Glasgow University Magazine, Issue 2 - Space & Place

gum

Issue 02 / Feb 2017

Glasgow University Magazine

features / culture / fashion / politics / science / creative writing

Space and Place

Glasgow University Magazine

CONTENTS FEATURES Where is your happy place?

Trapped in the Closet Space and Place in Music It’s Not the Destination Bare Thoughts

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CULTURE

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FASHION

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POLITICS

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SCIENCE & TECHNOLOGY

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CREATIVE WRITING

Glasgow Women’s Library Hall Sweet Hall

Behind These Walls Fashion Editorial Creating ‘Other’ Spaces in Fashion

Maintaining a Sense of Place Politics of Virtual Space

Engineering the Planet One Small Step for Man?

Space Untitled Galloway Fading Waiting for You Outside Sleazy’s The Homestead

Photo: Zaynah Ahmed

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Issue 2 / Feb 2017 Editor in Chief Kirsty Dunlop

Deputy Editor

Editor’s Note Kirsty Dunlop

Erika Koljonen

Online Editor Silvia Sani

Events Managers Meg Handley and Kaisa Saarinen

Features Editor Clare Patterson

Culture Editor The spaces and places we inhabit: are they defined as our physical environments? Or do these words encompass a wider landscape: political, national, or even emotional?

Emmi Joensuu

Fashion Editor Niamh Carey

2017 begins, and the planet we call home is suddenly changing by the day. The looming uncertainty of Brexit, and Trump’s controversial new policies, together appear to be propelling us towards an unpredictable future. The potential impact of global politics on our everyday lives is now more obvious than at any time in recent memory, making us question, as individuals, whether we have the ability to control our surroundings or even our own movements. Are we completely powerless, or do we have greater agency than we realise? The year has also been brought in with mass marches alongside protests across the virtual community, proving that when we join together we have a powerful collective voice, and (hopefully!) some impact. Perhaps in the current climate we are becoming increasingly aware of our individual locations, in a space extending beyond the walls of our university, our city, and our own worries and deadlines.

Politics Editor

Intrigued by our relationship with both space and place, in this issue of GUM, we decided to embark on a journey through different spaces, breaking down boundaries to open up discussion. Get lost in the pages as we travel from the magical queer closet to Glasgow’s intersectional cultural spaces, take a train ride into the Highlands, investigate globalization and global warming, and discover the effects of space travel on human physiology.

Or you can escape into the magical spaces evoked by our photography, illustration and creative writing, where words and images can break down expectations and transport you into the new and unknown.

Melissa McNair

We also set out to ask all of you: where is your happy place? Perhaps you find it in a specific location, time of day, or in the escapism of music. Turn over the page to discover some of the answers!

All the best and warm wishes for the year ahead,

Science & Technology Editor Dalia Gala

Photo Editor Kati Brunk

Creative Writing Editor Neil Weaving

Copy Editor Graphic Design Kati Brunk

Cover photograph Marion Prieler

Writers Ryan Neilson Pafan Amnuaysawasdi Lauren Campbell Niamh Carey Pella Ödmann Rachel Walker Kaisa Saarinen Ross Laidlaw Annie Milburn Jonas Gambas Denise Bonetti Lara Delmage Maria Sledmere Carly Brown

editor’s note

We hope you enjoy this issue as much as we enjoyed making it. GUM is constantly expanding and we are really excited about the new directions the magazine is taking, driven by a growing team of writers and artists. We hold weekly meetings and workshops on a range of subjects, which take place on Thursdays at 6pm in Room 208 of the John Macintyre Building. We hope to see you there!

Annie Milburn

Illustrators/Photographers

Kirsty Dunlop Editor

Silvia Sani Marion Prieler Michael Paget Kamilla Hu-Yang Imogen Whiteley Eunjoo Lee

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Julia, 18, History of Art, Digital Media and Information Studies My happy space is my flat.

El, 22, Sociology My happy place is alone on the top deck of a bus, when the people next to you are having a fascinating conversation and you can listen without them realising. I even have a notebook dedicated to overheard conversations; they make great stories and make me forget niggling worries.

Aoife, 20, Spanish and Politics It sounds super cheesy but my happy place is right up front and centre of a pumping gig with all my pals.

Where is your

Ciaran, 20, English Literature and French On a bus or a train in either the dying light or at night – the comforting motion and the lack of outside distractions make it the only place where I can fully focus on reading something.

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happy

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Helen, 22, English Literature (Victorian Studies) The grounds of the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art on a clear, sunlit day in Autumn. Also the Necropolis because I am an eternal sad girl.

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Caterina, 24, History of Art My happy place is being surrounded by plants and nature – the Botanic Gardens or any greenhouse.

They just make me feel calm and peaceful.

Sammy, 22, Aeronautical Engineering Sitting on a half broken plastic chair in 30-degree heat with a cup of Arabic sage tea in my hand and the sound of the adhan playing in the wind. My dad is from Israel/Palestine and he insisted that we visit Siti and Sido (my grandparents) every summer holiday for a few months; this became every summer holiday of my childhood, and every year, after months of London gloom, the sun and tea would save me from developing a long term vitamin D deficiency!

Hannah, 21, Sociology When you’re exploring a new city in another country and you find somewhere to sit down by yourself for a bit, maybe have something to eat or drink, and you don’t have to think about anything else except how good everything is in that moment.

Cat, 22, English Literature

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It might be an obvious choice, but the Scottish Highlands are probably the place I associate most with feeling happy and at peace. It’s so easy to get there from the city and yet it’s a totally different world. Every time I go there, I get this feeling of freedom like I’m an outlaw on the run from daily life. I find a great deal of comfort in the sense of my own insignificance when I’m standing on a mountainside. I like to be reminded that I’m part of something much bigger than myself and I also know that it’s the times when I am feeling this way that I am my best and truest self.

Barbora, 20, Film and Television Studies My happy place is on the water, windsurfing or catching waves.

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Glasgow University Magazine

Photos: Silvia Sani

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Trapped in the Closet Ryan Neilson explores magical queer spaces.

“As a result of the monstrous nature of the closet, our childhood, spurred on by heteronormative indoctrination, prefigures it as a queer space.”

truth is stuffed in the back, and we pick an outfit in the same way we might pick a lie, to conceal or obscure. The closet not only hides our sexuality, but provides us with ways to dress it up. Should someone root around, past jackets and dresses, to discover the truth, we are humiliated. However, it also has the potential to be a safe space; the image of the hotel wardrobe with the unused safe comes to mind. If we are hidden, we are safe, or so the thinking goes. If it is not a safe space, then it is a prison: a cell of our own or society’s creation. The personal struggle is the quest for the key, to unlock and safely reveal ourselves, to own our sexuality.

The skeleton plays as important a role in this saying as the closet itself. Not only does it represent the stripping down, the baring of the truth, but the image of the skeleton is seen as something terrifying, associated with bodily horrors and Halloween decorations. Does that make our secret sexuality monstrous? Our sexuality may be seen as scary but we have the right to wear it, own it, and love it like our favourite outfit.

