Jim Medway
Untitled (wall drawing) and Swan Under an iron bridge, Jim Medway’s feline predators kiss inebriated arc-lit sidewalks. Medway’s vision of Manchester echoes that of that great melancholic, Salfordian punk bard John Cooper Clarke, a consummate vernacular witness of Northern night life: The rain whips The promenade It drips on chips They turn to lard I’d
(Posts from 2004 are not complete. If you have additional information to add to the Independents Biennial Archive, please get in touch)
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