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Irish Times
10-07-2025
- Politics
- Irish Times
Some see July 12th bonfires as sectarian. For others, they're about social cohesion
Bonfires light up the sky in various parts of Northern Ireland each July, many tonight. Some see it as an act of cultural expression, others as a source of cross-community tension that has been associated with flashes of violence. The 300 or so pyres are associated with loyalist areas that are part of the wider unionist communities and are part of the annual Twelfth of July commemorative celebrations for King William III's 1690 victory at the Battle of the Boyne. The bonfires are lit on the Eleventh Night, in advance of the parades and street parties held the following day. Politically contentious and physically imposing, these towering bonfires, often several stories high, raise concerns about the danger to houses and other structures , as well as their environmental impact. They often feature sectarian messaging aimed at nationalist parties and individual politicians, as well as effigies, Catholic religious imagery and tricolours which are placed on the bonfires to be incinerated. However, it's not only Catholic communities who may feel unsafe or unwelcome as a result of the effigies. This year, an effigy of refugees in a boat on top of the bonfire at Moygashel has been widely condemned as 'racist' and 'dehumanising'. Because of these tensions, many families, not just from Catholic backgrounds, but also from migrant communities, leave the North during this period or take their family holidays. READ MORE [ Calls for removal of 'racist' migrant effigies in boat placed on loyalist bonfire in NI Opens in new window ] An effigy of refugees on a bonfire in Moygashel, Co Tyrone. Photograph: Jonathan McCambridge/PA Wire Despite the unease of many, some within Protestant/loyalist communities regard the bonfires as sources of pride and community closeness. A recent study I carried out at Queen's University examined the role of social connection to protect the mental health among adolescent males in Belfast (aged 16-19). Protestant/loyalist young men described to me unexpected aspects of the bonfires which supported strong cohesion in their communities. Older boys played an important role in mentoring younger ones on how to gather bonfire materials (including wooden pallets, old furniture and tyres) while also imparting knowledge of building techniques. They took pride in becoming mentors and providing guidance for 'the young ones'. 'We'll be friends with people a few years older than us . . . we would have only been about 12 and they would tell us we had to go and get all the collect(ion) for the bonfire, go and get all the wood,' one boy, whom I called Gabriel (not his real name), said. The boys and young men stayed out all night to 'guard their wood' and protect the bonfires from theft or sabotage at the hands of fellow bonfire-builders who may have wanted to use the materials for their own pyres. They were also protecting the materials from boys in nearby Catholic areas who were offended by or afraid of the bonfires. 'It would either be Catholics . . . coming to burn your bonfire, or else another bonfire (group) come and try and steal your pallets . . . So, if your bonfire gets [set alight], you automatically think it was the Catholics, but if your pallets get stolen, it was another bonfire,' said another, Benjamin (not his real name). Parents supply dinners and older people bring baked goods and juice to help the boys pass their night watch. These interactions were a source of pride for the young men and seen as evidence of the strong sense of 'tradition' and 'community' in their neighbourhoods. Participants linked the way they were treated as bonfire builders with the more outwardly visible community celebrations like parades and street parties. Benjamin described how 'even when we're staying out and all, there's a wee woman who lives directly facing the bonfire, she would . . . well, if we're out stacking the bonfire, she will come out, big jugs of juice and give us food, sandwiches and all, stuff like that'. For some, this pride was accompanied by concern that these traditions were under threat and fading away. Modern challenges like lack of housing meant that waste grounds across north Belfast and the Shankill are being developed into new housing estates. The young men spoke candidly about the tension between protecting their cultural heritage, while also acknowledging that the spaces could be used for new homes where they could some day raise their own families. 'Personally, I would agree to put houses, because it's a big, massive space where our bonfire is. You could get a good couple of houses, so easily 60 houses . . . New people moving in. But most people don't think like this. But I agree with the houses because there's a different site [nearby] where you can have a bonfire, but it's not going to be massive, massive, massive,' said Samuel (not his real name). Some of the young men proposed a number of creative solutions, including smaller signal fires in lieu of larger structures to preserve culture and tradition, while mitigating health and safety risks and sectarian implications. Although the boys recognised that Catholic neighbours and people from other communities may feel unsafe or unwelcome during this period, this awareness of the threatening nature of sectarian symbolism did not prompt a deeper inspection of the broader cultural dynamic surrounding the holiday. Nor did it cause them to consider that their Catholic neighbours could feel unsafe for deeper reasons than just the presence of flags. 