At the beginning of the year, Pinterest projected “castlecore” as one of fashion’s in-trends for 2025, a mezze plate of Internet-inflected medieval gestures including coquettish white lace, chainmail accoutrements, and ornate antique jewellery.
In a dimly lit performance space, tucked away in Old Street, HAIRFUCK by artist Vittoria Penalosa unfolded as a visceral confrontation with the pressures imposed on women.
David Lynch gave us fever dreams on film that feel more real than reality itself, breaking the rules to create his own bizarre language of backward-talking dwarves, industrial soundscapes, and cherry pie that somehow means more than just dessert.
Viennese Actionism was one of the most shocking art movements of the 20th century, emerging in post-war Austria to turn the body into a site of provocation, violence and ritual.
The bed, which represents rest and intimacy in everyday life, has undergone a drastic alteration in the artistic sphere over the years, redefining the boundaries of the private and the public.
There is something self-assuredly confident about picking poetry as your artistic muse in today’s online climate, crippled – at least according to American singer Ethel Cain’s viral blogpost – by an irony epidemic.
No urban ambiance is as bleak as the office. It is an aesthetic and temporal void, the corporate acme of anti-human modernity, an all-grey capitalist cumstain where time goes viscous, where we, mere humans, have been dragged from out of our idyllic forests and fields to instead fester in front of computer screens – hunchbacked, pixel-eyed and lobotomy-brained.