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yellerzine

wanderlust issue 2014


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Collage: Sophie Gibson www.sophiegibson.co.uk


Photography: Rose Scrope www.rosescrope.weebly.com

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Working with the open narrative, my pictures show glimpses of a broader context, sometimes changing temporally or spatially. The photographs are concerned with indeterminacy and with the ability of the photograph to tell multiple stories. Investigating aspects of memory and the concept of numerous realities in photography, the series ‘Passing’ deals with transition and shows movements through time and places.

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Photography: Ida Arentoft www.idaarentoft.com


Poem: Russell Jones, Illustration: Sencha www.senchaart.tumblr.com

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Painting: Megan Leal Causton www.cargocollective.com/mlealcauston

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Postcards from Italy When in Rome, you feel it must be a city of great history. The streets are a maze of relics. Monuments present themselves at each corner like debutantes. After some days in Rome, your impression wears thin. The food is expensive and always too salty, as if it missed the sea and will not come willingly to your mouth. You stare at the Trevi fountain and think that if Anita Ekberg were to really stand in it, it would be Americans, not water, that she must wade through. The Spanish Steps are speckled with men hawking fake Louis Vuitton and round rubber animals that reform themselves after being violently hurled on the pavement. Later that night, you meet the same men again in the dark; there are whistles, shouts, and a swarm of them shove past you with their wares in hasty bundles of tarp over their shoulders. ‘Non parlo italiano,’ you tell the police who show up later; they shake their heads in annoyance and move on. Below your feet in the Coliseum, grass grows where once men shed their blood at the whims of other men. Outside, a centurion tires of inveigling tourists to pose with him for cash and stops for a fag with a paunchy Caesar. A gladiator passes him, dragging a small suitcase and talking on the phone. You try to snap a candid shot, and they start angrily towards you. Nothing is free in Rome except memory.

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Short Story: Olivia Ho


Unlike Rome, Florence knows to wear its history well. In the oldest hotel in the city, the spotless parquet lobbies sport plush red ottomans and orange mushrooms lamps. Mirrors are pleasant to you at each landing; red tassels hang beneath drops of glass, against walls the colour of the sky. In the Piazza della Repubblica you find a vintage carousel, 1.50€ for a ride. The ponies are white and gold and sable with ribbons in their manes; you slide up and down the pole as the piazza spins slowly by you, like the faces of a top. The music cranks down, you dismount to search for gelato in the hot square. At night, the lights on the river make the Ponte Vecchio glow, that old bridge like a collection of painted drawers pulled out and stacked in a heap, for you to rifle through their antique contents. The river itself is quiet, like the dreams of little girls. Venice, cobweb city woven in the eaves of the Serenissima. Shot through with water as the glass beads of Murano are dappled with labyrinths in their clear hearts. In Venice itself it is hard to know where you are. These are streets that obey no map. Dead ends hide slender bridges; the calle swallows the shop with the handmade leather shoes that you saw last evening and replaces it with a bathroom appliances store. The city swaps faces every day like a fickle belle at a masque: always glittering, always gone. On the outskirts of Venice, the view makes more sense. On the island of Burano, the houses are coloured bright as a painter’s palette – watermelon red, aquamarine blue, burnt tangerine – so the fishermen can find their way home in the storms. From the vantage point of Burano’s clean colours, Venice lays itself out like the lace that an old woman is knitting in her violet house. She is ninety years old and has a little dog white as snow, a colour rare on Burano. Her fingersspin streets, canals, piazzas edged with empty space. A white city, held together by fine thread. Men spun Venice as a net to comb the sea with; they dredged the Serenissima and caught a city.

Illustration: Hannah Botma www.cargocollective.com/hannahbotma

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This is a costume design and finished piece for the character of the Emperor from the ballet The Prince of the Pagodas. Lauren was inspired by the coming together of different cultures within the ballet and the decadence of asian textiles. yellerzine p10


Costume Design: Lauren Knight www.laurenknightcostume.co.uk

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List of contributers: Ida Arentoft, Hannah Botma, Megan Leal Causton, Sophie Gibson, Olivia Ho, Russell Jones, Lauren Knight, Rose Scrope, Daniel Seex, Sencha Cover Image by Ewan McClure: www.ewanmcclure.co.uk Edited by: ZoĂŤ Broome-Nicholson, Grace Cullinan, Nicola Herd & Lucy Wai Illustration: Daniel Seex www.thejoyofseex.co.uk

Produced by: Edinburgh University Art Society

Wanderlust Issue 2014  

Featuring work by: Ida Arentoft, Hannah Botma, Megan Leal Causton, Sophie Gibson, Olivia Ho, Russell Jones, Lauren Knight, Ewan McClure, Ro...

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