Cultural Capital podcast: Jo Robertson

An interview with the east London-based artist and musician.

In the fourth episode of Newstatesman.com's Cultural Capital podcast, I talk to Jo Robertson, who is currently exhibiting in "Four Rooms" at the Centrum Sztuki Współczesnej na Zamku Ujazdowski in Warsaw. According to Tracey Emin, "Joanne has the ability to tap into things on an emotional and psychic level. Her works have an edge and a complexity but there is nothing cynical in them." In 2008, the Turner Prize-winning artist Martin Creed put her forward for the Creative 30 award, saying: "She wears her heart on her sleeve and paints and sings directly from it. She's a natural. I would like to be more like her." We talk about the influence of grunge on her work, improvisation and her creative process.

Jo robertson interview edit

Earlier episodes of the Cultural Capital podcast can be found here

Yo Zushi works for the New Statesman. His work as a musician is released by Pointy Records

Yo Zushi is a contributing writer for the New Statesman. His latest album, It Never Entered My Mind, is out now on Eidola Records and is on Spotify here.

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Brexit… Leg-sit

A new poem by Jo-Ella Sarich. 

Forgot Brexit. An ostrich just walked into the room. Actually,
forget ostriches too. Armadillos also have legs, and shoulder plates
like a Kardashian.  Then I walked in, the other version of me, the one
with legs like wilding pines, when all of them

are the lumberjacks. Forget forests. Carbon sinks are down
this month; Switzerland is the neutral territory
that carved out an island for itself. My body
is the battleground you sketch. My body is
the greenfield development, and you
are the heavy earthmoving equipment. Forget
the artillery in the hills
and the rooftops opening up like nesting boxes. Forget about

the arms race. Cheekbones are the new upper arms
since Michelle lost out to Melania. My cheekbones
are the Horsehead Nebula and you are the Russians
at warp speed. Race you to the finish. North Korea

will go away if you stop thinking
about it. South Korea will, too. Stop thinking
about my sternum. Stop thinking about
the intricacy of my mitochondria. Thigh gaps
are the new wage gaps, and mine is like
the space between the redwood stand
and the plane headed for the mountains. Look,

I’ve pulled up a presentation
with seven different eschatologies
you might like to try. Forget that my arms
are the yellow tape around the heritage tree. Forget
about my exoskeleton. Forget
that the hermit crab
has no shell of its own. Forget that the crab ever
walked sideways into the room.
Pay attention, people.

Jo-Ella Sarich is a New Zealand-based lawyer and poet. Her poems have appeared in the Galway Review and the Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2017.

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear