Why do men kill men?

 

My childhood home was nothing but a 70's four bedroom suburban build at the bottom of a sloping Cul-de-sac, nothing untoward or dark was ever present between its walls. There was a rumour it was built on the site of an old farmhouse but that's hardly a Saxon burial ground. My next door neighbour's the Harrington's had two children both my elder, a boy Nigel and a girl just 1 year my senior Catherine they were a pleasure to grow up with.

As the oldest sibling of my household it was a joy to have an older brother and sister if you will guiding me through my formative years. We spent many an innocent afternoon playing games over the back garden fence, tennis, water pistols, I even recall a spud gun being introduced to proceedings somewhere along the line. When Nigel was out with his mates me and Catherine would talk for hours over the fence and sometimes when plotting something mischievous would crouch and talk through a small hall our eyes peeping through as if by being crouched and talking through this hole prevented anyone seeing or hearing us.

One afternoon much like any other I was playing at the back of the garden in the muddy bit where dad used to pile leaves, dreaming up tactical military manoeuvre's with my plastic soldiers. There I heard a call from the other side of the fence, just the usual voice of a pre-pubescent young lady which in thinking I suppose more or less sound the same as each other depending on your region. I assumed this was Catherine and wondered over to the small eye hole we shared many chats through, there I crouched down and looked through to see the eye of catherine, I put this down to the fact that I had never seen any other eye through the hole before and in fact at my young age was more interested in what was going to happen in saturday mornings cartoons than girls eyes and more to the point their eye colours. We chatted as usual,

“what are you doing?” she said, her voice was sweet and calming,

“not much just playing army's”,

“oh, I don't like that game”

“why” I replied,

“I don't like it that you should make men kill men”,

she made me think, and that awoke something new inside me I had never experienced before, I started to notice how pretty her eye was and how brown and never ending it was as I looked into it. “I see what you mean” I said thoughtfully, “We should talk more through the fence its fun”.

Her eye blinked and I saw sadness in the abyss of her pupil. “I can't”, and with that the eye disappeared from the hole.

“Catherine” I shouted, “where have you gone?”.

There was no reply and no sign of her. My heart sunk, I left the soldiers at the back of the garden and went back inside.

I carried on my day as normal, cartoons on the sofa with a Pot Noodle as a treat, Grandstand with dad and then final score. But although all these things were enjoyable they were just distractions and I couldn't stop thinking about her and that somehow it was bad to do so, even though I longed for her to come and knock at the door. As it came round to about 6'o’clock I heard next doors car come down the drive, and when I heard the doors open I ran outside to say hello to Nigel. To my surprise the whole family emerged,

“Hi catherine” I said somewhat confused,

“Hi Lucas” she replied “how was your day”.

My confusion rose ten-fold, and my relief to see her was unfounded “good thanks, how was yours?”

I am not sure why I replied like this knowing I had spoke to her through the fence not 3 hours earlier.

“Great, we went to Colchester zoo!” ,“all day?” I asked,

“yeah we went this morning...”

and she trailed off into talking about feeding the elephants and such. I didn't bother to ask who I was speaking to if not her, I was young but old enough to know people would think I was crazy and I definitely didn’t want to lose my friends over it. But by knowing that somehow whom I was speaking to wasn't Catherine my feelings for the eye in the whole got even more confusing and I longed to see her again. Most afternoons for weeks I sat around the back of the garden hoping that she would re-appear. Even when playing in next doors garden I investigated all along the fences and the garden gate but to no avail there were no ways of entering or exiting except through the house and the fences were far too tall for a 9 year old girl to climb. I never got to speak to the girl that wasn't Catherine again and never found out who she was or could have been, two years later we moved out of the house but I never forgot that one brown dark beautiful eye.

Extract from Down and Out in London and Essex or Jimmy's old man (as entered into Ghost Story Comp for White Rabbit theatre competition)

Jimmy Whiting was one of those kids who when you get older you meet them again, in another form, they are the same at whatever age they are or whatever stage of your life you meet them. Tale tellers, truth twister, life fabricators, story weavers or in many cultures quite simply referred to as liars. I don't like liars as much as the next guy but liars have to be put into category’s. Liars that lie to cover falsehoods their ashamed of, liars that lie to cover up things that may harm yourself, liars that lie to get themselves ahead in the game, liars that lie about everything, or my favourite liars, the ones that lie for the benefit of the story, entertainers as it were. Jimmy fell in to the latter, a harmless liar, he did it not maliciously, only to enhance the enjoyment of the story to the audience.

One such lie I can recall specifically and let it be known the lie wasn't entirely a falsehood and may well have not been entirely made up independently. One can only assume perhaps his mum or dad may have weaved this one into his head not realising he would pass it round the playground like cheap heroin – creating story addicts and leading others to push his story on to other kids. Besides I liked it, I was hooked and that tale he sold me has stayed in my bloodstream ever since.

I had since moved out of Bollingbrooke close to 23 Audley Road and dear Jimmy who was one year my junior had moved into my old house. I was climbing the social ladder, moving up the class system. Dad had got a job with the council and his and my mums hard work went into a nice four bedroom place on the bottom of a slopey little cul-der-sac which was brilliant for kettle car racing. This exchange of abodes between me and Jimmy, (we imagined it was us that did the buying and selling of houses, fuck the estate agents, fuck Wimpy homes, me and Jimmy ruled the property market!) cumulated in a strong friendship. We stalked the playground together on sunny June days pretending we were the Rays, ratatatattingting our school mates with our invisible Tommy guns, ratatat ratatat ratatatatatatatatatatatatatratatatatatatat. We weren't the strongest of lads so when we weren't mowing down fat Mrs Tiller the dinner lady from behind trees, we sat on the tyres by the climbing frame, which we couldn't use because our arms were too small, and filled each others minds with stories. Mine on the most part were true, but Jimmy's, Jimmy’s were long tall tales that excited me and kept me up for nights on end.

