 CONTEMPORARY COUTURE

Sebastien Tellier’s uplifting beats, the revolving stage and clean white interior gave the show a relaxed, gracious aura that was upstaged only by the coolness of the col-lection. Ending with Cara Delvingue cascading down the stairs in a glistening silver dress with a sheer overlay, (amply dressed and apparently random page boy in toe), you couldn’t help feeling some-thing very special had hap-pened. Like the ending of a theater production, an intense play, or a concert, I imag-ine there was a connection in the room: a frisson of elec-tricity strung from editor to blogger to buyer. Sadly I can only assume this, as I hav-en’t received my invite to a Chanel Haute couture show yet.

DANIELLA GOLDEN

http://daniellastylehaze.blogspot.co.uk/

JODIE CAMPBELL GRAPHIC DESIGN/MANCHESTER

After a traditional foundation course in Totnes, the move to Manchester was a big change. I’ve been able to apply the skills learned in Totnes to current projects. I find visual inspiration in most things, I don’t limit myself to only looking at other graphic design.

I tend to work by hand as much as possible, and I scan work to take advantage of the holy trinity of Adobe. This is what makes my work feel unique as it contains my artistic handwriting.

Above: Found Image with Illustration

Right: Found Image Distorted with a Scanner

Opposite // Above: Found Image

Manipulated digitally Below: Type design, quote

from LOUISE BOURGEOIS

ARTISTIC INSPIRATION /LOUISE BOURGEOIS HANNAH HÖCHEl Lissitzky Bauhausalan fletcherJohn Virtue rachel whiteread Jean-Michel Basquiat

GRAPHICS

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Eighteen year old photographer Harry Cooke is taking the internet by storin with his fashion photogaphy.Current-ly studying in Exeter he is looking to go on to start University next year, with an outstanding portfolio to hand, he is one to keep your eye on.

In discussion with Harry himself this is what he had to say about his work;

I’ve only been shooting for a year and a half but have developed a real pas-sion for photography and have applied to do a photography course at a number of universities. Although I’d like to shoot fashion as a career, I really en-joy shooting documentary type images on my analog whenever I get chance too.

One of my main influences is the old school fashion photographer that is Helmut Newton. He also focused mainly on woman’s fashion but mostly shot on film, whereas I shoot a lot of my fashion and portraits on digital. His gallery in Berlin is one of the best galleries that I’ve ever been too, the size a layout of them images throughout the exhibition space was amazing, and every photo compliment-ed the next one shown, considering all of these had been taken on an analog camera the size and quality of the prints were very impressive.

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PHOTOGRAPHY

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There is a connection between black magic and espionage. If the secret service is a tea-cup, then occult practices are the tea leaves at the bottom of it: not everyone can read them but they’re still there. I might have realised this with the ap-pearance of a darkly-dressed man on my Monday morning commute, or perhaps with the set of giallo re-runs I watched the night be-fore I first saw him standing on the Tube. It’s hard to ascertain these things in retrospect. He stood unmoving against the win-dow, his stark face made cellu-loid against a searing backdrop of the decade’s dank black walls. Last night’s films had been set in Italy, all orange-red dust and blonde women, but the sce-nario today was still the same. Throughout the journey, he held a demeanour of polite indif-ference and looked at no-one, though it was not that he saw nothing, I don’t think, rather, he saw nothing he was looking for. Maybe the other passengers perceived him as blind, maybe they missed him altogether, but I gazed with such determination at the collar of his inert white shirt, that I thought I might remain fixed that way forever. Spies have a way of getting at you like that. They siphon your attention so incisively, so sin-gle-mindedly, that they don’t even have to directly look at you at all before they know your name, your location, your inner-most train-of-thoughts. Most of the time, despite the intensity of such unspoken altercations, you blink your eyes and forget them, and step back into your singular life, whatever that may be, reduced now with one look to a lined white page in a casebook.

But I thought about him still: in the cash-point queues buy-ing vegetables whose names I couldn’t pronounce, on the com-mute back home when a dark rain seemed to stick to everything, turning about in bed before sleep. I sat in front of a com-puter screen the following day and saw glowing, needle-point lasers striking out at me to form a precise grid upon my face. Later in the day, whilst stirring coffee in some name-less cafe, I thought I saw my face blown-up on the side of a bus, on a milk-carton grasped by a small child, in the likeness of every human face around me. I couldn’t escape myself. After twenty-three minutes of stand-ing opposite him again on the second Monday, I began the pro-cess of deleting my existence. I deleted every photograph of myself from the internet, took down entire clumps of social me-dia, obliterated all text con-ceived beneath my name, and its every alias, including the me-mentos left on my mother’s obit-uary page on each anniversary of her death. A green screen of data fuzzed across my vision. In half-dreams, I saw myself in circles of salt, intricate pat-terns of cryptology surrounding my naked body. Sometimes I’d wake suddenly and find myself trapped inside encryption webs with something like a spider looming over me. And I learned, within those one-hundred and sixty-eight paranoid hours, that my attempted erasion was futile. I had left a digital-ised fingerprint on everything and increasingly, I began to see the stand-by button on my computer as a blinking red eye.

