Recommendations #3 Three decades of William Kentridge’s animations available online – this week only!

Don’t miss William Kentridge online film festival

September 29 to October 3, 2020

at 5pm each day on Goodman Gallery website (

Waiting for the Sibyl by William Kentridge


29 September

Drawing Lesson One: In Praise of Shadows (2012), 1 hour 2 minutes

30 September

Second-Hand Reading (2013), 7 minutes

Waiting for the Sibyl (2020), 6 minutes 3 seconds

1 October

Drawings for Projection – Part 1

Johannesburg, 2nd Greatest City After Paris (1989), 8 minutes 2 seconds

Monument (1990), 3 minutes 11 seconds

Mine (1991), 5 minutes 50 seconds

Sobriety, Obesity and Growing Old (1991), 8 minutes 22 seconds

Felix in Exile (1994), 8 minutes 43 seconds

2 October

Drawing for Projection – Part 2

History of the Main Complaint (1996), 5 minutes 50 seconds

WEIGHING… and WANTING (1998), 6 minutes 20 seconds

Stereoscope (1999), 8 minutes 22 seconds

Tide Table (2003), 8 minutes 50 seconds

Other Faces (2011), 9 minutes 45 seconds

3 October

Premiere of City Deep (2020) on The Art Newspaper website, 9 minutes 41 seconds




“There exists for each one of us a house of dream-memory that is lost in the shadow of the past,” says Gaston Bachelard in his Poetics of Space; “thanks to the house, a great many of our memories are housed, and if the house is a bit elaborate, if it has … nooks and corridors, our memories have refuges that are all the more clearly delineated. All our lives we come back to them in our daydreams.”


OTHER ROOMS started as an investigation of domestic spaces by way of building small-scale, portable, assemblage structures, and it has been growing into an ever-expanding installation inside my home studio. OTHER ROOMS explores domestic interiors as spaces moulded by real and fictional memories and by daydreaming. The geometry of these domestic spaces is transformed by the way they are remembered; the joys and horrors that have happened within their walls; the stories that were weaved in their corners. Their nooks and crannies are resting places for human intimate lives. As the physicality of the room dissolves with the passing of time, the only way to experience it is to conjure its fiction.

Autobiographical to an extent, OTHER ROOMS aim to trigger the viewer’s own intimate narratives and dreamscapes. After all, “the house is one of the greatest powers of integration for the thoughts, memories and dreams of [hu]mankind. The binding principle in this integration is the daydream.”


OTHER ROOMS reaches out to include other stories as it grows to encompass the room it is installed.

Contributors are invited to send me

* a personal memory (story, impression, dream) – connected to a domestic interior (room, corner, piece of furniture, object) of their past, and

* a piece of cardboard and/or any other materials they wish, including photographs


The text can be as long and as descriptive as contributors wish. Contributions can be anonymous.

I will use the materials and text sent to me to create a three-dimensional structure which will be my interpretation of the memory. If the text contributors send is used in any subsequent publication, permission to reproduce it will be sought. The structure will be incorporated in the installation. If the contributor wishes they can respond to the finished piece any way they wish (drawing, painting, film, performance). The contributor’s response may be included in the installation.

OTHER ROOMS will conclude with an exhibition held inside the installation (subject to social distancing rules). Possible outcomes include a video piece and a publication.

See the work on my website


on Instagram

Please send your contribution to

Lito Apostolakou

41 Donovan Avenue

London N10 2JU

or if you live within an 8-mile radius I can walk to you and pick it up.

Any questions, contact me on Whatsapp or email me on

Here is an extract from Proust’s Remembrance of Lost Time, vol. I on memories of rooms

“These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds … But I had seen first one and then another of the rooms in which I had slept during my life, and in the end I would revisit them all in the long course of my waking dream: rooms in winter, where on going to bed I would at once bury my head in a nest, built up out of the most diverse materials, the corner of my pillow, the top of my blankets, a piece of shawl, the edge of my bed, and a copy of an evening paper, all of which things I would contrive, with infinite patience of birds building their nest, to cement into one whole; rooms where, in a keen frost, I would feel the satisfaction of being shut in from the outer world … and where, the fire keeping in all night, I would sleep wrapped up, as it were, in a great cloak of snug and savoury air … in a sort of alcove without walls, a cave of warmth dug out of the heart of the room itself … or rooms in summer … where the moonlight striking upon the half-opened shutters would throw down to the foot of my bed its enchanted ladder (…)

Other Rooms installation

Other Rooms installation in progress.


Picking up a box of materials from the first contributor.

The quoit is skimming across the deck…

The quoit is skimming across the deck, it lands with a wobble. I win a prize. This is my first memory. I am on the deck of the Queen Mary transitioning from being three years old to being four. I am somewhere on the sea between England and Sri Lanka, or is it Sri Lanka and England? Exactly where, and even the direction of travel matters not.

I am mixed, mixed race.

Some say mixed up. I don’t, I am privileged, though sometimes confused. I certainly discombobulate others, but I’m no nincompoop.



Wendy Manel de Silva, May 2020

WIP (work in progress)


Inhabiting and journeying through the house,

I live in my brown skin – always.