The story I remember the most came when the village had been flooded with press, The Essex Chronicle, The Braintree and Witham and even a national magazine all came down to visit St Annes Castle were a spat of hauntings had been reported. A series of witch hangings had apparently occurred several hundred years ago and then during WW2 some bumbling American soldiers from a nearby base came out of the pub and moved a large stone that was said to cover the ashes of murdered witches of the village. Ever since St Annes has exchanged hands every couple of years without a word.

Jimmy's dad Graham frequented St Annes castle pretty regularly and it was during one of his visits that Jimmy told me that his dad and his mates witnessed a haunting –one quiet thursday night a glass fell from a hook and flung itself across the bar- smashing against the wall. Then a bang was heard from outside, the punters were alarmed to say the least and drunkenly stumbled outside to investigate.

Let it be known, these are not hard men, these are Great Leighs men they live in a village, they are not like the surrounding farm workers, tough from the land or the nearby town geezers of Braintree or Chelmsford, they are run of the mill 2 point 4 children dads with a cat and a Fiesta. Graham, being a regular and all, decided he would have a look in the shed at the side of the car park whilst the others who weren't really bothered any more went back inside. As Jimmy approached the old wooded shed he could definitely clarify the banging was coming from the shed. Granted he hesitated, who wouldn't? But Jimmy's dad was pretty brave (Jimmy's words not mine) so he approached the shed. Undeterred he unbolted the door and looked inside, the banging stopped. Graham went inside just to have a quick look, it could have been a dog or something you know – nothing scary. As he reached the back of the shed, which wasn't very long after he had entered it, because, well, its a shed, the door suddenly slammed behind him – shut. He ran to the door and tried to open it but it was locked from the outside, he began to bang on the door, screaming shouting for help.

Then the most wretched sounds erupted from inside, as if his intestines were being dragged from inside of him and made into an 1004 mile length of sloppy bunting. Upon hearing the shouts his mates ran out from the pub across the gravel car park and kicked open the door. The door was kicked down by one of the burlier fellows and he was sitting in the corner of the shed covered in sick. “It's not mine, he proclaimed, it's it's hers” Graham sat forlorn covered in an unexplicable amount of Lentil soup shaded vomit pointing with a limp wristed shakey hand to the opposite corner of the shed.

Jimmy claimed this was the ghost of St Annes Castle, the legendary witch. Jimmy also claimed, and this was the shitter, this was the deal sealer, that the ghost wasn't just content with haunting the pub, she also wanted to have a pop at the whole of the village and make kids everywhere puke all over themselves. It was that little piece of information that kept me awake for weeks.

Poor Jimmy probably didn't realise that his dad was actually locked in the shed by his mates then proceeded to puke up his mums Shepherds pie all over him and that this tale was woven to somehow save his integrity, his honour, and his manhood.

Introduction to the Studio Ghibli Season at The Victoria, Mile End, Nov 2011

 

As a youngster in suburb of Essex Anime wasn't something I would commonly come up against. The four channels stuck to the western output of animation, it wasn't until I moved to London and met a girl from the continent that I was introduced to the mind-blowing art, magic, stories, moral messages and complexity that comes from within the Studio Ghibli house of animation. Those of you from Asia and any country in Europe outside of the UK were probably bred on Japanese animation but for many it wasn't until Spirited Away got international acclaim that they delved in to the country’s rich animated history.

Despite the common assumption that Studio Ghibli's films are for children, they are infact full of social, global, historical and environmental questions and debates. Two of the films in our season Pom Poko and grave of the fireflies are both known for their hard-hitting nature and bringing adults to their knees in tears circling around themes regarding the destruction of the rain forests and America's catastrophic bombing of Japan during WW2, whilst My Neighbour Totoro and Porco Rosso show the lighter side to the house and highlight the notion that Studio Ghibli's creations and characters are on a par with disney if not better which is probably the reason disney bought studio ghibli's distribution rights outside of Japan.

Introduction to The Alan Moore Season at The Victoria, Mile End, October 2011

Alan Moore Season will include V for Vendetta, The Watchmen and From Hell. 

V for Vendetta brings us nicely from the Freedom season with its dystopian view of the future and its revolutionary ideals. Alan Moore is the best graphic novelist of our generation and arguably Great British literature's most genius and incendiary left wing literary mind since George Orwell. He has enjoyed being courted by both Marvel and DC comics and has created some of the most influential and iconic comic book characters the world has ever seen. It was inevitable of course that Moore would be swamped upon by Hollywood and from this has resulted in 4 films both heralded and damned by audiences, critics and Moore himself. The Alan Moore Season brings you the best 3 the 4th being The League of Extraordinary Gentleman which despite being one of his best comic series is the worst of the films despite its all-star cast and is frankly not worth the bother.

V for Vendetta caused a controversy when it came out due it's scenes of 'terrorism' and the blowing up of certain landmark buildings apparently to close to comfort to the 2005 London bombings. Since then the film despite mediocre critical acclaim has now somewhat of a cult following, whether it is from its superb and groundbreaking inspiration in the Graphic novel or the disturbances it stirred in its release and the appearance of Natalie Portman with a skinhead. Thousands now adorn the mask of V as a form of protest, whether against scientology or an identity guard in student protests whether or not he likes the film, Moore must take pleasure in the fact the character of V takes such a part in modern left wing protests against the big brother like establishments we now face and which are fought against in the film.

Alan Moore famously said of the film adaptation of his best selling series Watchmen, “I will be spitting venom all over it” but despite Moore's hatred of the hollywood treatment on some of his best comic works watchmen actually came out boosting the franchises fan-base and ignored the lure of casting huge hollywood names to the 6 main oddball characters. The overall look of the film is true to the comic series and Zack Snyder makes a 100% better film than most Watchmen readers expected him to. Comic book adaptations suit sunday nights to a tee and with Watchmen easily sitting pretty amongst the top 5 its well worth a revisit with a pint or two.

