Photography, Running, and Writing – Artist, CARL SCHARWATH

Photography, Running and Writing with Carl Scharwath Sick Lit Magazine: What inspires you as an artist? Carl Scharwath: Other artists. I have a deep love of reading, the arts and discovering new authors and photographers. The biographies of artists are also inportant to learn as they have gone through many of the  same heartbreaks and still  overcame them….

Remembering Snake Skeletons and a Cherry Red Impala -Artist, Finn Lafcadio O’Hanlon

Remembering Snake Skeletons and a Cherry Red Impala On the 21st September, a second solo exhibition by 24-year-old English-born American artist, Finn Lafcadio O’Hanlon, will open at the Whiteconcepts space in Berlin. Titled The Plague Year, it will expand his meticulous exploration of syncretic religious, mediaeval and ‘pop’ iconography, cartography and lexicology – this time, within…

The Bus – by KATE JONES

The Bus   I stand among the groups of middle-aged parents lining the pavement beside the bus that contains their beloved offspring.  Excited faces scattered with acne and over-zealous make-up press against glass, or turn away, sharp haircuts bobbing as they talk fast and laugh with friends. I pick out your window.  You sit politely,…

Eclipse / F is for Fish – by PETER JORDAN

Eclipse I’m not sure what time of the day it is. I have no watch, no phone. From the length of the shadows cast by the people in the crowd I guess it’s early. All of the crowd, every single one, look up to the sky, cell phones raised, taking pictures. There are seagulls flying…

Anatomy of Womanhood – by SERA FLYNN

  Anatomy of Womanhood   On feet: “Your feet must be small and soft,” they say. “You must move quietly, like the slightest breath, and stay on the marked path.”   Kiki doesn’t move quietly. She runs. And she is swift, swifter than the boys in her neighbourhood who drop from her peripheral vision one…

Teresa Law – Art, Life and Artlife.

Sick Lit Magazine: What inspires your work? Teresa Law: Women, primarily. I am a feminist and that influences me a lot, along with bright colours and sarcasm. Three things that I love! I’ve always drawn cartoonish pictures, and I think that’s continued many years later. I find that a backstory or argument or some social situation quite…

Poetry from – PAUL TRISTRAM

Life Is Not Like A Box Of Chocolates At All     It’s like a record of nursery rhymes being dragged backwards revealing Satanic messages mocking and goading you into self sabotage and emotional annihilation. Nothing in your starving cupboards but that same old ‘big bag of dicks’. Sexually transmitted diseases and diabetes town-stalking you…

My Favourite Things – by C.C. O’HANLON

My Favourite Things (Berlin, 2015)     sam shepard’s ‘motel chronicles’, glenn gould playing j.s. bach, books, gaff-rigged bristol pilot cutters, nautical charts, the idea of lamu island and zanzibar, ilford 35mm black & white film, expressions of love in spanish, the meaning of saudade, miles davis, john coltrane, conga drums and bongoes, the backstreets of…

Almost Invisible – by JASON JACKSON

Almost Invisible Sometimes, when she’s hardly there at all, I suggest a separation, a short time only, her parents’ place perhaps, but she says nothing, reaches out to touch me, pulls back, and the two wine glasses, the two plates will still need to be washed each evening, reminders that she’s here, still here, just…

Father’s Guitar – by KATE JONES

  Father’s Guitar   His guitar stands resplendent, Statuesque.  His muse – ethereal, awaiting him to place it into its tomb-like case. He strokes it with long, practised fingers, caressing the taut strings. I watch as he takes the instrument into his arms, gently placing it into the case lined with purple velvet, as one…

Arise – by ANNE ELIZABETH WEISGERBER

Arise by Anne Elizabeth Weisgerber   Irwin Richardt had a mind to make a cup of tea.  Early as it was, the honey bees’ fellowship meeting inside the bedroom wall was underway, and their humming was peaceful, contemplative. He closed his eyes and listened. Hot as the day was shaping up to be, he tugged…

Mask – by KATIE LEWINGTON

Mask   ‘Do you think I’m dirty?’ he spat out the words into her face. Her hair was held in his fist like a bunch of balloons at the end of a string. ‘You know, I am dirty but I don’t think taking a shower is going to get me clean.’ He took a breath,…