An Ending and an Opening...

This year has been one of celebration for Elbow Room. It was our fifth birthday, and you all helped us celebrated with style. September was the release of our 18th volume and our last Elbow Room Live of the year.

Sometime during the year I came to a realisation. It is time to bring Elbow Room to a close. This is not a decision I came to lightly but it is the right choice. Elbow Room has been an incredible experience from the start and it has changed my life but it is time to start making space for new opportunities. However that does not mean this wonderful journey has to end today. Elbow Room means too much to me to simply stop, and so the plan is this…

Two more volumes.

Two more live nights.

One more year of sharing art in all guises.

One year to say goodbye to Elbow Room.

It is with this in mind that I open submissions for volumes 19 and 20. If you have ever wanted to submit to Elbow Room before, now is the time. If you have submitted before but always wanted to again, now is the time. Submissions will be accepted until midnight GMT on January 31st and the full guidelines are HERE.

2018 is going to be an amazing final year and your work is going to be the highlight. I cannot wait to see it.

 

Getting a Glimpse (Part 6)

Prize night is nearly here! I write this sitting in our gallery space awaiting the arrival of artists and their art. While I wait I thought I would share another glimpse inside our prise winning entries...

Here then is an extract from Acer saccharum (Pipeline) by Mara Adamitz Scrupe

Getting a Glimpse (Part Four)

We decided one glimpse inside our prize winning entries wasn't enough... 

So here is a second, an extract from award winning short story The Moving Room by Dominic Erskine.

He stood among a dozen rows of dusty strangers and shuffled forward a step with the rest of them.  An old man, and slow, he knew where he was but it was not clear to him how he came to be there.  He would establish a few facts. “I had a wife.  I had a life.  Munich shines. It always shines, the clear light of the plateau never leaves me now, it is as it has always been.  Munich shines.  Yes, München leuchtet.”  

One of them had mumbled.  In front of the assembly the young officer glanced up from his desk.  In this heat it was no doubt a complaint.  He undid his top button and stretched pleasurably, affecting to ignore the the downcast faces before him.  Dragging his boot heels on the bare planking, he resumed his place. “Open the door.”  The door opened on to the white gravel yard.

The old man’s revery continued: “Lovis shone too.  I picture him still with a glass of champagne in one hand and in the other his wife’s breast, as she sat on his knee, dress down to her hips, and a summer feast behind them. That’s how I remember Lovis Corinth:  that’s how he painted it!  No wonder in the end they had enough of us.’

“That must have been the last reunion.  Liebermann had come to visit, Slevogt was there, and the others.  I remember Max twirling his moustaches and the children in their sailor suits and knickers playing cache-cache, darting about like mice.  Someone had just come back from town, he told us…”  

The old man paused, he hardly knew he was speaking, none of the strangers around him seemed to be paying attention; unconcerned, perhaps.  Besides, he was only quiet.

 Pre-order the anthology today to read the rest!

The Elbow Room Prize Anthology 2016
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