Tate Modern's "Leigh Bowery!" refuses easy categorisation—much like its subject
A fashion student from Sunshine, Melbourne, rocks up to London in 1980, writes 'wear makeup everyday' on his New Year's...
It is hardly a ground-breaking revelation that Christmas is an extremely wasteful enterprise. However, due to my mum’s insistent anti-palm oil venture, this year's would be a truly green Christmas, whatever that means.
The election of a new conservative government begs the question of how British culture and the Arts will be affected. Close to a decade of Tory rule caused a sharp decline in the funding and support of art and culture, and it doesn’t look like it’s getting any better.
It would be hard to think of another set of myths that are so present in contemporary culture as those surrounding the fall of Troy and its aftermath, immortalised most notably by Homer and Virgil. Stories such as the judgment of Paris, which sets the war in motion, the deception of the ‘Trojan Horse’ and Odysseus’ encounter with the Cyclops during his decade-long journey home are many people’s first introduction to the classical past as children, and the past few years have seen a resurgence of the Trojan cycle in popular culture. Novels such as Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles and Pat Barker’s The Silence of the Girls have reconsidered the war and its characters from different angles, and the BBC’s Troy: Fall of a City adaptation brought the saga to a generation raised on Game of Thrones. Therefore, the British Museum chose an opportune time for this year’s BP exhibition, Troy: myth and reality, which aims ambitiously to exhibit artistic depictions of the well-known myths and their various post-classical reinterpretations alongside the archaeological evidence that Troy and the war actually existed.
Nine years after they last took Muswell Hill by storm, indie giants Vampire Weekend played a two-night engagement at London’s Alexandra Palace as part...
The Royal Academy’s current exhibition, Lucian Freud: The Self-portraits, is a bold and singular response to this century’s fascination with self-image. Lucian Freud’s artistic career predates the selfie-saturated 2010s, yet his work captures the obsession and volume with which we display ourselves today.
Food - whether symbolising power, desire, loss, despair, love, murder or moral, social and political disorder - provides an extensive menu for films.
Imogen Harter-Jones explores its symbolic capabilities.
A massive portrait of Ashley Walters looms over Kingsland High Road. Plastered across the second storey of a retail block, it gazes serenely over chicken shops, artisanal coffee houses, strip-lit barbershops, sourdough pizza restaurants.