Author Archives: ashleighlou
Transcription errors in a conversation with Kris Sowersby of Klim Type Foundry
Unknown Speaker 31:54: A friend of mine, she wrote her first book by opening a book of chickens. Unknown Speaker 32:32: Animals initial animals. Unknown Speaker 14:17: She’s got my lower jaw. A lot of bone. Unknown Speaker 47:30 The pretentious line is to say … Continue reading
Rehashing (iv)
I promise I won’t keep doing this too much longer. Maybe one more after this. But here’s one more rehashed newspaper column from the past, this one from June this year, which still feels like a long enough time ago … Continue reading
Rehashing (iii)
Today’s rehashed column is from August 2019, just after Ronnie Van Hout’s sculpture Quasimodo was installed on the roof of the Wellington City Gallery. The Hand I’m going to look at the Hand in Wellington’s Civic Square for the first … Continue reading
Looking at a house
Hundreds of dolphins are in the Cook Strait. Dolphins and dolphins. The water is leaping with them. I look and look. Their bodies gleam and fizz, silver and white. It’s more dolphin than water. I will remember this crossing forever. … Continue reading
Send in the clowns
A while I wrote something about clown collars for Metro magazine, but a month later Metro folded. I thought I’d post this here anyway – something from the Before times. I remember being a bit nervous about this piece because … Continue reading
Rehashing (ii)
It’s a strange feeling to revisit some of my old Canvas columns. Last week I was trying to write a short piece for Essential Services, a new magazine by former Metro editor Henry Oliver, about writing a column and why … Continue reading
Rehashing
I had a thought that I might revisit (well, rehash), every week or so, a column from my old(ish) Canvas column. This one is from October last year. I had just been to a writers’ festival. Looking back on some … Continue reading
Excitements
I was eating an apple when I got self-conscious. The student on work experience sitting at the table nearby would be able to hear my crunching and was probably bothered by it. But I also thought how freeing it would … Continue reading
Feet of clay
Feet of dirt. Feet of tree that will not fruit. Feet of elephant that died and was buried at the school. Feet of someone walking down the driveway with torch. Feet of pay day. Feet of landlord at the door … Continue reading
Eleven
I was cleaning up my desktop while avoiding writing my column, and I came across this old photo of Jerry. It’s him at the vet’s in July 2014 after he’d been hit by a car. Not pictured is his big … Continue reading
