On 6th July 2013 at 7.30pm Iain Sinclair shall join a reading session at the Hardy Three Gallery in London (119 Pancras Road – NW1 1UN) along with avant-garde visual artist Ragnhildur Johanns and many others. All the events and the exposition of the Enemies Project are free of charge.
We want to recommend an interesting event which will be surely much appreciated by Iain Sinclair fans, but also by people who are interested in topics discussed by Iain in his books.
On Sunday, 30th June (6-9pm), during London Seizure Part 2: Extension of the Zone of Operation, a two-part screening programme in London, Emily Richardson‘s Memo Mori will be shown and discussed. Memo Mori, for those who have never heard about it, is a 24-minute film – a “journey through Hackney” which features a commentary from Iain Sinclair‘s Hackney, That Red Rose Empire. After the screening, there shall be a Q&A with the curator and the participating artists.
For more information, and to know the complete screening schedule, you can also visit the Facebook Page.
The programme is curated by Carmen Billows. The event will take place in Unit 4, White Post Lane, Queens Yard, London E9 5EN (07531 574666)
“While we were plodding, not yet foot-foundered, through Andrew Kötting’s familiar Surrey Quays territory, I told him how much I enjoyed his fragmented contribution to the anthology, “London, City of Disappearances”. All those clashing memory raids and riffs. He has a profound and undeceived sentimental attachment to streets, shops (selling hard hat, big boot, work-fetish kit), Italian cafés, Millwall chants, foot-bridges, condemned tower blocks, heartstruck courtships, scrap yards, labouring years, gyms, mislaid friends, messenger boy dock-delivery anecdotes, drunk-drowned comedians, cabbies, skinny trees, slack rivers, gay junkshops thick with incense. Re-reading his fat hardcover ‘Deadad’ book, I found it as ripe as his films: a chaotic (but canny) collaboration of peers and siblings and then some potent autobiography, real writing. And so, as we munched our super-spiced slabs – ‘More mustard, more gherkins, more everything,’ he cries – I proposed a viewing of something from the notebooks he filled with such diligent neurosis. Then, moving down the line, and climbing over Peckham Rye, the Kötting memories turned to more explicit favours in remembered rooms, art school knockabout. And I forgot all about my request. Andrew didn’t, despite the wonky knee, the difficulty of hauling himself out of a pub in Kentish Town, for the last crawl, now on all-fours, to Pentonville and Islington and Hackney. Here is what he sent.”