From the Halloween skeleton in the closet, we climb to our next branch, the monsters of our childhood.

With the imagination running wild, the child’s mind pictures beasts and unnatural forms. The closet contains these monsters until we outgrow them and their forms become abstract, dwelling in the recesses of our minds. As a result of the monstrous nature of the closet, our childhood, spurred on by heteronormative indoctrination, prefigures it as a queer space. Our monsters are not products of our imagination but instead symbolise the adolescent terror of not being straight. Like the monsters, it is unknown and shrouded in darkness, consequently breeding fear. Society may nurture this fear, taking advantage of our childish and adolescent monsters dwelling in the same space. We are made to fear

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here is perhaps no piece of furniture so entrenched in metaphor and euphemism than the humble closet. Here is a piece of furniture but also an enclosed space: hidden, darkened, and with limited viewership. From childhood, we regard the closet as more than just a container of clothes; it was once the home of nightmarish monsters, creeping out from within, or it was enchanted, a novel mode of supernatural transportation. By the time we are adults, we have shaken off such childish realities, and the closet becomes metaphorical in nature. The most obvious metaphor is the ‘coming out of the closet’, the revelation of one’s non-straight sexuality. While others have adopted it, and the type of revelations has broadened, this has always been a queer space, teetering on the boundary between prison and safe house. So, with the closet at the centre of this queer idiom, I wondered what it meant then, for other closet metaphors. If ‘coming out of the closet’ is the trunk of this article, then the monsters, the skeletons, and the magical wardrobe are the branches: how do these poetic closets relate to and affect this queer space?

When we say that someone has skeletons in the closet, we usually suspect that they are hiding something horrific. The word ‘closet’ has Latin roots from the word for ‘private room’, the ideal space to store our secrets. There is a poetic dynamic between the skeleton image and the closet containing clothes: the dressed versus the nude, the dressed-up versus the stripped-down. If the metaphorical and literal undressed translates as revealing, then those skeletons are stripped down to an even greater extent. Without clothes or flesh to hide the truth, we are exposed, and exposure goes hand in hand with shame and humiliation; this makes the closet an appropriate queer space. Our

Glasgow University Magazine

what lurks inside, and we are reluctant to let it out. The ‘monster-in-the-closet’ figure of speech brings us back to the closet as a cell for the queer self. Rather than incarcerating our sexuality as a fragment of ourselves, we demonise it, render it from our identity, turning it into a monster of its own accord. For a while we can play at noble knights; keeping that threat locked up is our victory. The monster in the closet illuminates how we can view non-heterosexual sexuality, demonic and terrifying, waiting to be confined by a hero.

The true hero however does not cage the beast but loves it. After all, it’s the kiss of true love that turns the beast back into a handsome prince.

The closet can also has a positive side; instead of a cell or a hiding place, it can be regarded as a space that enables enchanted travel. Whether you’re a book worm and have read 'The Chronicles of Narnia', or a ‘90s kid and remember Sabrina the Teenage Witch, the closet has elevated us beyond both the mundane and the metaphorical to transform into the magical. The closet allows us to escape; to flee the menaces of the real world, its ordinariness, or something more sinister. How does this relate to the queer space? Perhaps it shows us the extraordinariness of queerness, the space and world we enter being full of colours and sights we never imagined. We take on the role of Dorothy stepping out of her black and white Kansas life to revel in the multicoloured world and people of Oz. However, along with this journey, comes self-acceptance. The Pevensie family travels to Narnia, and in this journey, finds and accepts its heroic fate. Sabrina only uses the closet when she accepts that she is a witch. Only extraordinary people can visit extraordinary places. To accept ourselves is to embrace this closet, a threshold for the amazing journeys that await us, literal and figurative. Open those doors, not to release some gnarly monster but to enter a space that can transport you away from hate to love and from denial to acceptance.

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The closet is a mysterious space, simultaneously ordinary and extraordinary. We keep all manner of objects in there: clothes, monsters, skeletons, secrets. It is a space of the proverbial and the literary but, ultimately, it is a queer space; two sides of the same coin, it may be positive or negative, interwoven with other proverbial closets. A safe, a prison, a doorway to another place, the possibilities are endless. We should embrace the closet; open it up to be magically queer rather than viewing it as prison, designed to lock up a beast.

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“The closet is a mysterious space, simultaneously ordinary and extraordinary.”

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Space and

Place

An Awesome Wave (2012)

in Music

Our editors take us on a journey into the albums that transport them to a special space:

Space is Only Noise (2011) Nicolas Jaar I don’t really know how to categorise this album in terms of genre. Wikipedia says ‘electronic’ and ‘experimental’, neither of which is especially descriptive. It takes influence from everywhere, from jazz to house, which makes it sound like it should be a mess, but it works. Listening to it always reminds me of being in a bus in the middle of the night, travelling through the pitch-black Serbian countryside, leaning against the window half asleep. Which, come to think of it, would explain why this album has a somewhat dreamlike association with me. In any case, it’s all very chill and weirdly dark and I enjoy it a lot.

Erika Koljonen, Deputy Editor

The Space Lady The Space Lady is pure psychedelic synth-pop pleasure.

Covering well-known rock tunes on her lovely little synth, Space Lady creates a dream world of lush riffs and unearthly vocals with a knack for making familiar classics (from David Bowie to Elvis Presley) totally alien. Forget taking you to another space: this album will take you to another planet.

This album takes me away to the times when I first came to the University, and first felt the true meaning of adulthood, having to be responsible, and not being a teenager anymore. It brings these subtle, hard to describe feelings and gets me thinking about truth, challenge, peace, and the meaning of every minute of my time. It’s organised flow works like a relaxation technique for me - with some more intense songs, like ‘Breezeblocks’, at the begginning, and melancholic ‘Taro’ telling a story of two photographers who died in a war, towards the end. It’s an excellent, well composed album.

Dalia Gala, Science and Technology Editor

Pure Heroine (2013) Lorde I was born in New Zealand but my family moved to the UK when I was three years old. By coincidence we used to live in the same suburb of Auckland as Lorde had grown up in and when I returned there for the first time, aged 18, I was filled with half-formed memories of my childhood that suddenly bubbled to the surface. Lorde’s minimalist musings on teenage ennui had already got me through sixth-form blues, but now, in this world of palm-tree lined streets, bright blue sea and ‘roads where the houses don’t change’, they suddenly jumped into full colour. On the 38-hour flight from the UK to New Zealand, I listened to the then-17-year-old Lorde sing ‘pretty soon I’ll be getting on my first plane/I’ll see the veins of my city like they do in space’ and I felt like I was in on something incredible, exciting and new.