As we draw nearer to all hallows eve the Alan Moore season winds down with a nod to England’s most infamous villain and links nicely with our two part Jack the Ripper halloween special sundays.

'From Hell' is the War and Peace of Moore's back catalogue, an epic collection of twists, turns and conspiracy’s surrounding the man, the prince, the butcher, the physician, the monster, the legend that is Jack the Ripper. The serialisation now finds itself together in a doorstop heavy graphic novel.

Without giving too much away Moore's take on the case was that he was heavily involved with a cover up involving the Royal family, a scandalous affair and the free masons. Despite being blighted with a flurry of hollywood names such as Johnny Depp and Heather graham and the familiar splattering of those actors that appear to have to feature in any Hollywood film set in the UK such as Jason Flemyng, Robbie Coltrane and Ian Holm, From Hell paints Whitechapel in all its 19^th century squalor.

Its a pint sized compact version of the Moore classic by any means and Moore fans will be disappointed in its skimming of the surface, but nonetheless From Hell still remains as one of the only good films to London’s favourite murderer and its always fun to play spot the location where I once puked up, drank a pint, pulled or bought a ridiculously shit pair of expensive jeans from in All saints on a jolly to the consumerist bourgeois vintage heaven that now is Spitalfields.

Extract from Down and out in London and Essex

IRA Nursery School

 Great Leighs Nursery School, Goodmans Lane.

At an early age the suburban parent sends you to nursery school, mine was deep in the countryside outside of the wimpy home estates that were growing out of village greens.

It was a dark old building all wooden beams and hard floors, Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday... Sunday sung in trepidation for our obligatory glass of milk and rich tea finger biscuits. Party rings on birthdays. Here we learnt to share, to sing loudly the alphabet when our parents waited outside, to not make guns out of sticklebricks assuming that this would provoke thoughts of joining the IRA as soon as we lost the stabilisers on our bikes. Frantically peddling over to Ireland and proposing a new legion of mickey mouse knit jumpers on 4ft terrorist groups would storm the pubs of Soho with bombs in milk bottles.

Extract from Untitled piece of fiction.

chapter 1

I grew up in an identikit suburban middle class housing estate on the outskirts of Colchester a Roman built town in the county of Essex famous for its castle and its squaddie population.

My mum and dad would take me to all these antiseptic show homes with their plastic fruit, shiny sickly estate agents and the perfect interiors, made to dupe the family man buyers. These new estates represented the Coca-cola of housing each one the same but selling themselves on the basis that if you bought it you would fit the middle class demographic expected of a fake booming 80's economy. Front garden mown in parallel lines, back garden the same more trees, patio---- for barbecues in the summer, dinning room big table- all set out for gatherings, kitchen- all mod cons, utility room- washing machine comes as standard. Perfect.

They bought one.

First day in, 12 years old , knock next door, suss the neighbourhood- looking for the nearest boy to play with.

“Hello my names Ben, I just moved in with my mum and dad next door, we are your new neighbours, the estate agent man said you have a son my age”

“yes of course, hello Ben” answered the 30 something single mother, she looked just like the lady off the new house brochure in the show home. Alluring, clean, blond, what I believed american women looked like, she sleeps in Tupperware. Coming from a family of dark haired roots, Jewish until 1910 until someone married out, blond women fascinated me, they were so exotic. I looked at her feet, painted toe-nails on bare feet I had rarely seen them. For me her feet and the odd snog on the soaps was the closed I had yet got to porn or feeling slightly aroused. “He is upstairs playing with his cars, do you want to come up and say hello?”

I looked up from her feet and nodded.

I walked in, took my shoes off and instantly noticed how soft the carpet was on my feet, no wonder she walked around bare foot I thought, I followed her upstairs and there was little Thomas on his hands and knees lining up match box cars in a traffic jam formation, it was a perfect collection, all in pristine condition.

“Thomas this is Ben he has just moved in next door, why don't you let him join in playing traffic jams?” Thomas carried on as he was, I took this as an open invitation, so got down to the floor with him.

“Hello, I'm ben I just moved in next door, what you playing?”

“Traffic Jams”

He still didn't invite me to play. There were two odd things about this game, firstly, no ordinary boy still plays traffic jams when they are 12, secondly and most unusually at least 6 of the cars were still in their boxes, Thomas seemed to ignore this fact and use them as he would the other cars driving the boxed cars around the room, he didn't even make the vrooooom noise. Silently he shuffled the cars through the soft soft carpet, and I sat there awkwardly and watched. When Thomas went to the toilet I felt a sudden urge to take one of the cars. I had never really stolen before but its was too tempting, they were all immaculate I had to have one. The particular one that caught my eye was the beautiful little Aston Martin DB5 like the one James Bond drove in Goldfinger, a film in which the image of a gold painted Shirley Eaton was also responsible for my one of first sexual feelings towards the female form. I thought well enough not to take one of the boxed ones as he would surely have noticed and besides this one had a rearview mirror missing so I knew it couldn't have been one of his most treasured items. I slipped it in my trouser pocket without a thought, guilt didn't cross my mind. I don't even know why I did it, I had long forgotten my matchbox car collection. But for some reason the way he kept things so immaculate, his relationship with his mother, his perfect hair, symmetrically beautiful face, all these things made me take the car.

Me and Thomas's relationship pretty much went on this course for sometime, he never refused my entry and I had no-one else to play with for the summer. We were both only children, it was the school holidays and the estate at this point was only just filling up with new families. He was only friends with me because I was there, he didn't need to talk to me, and I didn't bother him, I was only friends with him to get out of my house and sit on his soft soft carpet watching him with a disturbing fascination like a victorian at a freak show and to every so often try and get a glimpse of his mothers toes, although as the summer went on her ankles also became somewhat alluring.

