By Sara Bright So, Frank Gehry has gone. It feels strange to write those words. Not just because he was ninety-six – and let’s be…
There is a specific, potent brand of quiet panic that Katherine Waterston has entirely mastered. It is not the hysterical, running-down-corridors terror that so often…
On a Tuesday morning in November 2024, I sat in the café of Manchester Art Gallery as a stranger across the table told us she…
By Maria Bregman, writer and art critic I was sitting in a screening room in Soho on Monday – one of those plush, underground ones…
By Sara Bright There is a story about JMW Turner that I’ve always loved, mostly because it makes him sound like an absolute nightmare to…
By Maria Bregman I was sitting in a café in Soho when the notification pinged. You know the kind. It’s usually something mundane – a…
By Maria Bregman, writer and art critic I found myself in a hotel lobby the other day. You know the type. The art’otel. It’s sleek,…
By Maria Bregman I was reading about Michael Dell this morning. You know, the computer guy. The man whose beige boxes sat on every office…
By Maria Bregman, writer and art critic I was looking at the auction results from Versailles this weekend, and I had to wipe my glasses.…
By Sara Bright I have a confession to make. I have a soft spot for films that are, on paper, completely ridiculous. You know the…