I live in my rusty house, the rust chosen to echo and fix

memories of the disappearing industrial landscape

of my English husband‘s hometown.

It’s been my home for over 15 years.

Like a hermit crab, I’ve found,

sometimes made myself, several homes in London,

the city I landed in, on a BOAC aeroplane in January 1971.

Enoch was dreaming of bloody rivers.

What greeted me on my journey from the airport

was a cold, cold, grey sky

blackish sludge on the edge of the road

and children skating on the duck pond in Broomfield Park.


I’d moved from  Park Road in Havelock Town

named after Arthur Havelock, the British Governor of Ceylon,1890 -1895,

to stay with my generous aunt and her family

in an upper level maisonette in Palmers Green which is named after a field,

Palmer’s Field, in records that date back to 1204.

My parents, eking out their Sri Lankan exchange controlled £50 allowance

lodged in a bedsit nearby.

My two brothers dispatched north, to Manchester, for a sojourn with our maternal grandparents who lived in Fallowfield, neat Platts Fields.

The family rumour is that Nanny was disinherited, why we never found out.

But we learnt, 50 years later, that there were probably two sides to that story.

My Grandpa’s sister spoke Ancient Greek. Her (uncorroborated) history included being headmistress of Manchester Grammar School for Girls.


I did not mean to end up reading like a page out of out of

Indeed, with a start I realise I can’t nestle in there.

People; kind, curious, nervous, alarmed, racist maybe,

will ask me where I’m from, where I’m really from.

Maybe in one sense they are right,

I’m not really from Highbury in North London.


My art practice is an attempt to answer that question for them.

For me, it’s a question that keeps presenting multiple answers

with shimmering lights and black holes

which I explore when I’m feeling strong.

It’s about living in my skin, more or less comfortably.

It’s about living in this world, on this planet,

from before I was born, to after I am gone.



Wendy Manel de Silva, May 2020


Recommendations #2

The Encounter is free to watch online from 15 May until 22 May 2020.

The Encounter tells the story of National Geographic photographer Loren McIntyre who, in 1969, became lost in a remote part of the Brazilian rainforest while searching for the Mayoruna people. His encounter was to test his perception of the world, bringing the limits of human consciousness into startling focus.

“We are, as a consequence of this pandemic, bodily cut off from one another. Disconnected. Isolated. But perhaps this sense of our separation one from another, is simply a heightening of what we felt before this all began. We are thinking now, not only about how long this will last, but also what happens on the other side. To reconnect we need, perhaps, to learn to listen more closely. To each other. To our communities. To other cultures. To nature itself. The Encounter is at its heart a story about ‘listening’, not ‘hearing’ but listening; to other, older narratives which, at the deepest level, form who we are, and if we do, we can imagine how we can ‘begin’ again.”

Simon McBurney, Complicité Artistic Director

I saw it at Barbican in 2018 and was under its spell for a long time after. I am really happy to see it return, even if in this substituted form.

Monika Kita

Making Art in Lockdown

It’s at great expense to others that I have the privilege to enjoy my life at home now, I have relatives who are vulnerable who we are keeping a close eye on, but I feel I’ve been given a chance to have fun with my daughters, having nagged them in the past to work for their exams…all that has been taken away so we are calmer and happier, they are making art too…and no one can see what a mess our house really is! I’m enjoying the friendship with our neighbours and the fact that we can’t go away or stick to any plans because there aren’t any! This time has also really added weight to “You only live once, so live your life!”

We built a summer house in the garden for the kids around 17 years ago, it’s now been converted into my studio (we put a kitchen worktop and an easel in there) and I love going down there to escape. I’m relishing the peace and the time I have to think there, it has given me space to reflect on my life and just do what I really want to do. Experimenting with all the materials I have bought over the years has been fun and the weather has made it easier to utilise the outdoor space, to collect new ideas and to clean up afterwards with the outside tap.

I think the online tuition works not only because we have such a strong and supportive group (tutors and students), but also because we all know each other already having spent a year and a half together, there is always something new on our CLFA What’s app chat and there is a kindness and acceptance between us, which is extremely encouraging. To add to this, I’m finding that You Tube is brimming with of free art lessons during this time.

I’m not the most organised of people, but I find it easier to sort my work on the computer, put my pictures online and discuss them via Zoom with the tutors. It’s almost less distracting than in the classroom. It doesn’t replace seeing people and their art face to face though and the impromptu chats which go with it, so hopefully we’ll meet again!

Thank you everyone for everything and here is some of the art I’ve been making.

Pip Bicknell



Please send material you would like to share to us and we will post it on here.


The reason for being here

We, the CLFA team, would like to invite all CLFA students to participate in an exchange, that will take place on this blog whilst we are dealing with the uncertainties and difficulties of the current situation. We thought it would be great to keep in touch not only through our sessions and tutorials but also on this platform. We would like you to post links, texts, pictures, and whatever you want to share with the rest of the group. We hope this blog becomes an interesting diary of the crisis we are living through and most importantly it will help you to share thoughts and ideas related to your art practice. So let’s get started!