SCRIPSI

As there are no images of Scripsi on the net this picture is a scan of my own copy of the April 1985 issue

I thought I'd counter my grouchy mumblings about Australian publications in my last entry by talking about one of the world's greatest literary journals that so happened to be Australian.

Occasionally you have in your possession an object that is more precious than money, and my copy of Scripsi is one of those objects. It contains the work of some of today's most influential writers and thinkers, and is beautiful – Bill Henson's black and white photographs are dotted throughout its pages: the stunning street portraits he was famous for before the media clusterfuck over his nudes. And it's hugely special to me personally because it's on indefinite loan from one of the contributors.

Scripsi began in 1981 when Michael Heyward, Penny Hueston – who are now married and run Melbourne-based independent publishing house Text – and Peter Craven were in their early twenties and studying at Melbourne Uni. It began as fun; a way to publish the work of their friends and a reason to have parties. It became one of the world's most important literary journals of the time and ran as a quarterly until 1994.

Scripsi's regular contributors included Susan Sontag, David Malouf, John Forbes, Peter Craven, Les Murray, John Ashbury, Salmon Rushdie, John Tranter and Henson, many of whom were a part of the social coterie surrounding the magazine. For it is the product of one of those weird collections of prodigious peers – like the editors of OZ Magazine or the Heidi artists – whose artistic activities feel important in the moment and in hindsight are seminal.

I like that it publishes the work of friends, and that it discusses the work too – extensive reviews about the poetry of one contemporary sits beside a short-story by the reviewer, who is later reviewed by the poet. I like this dialogue about each other's work, I don't know if we are that (interested?) immersed in our friends' artistic trajectories anymore.

And don't get weird about the friends thing. You can do whatever you want when you start your own magazine and you will publish the work of your friends if they are geniuses. But that's all by the by. Scripsi is committed to the best work, whoever authored it. So many current publications take whatever content is going, or run stuff (particularly art) that is fashionable, not genuinely good. Scripsi manages to get it right across all its bases – beit academia, critique, short fiction or otherwise, the work is always intelligent, illuminating, ardent-hearted and very high quality. And sure I'm a die-hard, but the notion that it has been made by a bunch of long-haired Cohen-lovers over bottles of wine in living-rooms in Northcote is pretty charming.

As a reader, it was here that I discovered the poetry of John Forbes, so that was a gift in itself:


Speed, A Pastoral (for Angus Douglas)

it's fun to take speed
& stay up all night
not writing those reams of poetry
just thinking about is bad for you
– instead your feelings
follow your career down the drain
& find they like it there
among anthology of fine ideas, bound together
by a chemical in your blood
that lets you stare the TV in its vacant face
& cheer, consuming yourself like a mortgage
& when Keats comes to dine, or Flaubert,
you can answer their purities
with your own less negative ones – for example
you know Dransfield's line, that once you became a junkie
you'll never want to be anything else?
well, I think he dies too soon,
as if he thought drugs were an old-fashioned teacher
& he was the teacher's pet who just put up his hand
and said quietly, 'Sir, sir'
& heroin let him leave the room.

Beautiful stuff.

Back cover of the April 1985 issue

THE JOURNAL

We have so few decent publications in Australia. Most of them are incredibly shit. Actually, it's a bit weird that the number of art and culture journals is so disproportionate to the popularity of soy milk and jewelery made in the shape of woodland creatures. You'd think there'd be a link, but no. Anyway, in lieu of the balls to make our own stuff, we have plenty of international titles to spend all our money on. So today I bring you another New York offering: the Journal.

There I was, in Magnation on Elizabeth St in Melbourne. And there was the Journal, also in Magnation on Elizabeth St in Melbourne. I was wrapped in clothes, it was wrapped in plastic. For some reason I thought that because it was called the Journal it would be full of writing, which was kind of my vibe that day. And because of the way we were wrapped, I couldn't look inside. So I bought it on a whim, and yes it was very expensive, and yes it was full of pictures and no writing at all.

But I was happy. Because the Journal turned out to be a bloody find.

Its content is predominately beautifully printed artwork. The section 'Salon' is 33 pages of completely unrelated portraits, which is excellent. There is a thinner supplement booklet called 'What's in My Library' with photographs taken and curated by Richard Prince - three pages of which I dare say I cut out and put above my desk because they are so stunning. My favourite article is a psychologist-couch style interview with RZA, where the rapper is shown pencil drawings and responds with what he 'sees': a bottle of vitamin water with a black squiggle next to it - "It shows, nah'mean, that even the biggest thugs can be the biggest minds in the country"; a picture of a raccoon with two open cans of soup - "A raccoon has always got a mask on, right? Well his body always gives him away. Hahaha!" Awesome.

Traditionally I am not into reviews (she says as she writes a review). And clearly the Journal isn't either. Because they have created the best music review section I have ever seen. They show two artists a selection of a mixture of file-footage-type pictures in order to communicate what album is in question, then the artists try to guess it in a very witty manner. It's very good.

Finally, there is a list of zines that the magazine recommends, and their websites. I like this kind of transparency - it encourages connections and possible collaboration, and it's something I try to do in Ampersand. I looked at a few of them online, and landed on one in particular called Fuck You Three Times For Free. The site said that the zines were free, and to contact him for your copy, so I did, and this is the correspondence:

Subject: Three times
Date: Wed, April 1, 2009 9:45pm

Hello ---,

My name is Alice Gage. I publish an art and culture journal
called Ampersand Magazine from Sydney. I found the scant
reference to you in the back of the Journal. Now I'm
intrigued. Would you like to do a swap?

My address is

Thingy
Balmain
NSW 2041
Australia

Please send me your contact details.

I'd like to know about you and what you do.

Kind regards,
Alice Gage

**

Subject: RE: Three times
Date: Thu, April 2, 2009 7:30pm

Hello Alice,
Thank you for the feedback. I would love a swap.
My name is EI and I go by the name --.

my address
Thingy
Tokyo 102-0074
Japan

Your publications seem very interesting. I look foward
to recieving them. Mine is not much, but I put some work
into them so I hope you'll like them. I used to do alot
of graffiti but now I produce works in various dimensions
off the streets.
I do not consider myself to be an artist, though by no
means am I 'anti-established art'.
I am still in search of something missing within me.
I have started a blog project in hopes of discovering
something about myself.
Please check it out if you have time - *********

My lungs feel like raisins from smoking too much recently.
Anyway, hope to hear from you soon.

EI

Isn't that great!

So - good stuff the Journal.


www.thejournalinc.com