. . . See the full feature in Issue Four
How do you feel?
Urmila's recent series has focused on mental health and checking in with yourself to truly understand what you might be feeling. Check out the full feature here.
Since participating in Issue Four (and again in Issue Five with these stunning and thought provoking pieces), Maximilian has created numerous works across many projects which you can find on his website [some adult content]; he's recently participated in a variety of virtual exhibitions and been published in many art magazines the world over.
Maximilian started painting as a child and despite his art school training, he has maintained an instinctive approach to his work, letting his subconscious dictate his subject matter. The recurring figure of a pre-adolescent child, neither male nor female, lends a coherence to this free-form universe. Since moving to Paris, France, in 2012, his work has focused on that unripe phase of human existence when gender is still undefined and sexuality has yet to be expressed. The melancholy and reflective characters he portrays are experiencing the often difficult and painful transition from childhood games and innocence to the first upsets of adolescence and adulthood.
Graduated from University of The West of England with a 2:1 hons in Photography. Currently living in South Devon and constantly being inspired by the beautiful coastal landscape around me. I have a huge love and appreciation for the sea/estuary that surrounds me and therefore undertook a short estuary series where I photographed my local estuary every day through lockdown. I am a keen traveller and have started to document my memories with a short edit of each trip. I have loved exploring videography and managed to capture vivid memories of my trips. I am currently looking into expanding my skills within this industry and would love to start earning money creating memories for other people."
Work featured in Issue Four: Collective Anonymity
"My elegant and floating shelf is a conceptual visible representation of my own personal feelings and experiences of living in the bustle, chaos and enclosed spaces of a city after growing up in the quiet, calm and open spaces of the countryside.
The sharp edges and details of my outline on each backlit tile are blurred giving me an anonymity and can represent anyone who feels unnoticed either happily or unhappily."
What I found was not what I expected. A girl sat in the corner, alone upon a stool. A guitar rested upon her legs, her chestnut hair just tickling its top surface. She strummed it with delicate fingers, and with each pass a beautiful new collection of notes rung out.
My determination instantly melted away, and I listened for some time. Her music washed over me, my ears lapping up every note, my eyes enraptured by the intricate motions her fingers made. Eventually the song came to an end. I felt disappointed, but assumed in a minute she’d begin a new one.
Instead, she looked up at me. Only now did I realise I was staring.
“You’re new here,” she said. Her voice was sweet and soft. For a moment I panicked, before she continued, “The regulars never stop to watch anymore.”
I tried to find words, but they escaped me.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Talemmy,” I babbled. I blamed the confusion of using an alias, but deep down I knew it was something else. I pretended to cough. I told myself to focus. “Emmy,” I managed to get out. I felt like I’d achieved a miracle.
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Jessica. Jessica Torrent.”
She made it seem so easy. Talking. I realised I was still staring. I needed to stop staring.
“So where are you from, Emmy?” she asked.
“The Mainland,” I replied without thinking.
“That figures. Your accent says as much.”
“What about you?” I asked. Three words I could manage.
“I’m local. I travel a bit though, bringing my songs to the skyles of the Southern Province.”
“You’re very good.”
The girl blushed, an eye disappearing behind her hair. “Thank you, that means a lot.”
“I mean it. You’re amazing.” Too much. That was too much.
The girl didn’t seem to mind. “You’re too kind. Do you play?”
I shook my head. I’d always wanted to learn an instrument, but my father hadn’t been so enthusiastic. A peasant’s profession, he’d called it.
“I want to, though,” I said.
“Do you want to try?” She held out her guitar.
“No one’s really listening anyway,” she replied.
I was, I thought.