'It's just like the others say they don't want to see them. The Catholics don't want to see them, but (it) just goes one way, it's whatever community argues about it . . . now there's only about two bonfires left in the Shankill, three bonfires,' said Benjamin. A small number of participants acknowledged the high prevalence of substance use and antisocial behaviours at the celebrations, which contrasts with the simpler events of prior decades. This echoed recent research by Amanda Hall at Reading University investigating the increasing prominence of unsafe and unhealthy behaviours on the Eleventh Night, including the involvement of loyalist paramilitaries, complicating the bonfires' image as a family event. But my study revealed a less discussed aspect of bonfire season – that the fires were the visible product of deeper structures creating social cohesion within Protestant/loyalist community life. The Eleventh Night is the culmination of months of collaborative efforts. This energy and enthusiasm for their local traditions could be harnessed for a range of other activities, as evidenced in the neighbourhood renewal projects taking place across Northern Ireland. As the region looks to a more inclusive future, rather than focusing only on the controversial and divisive aspects of the fires, it's worth also considering their importance to one community in fostering social cohesion – through collaboration, mentorship and shared identity. Dr Amanda Dylina Morse PhD MPH is a social epidemiologist and research fellow within Queen's Communities and Place (QCAP) at Queen's University Belfast
The Guardian
04-07-2025
- Business
- The Guardian
Gerard Taylor obituary
Britain has never been entirely clear about how to understand what it is that designers do. Are they offering a service, or is design a form of cultural self-expression? Gerard Taylor, who has died aged 70, always believed that it can be both. The Scot learned this early on in his career, when in 1981 the great Italian designer Ettore Sottsass invited him to join his Memphis collective, not long after Taylor had graduated from the Royal College of Art in London. A kind of anti-Bloomsbury group based in Milan, Memphis turned the conventional idea of good taste upside down with a series of deliberately transgressive collections of furniture, glassware and domestic electronics, using cheap materials such as plastic laminate and a vibrant colour palette. The self-initiated work that Taylor did for Memphis, as well as under his own name in those days, such as his sculptural ceramics or, later, with Daniel Weil, the Quasimodo chair, which looked like the physical realisation of a cafe chair in a Cubist painting, are in museum collections now, or sought after at auction. But Taylor also enjoyed working for clients, designing beautifully crafted shops for the Esprit brand that had little in common with the conventions of mass-market fashion at the time. He would later be responsible for the architecture of half a dozen of Habitat's most interesting stores when it was run by Vittorio Radice. When Radice moved to Selfridges, Taylor worked there too, and later for the Irish fashion designer Orla Kiely. Taylor's sketchbooks, overflowing with pencil drawings and analytical watercolours, reflect the commitment that he put into all his work whether they were personal projects or not. 'I believe that a designer should never work for their client, they have to work for themselves,' he told one interviewer. 'They have to serve their client, they have to be rigorous and professional, [but] your vision has to go way beyond what the client is asking for. You always have to be pushing yourself to do what you think is interesting.' Taylor's longest-lasting client was Orangebox, an innovative manufacturer of office furniture that began as a start up in the Glamorgan village of Hengoed. In the 20 years that Taylor was the creative director, helping to shape its products, Orangebox grew into a worldwide business, employing 400 people, and successful enough to be acquired by the American giant Steelcase. 'We weren't selling chairs, we were selling stories,' Taylor said. At the time of his death Taylor was working on an exhibition at the Modern Institute gallery in Glasgow, planned for next year. According to Taylor's brother-in-law, the artist and author Edmund de Waal, it will include both early furniture designs and more recent sculptural work that explores the relationship between colour and space. Born in Bellshill, a former mining town in Glasgow's Lanarkshire hinterland, Gerard was one of six children of Mary and Michael Taylor, a buyer for the industrial manufacturer Honeywell who in latter years bought a sub-post office. After St Saviour's secondary school in Glasgow, Gerard considered studying art at Glasgow School of Art, but instead chose product design, where, following graduation, one of his tutors encouraged him to apply to the RCA for a master's. He spent his summers working on set designs at the BBC, including for the Two Ronnies, and used some of his earnings to go to New York to see the painter Agnes Martin installing a museum show of her work. When he graduated in 1981, design in London had