Amore e Piombo

Amore e Piombo: the photography of extremes in the 1970s. Translated - the love and lead - a title that encapsulates the juxtaposition of freedom and violence displayed in the collection of photos from 1970s Italy. A time characterised by upheaval, with revolt against the communist regime combined with a refusal of 'traditional' values in favour of the sexual liberation that has become so widely associated with the time period. The black and white images provide a stark glimpse of a much wider scene. The glamour of movie stars, the explicit destruction of explosions, the more subtle threat of exposed pistols, and the countless photographs of politicians at work reveal a surface which is impenetrable in its secrecy. If anything, what proves most interesting are the questions it raises 40 years on about the appearance of our own world. Captured in images that will remain unchanged by time, what will future generations infer from the many photos of the present day? 

The curation of the exhibition itself compliments the impact of the photographs. Cabinets lined with portraits give a sense of an archive of work, placing historicity at the forefront of discussion. Documentation of Aldo Moro's assassination lines the floor on blocks that hinder the pathway of the viewer, perhaps reflecting the nature of violence to act as an obstruction within life. The words of Moro's family loom in the background - 'As to Aldo Moro's life and death, let history judge.' And so it will.

Amore e Piombo is at Brighton Museum & Art Gallery until 2nd November. The exhibition stands as another of the many great free things to do in Brighton. It works as part of the wider Brighton Photo Biennial - the UK's largest photography festival. With 19 exhibitions and more than 50 events it leaves a lot to explore as the days grow increasingly colder. 

Rainy days and big ideas

Today I'm spending the most part of my time on trains pacing from the sleepy city of Bath and my slightly less sleepy best friend into the awaiting arms of blissful Brighton, and my home for now. Rain splattered window panes provide a misty haze as I watch the world whirl past. It's times like this that provide me with the perfect opportunity for unclouded contemplation. So as I sit in the welcoming blue chair, the Stones serenading me through one working headphone, I consider my life and what is to come.

I've always resented the fact that I'm a planner. I constantly have big ideas brewing in my overactive mind. The desire to be spontaneous and leave my fate to the throws of a hectic life always falls short to lists of ideals - places I want to go, things I want to achieve. Perched at the edge of a table, two businessmen in matching jackets seated opposite on their phones, I find myself doing just this. In an attempt that seems childish, I colour in my train ticket with a red felt tip and big notions for the future. Just over a month away from my 20th birthday, there is the consideration of how my 20s might be spent. 

Constant dreaming seems an adequate way to pass the time but then I also have to ensure that I don't lose my present in wild fantasies. At the end of the train line a current existence filled with a mixture of new and friendly faces, piles of books containing new worlds to get lost in and a working life that surrounds me with shoes, lies patiently. I have no clue where the next few years of my life will take me but if the direction continues to grace me with the same variation of adventures I'll welcome it with the same willingness as the little blue seat housing me for the next 3 hours.

Hairy situations

(Post late night hair ordeal)

1am hair cuts with blunt scissors. Cries of objection from my more sensible counterparts. The consideration that as the ageing process continues there isn't much time left for bad hair decisions. From the highly questionable triangle haircut I sported during my early teenage years, to the later shaved head that resembled less Natalie Portman and more a newly born lamb, and the final unspeakable bleaching incident that left me closer to a Simpson than I care to admit - my hairs been through the wars. At my own hands I have chopped and singed the life out of my locks, possibly in the hope that those ever unruly curls will have less of a mind of their own. I'm now sat in another late night/early morning position of staring at the kitchen scissors in deliberation. A recent post by my favourite blogger, discotheque confusion, considered the joys of a free home haircut. My current wonky fringe would suggest a lower success rate. How much longer will I feel comfortable with that fateful snip snip snip and consequential sporting of a dodgy head of hair for the following weeks? Then, I still manage to find a small sense of liberation in separating myself from the inanimate signifier of femininity that flows from my scalp. Even looking like a baby lamb for a year was made all the sweeter by the breeze on my head - far superior to any non-helmeted bike ride. Not so enjoyable were the cold ears and absent minded attempts to fiddle with my tresses out of boredom or awkwardness. After all I suppose it is nice to have something to hide behind if the moment demands it.

Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys.

