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

BIDOUN

I'm on my second issue of Bidoun. That's pretty good going for a magazine that costs $19.95 in Australia. The bottom of the second copy I have – Winter 2009 (pictured above) – is warped and crinkled because a can of premixed gin and tonic (classy stuff) that I was carrying in my backpack with the newly-purchased Bidoun was mysteriously pierced in transit, leaching to a height of about 8cm. It took a few days to dry out, and I had to carefully un-stick the pages each morning before replacing it back on the window sill.

BUT WHO CARES because the magazine is so great. An arts and culture journal that is published out of New York offices and contains content solely about or from the Middle East, Bidoun is classy and cool and interesting and funny and really well designed. Each issue is themed – the damaged copy in question is 'Kids' – and strikes a really nice balance of art and reading material. Aesthetically, it's the magazine-lovers wet dream, with different paper stocks, perforated pages, weird fold-outs and flaps. Its layout is busy but sharp (how I do dislike minimalist layout), with plenty of designy title pages and headers. Another good decision was to put the advertising (all for international art galleries) in the first 20 pages, leaving the rest of the mag freed up for the good stuff. My hats off to Babak Radboy and Jiminie Ha – very swish.

But what Bidoun does best is bring young stories and art with a Middle Eastern focus to an otherwise fairly ignorant Western peer group. It challenges one-dimensional preconceptions without so much as nodding to them, and divides the broad term 'Middle Eastern culture' into its many parts by bringing together voices from vastly different regions.

Invariably, the subjects of the 'Artist Projects', photographic essays, interviews and true stories are particularly fascinating and there is a good smattering of politics. It takes the piss with panache, and is polished off with three disgusting regional recipes on the last page. It also contains reviews, an international exhibition listing and a glossary of need-to-know Arabic phrases.

I would wager it takes its cues from The New Yorker (and poaches its writers) but aims for a younger, more poppy audience. It's everything Vice could never be.






www.bidoun.com