Clare Patterson, Features Editor

Niamh Carey, Fashion Editor

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The Space Lady’s Greatest Hits (2013)

Alt-J

Glasgow University Magazine

It’s Not The Destination Pafan Amnuaysawasdi takes us on a journey from Thailand to the Scottish Highlands.

he breathtaking scenery outside the window of my train distracts the passengers from their activities. From the window, I can see a small village hidden beneath the shade of the mountains, a flock of sheep grazing in the green, seemingly endless fields and streams of water flowing through this vast landscape; sights which encourage travellers to pick up their smartphones to try and get that perfect shot. As an international student who has been staying in Scotland for two months now, I know how lucky I am to travel during this beautiful, clear day. I feel excited about the exotic landscape before me and cannot wait to escape from the small confines of the carriage. However, the train seems to move more slowly, as if it knows what I am thinking.

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As someone wise once said, we only see the value of something when it has been lost, and it is the grey cloudiness of Scotland that makes me realise how important sunshine is. I come from one of the sunniest countries in the world, where summer blossoms all year round – Thailand. It is, then, quite strange to be living in such a grey country with such unpredictable weather. I never used to pay attention to the weather forecast or put much thought towards what I would wear each day, and sunny days back home rarely brought much joy as they were too hot to appreciate. In Scotland, on the other hand, the sun doesn’t come out from behind the clouds. So, on the rare occasion that it is a clear day, I feel energised and do not hesitate to take the chance to get out and explore new places.

The Highlands were my first destination before the semester began. I initially heard about the Highlands when I attended the World Pipe Band Championships in August; there was a Highland dance competition in which all dancers wore tartan costumes and were accompanied by bagpipes. I’ve been fond of Scottish culture ever since and plan

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Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Photos: Marion Prieler

to learn more about it through travel. So it was not long before my friends and I booked train tickets to Inverness, the gateway to the Highlands, and that is why the three of us are sitting here, in the blue ScotRail train, sharing our experiences with each other.

Bobbie is an undergraduate student that I know from a university trip; we bonded over our taste for travelling. Bobbie plans to continue his studies as a postgraduate in Glasgow and dreams of having his own business in the future. My other friend, Nick, has already taught in a university in Thailand; he would also like to complete his postgraduate degree here. I sit somewhere in between my two friends: I have finished my first degree, but have no work experience. The three of us come from totally different backgrounds and fields of study, but met by coincidence because our dreams have the same starting point – Glasgow. Another shared commonality is an uncertain future; we may not succeed, or we may change our plans again. Life, unlike our train, does not follow a certain path to a

An announcement tells us that the train will soon approach Inverness. Three hours pass quickly amongst friends. I hope that we will get more chances like this to sit and talk, to inspire and encourage one another during our studies.

We leave the train amidst a wave of passengers heading to their own, different, destinations. The sky is clear and the sunshine is calling us to fully appreciate this rare bout of good weather. The Highlands might be our destination today, but this will not be the end of our journey. In the future, I might meet new friends in entirely different places, but the memories of Scotland and of this train to the Highlands will always remain with me.

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“We might find that the memories we make along the way are more meaningful than our final destinations.�

specific destination. The best we can do is be aware of the time we have on this journey; to gain experiences from the people we meet and the places we visit, and to try to keep moving forward even when our surroundings are not always as beautiful as the Highlands. We might find that the memories we make along the way are more meaningful than our final destinations.

Glasgow University Magazine

Bare Thoughts Lauren Campbell navigates the mental landscapes of artist and subject in life drawing.

Illustration: Charlotte Dean

hen was the last time you were comfortably naked? If, like me, you are single, suffering from a post-Christmas body and living in a chilly student flat in Glasgow, the answer is probably ‘a fair while ago’.

As an avid life drawer, when a friend instigated a fortnightly life drawing class amongst a group of pals, I willingly signed up for both the drawing and modelling aspects.

Our meet-ups are a delightful collation of wine, tea and chocolate and a quick giggle at the weekend’s gossip, followed by two hours of drawing. This Women’s Institute ambience provides a supportive environment for the fortnightly subject, who courageously strips down. Although I regularly attend life drawing classes, I have yet to try my hand as a model, so before my impending nakedness I thought I would ask my fellow life models about their experience.

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“The act of capturing whatever is in front of the sketchbook relies on ignoring these external worries and replacing them with a complete devotion to the subject at hand.”

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When talking to the subjects of my drawings, one aspect I found intriguing was the contrast between their thoughts and my own: the thoughts of those who are drawn compared to the drawer.

I have always found the discipline a useful distraction from everyday stresses due to the meditative quality of concentration involved when life drawing. The act of capturing whatever is in front of the sketchbook relies on ignoring these external worries and replacing them with a complete devotion to the subject at hand, even for just thirty minutes or merely thirty seconds at a time. The exterior world beyond the sketchbook and subject becomes non-existent.

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

However, it seems that the life models’ experiences are the opposite, as their minds are not always occupied with this state of deep, focused concentration; instead they are free to lucidly wonder. How often in life are we forced to remain completely still, unoccupied, phoneless and mute for an extended period? Once in a position, the life model is free to allow their mind to venture beyond the walls of the living room.

Moments such as these of thinking nothing, most often perceived as boredom, are commonly held to be the key to instigating and sustaining a creative thought process. The rising use of technology, such as smartphones, have been blamed for inhibiting creative thought processes due to constant social and technological interaction. If this is the case, this scheduled time for day dreaming which is obtained in life modelling provides the sitter with not just a welcome distraction from the potential discomfort of the physical strain but also with the thinking time required to enhance creative thought processes.

For one first time model in our group, this proved to be true. She explained how, after nervously disrobing, and recovering from the distinct lack of applause and fanfare celebrations at her nakedness, the quietness of the room enabled her to draft poetry on an unrelated subject in her head.

Conversely, another model revealed that the naked experience led to a feeling of critical self-analysis. Of course self-criticism is not exclusive to life models but perhaps once we are in our most exposed naked state this is amplified.

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As the model strips bare, in a non-sexually-driven environment, they are in complete, sober control of their own vulnerability. Do I look okay? Am I okay? Do I need to sort my body out? Do I need to sort my life out? These are not necessarily the most enjoyable of ruminations, but are essential nonetheless. Moments of deep reflection are vital to figure out if we are actually okay, and if we are not, perhaps de-sexualised nakedness in front of an audience can act as a first step in regaining control, an act of accepting ourselves from the outside in.

Perhaps life drawing does not have to be reserved for artists but can be practiced by those of us who could benefit from brief periods of meditative relief from everyday anxieties. Likewise, perhaps life modelling should not only be reserved for professionals but can be practiced by those who could creatively benefit from mind-wandering boredom, or develop from periods of deep self-reflection.

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Glasgow University Magazine

Glasgow Women’s Library: Building Bridges Niamh Carey discusses the importance of commonality in public spaces.

am at the library and I’m making shapes to Salt n’ Pepa. No, friends, this is not your run-of-themill dissertation breakdown boogie on level three: I’m at Glasgow Women’s Library and it’s her 25th birthday.

