I spent an unfortunate amount of time on sex doll/bot forums, and somehow I didn’t lose my sense of humour entirely. Here’s the resulting piece I wrote for the New Statesman. CLICK HERE.
My Piece For Flux Magazine
Piece for Flux Magazine on the figurative artist Harland Miller, represented by the White Cube, and his catalogue raisonné that is rumoured to be announced later this year:
http://www.fluxmagazine.com/artist-harland-miller/
The Magic of Trees
Well, you heard it here first, or maybe you read a science paper that told you first: tree hugging is good for you. Fact. In this article for Breathe I tell you why and I pick the best forests with some of the finest trees to hug.
I’m also happy to divulge that during a recent low point in my life, having written this article a couple of months previously, beneath the moon I hugged a tree in an olive grove. Yes, initially I felt stupid, and during, and afterwards. But it did make me feel better.
You can buy here x
Ben Fogg Makes Laugh
Meant to put this up a while ago: hilarious friend, writer, director, pianist, comic, producer, control freak/genius, Ben Fogg, has made some rather hilarious videos to help him gain er gainful employment. They really are funny. And he pixilates his privates. And I’m in a couple of ’em, of course (otherwise it’d be shit) (no, they wouldn’t have) ….
http://shavenape.tv/index.php/portfolio_page/fogg-for-sale/
ORDINARY BRAVERY: IN LESBOS AND ATHENS, REFUGEES LIVE IN LIMBO [PHOTO ESSAY]
Bob Dylan Beaten Path Review
I’ve lost my shit for Bob Dylan. Lose yours too, go see this. It’s really good. Read here on MyArtBroker.
Motherisms: Feat. Summer, Groccles and Full Moon In Aquarius …
It’s summer in North Devon. The swifts and swallows have arrived, as have approximately 9 million caravans and wankers with weekend surfboards. All the roads are blocked, there’s rubbish (and even worse, people) all over the beach and everything suddenly gets more expensive. Fortunately it’s the most beautiful place … in North Devon, and I’m still near mum ….
I like art, I really like old art, and I really like silly jokes. Mum also likes all these things …
Me: Go on ‘classical art memes’ ….
Mum: What is a meme?
Me: I don’t really know … it’s just a meme.
Mum: “It’s just a meme.” Even I know it’s a meme. I still don’t know what it is.
Me: Well it turns out I don’t know either.
Mum: I’ve got memes, I’ve a cloud, I’ve got blue teeth …
Me: Yeah.
It’s summer in North Devon and if you’re not 6th generation Devon or a friend of ours, mum doesn’t want you here.
Me: How was your day?
Mum: Swimming pool full of tossers
I have a tendency to leave electric cables to my appliances behind, so do other people, all people younger than mum apparently ..
“You young people always leaving your wires behind, wankers.”
I’ve gone round to mums and am enjoying a nice glass of wine as I watch the seagulls fly past the window in the late-evening light. Then I notice something strange on the windowsill …
Me: Mum, why is there an enormous knife here?
Mum: I don’t know.
Writing is a constant battle with my brain. If I spend too long looking at words, I become unsure how they could possibly be spelled like they are. The newest in this collection of words is ‘blood’ …
Me: Blood, it’s not said how it’s spelled at all .. “blud it’s bloooood…”
Mum: YES, bloed … sounds Dutch …I should’ve known that from all my Scandy-noirs
Me: All that bloed
Mum: Lots of bloed.
We’re watching a video where dead bodies get turned into rocks – mum is a sucker for all new carbon-neutral ways of disposing of herself ….
Narrator: Then put them in liquid nitrogen to distract …
Mum: … Your victim
I watch on horrified as a human is turned into ice-dirt and then compressed into a block …
Mum: Looks expensive.
They’re now being ground up into a brown-orange powder …
Narrator: … freeze dried …
Mum: Then they put you in a curry.
Mum wants to do something complicated with her television and I’m not in the mood to do it.
Mum: Well, you need useful boys for things like these anyway.
Me: I’m pretty useful for a girl …
Mum: Yes, sure, yes, no you are quite.
It’s early august and it’s pissing with rain ….
Mum: Moody weather …
Me: Yeah take that tourists.
Mum: They don’t care they’ll go back and fiddle with their tablets … hopefully one day they can just come here virtually.
Night tubes going and it’s the hottest story I’ve got hold of that day ..
Me: First night tube in London ..
Mum: Oh … right … in London …
Me: Yes. Not a huge event but does make a big difference.
Mum: Yes some where for the homeless to sleep, poor bastards I bet they’re relived.
Mum’s an Aquarius in the world of horoscopes, and vehemently believes in all their (positive) traits. This information will be important in a second …
Mum: Full moon yesterday …
There have been quite a lot of full moons recently it seems and I don’t react.
Mum: … In Aquarius.
I see now this one’s important.
Me: Oh right …
Mum: Probably why I’m so tired.
Me: Yeah that must’ve taken it out of you .
Mum is not enjoying getting old, there is way less partying and way more hip replacements than she’d envisaged …
Mum: Getting old is so boring.
Me: Well you’re going to have to find ways to preoccupy yourself.
