Dietversary

 Yes, you will fart accidentally on the treadmill and try to run away

A year ago today life was pretty different. I was at school doing A-Levels, I had long ombre hair, ‘chocolate’ was my only food group, and I was over 2 stone heavier. Now I’m at Uni with short floofy brown hair (aka: it’s really hard to straighten at the back), I’m trying to maintain a pretty balanced diet, and I’m over 2 stone lighter.

Exhibit A 

PSA: For anyone reading this who is sick of me talking about my diet and weight blahblahblah, then read no further. Find another way of procrastinating (I’d personally recommend Ellen’s Youtube channel, those genius kids blow my mind.)

If you’ve got onto this next paragraph then maybe you’re interested in what I have to say (or it’s 1am and you’re simply scrolling on your phone, too tired to switch it off). I’m not going to be talking about how amazing I’ve been at never touching sugar again. I’m not going to lie and say I exercise every day of the week. I’m not going to say cutting chocolate sorts out every other aspect of your life. None of that’s true, and I’m not a clean-eating guru or whatever you call them. Instead I’m just going to truthfully look back at a year of trying to maintain healthy eating and weight loss, the ups and the downs. Also, yolo, I’ve done some little drawings coz it’s not like I have exams in a few weeks or anything (woops).

My starter, main course, and dessert in Sixth Form

It’s ok to take a break. For the first few months of The Diet, I was pretty angelic. I think I was probably quite annoying at social functions, I didn’t touch any sugar or most carbs. It was important to me for those months to prove to myself that I could do it. I was worried that if I let any sugar pass my lips all my resolve would go and I’d fail. It was the right decision then because it allowed me to lose the majority of the weight pretty fast. But after a while, it became clear to me that that wasn’t always necessary. I can take breaks here and there, like when I go on holiday, and know that I’ll be able to get back on the Diet Horse (that’s a metaphorical horse, not a horse that is on a diet because that would probs be quite a thin horse and not gonna lie would you really wanna get on a thin horse?) I've learned not to be too hard on myself, if my diet slips or I can't get to the gym one week, it's okay. Just learn to get back on that horse and not leave the stable altogether (I think I may have killed this metaphor). 

The metaphorical Diet Horse. In reality, I would deff need a stool to get on a horse. 

Flat Mates Come in Handy. If you are trying to attempt a hardcore diet, chances are you won’t really own any crappy foods. Luckily, this strategy works 98% of the time… but just occasionally, your eyes may wander to another cupboard… Not that this is from personal experience or anything, but some flat mates may have Nutella and some may have Coco Pops, and if they happen to fall onto your spoon or into your bowl, that’s really their fault for not locking it away. Right?

Real Photograph from the Bristol Coco-Pops Heist of 2017

Fat photos are hilarious. One of the best things about losing weight is looking back at old photos and seeing how humungous your face used to be or how your thighs used to take up an entire sofa. Most people say ‘that was just a bad angle, you didn’t even look like that at the time’ which is probably true… But you’ll enjoy telling yourself you did have cheeks the size of small children, coz it makes all the dieting and exercising even more worth it.

When coordination escapes you and a simple leg stretch makes you realise your legs are part flamingo 

Other girls in the gym are the bane of my life. Speaking of exercise, going to a Uni gym has been quite a culture shock. It’s really hard at the beginning, walking in and seeing hundreds of girls my age all with harder degrees, better bodies and Mo Farah level stamina. Yes, there will be moments when you get flustered in the mat section, forget how to do this leg stretch and end up just bobbing around like a flamingo. Yes, you will fart accidentally on the treadmill and try to run away (let’s just forget I admitted that, shall we). Yes, you will think it’s a good idea to leave your glasses in the locker and spend the entire time squinting at everyone in case you know them (you don’t know them, but they now know you as the weird farty squinty girl). Buttt (I swear I’m reaching a point here) you’ll feel pretty proud of yourself when you reach a new personal best like running for longer, lifting more weights, or remembering that stretch. Everyone has different goals and you just have to be pleased when you reach yours. 

But, overall, I’ve managed. I’ve actually almost made it through the first year of Uni and survived the dreaded Fresher Fifteen. My mindset about health and fitness has genuinely changed over the past 12 months. I’ve made it through intimidating gyms and Coco Pop heists (fine, I’ll admit it was me, but I bought him another box). I’ve managed to maintain my loss of over 2 stone and I’m continuing to gym (although now I’ve admitted certain things, I hope they'll let me back in). So here’s to another year ahead…

 Check out me trying to sound knowledgable about gymming in this other post... 

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How Is This Art: Stars and Stripes

The red, white, and blue shapes were not neutral

Jasper Johns, Three Flags, (1958) 

With The American Dream: Pop to Present showing at the British Museum and Jasper Johns’ birthday next month, it’s likely that arty twitter feeds will be full of flags. The Pop Artist created art using the American flag, provoking ideas about patriotism and nationality. But at what point is it art and what point is it just a reproduction of a flag? What makes Johns’ work worthy of Tate Britain, the Royal Academy and the MOMA whilst a postcard with a flag on it can be bought for a pound?