When we think of exciting spaces, it’s not likely that ‘library’ springs to mind. The thousand-year-old institution has been collecting dust for a long time now and is rarely considered an innovative public space. But Glasgow Women’s Library is changing the definition of what a library can (and should) be; as a result, it is fast becoming a stellar example of how transformative one place can be.

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GWL was founded in 1991, an offshoot from ‘Women in Profile’ (a collective formed to ensure equal representation of female creatives in Glasgow’s ‘City of Culture’ year). Starting out as a tiny shopfront in Garnethill, the library was initially run by a handful of volunteers but in the following decades, the library grew from strength to strength, and has recently found a permanent home in the East End’s Bridgeton. The space is a lending library primarily but its purpose goes far beyond providing books: one of GWL’s top priorities is providing access to information about women’s history, ideas, and culture, through as many modes as possible. Whether this is through offering access to its diverse archives, hosting book launches, or providing creative writing workshops, the library is a diverse platform for discussion on female experience. And they certainly know how to throw a party: ‘Herland’ events are evenings that celebrate female talent, from poetry to music to DJ sets (where, incidentally, I have witnessed some excellent moves – who knew librarians had such serious talent on the dancefloor!). GWL’s 25th birthday, a Herland special, featured many poets and musicians extraordinaire, including the legendary singer Horse and ‘Push It’ DJs.

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Issue 2 / Feb 2017

“In offering a place specifically designed for women, a sense of commonality is established that cuts across social hierarchies.”

What is striking about the space is the diversity of activity you’ll find there. One day you might wander into a workshop solely dedicated to decorating cupcakes as vaginas (an excellent rainy day activity), the next you might attend a sobering discussion on how to tackle hate crime. The eclecticism of activities means that anyone who is interested in culture, education, history, or wider social issues, will find a place here; the informative workshops are great ways of providing a platform for discussion about the female experience, whilst the film screenings, performances and archive collections offer an intersectional way of understanding the issues that affect women on a daily basis.

The best thing about this dynamic approach is its reciprocal nature. Anyone who wants to get involved is welcome to; GWL is a space of ideas, discussion, and most importantly, engagement. It places high importance on the plethora of female experience, and understands how issues of race, sexuality, class, and disability may block women from certain opportunities in life: that’s why the space is so unique. In engaging with culture in all its forms, it recognises the need to bring culture back from its elite status and give everyone a chance to get involved. In providing numerical and linguistic tuition, it understands the critical demand for fairer access to education. In offering a place specifically

designed for women, a sense of commonality is established that cuts across social hierarchies.

This is exactly why the library’s ethos should be a model for public spaces. It brings all the best things in life together under one roof, opens its doors to everyone, and celebrates human achievement.

Moreover, it does all this with a critical awareness of the importance of inclusionary spaces. Its visitors, from our very own Nicola Sturgeon to rock legend Carrie Brownstein, reflect its eclectic fan base, its far-reaching appeal and a general badass attitude that we should all learn a little from.

If we want our public spaces to make a real difference in people’s lives, it all comes down to providing opportunities: opportunities to engage with communities; to take part in artistic projects and historical investigations; to have access to books, education, language; and to be included in the discussion, definitely something to make a song and dance about.

Just an extra note: GWL is trans-inclusive, and all their women-only events are open to both non-binary and gender-fluid individuals who identify significantly as female. To the men reading this, you’re invited too!

Everyone is welcome to become a member and take part in many of the activities offered.

culture Photos: Silvia Sani

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Glasgow University Magazine

Hall Sweet Hall

Pella Ödmann explores the potential for self-expression in the temporary confines of student halls.

Illustration: Kati Brunk

“... the living space of a person also becomes a form of self-expression.”

oming back to university after the holidays is both a transition and a welcome return to familiar routine. One not-so-welcome return, however, is the return to halls. After all, those blue carpeted floors covered in years of wine stains and the little pin board upon which students are expected to keep a collage representing all of their interests (and indeed their lives), can undoubtedly seem bleak compared to the comfort and familiarity of your own home. Or maybe the walls, which may have been white when they were new, a long time ago, have been getting increasingly dull to look at over the past four months; the thought of having to spend another five months in this bunker that you’re paying for in blood, sweat and tears seems daunting.

So, every year a new set of students arrives, polaroids and blue tac in hand, ready to DIY the pain away and revive '90s poster culture in an attempt to make this unsightly space in which they will study, watch endless amounts of Netflix, cry, and drink, their own.

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As an art form, interior decor is rarely considered thought-provoking or held to the same high praise as many other arts; nevertheless, it is a creative outlet that has a constant presence in modern everyday life. As art has become increasingly inclusive, moving away from the strictness of the Renaissance to the readymade of the twentieth century, artistry in 2017 is expressed in all corners of life. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that the living space of a person also becomes a form of self-expression. Just as art can imitate life, TV shows and films clearly show the expressive nature of interior design, in which it is often, if not always, used to express a certain trait within a character. From the tribal art of Frasier Crane’s apartment to Holly Golightly’s bathtubturned-couch, a character’s home serves to tell a story, and it is no different outside the technicolour world of our television screens. If a picture says a thousand words, surely an entire room must say at least ten times as many about the person inhabiting it, whether he or she chooses to fill it with books, plants, memorabilia or Wes Anderson-inspired

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knickknacks and thingamabobs. Surely, even the emptiest rooms will reveal some truths about their occupier and chances are that even the most disinterested of us put at least some conscious effort into the décor of our habitats.

One problem with university halls, and certainly a major reason why it may not feel like the home away from home it is advertised as, is the limited opportunities it provides students with to actually make it their own. With countless university accommodations that look more or less identical and numerous rules and regulations preventing students from altering the space, there is an unfortunate sense of restriction when it comes to the art of self-expression. Furthermore, with signs of decreasing mental well-being in the student population and the positive effects the arts have on stress and anxiety, the need for a room of one’s own could not be greater.

“If a picture says a thousand words, surely an entire room must say at least ten times as many about the person inhabiting it."

University halls, no matter how many previous residents they have had or how much they live up to their unfortunate but not unjustly given reputations, exist as bittersweet temporary homes.

Faced with confining contracts and less than ideal conditions, brave freshers roll up their sleeves to tackle their boxrooms in a valiant effort to make them into a space for their creativity and individuality to flourish; at least until they find a more agreeable living arrangement.

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

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Glasgow University Magazine

Behind These Walls Niamh Carey takes a walk through Glasgow's hidden creative spaces.

Stylist Niamh Carey

Photographer Zaynah Ahmed

Models Ruby Miller Mobo La Ji

lasgow: city of makers, city of thinkers, creators, doers; a colossal cauldron of ideas.

The city is brimming with creative talent, and you don’t need to look hard to find proof: David Shrigley, Franz Ferdinand, Charles Rennie Macintosh, and countless other creatives have all materialised from the dreich streets of Glasgow to delight the world with their vivacious talent, artistic creation, and innovative designs. Everywhere you look, Glasgow seems to breed creativity within its walls.