momentarily become neither service nor art, but big business. Based on the profits that they made rebranding state-owned industries such as British Airways and British Telecom as they were prepared for privatisation, design consultancies were being floated on the stock market. It was not a version of design that appealed to Taylor. He was determined to work for Sottsass, Memphis's founder, and the designer of beautiful machines for Olivetti, the Apple of its day. Taylor, who described himself as a 'ballsy Scotsman', had heard Sottsass speak in London while at college, and met him again in his final year. After showing him his portfolio of sophisticated drawings, and projects that ranged from a stage set for Timon of Athens to a hi-fi system, Sottsass invited Taylor to Milan to work in Sottsass Associati, the new design studio he was setting up. Taylor became a partner for five years (1982-87), then set up a studio in London with Weil, a fellow RCA graduate. Their partnership was dissolved in 1992 and Taylor subsequently practised on his own. Having begun his career early enough to take part in Memphis, Taylor worked long enough to see the practice of design utterly transformed by the digital explosion. Four decades ago it was still possible for a designer to shape technology, as well as convey how it worked. 'Usually [the product] comes in bland boxes that are a hopelessly inadequate reflection of the marvels which they contain,' Taylor then wrote. Smartphones have since taken over so many everyday functions that entire categories of object are redundant. Those that are left are not easily influenced by an independent designer. Taylor focused instead on furniture design, on which it was still possible to have an impact, in particular at Orangebox, which he joined in 2002. 'Human dynamics are the same. That is the beauty of furniture – a chair from 1920 is essentially the same as a chair of today,' he said. 'The chair is consistent and the table is consistent but what is not consistent is the dynamic of the context around them, what happens at the table, all the paranoias and ideas of the people sitting at the table, that's what changed unbelievably dramatically in ways we never thought of.' When it comes to technology, Taylor believed that if designers can't shape it, they should try to humanise it: 'The role of design has to be the creation of more engaging, softer, kinder and more humane work environments as a counterpoint to the continuously accelerating demands of technology and its increasing control of our workplace. We have to use design to help balance the tsunami of ever-shortening tech cycles of change and obsolescence.' Taylor was married twice. His first marriage, to Sue Minter, an interior designer, ended in divorce. In 2023 he married Clare Chandler, a psychologist and coach, and she survives him. Gerard Taylor, designer, born 3 March 1955; died 20 June 2025
Independent Singapore
25-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Independent Singapore
A dress that's 14 years in the making: 380 artists, 51 countries, countless stories
Photo: Wikipiedia CC / Red_Dress_(embroidery_project) There are very few things that connect civilisations like art. Whether it's through musical compositions, images on canvas, timeless monuments, or stitched fabrics, creative expression offers us the means to share who we are, our places of origin, and what's important to us. However, not often does one piece of imaginative creation succeed in representing the voices, values, and thoughts of people from all over the world. According to a recent article from Upworthy , the Red Dress project is one such amazing creation, where exquisiteness, storytelling, and connection are sewn together in every fibre of one elegant clothing. A royal garment from everywhere Ostensibly, the Red Dress looks like something appropriate for royals. But this is no regular stately dress. With its profound burgundy satin, elaborate needlework, and elegant form, it's difficult to assign it to any culture or tradition. Rather, it draws from all over Europe, Africa, Asia, the Americas, and beyond—its design a seamless and synchronised blend of international influences. See also Employee asks, "How does one become a manager quickly?" Such universality was not achieved by chance. Consisting of 84 sheets of silk dupion brought from across the globe over 14 years, the Red Dress was worked on by as many as 380 individuals from across 51 nations. As they worked, personal tales and distinct idiosyncrasies were poured into the dress. What came out was a splendid apparel that goes beyond borders and expresses a language of grit, perseverance, memories, traditions, and beauty. Stitching stories: The women behind the art With each stitch of the Red Dress is a woman with a compelling story. Almost one-third of the embroiderers were skilled craftspeople, commissioned and paid for their work, and now have a percentage of the display fees. The others were unpaid assistants who participated in community cross-stitch events, who came from different walks of life. An astounding 97% of the contributors were women, and most of them were using the endeavour as a chance to express personal and cultural stories, some even discovering a path to economic solidity through their expertise. Some sewed traditional designs that have been passed down for generations. Others knitted in intimate self-examination—recollections, symbols, or