Thomas never noticed the missing Aston Martin, or maybe he did but never fancied the confrontation, or maybe he never liked it anyway he didn't really have many fancy sports cars I used to like in his collection, it was mostly family estates, emergency vehicles, little inner city cars and tractors.

Thomas never left the house that summer on his own or with me for that matter, I only saw him leave the front door with his mother. It wasn't until our first day at secondary school together that he was made to fend for himself.

Extract from Down and out in London and Essex

 

 

Born.

St John's Hospital, Chelmsford, Essex.

Lucas William Sullivan.

St John's Hospital was built on the site of an army barracks during the Napoleonic War. The current buildings were first used by the Chelmsford Union in 1837 as a poor house and in 1930 the workhouse was handed over to Essex County council and was used as an infirmary for many casualties and prisoners of war during WWII.

In 1948 the beloved NHS took on the hospital and has looked after this humble site ever since. Its slightly romantic to imagine hundred's of thousands of little Essex babies being born in to Thatcher's shoddily iced 80's, parents hoping their new-born would grow up to own two cars, a conservatory and take on a successful double glazing business. Little did they know they were being born in an ex workhouse and more than 50% of them would find themselves struggling for any work on the shit side of the economic boom.


The midwife noted that I came out rather quietly. There was no fight, no battle to see the light of Chelmsford. I was content to be introduced to the four walls of the brightly lit room and blinked to be greeted by several perms, a moustache and two pairs of thick rimmed NHS discounted glasses.

Interview with Geoffrey B Small for Sebastian (Hostem Mag) May 2011 (The Magazine contains the fully edited version)

Geoffrey B Small puts in the hours.

Battle planning, digging the trenches, leading the front line, and planting the flag. Geoffrey B Small takes on the industry and his imitators step by step.

For years Geoffrey B Small has stood alone in the battle against the fashion behemoths refusing to become a cog in the 'mans' machine, outspoken, fearless and utterly ruthless with his unique and groundbreaking output. He was one of the first to use recycled materials, he single handedly began the landslide of Napoleonic and medieval infused designs dotted throughout the last ten years.

Small oversees and takes part in every waking moment of his garments journeys all the way to meeting and greeting the front line shop assistants who sell his products.

Tirelessly fighting his corner he will not stand for his work on an eco level to be questioned in anyway (as I sombrely learnt from a naively worded question on my part).

His character and belief in what he does and what Geoffrey B Small stands for is unquestionable and makes for a barrage of second to none collections that have dotted his house's colourful and successful history. The attitude is such that you know every customer who purchases a Geoffrey B Small piece will walk away not just with a beautifully constructed item but a social conscience to boot.

You grafted as a youngster on a Singer sewing machine. Are you still loyal to Mr Singer?

I have no personal thing with Singer, I happened to use Singer machines in both startup phases for my Boston and later my Cavarzere operations in Italy. Both were home businesses: one in my parent’s attic, the other in the kitchen area of our small apartment. Both were started on a shoestring and there were little funds for buying a machine. In 1979, I started with my mother’s old Singer home machine, and in 2001 I bought a very similar machine to get me out of the Italian production contract I was tied into with another company. In both cases, however, I bought more serious industrial equipment as soon as I earned enough from my sales and deliveries, and the primary machines I have always used have been industrials, some were Singer (although the company stopped a long time ago), others were Japanese Brother and Juki machines, and today our Cavarzere studios are equipped with state of the art Juki machines, which honestly, are the best I have ever worked on.

Were you taught to use the sewing machine or was it a craft passed down to you through the family?

No, I actually come from a family of academics… teachers, physicians, scientists and a few artists. Although my mother sewed her own clothes for years when I was child, her work as one of the first women physicians in America eventually gave her little time to stay at it, and she never taught me. I started on my own and then had some basic introduction in a design school in Boston before I got kicked out, and the rest I had to learn on my own over several decades

What was the first garment you worked on?

I tried to make a full-blown tailored men’s jacket by myself with no idea how to sew anything. I took my best jacket, a 1979 Giorgio Armani from Charivari in New York, that I had bought for myself with the prize money from winning my first major student design competition in New York, took it apart completely, and tried to recreate it from scratch. I never finished the project, but it was the first step up a very big mountain, and I began to learn and respect the discipline, and the massive amount of knowledge, technique and most of all, discipline, required to make a serious men’s jacket. It would take me 10 years to get to the point where I was able to actually reproduce and make that kind of a jacket by myself.

How did your time working retail at Gap affect your outlook on fashion?

I learned the fundamental importance of the retail floor. That that is where it all happens. And that the retail salesperson is the key to success or failure of any design, collection or store, no matter how great it may or may not be. It’s where the rubber hits the road. Trying to drive a Lamborghini at 200km/hr on bad tires is useless and will kill somebody. The person on the floor at retail is the person who actually controls the industry. Once a year, I try to personally visit every store in the world where my work is carried, and one of the main reasons I do so, is to pay my respects to the members of the sales staff in each store and get a chance to talk shop with them. They have access to a lot of information that is invaluable for a designer to do his or her work in a superior manner, yet very often they are overlooked by so-called higher-ups in the industry. I know. I was one of them many years ago. And most often, nobody ever listened to me. At the same time, I could totally determine what items were going to sell and not sell in the store. If I liked something, it would be the first thing every customer coming in would see and know about. If I didn’t like something, the customers would never know it even existed. That’s part of the power of the retail floor and the person who is working it.

What has growing up in America given you as a designer?

From an industrial view, nothing. Other than how to ruin the greatest economy in the world by trying to pay people less and less, and at the same time get them to buy more and more. The fact is, once upon a time Boston and the New England area was a global leader in textile and clothing and manufacturing and technology, but by the late 1970’s I had to start and build an entirely independent company on my own to create my designs because there was no other company in all of America that could possibly do anything like it. It was a fundamental problem of thinking and looking at things in a different way and at a different set of values. And eventually, I had to leave America and go to Italy to raise it to yet another level.