And this is by no means an accident. The city has always had a penchant for nurturing artistic talent, a tendency which has in turn produced a ‘culture of creativity’ quite specific to Glasgow. What seems to be key in upholding the city’s cultural status is its ability to give culture a home.

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Glasgow has recently become exceptionally accommodating to artists, designers and creatives alike: in the past ten years, spaces of intersectional purpose and collaborative effort have been on the rise, and creative talent is flourishing as a result.

And you don’t need to go far to find it: walk down any street in the Merchant City and chances are the decrepit-looking building on your left is home to a hive of creative activity. Spot an old factory with damp patches and a questionable paint job in the East End, and it’s likely that you’re staring straight at a block of artist studios. In typical Glasgow fashion, these treasure-troves are often hidden in the most ordinary of places, but those who enter will find endless delight.

These spaces, locations such as the Glue Factory, WASP studios, South Block and the Briggait, are often difficult to define as fulfilling one purpose or another. They tend to be collaborative, focusing on the intersectional nature of art and can act as anything from platforms for discussion, to collaboration opportunities, to exhibition spaces.

But what seems to unite them all is their common purpose to support creative ventures, whatever they may be, and an ethos that enables a sense of creative community to blossom.

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The very existence of these spaces ensures that young talent is kept alive and well within the city.

The designs featured in this issue’s shoot are showstopping proof of this, and are all from our very own Glasgow School of Art’s fashion design students.

Their pieces truly exemplify Glasgow’s flare for the unusual, the eclectic, the crafty; for thinking outside the box. Erin McQuarrie’s regal white earrings, for example, elegant shell-like ornaments reminiscent of traditional African jewellery, are actually made from tablecloth material. Kate Connell’s space-age designs, flawlessly futuristic, were inspired by tennis. Angela Chan’s challenging silhouettes boldly herald the arrival of ‘edgy’ sportswear, whilst Clancy Sinding Dawson’s incredible coat transforms the humble puffer jacket into fresh, innovative design.

What ties all these pieces together is a sense of eclecticism: finding inspiration from the most unlikely of sources, and transforming the familiar into something completely extraordinary. This kind of inspiration is strongest in environments that promote collaborative efforts, places that encourage all kinds of artistic creation that salute the different thinkers and promote bold artistic ventures.

Creative spaces have the capability to nurture emerging talent. If done right, they can create a centre for cultural activity, as well as opportunities to collectively create. They encourage an atmosphere of open-mindedness and an admission that we all work best when we learn from one another. That is why the Briggait was a perfect backdrop for the shoot: a building humming with creative companies, ongoing projects, and artist collectives, the space is a product of Glasgow’s legacy of creation. So creative space isn’t merely about encouraging artistic activity; it promotes community, collaboration, and trust, all critical, vital things if we want to keep Glasgow the creative game-changer we know it to be.

Designers Clancy Sinding Dawson Angela Chan Kate Connell Erin McQuarrie

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Creating

‘Other’

Spaces

in Fashion

Rachel Walker sheds light on the magic of Tim Walker’s photography.

As an award-winning fashion photographer regularly featured in Vogues across the world, Tim Walker’s photos have a magical quality that is instantly recognisable. Looking through his 2008 volume 'Pictures' yields many such enchanted moments. It is a massive tome, consisting of some of his most famous shoots, eclectic snapshots from his scrapbook, and discarded, blurred photos infused with a kind of faded splendour. See Lily Cole, standing on a rickety spiral staircase, blue ballgown drifting to the floor. Model Lisa Cant perched on a tower of varnished scarlet chairs, a flood of pristine white bunnies crowding the floor

If that doesn’t quite seem to evoke a precise image, then that’s because Tim Walker’s photos are immensely difficult to describe. The photos are brimming with activity and sheer artistry; the setting is old-fashioned, with typical English country houses and plush old furniture featuring prominently, but always shot in a new, fascinating way. Each is like a minute fairy tale, an intricate world captured in a single frame. The set decoration might be downright baffling at times, and the clothes might be whisked from some strange Alice-in-Wonderland world full of giant puppets and houses wrapped in enormous bows, but somehow it all works. Every single flower-drenched inch of it.

This captivating, mesmerising world of Tim Walker’s harks back to the fairy tales of childhood, when anything was possible and the surreal was always within grasp. But it goes further than that; his creations are a refreshing testament to the power of imagination in a world where cyclical fashion dominates and it’s rare to discover anything new and utterly surprising.

Otherworldly spaces are important in fashion photography precisely because of the nature of the industry. As increasingly modern and business-minded as the fashion industry is becoming, what was once artisanal and exclusive is now instant and accessible. Seasonal catwalk shows can be streamed directly to phones, and turnover of stock in popular high street stores like Topshop has reached peak speed. Mass-market and mass-appeal is the norm and, whilst a striving for egalitarianism in fashion can never be a bad thing, it’s crucial not to let the magic slip away.

Although Tim Walker’s style of photography has been in vogue since the mid-'90s his particular brand of spellbinding storytelling is more and more significant in an age of immediate gratification: a reminder that beautiful things take time and thought, and that the bewitching lure of a good fairy tale will never go out of style.

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fashion

“An ethereal landscape composed of oddshaped hats and giant candy canes and feathered ballerinas with charcoal-lined eyes.”

ashion shoots are, in their most simple incarnation, a story waiting to be told. A quick glance through the glossy pages of any fashion magazine and you’ll easily see that this story can take any aesthetic form, whether it is bright, geometric primary colours; futuristic monochrome; or sultry, bejewelled golden-age glamour.

Or, my own personal favourite, an otherworldly, rustic approach; a world conjured through grainy renderings of English countryside and ramshackle Indian manor houses. An ethereal landscape composed of odd-shaped hats and giant candy canes and feathered ballerinas with charcoal-lined eyes. Or, in other words, the vast and fantastic world of Tim Walker.

below. A room of taffeta skirts and white spindly shoes, an indistinguishable model (dressed in what can only be described as a giant puffball) rifling through a rack of clothes.

Glasgow University Magazine

Illustration: Eunjoo Lee

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Maintaining a Sense of Place Kaisa Saarinen discusses national identity in an increasingly globalised world.

“... there are primordialists who would argue that national feeling is something inherent in all people, that it is the social glue that binds us together.”

ational identity is a strange, elusive subject to study. Despite the modern ideal being one of ‘nation-states’, states seldom conform to this model in reality. It is not an easy task to seamlessly match a nation to a state, or vice versa. Nations are not really contingent on a territorial space, and socially, they often do not exist before efforts of some intense collective myth-making. They seem to require an Other, a mirror to reflect against; another nation to reject. Most of the world’s nations are quite young, having been constructed in the last couple of centuries.