Jasper Johns rose to fame during a period dominated by the Cold War. The red, white and blue shapes were not neutral. The flag provoked a huge reaction and imagery of Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson. The stars meant the moon landing. The stripes meant the fight in Vietnam. 

Engaging with this, artists questioned how these shapes and colours had become so synonymous with a whole country’s history. It is in fact an abstract object, but one that means American identity. Johns wanted to spin this on its head, manipulate the image so it was no longer the flag we have come to know and expect.

Three Flags (1958) is pretty much what it says on the tin. Three canvases are painted with hot wax, all showing the same American flag. They are then stuck one on top of the other. The painting was acquired by the Whitney Museum in 1980 for $1 million. So what’s the fuss about? The reproduction of the flag could relate to the new ideas of consumerism that so intrigued Pop Artists. Everything was now being printed and mass produced on a larger scale than ever before. Here, the very symbol of the Western World was being given the same treatment as any object or poster, reproduced until it became meaningless, like saying a word over and over again.

Jasper Johns, White Flag, (1955) 

Another version, his White Flag (1955) relates to another issue in American culture. This flag has been drained of the red and blue we have come to understand. Instead, it is an off grey colour. It is not simply white, but a sickly pale as if the colour has been sucked out of it. It most likely relates to segregation and the civil right movement. It is perhaps a simple idea at first, paint a white flag to show white dominance in society, yet it is more than that. Johns understood how powerful this would be for Americans in a time when they were pretty proud of themselves. America had just gone into Vietnam where they saw themselves as heroes, but they had their own issues at home. Of course the very term ‘white flag’ also has connotations of surrender and peace, but passivity and submission.

So, yes, many may still argue his work doesn’t differ from a postcard. But what Johns managed to do was stand back from a well-known emblem and pull apart its very meaning to portray new ideas. And he didn’t just print these flags, but painted them. He knew when a piece needed more of a smooth finish (like Three Flags) or more of a coarse texture (like White Flag)

It is interesting to think now what the American flag might mean to different people. Many of the issues Pop Artists addressed are still relevant. What do flags mean today? What might the Union Jack mean? Or the European Union flag? All abstract colours and shapes that can be such powerful tools.

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The Genius of This Pillar

What may just seem like an ugly grey block is actually one of the most powerful memorials to genocide.

In the aftermath of WW2, German artists wanted to commemorate the horrors their country had committed. But the problem was that the traditional ‘war monument’ simply would not suffice.

Most monuments commemorate victories or valour or the loss of a nation’s young heroes. It is rare for artists to have to commemorate a period of history their country would rather forget. A period of history where their country slaughtered millions of others in a genocide.

Furthermore, the Nazi regime had turned the monument into just another manipulative arm of their propaganda machine. Monuments under the Nazis were used to show the Reich’s agenda, to publicise what the Arian race should look like. Artists in post-war Germany no longer felt figurative art could be used because of the associations with Nazi statues. The rigidity of monuments and the certainty of a black and white history are traits that are too closely associated with fascist regimes.

Additionally, it was believed that it was too easy to create a monument which allowed the public to ‘remember’ an event. How often do we walk past a monument in the street and genuinely think about what part of history it represents? Not very often. It seems that with most monuments, by placing it in a public space, it is as if we are asking the monument to remember for us, rather than reminding us to remember ourselves.

So this was the struggle German artists faced in the decades after the Holocaust. They wanted to create monuments that would actually enable memory rather than simply becoming another dot on an urban landscape. They also didn’t want to continue the fascist traditions of huge, heroic, classical statues that force a particular ideology onto the public.

Artists began to conceptualise ‘counter monuments’ which challenged the conventional monument. Jewish couple Jochen Gerz and Esther Shalev-Gerz came up with a solution. In 1986 they unveiled their Monument for Peace and Against War and Fascism in Harburg-Hamburg. It was a monument that was designed to force the public to participate, force passers-by to actively remember what it represented. It was entirely the opposite of any Nazi Arian sculptures. It could not have been further from neo-classical heroic statues monumentalising the past.

This was a monument which was designed to disappear. Attached to the 12-metre tall lead-coated column were steel styluses which encouraged people to sign their names or messages onto the monument. After one and half metre sections were covered, the column was then lowered into the ground to allow the next session to be marked.  The more actively visitors remembered, the faster the monument would disappear.

The final section was lowered into the ground on 10^th November 1993, and the column finally vanished. Today, all that is left is a burial stone inscribed to ‘Harburg’s Monument against Fascism’ alongside the original text which read ‘we invite the citizens of Harburg, and visitors to the town, to add their names here next to ours. In doing so we commit ourselves to remain vigilant… In the end it is only we ourselves who can stand up against injustice.’

