iiii Magazine is an independent arts and culture publication, based in London and Manchester. We talk about culture in the sense suggested by Francis Bacon, when he said of intellectual enrichment: 'the culture and manurance of minds’. Our approach to culture is the same: that something bright and engaging may be derived from detritus. We love cultural ephemera in particular, and despite Bacon’s near-perfect turn of phrase, it is the position of the magazine that it is not sufficient. We publish articles that stretch our assumptions of what culture can be, so long as they are forged with originality.
We place no limits on subject matter or form — we have published incisive criticism, personal essays and memoirs, humour pieces and odes to oddities — but we take as a guiding principle this from Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman (1967):
‘Always ask any questions that are to be asked […] Turn everything you hear to your own advantage. Always carry a repair outfit. Take left turns as much as possible. Never apply your front brake first’.
¶ Visit Our Shop
Support the magazine by visiting our SHOP.
~ With the help of Studio Hyte, we created a football (scarf) with no crest, no local, nor national allegiance — a garment that challenges the ugly attitudes that alienate so many from the beautiful game.
~ As well as looking fresh, your (scarf) is also doing its bit to address the aforementioned issues, with 10% of all profits raised donated to LGBT charity Stonewall (Charity number: 1101255)
¶ Work With Us
iiii Magazine is a non-profit organisation, and our modest team of editors, reporters, and social scribes work on a voluntary basis. We do have plans to address this in the future. As it is we are looking for a creative, driven individual to join the team, to help shape future editions. If you would like to work for iiii Magazine, do send a CV and a cover letter outlining the sort of role you would like to take to firstname.lastname@example.org. We will do our best to get back to you quickly.
¶ Forthcoming Editions
A Publication by iiii Magazine: A look at football culture through twenty classic kits
(crest) is a book that entwines history, design, and football culture to enliven debate about belonging — both local and national — in a fractious British and European moment. Classic football kits are artefacts highly sought after by collectors and fans alike. Is this a question of design, of a club’s success, or of nostalgia? Can it be all or none of these things? In twenty short essays by twenty writers, (crest) charts the peculiar histories of each of the 2018/19 Premier League football clubs through the lens of a prized classic kit from the past decades. The book takes football seriously at its root, and looks at how larger forces drive the sense of allegiance of football-loving individuals — what hidden personal stories make the Beautiful Game beautiful when it can seem so ugly?
Produced by iiii Magazine, (crest) will feature quality photography and minimalist design. iiii encourages deep and engaged archival research, as well as idiosyncratic and strange personal stories. Whatever the mode or the form, iiii Magazine is committed to providing generous editorial support to writers.
The online publication continues all year round, and publishes articles in three broad categories:
- Esoterica and funny writing [the stranger, more parochial, the better]
- Long-form interviews and features
- The 500 [react, respond in 500 words to an artefact, a lyric, a piece of punctuation, anything]
If your text does not fit into one of the above categories, don't fret, we just need a pitch. Please send a query or an extract from your text to email@example.com with SUBMISSION in the subject line. Work should be previously unpublished; but we will consider work under consideration elsewhere if you let us know. We are run by a team of volunteers, and thus we are unfortunately not yet in a position to offer a fee.
Please provide a short author’s bio-line which will be published under your piece. 'Algenon Overling is a fictional writer based in 12th Century Denmark. He likes to relax with his kestrel and his crossbow. Good with kids’.
Please defer to the short style guide. It not only saves on editorial nit-picking, but illustrates commitment to the publication.
- Oxford commas, yes. In lists of three or more things, include a comma between the final two, before the ‘and’ (Manchester, Leeds, and London).
- Titles of books, films, exhibitions italicised. Titles of artworks ‘Like This’ (2018).
- One space after full-stops. Always.
- ‘Use single quotation marks “except for quotes within quotes” at all times’.
- Include spaces before and after em-dashes. (I wouldn’t — but for in unlikely circumstances — consider a teacake).
- Dates: 5 May 2016 / Decades: 1980s.
- Special formatting requirements are difficult to manage on an optimised website, but we will always try to meet a writer’s needs.
Tracey Emin - A Fortnight of Tears
All laid out — the carnival of matted eyelashes, slicks of mascara, and sleep (the powdery kind), the sediments of the back of the face explode from their chambers in rest or in violence, and catch the momentous vulnerability in their pyroclastic flows: a betrayal framed forever between cruel picture-frame fingers: naked shame before or under the lens. It is a shame that travels in the channels cut by the fluids, also deplorably transmitted in the act, an alien shame which digs itself into the nape of your neck and under your teeth, in the threads of your eyes, swims unwashed in your breath, leaves its butter under your fingernails.
It is Tracey Emin’s way to give form to these feelings. The mode, so often attributed to her, of the confessional. The mode, so often mistrusted by her critics, of the self-centred. Indeed Emin does not appear to remove herself from this label (accusation?); she seems offended by the suggestion that Matisse’s cutout motifs bear a resemblance to her reclining figures — (they do) — she claims this figure is not borrowed, at least consciously, that this figure is how her animus looks. She seems enraged at the suggestion that her work about rape has taken on a new currency with #MeToo and Time’s Up, that she has always pleaded with women who have suffered sexual violence to come forward, that secrecy is worse, that (as she said at the press preview) the ‘rape of yourself is the worst rape of all’. Reliving such an event is a brutal invocation, unimaginable even to touch at a remove, but ‘hanging it from the walls’, says Emin, is to take control of it — whether that ‘it’ be the poison left there in the first instance, or, once (if?) that poison is extracted, the life it leaves behind.
Her paintings are some mixture of authority and vulnerability. I can never tell the measures. A triptych in her show A Fortnight of Tears at White Cube Bermondsey — I Watched You Disappear, Pink Ghost; I Was Too Young To Be Carrying Your Ashes; and You Were Still There — depicts three indistinct figures on bald canvas in canthaxanthin pink, crimson, and puce red; raw, and not so much hanging from the wall as exposed, as if the plaster has been pulled back to reveal bagged and bound corpses, a museum of the mined, an interior space that though given willingly by Emin, appears as if it were first invaded by others.
Shrinking from the impetus of these works — the deaths of her mother and father, her rape as a teenager, her abortion — is not an option. She binds her work too tightly to herself.
It is that she is so singular in her estimations that makes her great. She is present in every hair’s touch of the canvas, in every mottle or pore of oil. Every historian’s comparisons to de Kooning and Twombly feed only this immaculate sense of plagued self. Extracting paint from burst ducts after her Fortnight of Tears. Thrashing in molten bronze to shape The Mother, a golem that looks as if she cooled as she fell, settling in the imprint of her daughter’s bereavement.