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magazine issue four | 2010

Welcome to issue four of 20x20 magazine, a square platform for writings, visuals and crossbred projects. The works in this issue have been assembled around the meta-words RESCUE CLUB, to which the artists and authors have responded in very different ways. The aim is to bring together interesting contributions and create a collection of pieces with no expiry date. We would like to thank all contributors for their work that inspire us to put together and publish this magazine. Francesca and Giovanna Cover image: Gas Mask S.O.S by Reena Makwana

We believe in good faith that all content published in this issue has been authorised for, however if you think that your copyrighted work has been reproduced in our magazine without authorisation in a way that constitutes copyright infringement, 20x20 magazine issue four

you may notify us by e-mail:

London, 2010 ISSN 1757-9007 Editors | Giovanna Paternò, Francesca Ricci Marketing | Daniela Donohoe

A special thanks to our paper sponsor PAPERBACK. |

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paper - and this is still our objective. We remain the only UK

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20x20 magazine issue four | contents visions | Alicja Dobrucka, I like you, l like you a lot


words | Michael Conley, La Guerra de los mil dias


blender | Joan Byrne, My days as a member of the Jobcentre Plus Club


visions | Sam Szulc, Save your self


words | Rebecca Ann Renner, Rescue, post hoc


blender | Steve McPherson, 4 Found Finds, No3- April 2010 and


4 Found Finds, No1- April 2010 words | Jenna Skidmore, Pemberton’s Club, Press Release Series, The


People’s Museum Of 1962 visions| Grace Wilson, Yorkshire men


visions | Carla Chait, Demolition Rosebank


words | Eamon Bolger, Mid-air regrets


blender | i-lib, Save this lost soul


visions | Jonathan Kelham, Philip Larkin the Lone Ranger


words | Ryan Ormonde, U-N-I-T-E-D (United Aid Society)


words | Robert West, Me and mine


visions | Jonathan Kelham, Tree Slide Series 21 (Two Lying Down, One


water, All Bags)


contributors | biographies






ome t o c l

visions | Rosie Emerson, Goddesss #2




words | Francesca Ricci, Interlude VIII

Aljcia Dobrucka, I like you, l like you a lot

‘We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.’ Franz Kafka I like you, l like you a lot is part of an ongoing practice, documenting a personal experience of death and mourning, the camera being consciously employed to explore the subject of bereavement. After the immediacy of pain, the harsh rawness of fact and detail gives way to impression. Traces linger, spaces resonate with shifting memories and changing recollections. This is a search for presence in the absence, creating affect rather than narrative, sense rather than story.


my days as a member of the jobcentre plus club Joan Byrne Before the dawn of unemployment, I ran a PR business which for a decade ticked over until, almost blender

imperceptibly, it began to wind down. And finally it melted like a Dali clock. If poverty scared me - and it did going on the dole petrified me, especially since my local Jobcentre is bang in the middle of Peckham. But, I am grateful to live in a society that provides financial support (rescue) in times of need. The collapse of


my business did not leave me cleaving to a cardboard box in a doorway. But, when I signed on, what I didn’t know was that I’d signed up to play a bit-part in an absurdist drama that sometimes tripped into farce but could just as easily plunge into horror.

If it happens to you (I hope it doesn’t), signing on is a salutary experience. You will come close to experiencing death in life as yet another manila envelope holding a beige form arrives demanding to be filled in. Can it be the 51st? You will come to know humiliation. Stranded on a sofa at a Jobcentre waiting for your name to be called, you will appreciate how time can be attenuated. You will recognise the aroma of poverty; the feeling of joylessness; the meaning of drabness, despite the generous use of primary colours. You will look around plenty of time for that - and wonder what you have in common with others signing on. Have you inadvertently joined a club of failures?

Today is a signing day. I walk and weave on and off the pavement on Rye Lane. Every so often I break into a trot on the road when I judge it safe. I am a few minutes late because before leaving home, I entered the timeless zone of one who is going out to do something she bloody doesn’t want to do. ‘Fully staffed on the books, no bums on seats,’ says one advisor to a Jobseeker when he comments on how few people are working there today. My name is called not a minute too soon for I have succumbed to a mortifying moment: despite my best intentions, tears are eking through my defences. Anyway, due to lack of staff, signing is perfunctory. I hurry away from the low beige ceiling, the flecked dark carpet panels, the sofas made for two and, once on the brutal streets of Peckham, I don dark glasses. Passing a green space on the tip of Rye Lane I notice a man who appears to be lying face down in the grass. Passed out? Dead? Closer up I see his head is raised, and before him on a railing an array of socks and underwear hung out to dry. 20x20 magazine | page 12

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Sam Szulc, Save Your Self


rescue, post hoc Rebecca Anne Renner We are the ones who search the water,


black-slicked, froth escaping from our masks.

We are the ones that search, after survivors separate from the vicious, viscous mass visions

of writhing wreckage that in a former incarnation had been a twin-engine plane. It went down

on the pivot of lake Pontchartrain in the silt bath flowing into the gulf. Copper, sulfur water

from the Mississippi flourished in the black and brackish waters of the lake. The say drivers on the vieux carre

saw its wing brush the surface of the water and snap like balsa wood. Floating on the lake’s skin, we

see white tin wings suspended in the depthless balneal landscape. We are the ones that search

that search the plane, air pooling in the mountain crevices on the ceiling of the cockpit. Her hair is a mat of algae,

golden blooms around her face. She is a pristine seraphim with bloated, milky skin. The froth escaping from our masks we find the vicious, viscous mass at the bottom of the lake.

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20x20 magazine | page 22


me and mine Robert West



A screw turns, a shot is fired, a body falls, a laugh breaks out. A toy soldier wanders across the floor carrying his gun, inhaling his burning cigarette; the door creaks, sounding, awkward. I was shot into oblivion. The dark robe of the night wrapped me with its concrete walls. I put myself into a cage. A cage with no bars, no walls, no boundaries, the realisation was sudden. Motion and momentum, silence among the mayhem, moments fleeting; running, we left our mark on each other our love sounded-deafening, we smiled. It seeped downward from the heavens to giving a glimpse of beauty, of wonder, of solace. You need not have proved yourself so forcefully, the embers have been ignited into a searing furnace, you are no longer in control, control does not exist, I spread bullets through your tender skin, ripping throw you like quickened oars in the tranquil sea. You gasped your last, I laughed and breathed in red flame. I looked at the cold metal arm and gazed at its black sheen. I now possess too much power, I had reached the heavens without moving. I breathed in my last, my dream was forgotten. My cold metal arm greeted me with sharp fierce heat. I hit, the dull wet concrete with powerful dead weight. Goodbye my kingdom, my empire, I am sorry for the hurt, for the feelings, I am a sleep dreaming now, once again coming to meet you.

20x20 magazine | page 34

(opposite page) Jonathan Kelham, Tree Slide Series 21 (Two Lying Down, One water, All Bags)

20x20 magazine Issue Four - 2010  

20x20 magazine is a square platform for writings, visuals and cross-bred projects. These are sample pages from issue two of 20x20 magazine,...

20x20 magazine Issue Four - 2010  

20x20 magazine is a square platform for writings, visuals and cross-bred projects. These are sample pages from issue two of 20x20 magazine,...