PUBLISHED IN THE VIEW MAGAZINE, UK. JUNE 2020 She asked me where it came from. And I realised I had no idea. I still don’t. It’s just sort of always been there. It’s not the example I got from my parent’s relationship… and it’s not as simple as pointing to that tune by The Lox featuring Eve (which I love by the way). It’s not Eastenders or The Bill, Unholy War by Amy Winehouse, or the big sisters that used to come down to the school gate to “batter” those who had picked on their younger siblings. So it
FOR BRITISH VOGUE, APRIL 2020 On Mother’s Day, Brooklyn-based British artist Zoë Buckman reflects on her journey through grief a year after losing her mum and “best friend”, the playwright and renowned RADA acting teacher Jennie Buckman, to cancer in 2019. They say grief is love. But they also say grief is a madness. It’s anger and injustice, the deepest agony and the most acute gratitude. It’s both unfair and inevitable. It’s fucked up and important and beautiful. I don’t feel I have wisdom on this topic, as I am very much finding my way with it, but I have
SWAMIJI. PERFORMED BY THE ARTIST FOR THE CULTIVIST, 2016, ART AGAINST TRUMP, 2017, AND AT PAUL KASMIN GALLERY 2018 AS A CHAMP PROGRAM. SWAMIJI The sluggish Swami sat, slumped on my Bredrin’s sofa, just south of 117th Street. Dressed in orange Puma gear, his chubby upper-lip was sprinkled with wispy hairs that I’m sure were feeling quite scared of this chilly January blitz. He looked about… 19? He looked bored. He looked like he was less than keen, but he asked me why I had come to see him and I decided to, yet again, be ingratiating. Why?
FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES, THE ARTIST’S EYE, 2018. 2018: The year that the words “rape,” “assault” and “harass” became inescapable, appearing seemingly everywhere online and in news media across the United States. The year heads rolled and lives were ruined. The year tales were discredited and others simply forgotten. The year of too much jumping on the bandwagon. The year of attempted payback, misguided payback and zero payback. The year of not enough follow-through and pitiful justice. 2018: The year of triggers, and wounds unwound, and Nia Wilson, and Brett Kavanaugh, and nausea. The year the words “F.B.I. investigation”