By Daniel Gianfranceschi

Climatological catastrophes, cold and warm-wars threatening existence at large, species-wide extinction, global inflation and a myriad of other tangentially disastrous predicaments seem to call for the nearing apocalypse on a daily fashion; so much so that, in fact, even catastrophe itself has become mundaneized by how the human interacts with it.

By Misha Honcharenko

Katja Hoyer’s Weimar: Life on the Edge of Catastrophe is not so much a history of a place as it is a slow, tightening vice around the idea of normality.

By Rosalind Lowry 

This series of sculptural and photographic works are based on an exploration of loss and mourning of the land, with the artist's creative practice being an act of bearing witness and a lament for what is being lost.

By Cecy Grace

Outside, the sky is bruised red. Crows wheel in ragged circles above the rooftops. Even the breeze carries a dissonant sweetness, drifting over our town graveyard — the lazy, hollow patience of a ghost staring at its own headstone come this bright, sunlit afternoon.

By Claire Everett

I first discovered it aged five, running too fast for my legs among the ruins of Wenlock Priory towards the brush-stippled swathes of snowdrops, lamb-white, rabbit-from-a hat-white, icing-on-the-cake white, the flame flickering like of which I’d never seen before.

By Jeremias Rumpl

My work has been concerned with man made disasters, like wars, for a while now. Recently, however, my focus has been shifting more towards environmental issues and our relationship with nature and the implications of these things on a personal and more general level.

By Jimmy Fike

This series features photographs of the sites where the last grizzly bears were killed in each of the states that constituted their historic range

By Sylvia Thorne

In a vast space, a wild mix of bold blues, blacks, purples, and whites, once upon a time, a star was born.

By Agnė Jurgelėnaitė

One of my favourite art projects is a set of postcards by Evelyn Raudsepp and Henri Hütt. When you open it, the authors immediately warn you: ‘Nothing worth mentioning occurred during the next twenty-four hours,’ and the images remain faithful to this conviction.

By Ema Lančaričová

I first encountered the colonnade in 2016, as part of a landscape that did not ask to be noticed. It appeared along a railway line—glimpsed repeatedly, always in passing—until its persistence began to exceed coincidence.

By Ian Breidenbach

Instructor: The Ferryman

Meeting Times: Weekly service to take place on , lessons will begin at dusk.

Cost of Admission: One hot meal (upon arrival) plus (+) 2 assorted canned goods (1) will provide payment for one evenings lesson (one film and one reading) for an unlimited number of members of your community.

By Sophie Chester-Nash

This set of photographic postcards takes ordinary scenery from the midday cityscapes of London and uses a slow shutter technique to deliberately blur what we can see to create an aesthetic vision of place, enhancing blues, pinks and golds within our gaze.

By Quiline Kakoty

The music in the bar was soft and the lights were dim. Three glasses clinked.

“I was never born bitter,” Ashi said quietly, swirling her vodka.

By Martha Lineham

At 8am on a Saturday morning in August, patterned and ageing amusement arcade carpets in the seaside resorts of Blackpool, Bognor Regis, Scarborough and Skegness are simultaneously vacuumed by arcade staff.

By Eleanor Updegraff

Recently, I have begun a collection of shoreline pottery. Small, thumbnail-size fragments, sanded by the waves.

By Emily Doyle

The grotesque and melancholic inspire me the most; in my work, I don’t believe in the rules of photography or what is considered a “good” image.

By Knut Birkholz

End of April, this elderberry and I still missed signs of life, while the delayed spring was

not holding back anymore all around us.

By Leon Craig

‘The ghosts are much less bad at this time of year, my aunt thinks she’s got rid of them,’ Zara said, inviting me to Almgard for the midsummer weekend.

By Olga Sidorina Wilkins

The way they met was nothing special. Two strangers methodically broke every rule and ended up in a filthy apartment somewhere in a godforsaken shithole also known as Smila.