Mum: No it’s not that it’s that your body stops working.
Me: Well Steven Hawkings hasn’t had the privilege of a fully-functioning body for the majority of his life – don’t hear him complaining he’s bored.
Mum: Well, I’m sorry I’m not Steven Hawkings!!
We’re observing the woman who’s supposed to have a shit-tonne of testosterone, she’s about to race or has just raced maybe. Either way, she’s standing around looking powerful …
Mum: I wouldn’t take her on would you?
Me: Yeah, I would. I’m scrappy .
Mum: Yes … You’ve got to get that under control.
I work quite hard, not that hard, but quite hard. Mum thinks this deserves a reward when I see her, it’s wine and I’m not in the mood but have struggled through one heavy glass of red …
Me: Why did you give me more wine?
Mum: Because it’s you’re day off
Me: It’s not my day off.
Mum: Well, have another anyway. You’re a laugh when you’re drunk.
(I drink the second and am a right laugh.)
Mum’s showing me some pictures of Evelyn Waugh or someone like that in the buff …
Me: Oh yes right …
Mum: During his gay period.
Me: Nice shining bottom.
Mum: It is isn’t it. Everyone at Oxford in the ‘30s was gay … And a communist.
We’re watching the gymnastics. I am in tears at the magnificence of it. Mum says …
“They look like little fairies but they’ve got thighs like truck drivers – so bloody strong ..”
It’s later on in the evening of gymnastics and I’m now drunk floor watching a routine …
Me: I could do that
Mum: Yeah right. Competitive or what!
I watch a pathetic double-backflip-quadruple-somersault-tummy-tuck-splits …
Me: No probs.
Commentator: Not the most difficult routine we’ll see tonight.
Mum: No jade could do it.
It’s dessert time, I’ve given up sugar because I have a tendency to eat enormous bars of chocolate daily, and there’s no one to tell me not to; but now I am my own parent. Mum brandishes something from the fridge …
Mum: 0% fat yoghurt.
Me: I don’t care about fat it’s sugar in supposed to not be eating.
Me: Well, it’s got absolutely nothing in it, do you want it or not? I’d get it while you can.
There are an awful lot of people in the village I live in, thousands of them, all with thousands of miniature versions of themselves …
“There’s too much breeding going on, too many kids. About 1 or two kids, great, but why do you want all these extraneous ones? The earth’s resources are not infinite.”
It’s later on in the Evelyn Waugh evening and mum’s driving me home. I’ve recently found out after 20 years of thinking I was too tall to be a jockey, that actually, I’m not.
Me: Lexxi’s boyfriend said I’m the right height … Grampa said I was too tall but I’m exactly the right height.
Mum: I’m surprised Grandpa didn’t say it was because you were a woman.
Me: Oh maybe that’s what he was saying .
Mum: I think he might’ve just generally been horrified you wanted to be a jockey.
A few minutes later ….
Me: Wasn’t Grandpa at Oxford in the ’30s?
Mum: Yes he was …
Art+Feminism Wikipedia Edit-a-Thon Piece For Artslant
In lieu of the Art + Feminism edit-a-thon on March 5th I’ve written an article about the event, female artists throughout history and happen to compare Wikipedia to Henry VIII’s translation of the bible into English (- what?)
Motherisms: The Great Escape …
I know. It’s Valentine’s Day, I’m so sorry. It is now as inevitable as needing the loo eventually. There is no escape from its cellophane-wrapped clutches. BUT, don’t worry if you don’t have someone to say something nice to you, or someone to buy you a fake pearl/bad watch/silk boxers/teddybear. Remember you always have your friends and family, who love you. Why not say something nice to them, as well as your beloved? Why not use today to be really nice and loving to everyone in your life instead of hoping for a bunch of roses and some chocolates rich enough to fill the hole.
These are all the nice things mum and I have been saying to each other over the last few months …..
I walk in to mum’s flat, she’s moving house and boxes are everywhere in preparation for the move. As I come into the kitchen I see her bent over and wrestling with some very thick masking tape in her mouth …
Me: What are you doing …?
Mum: It’s Chinese New Year, you can’t use scissors.
Me: Oh …
Mum: Yes. Bit of shame we’re moving today but there we go …
I want an animal. I have wanted one for 10 years. The quest continues …
Me: We have to get a dog. Or any sort of pet, but really, specifically a dog. They lower heart disease by 78%.
Mum: Yes I know they do darling but I can’t have one now anyway.
Me: I’ve started stroking them on the street now, just to get a fix.
Mum: No, I do Hatha yoga. Much cleaner.
Mum’s playing a CD in the car, I haven’t heard it since our first house. Turns out neither mum …
Me: Who is this? We used to play this all the time. I love him
Mum: You know, I can’t remember …
Mum ejects the CD so we can look (we’re stationary, don’t worry beackseaters) …
Mum: Bruce Coben
I’ve read it, that’s not what it said. Mum must have terrible eyesight, poor old woman, she can’t read anymore …
Me: Bruce COCKBURN
Mum: COBURN, it’s pronounced CO-BURN. Cockburn …. Jesus.
