I grew up watching films with my mum. One of the most affecting was Mike Leigh’s Secrets and Lies. We laughed and cried, whilst watching a mother and daughter, on their respective sofas, watch tv and smoke fags. My dreams are the offbeat moments in these fictions where I smoke with my mum. I yearn for the imperfect feelings of familial harmony in Secrets and Lies, a meal eaten at a table, unacquainted people brought together. It hurts, I said. It’s like the storm in my head broke the thunder directly above my flat, the lightning half a second before. Suppose A Collapse arranges moments between two cities, each viewed through the lens of the other, intimately mapping the interiors of a fourth floor flat in Madrid and the childhood bedroom of a three-bed semi in Belfast. Memoir, poem and essay combine to form a collection of experiences based on the author’s changing relationship with her absent father, extended ‘(non)family’ and mother, while film and art inform the movement between lucidity and a fracturing present. How many times can we fold up our lives into smaller and smaller shapes until there’s no room anymore, only the one that we’re in? Lucie McLaughlin is an artist from Belfast, Northern Ireland. Her work has been published in Faultline Journal of Arts and Letters, California, performed at Raven Row, London and exhibited at Lily Robert Gallery, Paris. She is currently on the MLitt Art Writing at Glasgow School of Art.

128 x 182mm, 101 pages, Colour printing, Perfect bound, Softcover, 2022  Organising the book’s chronology around the time log of a public event, Anne Tallentire invites us into the activity of plotting a number of (1:1) diagrams of domestic rooms across the emptied-out ICA theatre in London.Upon this joyous illumination of the stains of past productions and mass gatherings appears a new assembly of enactors, who summon the social sediment of the ICA as a spirit of communal activity. This new event butts against the extremities of the room. A laser level and tape measure cut across the seams of dusty bricks, the patchwork painted floorboards, a leftover bass bin, electric cables, and plywood stage to inscribe abstractions of interior spaces in builder’s graphic tape.These ambiguously intentioned drawings gain political purchase when we imagine ourselves residing within the cramped dimensions being unfolded. We remember the premise of our lives upon the buildings that we have subsided into, and those responsible for them. This act of contextual comparison is a key leverage of the book. A socialist motivation that ignites the agency of our collective imagination to participate in the language and critique of housing provision.

72 pages182 mm x 128 mm90 mm cover flapsFormat: Paperback --- One, 2, 3 is a splendid feast made from the broken bits at the bottom of the bag. Bitingly funny, with a peculiar slippy charm that lodges its subversive truths about making art deep in the bones.- Kate FeldIn Jenna Collins’ One, 2, 3 an inexplicable locating occurs. We are led into rooms, views, situations and scenarios with no real notion of how we came to be wherever we are but at the same time finding ourselves as the unwitting witness to certain meticulousnesses, certain claustrophobic, often absurd, unbalancings, events, processes. The possibility appears to be offered of dipping one’s fingers into the pockets of the text and running off like a thief and indeed the placing of incidences, sometimes faintly mirroring, sometimes set inside - or resting obliquely against - the other, does leave the reader free from consecutive narrative but at the same time, oddly trapped even implicated in what unfolds and what doesn’t. - Paul Becker- Paul Becker 'The moon is visible in the window tonight. It is round and sharp and there is no need for lamps. Turning from the window, the writer pulls a chest of drawers away from the wall and drags a pile of clothes out of the way with her heel. She climbs a platform she has assembled from a small table centred on top of a larger one and begins writing on the beige wall. She is un-writing her days' work. The writer must attend to an internal equation that calls for a balance between her daytime writing; words that circulate in the world and provide her with money and earn her a general sort of admiration. And nighttime words, which leak out, full of the aggressive phrases and obdurate postures of the years before her education began." Exploiting forms that traditionally get burnt up in the production of the moving image, Jenna Collins' One, 2, 3 moves through sequences of writing that dramatize the small but necessary acts of theft and invention that shape a story in its telling. In this case, one that navigates the legacy of a dead female writer and the task of being a living artist. Jenna Collins' solo and collaborative artwork across media but primarily video and sound, has been broadcast, exhibited and screened widely at venues across the UK and further afield.Collins is based in London and West Yorkshire.