And what about Italy in comparison?

First, you are surrounded by about three thousand years of art, culture and history which forms the basis of what many would call “European” culture and civilisation. This is your backyard- Palladio, Bramante, Brunelleschi, Giotto, Titian, DaVinci, Rafael, Michelangolo, Tintoretto and the work of about 300 thousand other geniuses including many that most people may have never heard of- that make up the culture of one of human history’s most remarkable mass achievements. Everywhere you go it’s there. And it educates you and influences you as an artist, a craftsman, and a member of this human civilisation. Second, it is still home to a few of the last remaining and very best people in the world making serious fabrics and clothes, and it has allowed me to have a chance to work with some of them and create some of the best new clothing in the world today.

How did you come across some of your renowned Italian suppliers ?

By physically living and working in the guts of the Italian production system. Unlike many of my colleagues, I am not in Milan, Florence or any big city where the focus like London, is mainly on PR and sales. Instead I have spent over a decade now in the bowels of Italy’s manufacturing powerhouse region the Veneto, in the small working-class factory town of Cavarzere, and over this time, I have worked in the trenches if you will-- slowly identifying, finding, and then building, very special relationships with the absolute world masters in all the necessary mediums, that are required for a designer today to create the best clothing in the world.

Why do you find it so integral to have had a hand in tailoring every item you produce?

It’s not just a hand really. It’s hands, eyes and mind….Art is a product of all three- human thought, eyes and hands. And so, their direct involvement is integral in every item we produce. Every Geoffrey B. Small piece is uniquely made to order for a specific client and purpose. And I am personally responsible and involved in the creation and execution of every single one of them. That is why I can put my name on each one without comprising myself. One of my working models is Cristobal Balenciaga (the real Balenciaga operation that ended when he closed it in 1968—not the Balenciaga that is run and owned by Gucci N.V. today.) If you study him and how his ateliers worked while he was alive, you will begin to understand how we go at things. But beyond that, for today and tomorrow’s leading clothing concepts, just putting together great materials and components into a standard package in a factory and slapping a designer label on, is not at all enough any more, for us, or our clients. For over a decade now, I have been steadily increasing the amounts of handwork involved in the creation of our pieces, and we can now state that the handmade component of our work is one of the highest in the designer industry, bar none. The focus has not been just to reproduce effects of “a day gone by,” but to look at and arrive at new and forward-looking applications of hand-work on modern 21^st century life and design as we know it. This course has been pursued both out of our passion, and out of commercial response: it sells very well…the more hand made and difficult to produce the piece is, the better it generally sells for us in the Paris collection arena. Now, we are finding it is becoming efficient too. Hand work requires no electricity, petroleum or machinery. It emits no carbon or methane into the atmosphere. It provides life skills and work to human beings with talent, and enables them to create garments autonomously with less dependency on a system with vastly diminishing resources (for example, one of us can execute a beautiful hand slip-stitch down a jacket front ourselves with just a needle, thread and know-how, far faster, less expensively, and more beautifully than the classic AMF machine system industrial alternative.) And it creates high value works that are beautiful, unique and meaningful in a multitude of ways. The return to handwork is also leading us to a new world of artistic perspectives and directions that we are continuously pursuing and experiencing as we increase this new interpretation to maximize a very old application.

How did you find your education as a designer where any social or global issues ever addressed?Did any fellow designers ever show the same passion as you?

Never, and not really.

The way you portray yourself in your words and methods is almost that of a teacher, how do you propose to further your teachings?

I come from a family of teachers, and I am a teacher. It’s in the blood. And it is a primary job required of me as a designer and manager in order to achieve the level of work we do as a group- which actually involves a myriad of company associates, and supplier, retail and support partners around the world creating some of the best designer clothes in the world. About 50 percent of my time every day is spent teaching somebody something concerning work or life skills – associates including many many designers in the field today, suppliers, colleagues, team members and also of course my children. I would like to form perhaps a formal teaching school for design, clothes making and tailoring technology, because it is so lacking in today’s design school offerings worldwide and the school’s are so bad at the international level… And I mean almost every one of them--completely failing to prepare their students for what they need to know, and be able to do, in the 21^st century to do this job for a living. But our firm is so busy, I need to tend to that 100 percent still. So basically, my school is in my company and work and the teaching goes on every day, one or 2 persons at a time, focusing on quality not on quantity. Like the Jedi warriors in Star Wars, we generally try to train only one apprentice with one master at a time.

And so we hope, nae pray that the next generation will be even a touch on Geoffrey B Small. This is no false idol or working class hero worship its looking into the future and imagining a place without such minds. We need to throw away the cookie cutters and make a massive cake, without an oven.

Interview with Casely Hayford for Sebastan (Hostem Mag) May 2011 (The Magazine contains the fully edited version)

A very Traditional Revolution



French philosopher Roland Barthes once said "The bastard form of mass culture is humiliated repetition... always new books, new programs, new films, news items, but always the same meaning." The bastard form of mass culture has risen dramatically in the last ten years and to search out true originality is to us what imagining space travel must have been like for the Romans.  All is not lost for it seems as though a paradigm shift is coming our way.  Words such as change and enlightenment have been whispered, the streets are growing anxious and with our exceedingly tiresome Lib-Con government pushing us further towards the abyss and Brussels filling up with more right wing politicians than you can shake a stick at the youth are stepping up to the plate.

Cue Casely-Hayford, the father and son fashion house who are grabbing the scruffy lost generation by the balls and sending them back into the streets as debonair gentleman revolutionaries.

Casely-Hayford's fifth collection 'The light through the Darkness' welcomes a new beginning  and beckons the 'lost' generation to take charge. Its ideals of rebirth mirrors those of the London's inhabitants,  their autumn winter collection copes flawlessly with its 'discordant synergy' and 'amalgamations' as we must in own fluctuating environment.