Mum’s moved in to a new place that has, shall we say, the ‘capacity’ for an older person. This means a lovely walk-in power-shower and a strange array cords dangling from the ceiling, neither of us are sure of their purpose. I am bored, so I reach for one to see what will happen …
Mum: Don’t pull that! God knows what it does.
I don’t. But examine it suspiciously.
Mum: We’ll spray them all silver …
Me: No, gold remember, for warmth.
Mum: Yes good. I’ll just say my daughter is a very famous artist and got carried away. Do apologise.
Mum’s talking about something I’ve written. She is getting carried away …
Mum: You could channel the spirit of the late Brian Sewell … very underestimated.
Me: I feel I’ve done underestimated.
Mum is putting on some makeup, she looks infinitely more presentable than I do, but is not happy with the results …
“Oh god. This is it. What Shakespeare said: sans teeth, sans eyes … sans bloody everything.”
Mum is on the phone to her friend. They’re talking about the recent engagement between Jerry Hall and babe-magnet Rupert Murdoch. Mum appears to have some interesting theories on the union …
Mum: I think he’s a reptile. I think she’ll come into their room on their wedding night and he’ll be there, sitting in a big chair, a huge reptile with his lizard claws, waiting …
There’s a pause …
Mum: Yeah I’d do it for £10 billion.
We’re discussing our new-found saintliness ….
Mum: I’ve lost my capacity to drink large amounts of wine
Me: I’ve lost the desire to.
Mum: Yes the desire to. Like port though …
Me: Me too. Lots.
Mum: Got to keep away from that, too much and it’ll make you fat … and give you gout.
Me: Noted.
It’s a few months ago now and Mum’s on the phone to my godfather. They’re talking about the presidential election (not in depth). Mum is struggling to remember who the “cool, old guy” is. I can’t help but offer some assistance …
Me: Bernie Sanders.
Mum: Jade’s telling me it’s Bernie Sanders. Apparently she keeps a note of my political preferences.
Me: No, I’m not keeping note. I just know who he is.
Mum starts making a variety of childish faces at me in response.
It’s Christmas and we’re all watching Downton Abbey – mum and I are used to chatting through TV shows like this. Today, we’re not allowed, because it turns out we aren’t as entertaining. Mum is struggling, and just can’t keep her mouth shut. The butler has come down to give the well-to-doers some news …
American Lady: Where’s Lady Edith?
Mum: Tripwire, me lady.
Mum has a love-hate relationship with The Archers. I just have mild disdain (but affection for the theme tune). It is on, as it is at 7pm every night of our lives …
Mum: Come on!!!
Archers: I think I need a cup of tea …
Mum: Well go and have one!!!
Archers: Just cleaning up the workshop …
Mum: Oh, for crying out loud. I hoped Rachel would stay in New Zealand.
Archers: These cows, when I look at them …
Me: … I get aroused.
Archers: They’re like family.
Mum: Yes. Great. Another bloody homily of cows! Get on with it. Let’s have a murder for once!
We’re settling down to some well-deserved television:
Mum: Ah now this is Bear Grylls who’s fallen in love with a lunatic …
I laugh, knowingly …
Me: It’s Ben Fogle and Rich Hall ….
I realize 45 minutes later that, it is indeed Ben Fogle, but it’s not Rich Hall, it is a mad man who lives in a swamp.
Mum is looking through the Style magazine in the papers, which I now loath. It’s turned into Mizz. But anyway …
Mum: I do wish these girls would learn to cover up one day.
Me: They will soon, I told you, Dolce and Gabanna have started making hijabs.
Mum: Oh…
Me: I might get one, a hijab. As an act of rebellion …
Mum: Mmm … I won’t discourage this, you’ve always looked great in a veil.
Mum’s complaining about the youth of today, as usual. I agree with her but like to pick holes, for picking holes sake …
Mum: Smart phone, dumb people.
Me: And there’s you begging me for my smart phone.
Mum: Well you can fuck your fucking smart phone.
Mum is talking about the cold draft that comes into flat. Apparently this has something to do with squirrels …
“Now you see, squirrels have an extra layer of fat to get them through the winter … the little bastards.”
We are reconvening mid-week and discussing anything interesting we have come across. Mum is first …
Mum: There’s an article in The Times about teenage feminist boys …
Me: I’ve seen it. I’ve never seen so much bullshit in all my life, sorry. I don’t believe the buggers. The title and pull quotes were enough.
Mum: One must be aware of the bullshit.
Me: Yeah, I’m aware of it, I’m just not willing to engage in 6 pages of it .
Mum: Yes no, fair enough ….I wasn’t either.
It’s the Archers again ….
Archers: Can I share something with you?
Archers: What?
Me: Pull my finger …
Mum: Oh don’t be so ridiculous jade. Shush now.
A pause …
Archers: There’s something I want to do …
Mum: Suck your dick.
Me: Mum!!!!!
Mum: You wait …
(She’s a little graphic, but as usual, correct.)
Poetry Reading
Once every two years I will read my poetry out loud in a public space; so far this has happened twice.
Here is a picture to prove it …
Looking forward to 2017!