Sean Parker
BA (Hons) Illustration
London College of Communication
(+44) 07985 773109


"Brick's Got Talent"

- Justin Bailey. copyright 2009

Yesterday, after having completed 4 zines for CLINIC, Sam (Bore Dubz) and I went to Brick Lane in search of a shop who would be willing to sell our zine. The day definitely started with the longest bus journey ever. Everything was everywhere. I felt like I was on the Truman Show and there was a conspiracy to annoy me with traffic and various J-walkers.
But, when we got there, I had a bangin' bagel. So I was happy again. We walked to Concrete Hermit 'cause I definitely believed I had been there on a Sunday before. The grey shutters told different. But, whatever, there must be loads more zine shops around here, we thought. Wading through the current of tourists, like salmon swimming upstream, with the homeless bears pouncing on anything even slightly alive, we found Lik + Neon.
Okay, now I'm pretty open minded; I'm not quick to judge and I've seen some weird shit in my life, but in this shop I had, by far, the STA-RANGEST experience in a long while. I assess the fluorescent colour scheme and brace myself for a zany lesbian with pink hair, who won't stop talking over me. I creep through the door and am accosted by not one, but TWO CATS. At first, I thought they were strays that had invaded the shop until the professional looking woman behind the counter picked one of them up and began conversing with it in her soft South African accent. She wore a fawn tunic and had a strawy brown mane. Pretty much the antithesis of what I expected.
I had a quick look around and then enquired about the zines she sells.
I explained our pamphlet and our roles, praised her shop, asked about the other zines, and even went to the trouble of getting one of ours to show her, so I was completely baffled when she cocked her head to the left and just smiled drunkly. We stood there, forcing half-smiles in utter silence for at least 30 seonds. And this just completely freaked me out. And it wasn't even like she was just shy. Her eyes looked empty.
I eventually realised this transaction was dead still and so just sort of sidled out of her line of sight, while she continued to run around the shop after her cats. I still have all the zines. I'm going to head back to 'Hermit when I get a chance. Apart from the surreal conversation with Cat Lady, I had quite a pleasant couple of hours. Everyone and their damn dog was there, though. You couldn't even move for the pure volume of barbours and brogues. The street vendors were definitely best value for money, as most of them could not count, which meant i got a hat, a magazine and this snazzy (and pretty retarded) camera for £8.21 instead of £13. Outrageous.



My new friend, Bore Dubz, asked me last week if I wanted to help him make a zine of his, and two of his friends', poetry. Of course I jumped at the chance to do anything that would prevent me from sitting on my fat arse all day smoking and watching Top Gear re-runs.

We set to work, coming up with a strategy for the look of the zine. Obviously the main focal point of the mini-project was the beautiful poetry, which was dark, witty and thought-provoking, and so we typed up the musings on my vintage typewriter to get an authentic effect, leaving in mistakes to reflect the thought processes that the poets go through.

The name 'Clinic' which the guys came up with because they thought they had nothing in common except that they all went to the clinic on the day they decided to make a poetry collective.

Obviously, the word clinic instantly flashes up images of white walls, machines and sanitation, so i felt this should be mimicked in the layout and presentation of the zine. Black text on stark white background is, obviously, ubiquitous but we agreed it suited the message of the zine best. I created a couple of small collages to balance out the double spreads and went about printing of a couple of copies at home.

It sure is lucky I live with a Book Arts student, or I would have had no idea how to bind the pamphlets. It's a simple process but we decided it looked tenfold better than clumpy and inaccurate staples.



So, I went home this weekend, being the great son I am, to see ma madre. I was going to take the train straight to sunny Tonbridge form LDN Bridge until Fran told me that there is a windmill right near her house in Reigate. Realising this gaff was pretty easy to get to, I decided on a little detour a la campagne.

And what a worthwhile excursion it was, too. Sitting atop a beautiful peak, surrounded by miles of undulating green, Wray Common is a stunning tower mill that has been sentimentally restored over the past few years. After having seen various sepia-burnt photographs of the mill, watching over the region, I was interested to see if it still posessed the same aura as had touched me in the original photographs.

Although the mill has been renovated, and therefore has had no structural alterations, it seems so much more imposing when you are standing right next to it. I mean, it has a new monochrome paintjob, which symbolises a loss of history in favour of a 'contemporary' aesthetic value, and it did not photograph particularly well because I felt the shots could hardly make a lasting impression on any onlooker, so my intention was to purely document the vastness of the windmill. I felt a safe and slightly spiritual in front of it, like Wray Common was being surveilled by an omniscient being.


Lazy Sunday.

Far from it, in fact. Hugh and I spent the first four hours of our waking day doing this crazy experiment. I'm not sure 23seconds of footage scores that highly on the EFFORT - SATISFACTION RATIO but it's a sweet little stop-motion anyhow.

If you watch the video, it's pretty self-explanatory, it's 2 am and I really can't be fagged to give you walkthrough of the process. We then went to the park and got shot at, then ate houmus and drew dogs. A pretty unusual Sunday, I think you'll agree.

There are some banging photos to follow shortly, but now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make love to my pillow.



Someone brought this to my attention the other day as we were strolling through Bethnal Green; a poster for 'This Is Not London', some festival or club collective, I dunno. It's a pretty good concept; nice type, well-thought out colour scheme, all round not a bad poster.

Now, I'm not being funny, but last year on our Foundation at Ravensbourne, Hugh, I and five other close friends put on an installation after our trip to France. We called it 'This Is Not Paris' and I cracked out a stencil for a sign that we took around the college to promote it.

Isn't zat veird?



A set of collages representing the symbolism of the Eye Of Providence in Freemasonry (Check out the back of a US $1 bill). The project is called Hidden London, which is pretty lame, but allows for wide exploration. I've decided to look at the Masons because of their 'secret' status and their illusive practice that goes predominantly unnoticed.



Using four photocopies of a man-made structure on different coloured paper, we had to collage out a few images that were said to be "a million times removed" from the original. I took an image of Joe 90, as he was one of my favourite fictional child genii when I was much younger, and I love the fervent geometric qualities of the set.



Here it is, kids. The zine itself. After progressing through the massive ass-ache that was the page editing, where I had to digitally cut up the double spreads and pair each half with another from a different spread, I just printed this out at home, using pink paper to reduce the cost of raping ink. With the help of Hugh, I hand-bound the book with some sick black thread, and I'm pretty pleased with the result. Then I trimmed the edges and BLAM. So, so easy to do.

Special thanks to Franny for being my glamorous assistant/ hand model.



My outcome for a week-long project set by the illustration pathway.
Now to make it.
Heavily influenced by contemporary Swiss Design, a documentation of my work over the past two months in the form of a zine.
Everyone loves a zine. Don't they?
No, not anymore. John Snow will have one out in Concrete Hermit before you can say D.I.Y.



Today I went out on a whim to collect images of Hidden London. A pretty lame brief title, I know, but I discovered parts of New Cross/Peckham that I didn't even know existed. I just ambled in a huge circle with my camera, randomly meeting a friend on the way round.
Now the shoot is not amazing by any means, it's more of a documentation of my findings, but I did find that my 18-55mm lens, which normally takes shit photos outdoors, seemed to thrive in the dusk. Discovering the made the trek worth while. That and the chips and Fanta I had on the way back.