Of course, there are primordialists who would argue that national feeling is something inherent in all people, that it is the social glue that binds us together. Even if it did take some coaxing to bring it out, the fact that we are capable of such a strong collective sentiment must mean that it exists in us for some good reason: maybe it was always there;

Nationalists often scoff at the idea of ‘cosmopolitanism’ as an impossible fantasy, claiming that all humans need a more defined community to call their own, else they cease to really belong anywhere at all. In an administrative sense, this is surely true; it is difficult to go through life as an ‘alien’, having no official paperwork or a government to support one. However, the psychological aspect is quite different. Why would a personal feeling of belonging need to be tied to a politically defined unit of nation or state? Why is there the need to make a general feeling so narrow and particular?

From another perspective, it is natural for people to feel more grief at misfortunes that happen to their ‘own’; but it is not considered sociopathic to also feel sorrow for those one has no personal connection to, other than shared humanity. People do not only identify with their own ‘in-group’, and may disagree with the definition of their group in the first place.

The world has become smaller. For centuries now, faraway places have become more easily

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politics

In my own primary national identity, Finnishness, the traces of this process are surprisingly easy to see. In the late nineteenth century, people started to feel increasingly oppressed by the Russification efforts of the tsarist empire we belonged to; this led to growing nationalist sentiment and the composition of art, music, and political pamphlets, all to prove that we were not and would never become Russian. The whole foundation of this identity is that it is non-Russian, although of course many layers have been added since, making it a more complex construct but a construct nonetheless.

it just needed to be awoken by the right words at the right time. Yet there are often conflicting narratives of what a nation is, or should be, and different degrees of it. People are naturally social beings, inclined to imagine themselves as part of a whole, which gives them a sense of belonging. But could this inclination simply be towards a general community of people? Does it need to be construed into something specific and particular?

Glasgow University Magazine

reachable; we now define ‘long distance’ as transatlantic flights, around-the-world trips, taking the train to Siberia or Istanbul. For our ancestors a few generations before us, such travel was the stuff of pure imagination. Moreover, although this degree of travel is still out of the financial reach of many, the vast communication networks we have built allow us to reach people around the planet for minimal cost. The shrinking world has surely transformed not only our spatial sense, but also our understanding of identities, which is often contingent on different kinds of space, territorial and social. In the economic and political spheres, globalisation has been a massive system change, and increasingly, many are protesting it as a threat to their livelihoods and identities. It is easy to understand why many people see globalisation as a threat, and hard to say they are wrong, at least in the economic sense of the word.

politics

Globalisation has primarily served the elites in their eternal pursuit of becoming wealthier; it has facilitated the exploitation of labour in ‘developing countries’. Indeed, this was one of the driving forces of the process when it first began, centuries ago: it was never a project for the common good.

According to the Marxist interpretation, capitalism inevitably leads to imperialism, as the unquenchable thirst for money knows no borders. Although many aspects of Marxism can be disputed, his vision of the global capitalist system is remarkably close to our reality. Capital has been concentrated in the hands of very few people, while many more remain frustrated with their own lack.

Many people have a genuine fear of the influx of Others from distant lands, or a more calculated distaste of ‘economic competition’. Nationalist parties have been keen to fuel both of these fears, the social and the economic, to great success.

They have also dragged more mainstream parties along to their game; their rhetoric, once it has entered the popular and the political vocabulary, is impossible to escape. Using an '-ism' as a political tool is nothing new, but the emergence of nationalism is concerning, as it is often linked with the

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emergence of more sinister lines of thought, such as extreme xenophobia and racism, both of which have also been on the rise across Europe. Our brutal not-so-distant history renders such developments especially worrying.

The primary reasons for the re-emergence of political nationalism may be economic, but it has consequences in all aspects of society. The disappointment people feel is real, and it has to find a channel for expression. However, it is hard to see how such sentiments could alleviate deeply rooted structural problems in the economy. It is possible the future holds a world where the technological capacities for cooperation exist, yet we have turned inwards to guard our own little spheres, incapable of letting go of our fear. It is understandable that people feel threatened by the process of globalisation, especially in the economic sphere. However, grasping at narratives of mythical unity is not going to solve deeply rooted structural problems in the economy.

“... grasping at narratives of mythical unity is not going to solve deeply rooted structural problems in the economy.”

We cannot turn back time; no matter how one feels about the economic and social changes brought about by the long game of globalisation, they cannot be completely reverted. Even if they could, those dreaming of returning to a state of monoethnic nationalism would be sorely disappointed, because such a state never existed. National borders help make sense of the world, and in that capacity they are a helpful tool but throughout history, they have been in flux. Our identities do not occupy a fixed point in territorial space.

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Politics of Virtual Space Ross Laidlaw exposes the face of politics as it correlates with the Internet revolution.

Illustration: Kamilla Hu-Yang

“With attention spans shortening, our political activists have to try new, more eye-catching ways of getting their point across...”

ur protesters aren’t standing on picket lines but signing petitions; our revolutionaries aren’t firing bullets but delivering ASCII jabs; our spies and whistle blowers sneak around using code instead of wearing fake moustaches. This is the political landscape we now occupy; not physical, but virtual. With the barriers between each ideological side seeming more physical here than in real life, conveying our political message can be harder now than ever before. With attention spans shortening, our political activists have to try new, more eye-catching ways of getting their point across, yet this can lead to more dangerous ideologies obtaining more notice than they usually get.

A very common problem with Internet politics is its echo chamber effects or, put another way, preaching to the converted. This issue is effectively illustrated by Gab, a fairly new social media app. Its purpose, as described by founder Andrew Torba, is to be a countermeasure to the 'entirely left-leaning Big Social monopoly' companies such as Facebook

and Twitter by creating a space for the ‘alt-right’ to discuss their toxic beliefs and ostracize any leftwingers. Putting aside the blatant hypocrisy of this approach, Gab is still a shining example of what’s wrong with Internet politics. The app serves not as a place for anyone of any political preference to express their views freely, as the original concept hinted, but as a beacon attracting the most extreme views which cannot be said on any sane network without a swift and deserved ban and with any whiff of left-leaning sentiments quickly shunned and ridiculed.

It is, however, not all doom and gloom for political discussion in the online space. For example, the use of the Internet and social media by the Yes campaign during the Scottish independence debate, no matter what your opinions were, proved to be one of the most effectively thought out and well executed online campaigns to date.

It helped many young people become engaged with politics, a welcome response for the group

politics 27

Glasgow University Magazine

section

with the lowest voter turnout. The newly ramped up use of social media during campaigns has, however, led to what can be known as the ‘silent majority’ and ‘vocal minority’: the former being the people who do not use social media or express their opinions outwardly, which throws off both internet and poll analysts, and the latter the ones that aggressively inflate certain ideologies. To use the recent presidential race as an example, if you were to base the outcome on the views of people on Twitter, Facebook and most news sites, Hillary Clinton would seem the clear winner. Pollsters agreed. However, when the day came, Trump was victorious. These trends of inaccurate forecasting have come about due to the fact that less than half of the over sixty five demographic use social media. The fact that the over sixty demographic has the highest turnout rate in most elections, and the eighteen to twenty five age bracket the lowest, demonstrates how the silent majority has arisen.