To claim a book has life altering capabilities is not uncommon, though whether this is a substantial claim to make always comes into question. I have always been impressionable. The art that I come into contact with has a tendency to imprint itself upon my person, at least for a fleeting period of time. This goes back as far as carrying around a piece of ribbon in my pocket so I could pretend to be Violet Baudelaire at the age of 10. Even so, I do not throw around the term life changing lightly, or for that matter frequently. When discussing Viv Albertine's autobiography this is a phrase that reemerged from each person I spoke to, as a significant commonality.

For those of you who don't know, Albertine is perhaps most noted as guitarist of the 70s all-female punk band The Slits. Her recent autobiography, Clothes, Clothes, Clothes. Music, Music, Music. Boys, Boys, Boys. stitches together a painting of a life that stretches much further than this. Yes, it is emblazoned with a frank depiction of the UK punk scene - with personal accounts of Sid Vicious and Mick Jones, both of whom Albertine was acquainted with. Beyond this,  however, lie engaging reflections of a daughter, mother and wife. The book is underpinned with the passions of a musician, yet stands alone as an often painfully honest piece of writing. Viv takes leaps over a simple portrait of the music industry by considering the position of women and the choices they are faced with in a way that is continually relatable.

The whole of Clothes reads at great ease. Albertine's distinct voice, which is both humorous and grounded, resounds throughout. All in all the book is likeable. It is a pleasure at each turning and remains without pretence. For me, it was not so much life changing as life affirming. The doubts and falters that line a life as full as hers are still entirely recognisable. To have the same level of consciousness echoed in the words of a woman who has stood as such an inspiration, above all was reassuring. That those same uncertainties break through as clear as day, signposting each point alongside a voice that remains unapologetically defiant, is refreshing. What Albertine offers is a full and uninhibited portrayal of the self, providing a guiding light of reference for women both young and old. Almost as an accidental role model, it is through her honesty that Albertine reveals truths about being a woman that have perhaps been refined to the corners of our psyché. Her words resonate as the shared difficulties that permeate everyday life. It may not make claims for every woman's experiences, yet it does not attempt to hide its own and thus acts as an example of the kind of openness that can only be helpful for such a mystified gender. Here is not just a reflection of one woman's story, but a necessary invitation into at least one reality of womanhood. 

An Ode to Anna

Nineteen seems to be one of those decidedly in-between ages. It's hard to decipher whether you're coming or going, with changes of location and surroundings being prominent factors. The past year saw me pack up my life in London, exchanging the hectic drum of city life for the slightly more sedated shores of Brighton's seaside town. A year on, having witnessed as they completed everything from travels across India to Art foundations I get to watch as a greater proportion of my friends become scattered around the country. There is a heightened sense of longing as I observe the distance between us increase. Somewhere along the line a feeling of mourning has established itself in the pit of my stomach, as if the reality of letting go of those years spent a walk away from my favourite people has come into fruition. This seems a strange fate, due to the fact that a year has passed since I made the similar move of bidding farewell to my home in favour of new adventures. Then there are the other emotions - of anticipation and excitement. Throwing caution to the wind and stepping out into the unknown. I could never have predicted the kind of paths I would be led down through straying from London, though in hindsight they appear small there is no doubt of their altering capabilities. I share in that anticipation now, as I regard some of the best people I have had the pleasure of knowing make the same branch off into a world of their choosing. This, then is for them. With four people particularly in mind, this is an indication of my faith in their endeavours. May they enter into their new lives with the assurance that their presence, for me, has been both humbling and necessary during the tumultuous years of my teenage life. The journeys that they are about to embark upon are going to be made all the more wonderful by the beauty that they continue to carry with them and dazzle others with. May the next year bring them new levels of joy, creativity and success. At the end of it all I will be sitting on that same red sofa waiting to hear of your adventures and pretend that no time has passed at all.

Dreaming in Berlin

It's taken me the best part of the summer to get myself together to write this post. Like a lot of things in life, my trip to Berlin that occurred in mid-June has gathered a dust of haze that has illuminated its edges with a sweet tinge of romanticism. If you are familiar with my past writing at all you have probably already become accustomed to my partiality towards this. The one thing that I am asked time and time again by friends is the best things to do when visiting the city of wonder, so based on my experience I've compiled a list of 10 tips. I'd love to hear some of your own in return.

