- Diary of a Teenage Boy by Len Lukowski - Wasafiri Magazine
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Life is short. Should it matter how a bunch of strangers see you? I think about the point of tension on the bow, on the strings, what a delicate balancing act it all is. I am trying to make a clumsy metaphor for my experience of transition, the points of tension in my body, in my brain, between myself and others. I go down to the beach for a final time. Feel invisible again, walking the beach alone, watching dogs and waves.
I step into a patch of sand where a spot of sunlight lands through the clouds, momentarily warm. I have always been hungry for the sea. What if the only reliable narrative reprieve is one where the endpoint continually shifts and changes? What if you dive in and never reach a destination?
Just float. What is absolute fulfillment if not some kind of death? I know so many of my siblings do not have this luxury. Len Lukowski is a writer and performer living in South East London. He is a former Flight Associate at Spread the Word. He has played in lots of bands and likes queer punk, dogs and violins.
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- Diary of a Teenage Boy by Len Lukowski.
- James Ensor: A man of many masks.
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Diary of a Teenage Boy by Len Lukowski - Wasafiri Magazine
I want to throw my phone into the ocean. I want to set fire to my phone. Oh, well, still time to get some done I guess! What if— Returning to the pier I get a terrifying feeling of unreality, layers of myself unravelling, and I begin to think this trip was a mistake. Share this We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits.
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You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. It means that, like Goya and William Blake, his work — filled with masks, skeletons and cacophony — is unmistakable, always compelling and often utterly mystifying. Ensor is often described as an Outsider artist but it is not an accurate label. He was born in Ostend in to an English father and Belgian mother and lived for almost all of his life in the seaside resort — appropriately, given his parentage, where the English Channel becomes the North Sea.
But he was no provincial. From he received a classical training at the Academy in Brussels where he managed to come bottom of almost every class and the capital and its goings-on remained important to him for the rest of his life. In an age when travel suddenly became easy, however, he barely stirred: he lived to 89, dying in , but made only a handful of trips abroad — three to France and two to the Netherlands, both just over the border, and a four-day visit to London.
The wider world was not his world.
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James Ensor in his studio, c. Ostend, however, was world enough. The attic may have been a self-contained domain but Ensor did not turn in on himself; he kept up with his Brussels social circle and in joined Les Vingt Les XX , a group of left-leaning avant-garde artists who for the next decade exhibited together in an attempt to keep pace with and develop the advances of modern French painting. Although Ensor was no recluse, his art was so distinctive that it stood out as odd even among the heterogeneous Les XX.
What Ensor developed in his Ostend studio was a way of turning reality into something strange and expressive, and he did this primarily through masks. Belgium and the Netherlands have a continuing tradition of carnival that has its roots in the Middle Ages and has been reflected in art through the phantasmagoria of Bosch, the kirmesses of Bruegel and the Dance of Death imagined most terrifyingly by Holbein. Masks conferred the anonymity that allowed the inversion of normality to happen.
What’s going on: timeline of Gaye’s life and career
Oil on panel. Photography: J. In a painting such as The Entry of Christ into Brussels —89, an etching of which is in the show , masked characters mix with skulls, clowns and portraits of his family and public figures to form an aimless but threatening and dehumanised mob; they function as an Everyman in a menacing swirl around the isolated figure of Christ — a caricatured self-portrait. In a later work, Ensor and the Masks , from not in the exhibition , a crowd of masks chuckles as the artist poses, and it is impossible not to read them as symbolising the incomprehension that met his work.
It is not, in this sense, a mask at all. Ensor was always touchy about criticism and saw himself as something of a martyr as a result of the opprobrium that greeted many of his pictures. He depicted himself not just as Christ entering a Belgian Jerusalem but also nailed to a cross, dissected, as a decapitated head served on a platter to his enemies, as a herring being torn to bits by two skeleton critics Skeletons Fighting over a Pickled Herring , , pictured and more. This nougat palette gives the paintings a visionary intensity: they would be less otherworldly, less surprising, if he had restricted himself to more shadowy tones.
But then Ensor seems to have seen everything in heightened terms. Lying between the cultivated mussels of Ostend and loquacious mermaids, I will offer myself up to the avid kisses of the lovely beasts of the waters of the sky, the earth and the sea.
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