However, with more technology seeping into the mainstream and increasing numbers signing up for social media, it is a decaying majority.

While the online space is undoubtedly a great place for modern day political activism, if used without restraint it can quickly turn into a vile cesspool of misinformation and disgusting rhetoric. While the Democrats and Republicans or Tories and Labour may fight dirty, their space is one where proper debate and discussion may be facilitated, and well thought out debates will prevail against cheap jabs. With the Internet this is not so; with bombastic and sensationalist statements being the debating currency of the online world, moderation is slammed into the ground faster than the pound after Brexit. There is a view that the Internet allows more extreme views to multiply faster due to its anonymity and fast speed of communication, with new ideologies such as the ‘alt-right’ and even older ones like neo-Nazism flourishing in certain spaces of the web. The creation of places like Gab provide this point of view with some merit and I, for the most part, agree, but with a big asterisk attached. Whilst the internet undoubtedly allows more extreme views to spread faster and to more people, it is still a new form of communication; thus despite its many flaws, like most new inventions, time can realise its true potential as a safe political space.

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“While the online space is undoubtedly a great place for modern day political activism, if used without restraint it can quickly turn into a vile cesspool of misinformation...”

Engineering The Planet Annie Milburn discusses our relationship with the natural world.

‘We are not going to be able to operate our Spaceship Earth successfully nor for much longer unless we see it as a whole spaceship and our fate as common. It has to be everybody or nobody’ R. Buckminster Fuller

This stagnation in prioritising environmental matters (particularly by prominent Western players such as the US and UK) indicates a potentially troubling reliance on technocratic solutions to mitigate global warming. Most notably, a 2016 report for the UN Convention on Biological Diversity indicated a renewed interest in the potential of geoengineering techniques as an attempted means to halt the global warming process.

Despite the fact that the earth provides the resources we need for base human survival, there has been a longstanding dichotomy between humankind and nature. The new year was rung in amidst stories of record-breaking pollution in China and London and an imminent catastrophic splitting of the Antarctic ice shelf. Whatever political preferences one holds, it is fundamentally evident that humankind is irrevocably altering the natural environment.

Geoengineering encompasses two base approaches to altering the climate. Solar Radiation Management is concerned with reflecting more of the sun’s radiation back into space to prevent atmospheric warming. Conversely, Carbon Dioxide Removal posits large-scale removal of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere as a solution to reduce its warming effect and potency as a greenhouse gas. Both approaches may be achieved through varying methods; from ocean fertilisation to injecting aerosol particles into the stratosphere, some techniques appear more drastic than others.

Increased political, academic, and business interest in such methods indicates that they may have a significant role to play in our environmental future.

What does it mean, then, in terms of our relation to our natural spaces that we are now proposing such potentially radical methods to artificially alter the climate? The conflict between humankind and nature has only been exacerbated through the post-Industrial Revolution period. Western lifestyles in particular have resounding environmental impacts, yet there remains notable political manipulation concerning the immediacy and importance of said impacts. Instead of engaging in some much needed self-reflection, there is an insistence that technocratic solutions are the key to humanity’s future; this dialogue creates an emphasis on continuing to manipulate the Earth to fit our own needs. It would appear, increasingly, that humans are absolutely incapable of living within their natural means.

The Paris Agreement was heralded as a global milestone for the environmental movement; by November 2016 enough countries, including the US and China, had ratified it for it to enter into full force. Despite the huge media hype and generally optimistic sentiment surrounding the agreement, there has remained a stagnation when it comes to actual tangible action by some prominent signatories, a particular concern being climate-changedenying President Trump’s inauguration. At face value, one can’t help but feel sceptical of the gap between the terms of the agreement and the actual policymaking taking place.

There are many ways in which we may interact sustainably with our natural spaces, and the place that we call Earth. What the advent of geoengineering as a proposed solution to global warming indicates is a terrifying inability to be able to look beyond the capitalist system as a way of life, and to even fully acknowledge a dire level of environmental degradation that has been scientifically proven for decades. Whilst geoengineering may indeed be the radical solution we need to mitigate global warming, it also serves to solidify a narrative of mastery over nature, and a certain disregard for the natural order.

ur globalised world is a paradoxical one. We are more interconnected than ever before through technological advancement, the proliferation of the Internet, and cheap air travel. Yet, it can still be difficult to consider our collective destiny on an international scale; the world, after all, is a very big place despite it being increasingly easier to access. Having grown up with stories of intrepid explorers conquering far and unknown lands, it is sometimes incomprehensible that the world may be changing in irreversible ways, and that we may have uncovered the majority of its secrets. Earth is our collective place that we call home; seven billion-odd people crafting their own existence and individual experiences, attaching meaning to specific geographical locations. It is, therefore, a place integral to our very daily existence.

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science & technology

“What does it mean, then, in terms of our relation to our natural spaces that we are now proposing such potentially radical methods to artificially alter the climate?”

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Glasgow University Magazine

One Small Step for Man? Jonas Gambas examines the effects that space has on human physiology.

Illustration: Michael Paget

science & technology

or the average astro-, cosmo-, or taikonaut, a mission to space is the pinnacle of the career of an intelligent, ambitious, talented and physically fit individual. It’s an achievement which makes household names of pilots and scientists before they come crashing back to Earth.

After living in space, it takes some time for the body’s systems to adapt to the resumption of gravity and all that it entails for the skeleton and the circulatory systems. On return from his last International Space Station (ISS) mission, Chris Hadfield had 'a drunk’s stagger' and was still walking into things a week later. It was another two months before he was given permission to run.

That’s one of the reasons why we saw Tim Peake running the London marathon remotely from a treadmill in space; it is important to exercise in order to avoid muscle loss and bone lightening. On missions of up to six months, muscle atrophy of up to 30% has been noted, mostly in postural muscles that are no longer as active. Interestingly, there is a shift from slow-twitch fibres to fast-twitch, so if only they could walk without staggering, astronauts would come home as better sprinters! To train in space, the crew of the ISS use a special harness to pull them down onto the treadmill, and that is just one of several special exercise machines on board which are designed to mimic gravity and provide resistance during the astronauts’ two hours of exercise per day.

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Bone density may decrease by as much as 1-2% each month, significant on a six-month stay on the ISS or a much longer trip to Mars. There is even a fear that a Martian voyage might erode bone to the point that it could not be rebuilt on return to Earth gravity.

Again, much of this is due to a loss of loading; like the postural muscles, the bones just don’t need to be as strong. There is also a surprising factor; although they are closer to the sun, the ISS residents don’t get to see it and hence suffer a loss of natural vitamin D production that is reliant on sunshine touching the skin.