1) Stay somewhere out of the ordinary
When picking a hostel to spend a week in Hannah and I did the usual thing of trailing through trip advisor feeling increasingly despondent. Friends who I have spoken to have done everything from couch surfing to hostel hopping, the former sounding like one of the best ways to really delve into the heart of the city. We settled on the slightly obscure option of a hostel boat. Eastern Comfort is situated directly behind the East Side Gallery, something which took us a little bit too long to discover. Surrounded by Friedrichshain in the former East, my personal favourite district, and Kreuzberg in the former West you really couldn't ask for a better location with transport links a mere skip and a jump down the road. We found ourselves in a little cabin with just enough space for 6 bunk beds, but one look out of the window at the river cascading in the sun and the space appeared to stretch endlessly before us. Though many a morning was spent in deliberation as to whether it was in fact the boat that was moving or our fragile heads, nothing quite matched being perched on the outside deck, glass of wine in hand, in the cool evening breeze. 

2) Have breakfast outside
A brief walk along the streets of Friedrichshain will display rows of cafes, lined with tables on the street outside. Settling into a seat one morning, book in hand and pastry at the ready we found ourselves in perfect company. In a moment that was reminiscent of Snow White we became surrounded by a flock of tiny birds, perched on our table and chirping underneath. There seems no better way to spend a morning than watching the fluttered excitement of feathers over a few crumbs.

3) Indulge in an Indian
One of the great things about many of the restaurants in Berlin is the layout of tables, which face outwards towards the street so that everyone ends up sat in a prime people watching position. On the first night, we did exactly this over a beautifully selected Indian feast. The richness of the food held great superiority over the dishes in the UK, and we both ended up having to practically roll ourselves home for having eyes that are certainly bigger than our stomachs.

4) Don't get caught up on door policies
One downfall to Berlin is the notorious door policies of clubs. A night can go either way, as a breeze to go into places or the greatest challenge possible. If you scour the internet there are countless tips on how best to achieve entry but these can often prove entirely fruitless. Thankfully, with places staying open through much of the day and an abundance of locations to choose from there will always be something. Discovering the huge variation between the clubs of Berlin is one of the great joys of the nightlife. From entering into a building that from the outside resembled nothing more than an ordinary house, but opened out to reveal a tiny one-roomed tech-house club, to the blackout techno club that stretched into a courtyard where we danced the day away with sunlight streaming on to us. Of course, there is Berlin's infamous use of abandoned spaces, and for me Stattbad stood out as a cut above the rest. Positioned in an abandoned leisure centre, lined with pipes and ominous boilers that loom over you as you dance into the day, we got lost here for numerous hours among a crowd that was both approachable and warm, to the sound of Detroit Swindle. Sadly, when we went only part of the club was open but the rest of it boasts an impressive empty swimming pool turned dance floor. A real wonder compared to the dominantly sparse buildings of the UK scene. 

5) See the city by bicycle
If, like me, you are a bit of a restless person there's no better way to see a city than by bike. Following the distance of the u-bahn and speeding through parks under a canopy of trees. A feeling of weightlessness over the course of the day. It made it that much easier to get to grips with the layout of the city and discover my favourite parts. Clumsiness does prevail and I did find myself lying under an overturned wheel with a debris of smashed beer bottles scattered around me, but then I did leave with a few scabs to show for my day of fun and Hannah got the hilarious image of me toppling over at great speed. 

6) Get lost in Templehof Airport
As mentioned above, there is a cornucopia of abandoned areas to conquer across Berlin. My only regret is that I did not take the time to explore more of them. At least I have more reason to return and do so next time. Abandoned Berlin provides a detailed documentation of many of these sites so in preparation of a trip it can prove far more helpful than a travel guide. One of the better known and more accessible of the options is Templehof Airport, initially constructed in 1923 it underwent mass reconstruction by the Nazis in the 1930s in anticipation of increasing air traffic. Since its closure, the airport has now been transformed into a national park. Huge stretches of runways are now filled with skateboarders and cyclists, establishing one of the biggest playgrounds I've ever encountered. Under the ominous shadow of the airport itself there is nothing quite like watching the fading daylight emit itself against the huge structures. Next to the great expanse of tarmac a community garden has been created, establishing a commitment to horticulture that reminded me of the Green Fields at Glastonbury. Sculptures of airplanes are struck in miniature contrast to the real wartime models that can be observed dotted around the fields. A place definitely better seen on bicycle for maximum exploring potential.