Thus, this memorial reminds us that a statue alone cannot do the memorialising for us. We cannot simply put up blocks of stone and forget what they represent. Now that there is nothing left to see apart from this plaque, the memorial continues to ask us to remember what this empty space represents. It places the burden of memory on us, we must remember for ourselves. 

Showing the progression of the monument

Unlike the statues of pre-war regimes, this was not a memorial that aimed to remain fixed and timeless. Statue such as these will forever be out-dated and detached from the world around them. Memorials that change demand interaction.

Despite the fact that the pillar is no longer there, it serves to remind us of the horrors the country witness and also the power that artists can have on memory.

Based on the research of James E Young, 'Memory/Monument' in Critical Terms for Art History, ed. by R Nelson and R Schiff (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 234-247

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When I Cried In Lakota

“I’ll spend my life wandering around Lakota, I’ll never leave.”

Although taken in Emily's room, this is a foreshadowing of how I looked in Lakota: terrified, possessed, and a little bit wavey. 

Let me just set the scene. We begin pre-drinking (or for any Grandparents reading this, pre-studying) at 11-ish, getting hyped for our night out to Lakota. Every few moments, Emily says ‘admit how cool my room is’ or I say ‘admit how nice this crop top is’, so there’s a lot of reassurance and admittings going around. We finally leave when our uber driver threatens to cancel on us if we don’t stop taking photos or topping up our drinks and actually just get in the car. So far, so normal.

My regular territory is the Triangle and occasionally branches out to SWX. I haven’t been to Lakota since Freshers. Unfortunately, I’d promised I’d come if they could find me a ticket around £10. Considering most of the tickets were selling for £20, I was pretty confident with my bluff. I had not taken into account Tash’s skills on Clifton and Stoke Bishop Tickets, so, alas, here I was, squished up in the back of an uber on the way to Lakota. In return, I’d been promised some edgy photos on Stokes Croft. In my defence, I don’t often get down to the artiest road in Bristol, so I though I’d take the opportunity to get some instragram-worthy graffiti shots whilst also doing shots.

I hadn’t taken into account the cold, so we end up just huddled in eachother’s jackets like penguins, braving the weather to get into the club. As soon as we get in, Ionia and I announce we’ll meet the others in the toilet. And this is where the nightmare begins. I have never encountered a women’s toilet this difficult to locate, and I’ve been to my fair share of women’s toilets in my life as a woman with a bladder. After approximately four hours (ok, maybe ten minutes) of pushing through rooms and rooms of wavey music and wavey crowds of wavey dancers, we admit defeat and end up using the portaloos in the smoking area, completely and utterly disorientated about where we are.

We attempt to call the others and describe where we are but the smoking area is potentially the size of Wales, with the population of India.  To make matters that much more wavey (eg. more of a mare), they are operating a one-way system in and out of the smoking area, making it pretty much impossible to agree a meeting point. I try begging the security to let us out through the entrance as we are entirely lost and just want to walk back the way we came, but they seem to have been trained in Callais.

Here we were at Pres: Innocent and Naive. (And yes, Em, your room is cool.) 

Later on in the night, I announce I have had enough of rubbing all my body parts against numerous strangers to move anywhere. We are back outside (as it seems all doors lead here) and Tash and I message everyone to let them know we will meet at the exit of the club. I grab Tash’s hand and march purposefully out of the smoking area through corridors and into the main dancefloor. I can see an exit sign in the distance like some mirage in a desert, and head there. I step on many a Reebok foot and elbow many an emblazoned FILA chest, I may also have two burst eardrums but it’s okay, I’m staying positive.

We finally push through a door, taking a deep breath of fresh air… only to realise this air actually isn’t so fresh. We are Back In The Smoking Area. I literally don’t know how, but Lakota’s architect must be a genius, as they have managed to create a building that, from the outside looks perfectly normal, but from the inside has doors that only lead back into the club or the Haven of Tobacco.

It is at this point that I burst into tears. Gazing at the wavey garms surrounding me, I accept that this is my new reality, these are the only people I will ever see again. I am never leaving Lakota. You know how on an amazing night out people say they’re never leaving? Well, here it could be factually true.

Some of the crew getting to grips with our New Reality: Life in the Lakota Smoking Area 

Okay, so if you’re still reading and haven’t branded me a complete psychopath, then you may have reached the conclusion that… Plot Twist: we did actually get out of Lakota. Turns out there were perhaps some doors that did lead out onto the street, but I was genuinely amazed we found them. In the Uber back (yes, we got another Uber, I had had a traumatic experience, alright), it arose that not everyone had had such a terrible time, and that certain members of the crew had actually enjoyed themselves, but I’m in denial about that.

Ionia enjoying the freedom of being outside the club. The graffiti reads 'Serve First Those Who Suffer Most', which basically means I should always get served first at the bar in Lakota.

Even if we did actually get out, consider this a public service announcement and prepare yourself. You may not be so lucky.

In conclusion, I think I’ll just stick with Lola’s.

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