A lack of gravity does not just impact on muscles and bones; it is also responsible for the aptly named 'puffy head-bird leg' syndrome. Not an alien virus, the name refers to the appearance of an astronaut whose bodily fluids have shifted from their lower limbs (where gravity pulls them on Earth) to their heads. Luckily, the overall fluid volume drops by around 10% at the same time as a result of altered water loss (increased visits to the bathroom).

The human immune system is also disrupted, as reductions in all aspects of immunity have been observed in and after spaceflight. Since the ISS itself is not a haven for pathogens and the astronauts are kept in quarantine for some time before launch, the most common evidence of a poor immune system is the emergence of latent herpes, or cold sores.

Although not as obvious as its effects on muscles and

Issue 2 / Feb 2017

“Up beyond the protection of the Earth’s magnetic field, astronauts are subject to cosmic radiation, high-energy particles emitted from the sun and other galactic bodies.”

bones, weightlessness is thought to play a part here because, at a cellular level, the microscopic skeletons of immune cells may be equally affected, rendering the cells less effective.

So, has man conquered space, or does space keep beating us? Well, it’s a long game. The necessary evolution, either in our bodies or, more likely, in our engineered environments, is arguably similar to our ancestors’ emergence from the water. When we crawled onto land we had to make adaptations for motion, weight bearing, breathing, and seeing, in an environment completely different to the aquatic one.

The steps and leaps to achieve this might be small or giant, but our scientists are working hard to make them.

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science & technology

Up beyond the protection of the Earth’s magnetic field, astronauts are subject to cosmic radiation, high-energy particles emitted from the sun and other galactic bodies. The ISS doesn’t suffer too greatly from this, as it is skimming along inside the field and, every day, the astronauts typically receive as much on a daily basis as someone on the surface would receive in 43 years. A trip to the moon or Mars, though, is a different story; it is estimated that a trip to Mars would result in each crew member receiving four times more cosmic radiation than the advised limit for an astronaut’s entire career. Shielding from this sort of radiation is one of NASA’s biggest challenges for future exploration.

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Space Lara Delmage That transcendent just us-ness of that private space was just . Completely.

Untitled Denise Bonetti you sit curled up in the hot chiaroscuro of the noon window: I observe you thinking the ways

of your tender temples sit

on the brink

of compulsion; in my eyes you occupy no space: you are the slope

of a torrent ***

creative writing

(attraction

is a wave but between

is a particle)

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Issue 2 / Feb 2017

Galloway Fading Maria Sledmere The sky has become its own ore of copper, where bog myrtle grows in the silt of the swamp, the white hand billows; tipped to heavens it will never reach with grey-green leaves as thin as needles.

Such mysteries may be gleaned from the gross entanglements of matter and catkins, their waxy scum gumming the fingers of those who would scour the char-dark peat, not knowing how yellow the dye would be, staining the nails of all royalty who would come here to sit and think and be free.

Maria Sledmere I can be the foam on your Guinness, salted with sweat and the tang of coffee.

Read me a book.

In the morning I’ll turn out all unfolded, my lines blurred and my ink spilt.

Smoke me a cigarette, so I could suck out the cancer of your heart, black-tarred and aromatic as a grave.

creative writing

You cannot evade the peppery scent, the bubbling bronze of the southern marshes, umber-coloured and edged with the fronds of bulrushes, such weavings of green a galaxy of tiny flowers swaying in the unseen breeze — the dying rot of the land, its bittersweet panoply a palace of fireflies and buttery marigolds.

Waiting for You Outside Sleazy’s

Lay me down like a chart.

You can map the next hour along my veins or drink me like a Russian, White.

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Glasgow University Magazine

The Homestead

by Carly Brown

Illustration: Imogen Whiteley

creative writing

Catherine dreams about water: water sloshing out of a wooden bucket and wetting the hem of her skirt, bath water cocooning her in warmth and lavender smelling soap, frothy seawater sliding across the sand towards her feet.

When she wakes up her mouth is dry. Her legs scrape together like pieces of sandpaper as she moves to the glassless window and looks out at the fields.

Nothing.

Nothing surrounds their small wooden house except flat earth and faint stars. Nothing like the ripe peaches and the swollen purple flowers he had described in his letters to her.

Wait until you see. Everything is so alive here in the west, he wrote. There’s a patch of green behind the house where you can grow tomatoes.

But when she arrived the land was cracked, speckled withcrisp blades of brown and yellow grass. She saw a dead cow in the field, vultures circling above it like a horrible storm cloud.

They say the rains will come back in autumn, he told her. But autumn is here and still no sign of rain. Every afternoon the sky is bright, unblinking. Every evening it is mocking and clear. Their rake rusts against the side of the house and their chickens peck at bare soil.

She watches their windmill slowly churn the air. The sky is growing pink now and a faint breeze lifts her limp brown hair. She remembers the beaches in Cape Cod, the damp mist in the air, the salty sea spray, running home with her pockets full of shells. She wonders if she’ll ever see ocean again.

Then she hears a steady drip, like a ticking clock. She looks down at her hands and sees liquid sliding off them. Little drops of water roll from her wrists, down her fingers and plop to the hardwood floor. Sweat? But it isn’t hot, not this early in the morning.

Drowsy, she crawls back into bed next to him, clinging onto the quilt with her damp fingers. She closes her eyes.

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Issue 2 / Feb 2017

creative writing

Catherine, Catherine, he shakes her awake. The sun has risen fully now and the whole room is baked in a yellow glow.

She sits upright and feels dampness under her. She climbs out of bed, looking down at it. At first she thinks she’s embarrassed herself, wetting the sheets as children do, but when she looks closer she sees it’s only water.

There’s a puddle at her feet now, as if she’s just run inside for shelter from a rainstorm. Her clothes are sopping and water runs down her arms, her legs, her face. But it isn’t salty like sweat. It’s fresh and cool as rainwater.

Do you have a fever?

He holds a hand to her forehead and when he pulls his hand away it’s drenched. He wipes it dry with a dishtowel.

Shall I call a doctor?

But she feels fine. Her legs move smoothly as she walks towards the window, looking out at the bare land. It wavers in her vision.

The sky and fields and far away mountains all soften at the edges and blur.

Catherine? Can you hear me?

His voice is far away, somewhere behind her. She feels her body softening and she exhales cool, damp air.

She hears a steady drip, drip and she looks out at the sky. She can smell salty sea spray and hear the shriek of gulls.

Look, she says, pointing to the sky. He rushes to the window and looks out too.

I cannot see anything, he says.

She swings open the door and runs outside, her bare feet leaving a trail of wet footprints across their porch and the cracked ground beyond. Water sinks into the thirsty soil.

He runs out after her, but as he stands on their porch, he cannot see where she has gone. There is no sign of her. Just clear sky and miles of dry earth. Then he feels a breeze and the windmill turns faster.

Catherine, he calls. Catherine? He looks towards the mountains and sees the grey of gathering clouds.

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