7) Go to Mauerpark on a Sunday
At the point of entering Mauerpark on a sun filled Sunday I had not slept in 3 days. This inevitably enhanced the curiosity of being lost in a mass of crowds scouring the flea market. Still in no way comparable to my astonishment at being met with a stone amphitheatre filled with onlookers of a karaoke set. Much of Berlin seems to descend on the park to lounge about on a lazy Sunday and with the fading cries of a stranger's voice filling the air it is certainly set apart from your average day in a park. 

8) Venture out of the city centre for some wild swimming
11am and I find myself leaving the dark constraints of another Berlin club and entering into the waiting rays of light pressing down against my tired eyes. Jumping on a train, I am quickly led out of the hectic buzz of a city day, and before I can grab my bearings I am walking through a vast woodland, enveloped by rows of trees as far as the eye can see. Eventually the trees start to diminish in numbers and we find ourselves at a clearing, staring hard at the idyllic setting before us. A perfectly still lake awaits, with the only sign of life surrounding it being the outline of a nudist doing yoga in the morning light and a single tent erected among the strips of long grass. It transpired as one of those pinch yourself moments where I was convinced that I must be dreaming. The completeness of that single moment, presented with an image of nature at its height, is still beyond me. Skinny dipping in the ice cold waters ensued before we collectively passed out in the sun among the hum of cicadas. Entirely at peace and in the company of my favourite people, I have never felt such an extreme appreciation for a present moment. It sits as the pinnacle of my time in Berlin and an indication of the scattered opportunities that the city offers. 

9) Find some locals to show you around
Leading me on to the penultimate line of advice for an expedition through the varied waters of Berlin. Find someone to guide you along the way. We were lucky enough to have the exceptional companionship of two people who had spent time previously getting to grips with the city and without them our experience would in no way be the same. Their commitment to showing us the best of Berlin ensured that we left with a great fondness for the city in tow. 

10) Leave your expectations at the door and be prepared for adventure
The one thing that people returning from Berlin seem to have in common is an overwhelming urge to go back. It is this that assures me that the possibilities that are offered by the winding streets are endless. As long as you travel with an open mind, ready for whatever may meet you along the path, I have no doubt that the charm of the city will affect you in the same way it has everyone I know. 

All photography (except Templehof Airport) by Lizzy Gilson.

Home is where the heart is

I'm sat in the front room of the home I knew for the first 18 years of my life. There are differences from when I first lived here. The endless stacks of magazines have now been sorted through, leaving a distinct feeling of space in the otherwise cluttered room. As the sun streams through the window, filtering through the heavily leafed  branches outside, there remains a feeling of recognition despite these minor changes. The way the blankets of green reflect in the cabinet doors sends waves of nostalgia of many afternoons spent sat on the woven carpets underfoot. I am listening to Bright Eyes, one particular album that I used to listen to on a loop as I walked home from school, enhancing that feeling that I have been transported back to another period of my life. Simultaneously I am an infant, decorating the floor with an array of lego blocks from the seemingly bottomless green canvas box in the corner of the room, and a teenager sitting on a wooden chair across from my mum as I tell her of my recent trip to Portugal, watching as the sun draws patterns upon my sun kissed skin. Every time I now return to this room I appear changed. By my recent travels, or my first year living on my own. The red velvet sofa remains consistently the same, though the holes in its back are telling of an ageing process not too separated from my own, but a different person sits on it. Even so, as I hang out the washing I am overcome by that same smell of fresh linen and find myself surrounded by all those previous versions. There is a resounding comfort of being back in this room that I hope will never change; of having a base, a sanctuary that refuses to alter alongside the continual changes of a hectic life. My mother who continues to perch on the end of that same sofa, listening to me ramble on with an understanding that never falters. As I ready myself to return once again to the building I have learnt to call home for the past 2 months, anticipating my second year at university, I take great comfort in knowing that my second home will remain beckoning at the end of a train line. The walls laced with memories of a childhood all but lost and the one consistent of a parent, characterised by an unconditional care that will not be matched anywhere else.