Casely-Hayford didn't  just stumbled across originality and enlightenment, their father-son base has created a perfect harmony between old and new, traditionalism and radicalism, experience and fresh perception.

Many father-son working partnerships take years to develop and become fruitful but Casely-Hayford has seen a rapid rise to notoriety. It may be because their working relationship 'started' at such an infant stage,
 "Charlie has always had a unique eye. We started doing father and son shoots with magazines and newspapers when he was 2 1/2; that was when he wore his first bespoke suit."
Joe noticed his sons eye for detail and knack for fashion from the off,
"It was a mini version of a split front jacket and trousers I had designed for my collection, worn with some heavy brown apprentice work boots from Northampton- he still wears the same look today. We made a few pieces for charlie when he was very young and he would always wear them with his own style."
Despite decking his son out in his own designs, fashion wasn't something Joe pushed on young Charlie, "Out intention was always to give Charlie a broad education and let him draw his own conclusions. Growing up in a creative environment it was inevitable that he would be influenced by his surroundings. From an early age he gravitated towards the arts. Being my passion, it is wonderful to see my children naturally drawn towards something that is central to my existence."

The Casely-Hayford existence has always been one seeped in pro-active artistic history, many a scholar and historian will know the Casely-Hayford name from Joe's politician, lawyer and writer, grandfather J.E. Casely Hayford. JE. was a predominant figure in the pan-african movement of the early 1900's so the fact Joe is proud of his father goes without saying.
 "His ideas and politics were never forced upon us, but we were always aware of his influence and thinking. The notion of cultural displacement is something that has run throughout generations of our family. J.E.’s book 'Ethiopia Unbound' was one of the first novels to be written by a Black African and focused on the idea of dual identity. He was his own man, carving a singular path with a dual vision."
The importance of his grandfathers work is unquestionable but it is also nice to hear Joe comment on his attire and how this also works its way into the brand, 
"He would wear traditional Ghanaian Kente cloth whilst studying law at Cambridge and Savile Row suits when working in Africa.English sartorialism and British anarchy, the Casely-Hayford brand ethos, are echoes of this innate philosophy - utilising a discordant synergy to highlight certain ideals."

It isn't just grandpa J.E. who brings pride and inspiration to Joe either, coming from a family with such gusto and positive attitude couldn't have done Casely-Hayford much harm in terms of its work ethic and passion.
 " As a family we have always been encouraged to pursue our passions with vigour. A good example of this would be my late aunt, Gladys Casely-Hayford, who was struck down with Polio at an early age. As a result she walked with a limp for the rest of her life. This wasn't enough to deter her from joining a dance troupe and performing in the Weimar Republic during pre Nazi Germany. She went on to write some of the early 20th century lesbian poetry; this positive and fearless approach to life constantly inspires us as a family."

The literary influence is a very important factor in the Casely-Hayford house, you can hear it when they speak and read it in every interview, even their brand philosophy reeks of two very well read individuals.
"All men possess elements of anarchy within their character. Anarchy is not about the total absence of rules, but rather the significance of autonomy. The Casely-Hayford ethos represents a unique expression of freedom created when conformity threatens identity, or convention restricts spontaneity; we fuse this expression of the free spirit with the very particular gestures of English sartorialism. The House aims to distil a multitude of ideas into a simple pure entity: innovation through tradition."

Joe obviously takes his literature and philosophy very seriously and its intriguing to hear him talk about the writers that he feels have had most effect on where we see the brand today.
"Anticipation and communication are paramount to the purity of our vision. This is often influenced by the works of writers such as Roland Barthes in terms of social theory, post-structuralism, and anthropology, Will Hutton for highlighting cultural and social differences, Dick Hebdige for his work on subcultural studies and finally Ferdinand de Saussure. These works help to shape the eyes that we view our society through season after season, and helped to lay "the foundations of our brand."

Joe and Charles both studied at London's esteemed university Central St Martins, in fact Joe met Charles mother whilst studying there which Charles felt "In hindsight, was probably one of those situations where my subconscious overpowered my conscious thought."
Judging by their re-counting of their college days there is one thing that really changed the face of teaching at St Martins, the internet. Joe begins "Ideas carried more resonance because it took longer for them to disseminate. A week after the Paris shows the head of fashion would give a slide projection presentation to show us the collections through hand drawn illustrations - and that was our connection with the global fashion weeks until they were published in magazines three months later. It meant regional fashion bore far greater significance than it will ever again. When you flew to Paris it really felt like visiting an alien culture. We experienced the birth of designer fashion, the birth of street culture with the Face and i-D and the birth of the stylist. All these things that I feel Charlie takes for granted held such gravitas in my world."

Far from take such a luxury for granted Charles almost longs for the old way of teaching and  there is a hint of resentment for the internets influence on fashion today. "I was able to live stream a show in real time from my laptop while I was studying there. You do begin to lose a sense of reality. I remember people complaining about how a style of fashion was outmoded before it even hit the stores. While I was at Saint Martin’s I began to feel that idea of seasonal fashion was becoming less relevant, particularly in comparison to my father’s day. Because I had so much information at my fingertips, it seemed that the value of creating a designer collection was diminishing. The general public now have complete access to images of collections that won’t be in-store for six months; previously this privilege was only for the eyes of a select few. While I was there I couldn’t help but feel that the currency of fashion, with so much information readily available, is changing dramatically."

Its not only generational changes in education and technology which has shaped the Casely-Hayford house but of course the underlying subject of all their work, society.

