From the Archives: Alternative Miss World 2009 



MIRROR, mirror, on the wall, who is the most outrageous of them all?

In 1975, it was the film-maker Derek Jarman, who wore a frog with diamante earrings as his swimwear and a suit of armour for the evening wear category. In 1981, Miss Aldershot (real name Michael Haynes) trounced the…

Derek Jarman as Miss Crêpe Suzette, winner of the Alternative Miss World Contest, 1975


#vscocam Derek Jarman was interviewing Andrew Logan for Interview Magazine, 1974 ( 欧巴黑历史时期 )

World’s End Girlfriend @ 东方艺术中心 

via 九间之墨杉林 /


Teorema (1968)
Pier Paolo Pasolini


Teorema (1968)

Pier Paolo Pasolini


The Decameron - Pier Paolo Pasolini - 1971

Elisabetta Genovese, Giuseppe Arrigio


The Angelic Conversation (Derek Jarman 1987)


Seeds That Fell On Stony Ground

The Garden at Prospect Cottage

It’s hard not to consider the garden that Derek Jarman created in the last years of his life as metaphor for his struggles in the face of illness from AIDS.

Near the end of his life and already suffering from the disease, the gifted filmmaker moved just two hours from London but to a different planet altogether. He purchased a piece of property and an itinerant shack that he transformed into a garden and cottage. It is located on an unforgiving stretch of the English seaside and in the shadow of the Dungeness nuclear power station. The area was never a seaside resort as the waters were not suitable for swimming and the weather less than lovely, to say the least.

Dungeness is perhaps the most unlikely place for an English garden. The only plant life that really flourishes are indigenous species like blackthorn, sea kale and gorse. But Jarman loved the area’s otherworldly atmosphere and almost unnatural light.  These elements were sympathetic to his exacting yet lush aesthetic and he became a magpie sculptor, adapting stones, driftwood, found objects and discarded tools as he intervened to shape his land.

On one side of Prospect Cottage, Jarman lettered the lines from a passionate lyric by John Donne. In deepest black they read:

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, 

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ? 

Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run ? 

Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide 

Late school-boys and sour prentices, 

Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride, 

Call country ants to harvest offices ;

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, 

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. 

Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, 

In that the world’s contracted thus ; 

Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be 

To warm the world, that’s done in warming us. 

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ; 

This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.



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