WILLOW VINCENT

There is nothing to distinguish it from other faces, so it can lurch out at you from cereal box-es, children’s television pro-grams, the evening news, wherever it wants to, and you’ll never re-alise. The automated voice-over crackled into audibility over the underground’s dull thrum. A wom-an’s voice, my brain perceived, though it seems odd that sex should be applied to disembod-ied, robotic words. The satanic dark of the underground tunnels peeled away to reveal a train platform, aluminium encased and blindingly white, throbbing with nonchalantly anticipant bodies. The scene was almost sacrifi-cial: all those people milling in ties, blue jeans, backpacks slung about packed for the af-terlife, all silent and inwardly praying not to miss the gap. The train door’s droned open, and in the featureless face of the spy I recognised movement, a perfect clicking of the eyes into place, pneumatic zooming of the pupils onto someone or something out there in the surge, and instanta-neously, though calmly precise, he alighted and dissolved into the crowd. I saw then that the cipher was solved, my entire life had been spread-out, analysed, discussed over coffee probably, and now I lay in a little file, packed in neat beside the others who had looked too long, who had tried to escape. A muffled spark reverberated through my palms. I let go of the metal pole.

I learned, that no human is un-traceable, no-one can simply disappear. It’s logical when you consider the atomic composure of things. It’s natural that be-ings, both animate and inani-mate, leave indelible imprints on their surroundings. The es-sence of us can be traced every-where if you know where to look, and there are people that seek it out, with nothing but eyes and a convincing spell. On the third Monday, I walked to the long end of the last carriage in pur-poseful avoidance, yet somehow found myself under surveillance of that blank stare once more, which, though never regarded, recorded and documented my every living fibre. Cramped from in-somnia in a computer chair, skin pocked by the incessant analysis of minute laser beams, I tried to make myself into an anonymous shape. Instead, I found myself imaging him in a black trench-coat, a water-slick Homburg hat, something recognisable. It wasn’t that his face was boring as such, it’s that there was a strangely indiscernible quality to its features, making him face-less almost, and you never can run from a man without a face.

HEIDI OLIVER

These are the photos of the paper dress i de-signed and made during freshers week. I got in-spiration from John Gal-liano’s 2010 Dior Fall Flower collection. He used very strong sil-houettes and based his colour pallet and mate-rial story on the physi-cal characteristics of a number of exotic flowers. I also took inspiration from my home town, Teign-mouth, in the south west of England. The fishtail skirt is a portrayal of the river mouth, fishing ports, and large dock that my town is known for, and the hundreds of handmade paper flow-ers emphasise the raw nature I grew up with. I decided to create a strong, feminine silhou-ette, showcased through the sweetheart neckline, clinched in waist, and larger flowers used to build up volume around the hips. The overall look was to create a strong alpha female look.

Myself and two other girls were then cho-sen by John Lewis to re-create our dresses using John Lewis cat-alogues, and i asked two of my class mates Geraint Lewis and Re-becca Wilson-Flower to help me make it again from scratch as i only had one day to complete the 2nd dress. It then was displayed in store for a few weeks, then was put onto ‘the bridge’ for Cardiff fashion week. It was harder to make the flowers out of cata-logue as the materi-al was stiffer there

I made the dress first for the end of freshers week fashion show, pulled together by the music, produc-tion, marketing, and many other students.It was created out of Plattform news-papers, and as you can see i careful-ly selected specif-ic pages to create a colour gradient of pinks, blues, and purples, separated with black and white flowers to create a unique quality to the design. fore they tore quite easily!

FASHION

You were beautiful If only you could of belived it too. You were so strong, and through the cold harsh winters you powered on through.

You blossomed beautifully, in such little sunlight. You were ashamed for you early bloom. and worried endlessly for what the others would think of you You held your head down. You never looked up to the skies. You didn’t belive yourself worthy of such a pure sun-light.

We never got to see the real divinty that was you. It wasn’t till you wilted to the ground, like a Hellebore, having never seen the sun that you realised your pain was no longer profound but it was too late, for you had already jumped the gun.

Opposite: Sorcha Tucker Reverse Print 2013Poem & Writing: Sorcha Tucker 2014

I love you. The phrase is time bound, no matter how true. The word love does not imply and accompany infinite time. No matter how much I wish to love you, and to build a fu-ture with you. The love I offer is limited to my cur-rent state. Marriage offers a the possibility for eter-nal happiness together, but marriage is not an ultimate love. You do not have to declare or pass a test, its optional. The rings shared our promises, but promises that cannot be truthfully made, for the future is un-known. This saddens me so. This scares me so. Nothing is definite. We build structures to ensure security and stable lives, but everything around us in flux. I don’t wish to be cynical of the situation with you, for dear it is true as of now that I am deeply in love with you.I cannot provide security for something that we do not know. But for not the phrase is true, if it wasn’t so god damn cliche I would say it over and over to you, to prove that for now , all that I can , as truth.

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THANK YOUI would like to take the time to thank each of the contributors and all those that took part in the production of this magazine. I do not own any of the images included within the magazine,

Contributors:

Aaron CumbersBecca HinchliffeDaniella GoldenDaisy SnowHannah SmithHarry CookeHeidi Oliver

Jennifer PavlickJessica Cole Jodie Campbell

Owen ReedPhoebe SalmonRosie SalterWillow Vincent

Think you got it too?Email in your work..

sorchatucker@hotmail.com

Love Sorcha xxx