And then we pulled the words and stuff…

Arnolfini, Art, Events, Exhibition, Launch

So, it’s getting on great. Going to have lot’s of lovely stuff for you to enjoy and such for the weekend it’s on… 2nd July – 5th July. Proper nice.

This Exhibition what Young Arnolfini, and also IKON Youth Programme and also Black Kettle Collective is putting on is about Communication

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 Why do a communication exhibition when Emma Smith just did one?

Because it’s such a broad topic, stupid question by the way… But that’s no way to speak to an honourable guest like yourself. I do apologise

 “This now is the time for making.”

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 A day of events on Saturday the 4th July you say? In a month you say? My word, how exciting.

This space will be transformed into a hove of ideas all connected to the ways we, as humans, communicate as humans, communicating, humanly, with each other. A place of learning space. A…


  Also… don’t miss… tomorrow at Arnolfini, (Friday 5th – 7th June, irrelevant if these dates have passed)…

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…and this wonderful piece of graffiti that somebody managed to get into the building and perform… (not an endorsement of illegal activity, speak to our lawyers)20150520_180125045_iOS
Thanks, bye.

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Ode to a Poem

Art, Arts, Poetry, Reflection

looking

(Man walks, in poetic fashion, down a hill)

I’m new to this group, I like poetry.

Poetry, the people’s game, the art of words arranged nicely and a lot of other things, why bring it up, why in this day and age bring up poetry? Of all things, poetry? Who even reads poems anyway? Many people. Good, that’s that one out of the way. I am a poet amongst other things, those things being a general artist, film blogger and a wizard, Harry, and I feel poetry is still and will ever be one of art’s backbones. This is because of its nature as words, as language, a poem doesn’t lose value in any form if its words remain, only in translation and global languages are variations which keep it new and exciting to unravel. I may be wrong, and tell me if I am, but until then, this…

A nonsense poem:

(The Man With No Nose – Joshua K) –

Humphrey Barnaby-Rose,

was born two feet taller than most.

His nose never grew, not at all, not like you,

and his armpit hair curled from his toes.

Bizarrely, still nobody knows,

why the man was missing his nose.

Or why he lived in a box, at the end of a shoe,

on the beach at the start of his road.

He’d seventeen eyebrows, in a line down his back,

and a pet parakeet named ‘Sir Archibald Slack’.

Two doves in a glove, three worms on a rose

and none of these knew why he had not a nose.

He’d looked for answers in France,

asked them all in Nepal.

Found none finer in China,

none more sane than in Spain.

Sat with a man in Japan,

who’d worn rice paper clothes.

Yet, none could suppose, his lack of a nose.

He’d asked

Doctors and surgeons.

Sea-parents and urchins.

Nose makers and sailors.

A deaf record retailer.

And each of his quests had been

nought but a failure.

There’d been a few in Peru,

three fleas in Torquay,

(the dog they owned too)

and a talking TV.

But, nobody knew, why his face was askew.

Why his absent most nose, was there not to see.

Poor Humphrey Barnaby Rose,

who lived in a box, on the shore of a coast.

How did he smell? Like a man in a shoe,

who’d searched the whole world for his nose.