When Joe was cutting his teeth on Saville Row, Margaret Thatcher was pissing off miners across the country now its David Cameron's turn but this time he has riled up all the students. Fashion as we know always seems to find its place in social uprisings and Joe and Charles both have strong feelings on todays current climate. Joe's views echo a vast percentage of our disillusioned nation in his comparisons with the Thatcherite era "For someone of my generation it is encouraging to see the re-emergence of a politicised youth becoming radicalised. After decades of lethargy it seems that certain similarities between today and the Thatcher era have motivated young people to make their voices heard."
Whilst Charles having not experienced anything of this magnitude is buoyed by recent events in the capital and is noticing a real shift in attitudes within his generation.
 "I grew up feeling like my generation had nothing to fight for, nothing to stand up for and consequently nothing new to say. This passivity, in my eyes, induced a lack of passion and stifled creativity. For a long time, particularly from the perspective of a designer, everything my generation was taking as their own to shape its identity was referenced directly from times past or utilised existing social signifiers. Nothing was original. Every guy in London wore a Barbour, lumberjack shirt and brogues or DMs, skinny jeans and a Biker jacket. We were a pastiche of either cultural signifiers borrowed from the establishment, or a hash of things from the past. There wasn't really any vision pushing forward and breaking new ground. If you look to the past at Teddy Boys, Mods, Skinheads of the 60s and 80s,Punks, even Grungers of the 90's their movements emerged when the youth had something to fight for and something to believe in. This is the first notable instance of politicised youth moving into unchartered territory for a long time. It has brought about a real sense of purpose because people feel motivated by something that could really have an effect on their lives."
Joe adds to the notion that fashion morphs and has a certain spark to it in such troubled times, "I believe a designer should be a social conduit. Recent fashion has lacked the energy and danger which comes through confronting new challenges. The Thatcher years spawned exciting creative ideas because the youth of that era was not complacent. I would like to think that my work reflected the cultural climate of the time."  Joe also echoes Charles's inner hope that what we are experiencing now will see the coming of something very exciting just round the corner for Britains youth culture, "I can sense a new energy emanating from the streets. Digital activists like Uncut and Anonymous are likely to trigger novel forms of protest; historically this kind of grass roots activism goes hand in hand with cultural change and the introduction of new dress codes. As a result of this action we could experience the first genuine, radical youth fashions to emerge for a generation."

Mother time has been kind to Joe the age gap physically speaking is barely visible and although he appears the same man as 20 years ago his thought process's and way he looks at fashion have evolved, as he confesses.
 "I was drawn into fashion as a young kid through an interest in individual and collective identity. I became fascinated by the power of social uniforms and decided that I would like to celebrate the cult of the individual by making clothes which question social conventions. Times move on and the role of the designer has changed. Today, I approach design from a different perspective, thinking more about form and function than breaking social conventions."
Its this outlook that leads us nicely to where Casely-Hayford find themselves today, a house equally underlined as much by social change as with their love of traditionalism.  In 2007 Joe was awarded an OBE for his services to the fashion industry this followed his time at Gieves and Hawkes where he had the opportunity to dress royalty and eventually became creative director.  When these details are read alongside the fact he has been responsible for some of The Clashes most iconic stage outfits it certainly makes for an odd cv.  Despite such associations he explains that there was no doubt to whether he would accept the OBE or not,
 "I believe some sort of awards/Honours system helps to define a national identity. I don’t think it should be at all class or income related, but provide people with a sense of civic pride and individual purpose. Vivienne Westwood created Punk fashion and is now a Dame. The establishment is capable of acknowledging shifts in creative thought which move society forward."

Joe's time at Gieves and Hawkes was a huge factor in his love for British Traditionalism but with change, losses must be accounted for, does Joe worry that  the traditional art of tailoring that he learnt on Saville Row and encouraged at  Gieves and Hawkes will gradually disappear?
 "I have always felt it important to appreciate the formal elements of culture.  In order to challenge or subvert it is crucial to understand the source. When I began my career in fashion I set out to learn the essence of sartorial style by studying at the Tailor and Cutter Academy in London, before working with the respected tailor Douglas Hayward; from there I was able to experiment and discover at St Martin’s. The Casely-Hayford philosophy is based upon the collision between innovation and tradition; we believe it is essential to pass on human skills and knowledge from generation to generation. We aim to offer craftsmanship in a corporate age. I was invited to become Creative Director of Gieves and Hawkes because of the respect I have for tradition coupled with my love of innovation. I believe that in the future these human skills can only increase in value." 


Growing up in the shadow of a famous father for some would spell rebellion in the most distasteful of ways but Charles has revelled in his father's knowledge and experience whilst bringing Casely-Hayford as much integral input as Joe.  Charles describes the age gap with as much fluidity, turn of phrase and wisdom as his father, "The generation gap is more complex than simply being defined by differences in our chronological age. We have a strong creative synergy and complimentary personalities which transcend preconceived ideas of how one should think, like or behave at a certain age. Sometimes I’m more conservative, and my father is more avant-garde in our design approach. Despite coming to it from different points of view the end choice is always singular."

Now in its 3rd year the Casely-Hayford house is rolling harmoniously without a hiccup. There must have been a time when the father-son duo came to some disagreement if only with what one turns up to work wearing? Joe concludes the interview by putting to bed any rumours this sneaky upstart journalist may want to start.
"Charlie has raided my archives (without my permission) consistently for the last 10 years, so I can’t really knock his style as I designed most of his clothes."

http://www.sebastianmagazine.com/

Introduction to The Freedom Season at The Victoria, Mile End. September 2011

German writer Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe once famously said “None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free”.

We now live in a society where we crave freedom, freedom from the government, freedom from the police, freedom from cctv, freedom from capitalism, freedom from the banks, freedom from our parents and freedom from our spouse's. The people of the West have been taken on a ride for far too long in the belief that we are free. Many of our forefathers fought fiercely for what they believed was liberty and freedom and we now live in a country that douse's us with the notion that we live in a democratic and free society. We are led to believe that our freedom is only threatened by 'terrorists' and more recently the 'criminal underclass'. Everything you believe to be true is wrong, we are all slaves in someway to the powers that be, I need not go into a political spiel about Capitalism and America or the monetary system, I will refrain from lecturing you, but please question everything, do not fear what you are told only what you are not. Let it be known we are in chains, whatever, whoever governs the country, America, The European Union, left or right, the invisible chains of the people have been here for decades and will remain beyond our known lives.

