As Part of the living, breathing, still. project. I have curated the zine LIVING, BREATHING, NOW.

An open collection of visual, written and sound pieces created by a group of artists, inspired by our conversations, our tasks throughout the project and above all else inspired by the vast amount of emotions which have been brewing for years but seemed to have completely boiled over in response to 2020.

This zine will be available on this page for the duration of the festival but then as the festival comes to an end, this online zine will disappear.

But the archive will live on, in the memories of those who contributed and those who viewed it here but also in a physical copy, posted for free to you by Siobhan Davies Dance.

The thread that holds this zine together is this current moment in time, so I would like to invite and encourage you to sign up and have a piece of this madness forever.

Stay Punk,
Orla x

Thinking about punk and how it failed to include so many people in its insurrection, when angry white
males dominated the genre, but how despite this dominant position many artists have reclaimed and
transformed punk. So i started researching and thinking about how WICKKED queer, trans & non binary
folk, women, people of colour and all the other folk that were excluded from the genre, are for taking
punk back and making it their own.
scenes from protests (2019-ongoing):

a helicopter hanging over us at hyde park. that helicopter has not moved since. every time i’ve been through central since, it’s still there, watching.

17 different haircuts around me, tattoos, doc martens, denim jackets, badges, piercings, college green turning into a sea of mud

rains, rains, rains, rains, rains

multi coloured thread being wrapped around my wrist as i sit on the steps of tate britain

cameras pointing at me, coming close up to my face, snapping, as i decide whether to look at them or not

soggy cardboard, running ink spelling ‘FUCK TRUMP’, blowing in the wind

a white man draped in an eu flag asking my friend, a south asian woman, to pose for a photo, saying ‘we need more coloureds here’.

reggae songs, wartime songs, club songs, anthems, raps, poems, marching songs.
joining hands to sing.

an ex-royal opera house ballerina, treading barefoot over concrete, arabesquing in jeggings

words i never imagined being a part of and now abuse like vodka: comrade / brethren / workers of the world / unite

somewhere beyond my sight and hearing, john boyega, a speck over a horizon of bodies

british flags, indian flags, american flags trod on, spat on, recoloured

taxi drivers, lorry drivers honking with/at us, shouting with/at us

smartphones held aloft heaven-wards

masks, masks, masks, masks, masks

passing anonymous vans, nondescript cars, cops watching us from inside, their hands raising to their mouths, silently chattering.

lying on the ground. chalk etching around me

the sun breaking through the clouds, and, like a corps-de-ballet, we all remove our coats.

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What does Punk mean to me?
What does Punk mean to me in the 21st Century?
Contributors to the Zine:
Orla Connolly
Sarah Bryant
Nikhil Vyas
Angelos Angelidis
Alice Minervini
Ashlinn De Schonen
Tony Suspect
Click here to get LIVING, BREATHING, NOW in the post
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