By Naomi Riddle — 23 November, 2018
‘Drawing on the writing of Lyn Hejinian, [this exhibition] takes a boxed archive of 35mm slides stored within a pebblecrete shower cubicle as an allegorical site from which to contemplate the fluidity of forms as they are presented, viewed and recalled across time. Via sculpture, cyanotype, mobiles and de-silvered mirrors, imagery drawn from within the…
By Naomi Riddle — 2 November, 2018
The website for the Singaporean cultural park Haw Par Villa (formerly known as the Tiger Balm Garden) proclaims that the park is a ‘treasure trove of Asian culture, history, philosophy and religion—quirky yet enlightening, at the same time.’ Built in 1937 by Aw Boon Haw, a millionaire philanthropist who marketed Tiger Balm ointment to the…
By Naomi Riddle — 25 October, 2018
Since launching in October 2017, Running Dog has published sixty-two articles and worked with twenty-five contributors. And when celebrating its first birthday, I feel lucky to have collaborated with so many generous and committed writers. They have been willing to spend time and energy and care when responding to an artist’s work; willing to experiment…
By Naomi Riddle — 19 October, 2018
There are four, no, five Twitter accounts that I look at on my Chrome browser every day (and update multiple—multiple—times), but, because I don’t have a Twitter account, I tell myself that I am not on Twitter. We may be overloaded—‘stuck in the present as it reproduces itself without leading to any future’—but we still…
By Naomi Riddle — 28 September, 2018
‘Everyone loves the rain, except those caught in their business suits’ Allen Ginsberg, ‘Porch Scribbles’ (1980) A man sits behind a desk in a private office. Placed in front of him is a stack of documents requiring his signature—the sign-off of approval. Let’s imagine his office is in a high-rise building, and he is…
By Naomi Riddle — 3 August, 2018
‘I thought Well I’ll be a poet. What could be more foolish and obscure.’ Eileen Myles, An American Poem (1991) To say you’re a writer today is like admitting you were a painter ten years ago—before it had found its post-conceptual groove and the banners had been held up declaring it to be dead….
By Naomi Riddle — 6 July, 2018
The opening scenes of George Frideric Handel’s Athalia (1733) begin in a period of relative calm. The biblical Queen Athalia (daughter of Jezebel) has occupied the throne for some years, mistakenly believing that all claimants to the throne have been wiped out. But one child remains, concealed by Josabeth, wife of Joad, the high priest…
By Naomi Riddle — 22 June, 2018
Jonathan Kumintjarra Brown’s painting ‘Black Rain’ (1995) deals with obliteration: the sky is black, pierced only by thick white stripes of rain and an outline of cloud. The horizon isn’t level, instead it rolls and creeps, reaching upwards to meet the deluge. Half of the canvas has been covered in sand; its grainy texture overlaying…
By Naomi Riddle — 18 May, 2018
‘This breath hold this breath let it be held once twice per day and night’, writes Samuel Beckett in his novel How it Is (1961), ‘hold it let it be held ten seconds fifteen seconds try and hear.’ [1] It’s in reading this command, with all its lack of punctuation and repetition of clauses—its insistency…
By Naomi Riddle — 27 April, 2018
Whenever I give my editorial spiel about Running Dog to those involved in the arts community, the subsequent conversation tends to centre on the question of the ‘negative review’. Although these conversations are specific, each with their own terms of reference, the direction they take can be divided into two categories: those advocating that there…