For the next four weeks we will be celebrating the film makers who have questioned our freedom, documented our lack of it, predicted our fight for it and laughed at the notion of it.

First up is Woody Allen's 'Sleeper', Woody having been whisked from 1973 into a police state 22^nd century America meets a young Diane Keating and together they become rebels. The best commentries on society are usually the satirical and Allen's dystopian view of the future with all its underground movements, Aires Project's, society brainwashed to act in a singular fashion, are very much inspired by novels such as Orwell’s big Brother and its pre curser Yevgeny Zamyatin's 'We'.

Up next is another comedy caper poking a finger at the States (this time its foreign policies) is William Friedkin's 'Mr Freedom'. Mr freedom was made during the Vietnam war and the student riots of France 1968, it's criticism of the US and right wing politics is stark so no wonder this gem of cinema remains sadly only a favourite of hardcore cinephiles. The film features John Abbey making a star turn as Mr Freedom who is sent to France to win the French people over to the way of freedom and defeat the evil communist enemies Moujik Man and Red China Man.

Look out for the incredible ongoing cameos from Serge Gainsbourg as M.Drugstore.

'The Baader Meinhof Complex' by Uri Edel is where the season gets serious, not for those looking for laughs, violence plays heavily in this re-telling of the West German extremist group Rote Armee Fraktion who were one of Europe's most prolific and dangerous underground guerilla groups of the past 100 years. The film was criticised for glorifying the actions of this left wing group but the film is less a glorification and more an insight into the mindset of a group of young people fed up with lying down and getting fisted by their government, and who rightly or wrongly took it upon themselves to oppose them in the most extreme ways possible.

How could we end a freedom season without a good old Godard. The hero of every hip filmmaker for the last 50 years Jean Luc Godard is most commonly known for his cooool cinematography and his use of hot young french actors and actresses, but whilst many watch his movies to mark another notch on the 'cool films I have seen board' or to swoon over Anna Karina, it is all too easy to overlook his political messages. Godard was never one to shy away from poking a stick at the establishment from the truly brilliant dystopian thriller 'Alphaville' to the masterpiece of dialogue that is 'La Chinoise'.

For its colour, beauty, rebelliousness and smooth spy capers we have chosen 'Made in U.S.A' as Godard's representation for the 'Freedom season'.

Anna Karina stars as a young leftist writer and there is a lot of running around, shooting and bucket loads of 60's coolness, beneath this lies an exciting gung-ho spy flick which Godard used to comment on the obvious theme of right vrs left but also human censorship and more interestingly the murder of a left wing Moroccan politician by the name of Ben Barka who was suspected to have been assassinated by the joint efforts of the CIA and french intelligence.

Ironically but somewhat predictably this film was banned from the USA in the 60's, but us at The Victoria however bring you all these great films for FREE, and if you thought we couldn't say free again we can as we also offer you FREE popcorn.

Fin

Introduction to Steve Martin Season at The Victoria, Mile End. August 2011.

Steve Martin is arguably the best absurdist comedic actor of our generation. Rick Moranis, faded, Dan Aykroyd makes a living off cameos, Chevy Chase told everyone Cary Grant was gay and was ousted from hollywood, and Rowan Atkinson made Mr Bean's holiday. Some might say Bill Murray but Bill Murray does well in great films, Bill Murray fits films, and anyone can look good in a well made suit. Steve Martin makes the film, take 'Dirty Rotten Scoundrels', on paper a terrible film but Steve Martin's performance transformed Michael Caine from bit parts as ex spy's and butlers to an actor who could do 'funny'.

Steve Martin bowed out of decent films with 'Bowfinger' and has been sadly waisted in the poor remakes of the Pink Panther. But he is however like another comedic genius before him, George Fornby, a fantastic banjo player and now concentrates on his playing as his major creative outlet. He is now heralded as a purveyor of true blue grass, it was even rumoured that after his ukelele performance of 'you belong to me' in The Jerk sales of the small guitar went up 120%.

Martin cut his teeth on the stand up circuit and when making guest appearances on saturday night live audiences would jump by 1 million viewers. His first feature film appearance was in the musical 'Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band' which features the Bee Gee's as The Beatles but more importantly Steve Martin singing Maxwells Silver Hammer.

Soon Martin was well on his way into America's coffee table magazines, in 1979 he co-wrote and lead Total films no.48 funniest film of all time 'The Jerk' which will be opening 'The Steve Martin season' at the Victoria. His first starring role saw Martin believing he was not adopted but born of an African American family, the second film in the 'Steve Martin season' , 'Dead Men don't wear plaid' see's him believing he is acting alongside Burt Lancaster, Humphry Bogart, Veronica Lake and Bette Davis. Carl Reiner's 'Dead men don’t wear plaid' is the only successful film noir comedy parody ever made but still generally overlooked despite seeing Steve Martins at his absurdist best.

Next we have 'The man with two brains' , Carl Reiner and Steve Martins second outing together in the space of two years and not a bit 'crainely' less stimulating than our first two offerings.

We finish off with what can cheaply be referred to as a christmas movie, but 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles defies any public holiday classification, huge laughs are welcome anytime of year at The Victoria. 'Planes, Trains and Automobiles brings us the fantasy threesome of Steve martin sandwiched between the timeless, 80's hit-making genius writing of John Hughes and the 2^nd best career performance of John Candy after his master stroke in 'JFK' of course. Candy threatens to steal the show but Martin brings a more mature comedic performance, here he loses the absurdness the 80's tagged him with and sets him up for the 'Father of the bride' franchise with this, his most serious role of our 'Steve Martin season' , which says something about what every sunday in August is about to bring you.

We will be topping up the loo roll this month because you will piss your pants with laughter.