Tilli Franks20 February 2017
Front-man Georgia Maq closed Camp Cope’s Falls Festival 2017 act demanding that 2018 be the year that minorities take to the forefront of the music scene. As I stood on the grass field, surrounded by hundreds of fans applauding this controversial statement—their song The Opener takes aim at the exclusionary nature of the industry with lines such as “yeah just get a female opener, that’ll fill the quota” and “it’s another straight cis man who knows more about this than me”—I found myself wondering about the experience of being a gay woman in such an environment.
I am no theatre connoisseur. In my eyes, what makes a play good is its ability to make me feel. In this vein, I believe all of the arts – whether it be music, literature, theatre or visual – have a common goal: to move the audience. I don’t need a life altering experience every time I encounter art, but it has to elicit some kind of reaction in me.
Unfortunately, the only thing I really felt while watching The Trial of Dorian Gray was ambivalence.
There is a village in Poland with a blue steepled church. It has a cobbled square surrounded by pastel buildings, with wrought iron lamp posts. There is a small café patronised solely by old men with greying moustaches and suspicious demeanours, and the busiest place is the Lidl just outside of the town centre. In the dead of winter, late January, it’s about zero degrees celsius on average. It’s so quiet it can’t be described as sleepy; more like comatose. They call it Oświęcim, but the Germans called it Auschwitz.
by Tilli Franks
When I was younger, and a good church-attending lass, a phrase I heard a lot was “remove the beam from your own eye, and then you will see clearly enough to remove the speck from your brother’s eye”. At the time, I thought it literally referred to my pupil, and poked myself way too many times in the eye trying to scoop it out (common sense did not come naturally to me). Now, of course, I realise it’s a metaphor for hypocrisy and self-awareness.
Right from the second I take my seat in the audience, I’m struck foremost by the stage upon which Mirror’s Edge will be performed.
Some of the best works of art make you uncomfortable.
‘History is written by the winners,’ wrote George Orwell. I would rephrase, rather, that history is written by the privileged – those who have the power to decide the ‘truth’. Often, both the ‘winners’ and the ‘losers’ are replaced by carefully cultivated narratives steeped in political agendas and the struggles they fought for are lost in the muddy waters of elitism.
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