sentiments—that spoke to their inimitable journeys. One panel was embellished by two women in Kosovo, who shared firm musings about their wartime experiences. These intensely personal insights and inputs shifted the dress into more than just a piece of clothing; it became a universal bedding of reflexive accounts and embodied experiences. From sketch to global symbol The Red Dress was initiated as an unpretentious drawing by British textile artist Kirstie Macleod in 2009, illustrated on the back of a table linen. Then it swiftly transformed into something more glorious — a collective platform to explore individuality and breed connection among women from diverse cultural and geographic backgrounds. Finalised and completed in 2023, the dress comprises millions of stitches, a visual and emotive record of collective human experiences. Today, it is being toured around museums and galleries all over the world, frequently exhibited by women of different backgrounds and ages, each one exemplifying a piece of the women's shared narrative. See also Cameron Diaz and Benji Madden welcome baby daughter
The National
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The National
Palestinian poster exhibition in London communicates 'urgency' of the moment
Malu Halasa emphasises how the artworks deliver direct, meaningful messages, making them a vital form of cultural expression for Palestine today
Yahoo
08-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Reclaiming the story of Bradford's 1904 Somali village
In summer 1904, millions of people descended on Bradford for arguably the biggest festival it has ever seen. Along with typical fairground fun and examples of the city's industrial might, Bradford Great Exhibition's biggest draw was also its most bizarre - a living and breathing Somali village. More than 120 years on, a team of historians are piecing together the stories of those who lived within the walled compound and helping the UK Somali community reclaim the narrative. Reportedly attracting about 350,000 paid visitors in total, the exhibit transplanted about 100 Somali men, women and children from the Horn of Africa and put them on public display in Lister Park for six months. "It has resonance as a story of colonised and racialised people who still gazed back and resisted in their own way and had fascinating lives," says Prof Fozia Bora, from the University of Leeds. "We are really keen to share the story with Bradfordians and the country at large." "Even though the Somali community has existed in different parts of the UK for over 150 years, nobody knew anything about the Somali village in Bradford," says Zainab Nur, chair of the recently founded Somali Village charity. "That's why it needs to be told and shared." Together with an online history project, Ms Nur is attempting to reframe the event - "not as a footnote of imperial display, but as a significant episode in the longer history of Somali migration, cultural expression and resistance". Ms Nur, who was born to Somali parents and whose forefathers came to the UK during the industrial revolution, says learning about the exhibit raised several key questions. "I was like, what is this? Are they being exhibited? Were they forced? Was it similar to human zoos?" The collaborative project and associated charity were officially launched at a recent event at Cartwright Hall, near where the village was located. The project also aims to trace people who may be descendants of the original village residents, as little is known about what happened to them after the exhibition packed up and left. Records reveal the group lived in self-built huts and gave daily demonstrations including dancing, spear throwing and archery. Villagers also displayed their weaving and blacksmithing skills, selling their wares to visitors. One official report at the time said "they maintained their attractive character throughout, and under the trying conditions of the Yorkshire climate behaved in a most creditable manner". Prof Bora, an associate professor of Islamic history, says the team is determined to "reverse the gaze of looking at the other as exotic, strange, weird, even inferior". "That is the range of lenses through which the Somalis would have been viewed, as well as fascination and admiration," she says. "The project tries to really look at the experience from the Somali point of view." Community historian Yahya Birt says the episode challenges some misconceptions about Bradford's multicultural identity. Discussing his own involvement, he says: "It began with a simple question - who were Bradford's first Muslims? "We found out that this community wasn't from South Asia but actually from the Horn of Africa." The team acknowledges it is a delicate story to tell, especially through a 21st Century lens and contemporary discourse around migration and decolonisation. But they believe the retelling is vital and will have particular resonance during Bradford's UK City of Culture year. "There are many aspects of this story that are definitely uncomfortable," adds Mr Birt. "The best history happens when you're made to feel uncomfortable because it makes you question your own assumptions." Listen to highlights from West Yorkshire on BBC Sounds, catch up with the latest episode of Look North. City names first black, hijab-wearing Lord Mayor 'Nothing is impossible' says graduate refugee A Somali Village in Colonial Bradford
