Peter Kenny
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Anything but the kitchen sink
This morning, as I cleaned up some cat sick, I found myself thinking about realism. The sick was still warm and prawny, which is the kind of detail you need if you are going to be realistic. Such details enable us to clearly imagine things. Without wanting to, for example, I’m sure you can imagine…
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Somersby Cider wobbling on the shoulders of a giant?
The Somersby Cider advert is funny, and quietly remarkable. For it relies on a knowledge of Apple stores, and the Apple brand. It is no coincidence that Apple’s fanboys and fangirls are stuck to the flypaper of creative departments everywhere. It subverts the seriousness of Apple stores, replacing customers with drinkers examining pints of cider…
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Left unsaid, negative space and Robin Houghton
My art teacher called the space around the object being painted its countershape. This is a term that seems to have fallen out of favour, but the countershape or negative space around an object can be as beautiful as the object itself, as in the sinuous darkness around the bodies or flowers in a Robert…
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I’ll have a glass of what he’s having
Last night I watched a man drink a glass of nothing. I was at a one man show* and noticed the character pour himself an occasional drink. Eventually the liquid in the prop ran out, but the actor drank on. This is something routinely seen on stage, of course, but it got me thinking about…
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The beginning of terror
Having an imagination is useful in the work I do. By an imagination I mean the part of the mind that allows me, and everyone else, to form ideas, images and concepts about things that are not right there under my nose. The imagination is morally neutral. As well as the enigmatic Mona Lisa, for…
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An exile’s lament
I am an exile, but I am not alone. Most people I know live far away from where they grew up. Though born in London, my mother moved to Guernsey to live with my grandparents when I was little. I started school on the island, and my brother was born in the old granite cottage…
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A poem finds its way
A poem is a little packet of words that makes its own way in the world and has its own story. Several years ago I was contacted by someone editing an anthology of poetry about Auschwitz, to be published in Poland, asking to include my poem Heidegger in the Forest. The poem had been published…
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Liberation Day
Guernsey was liberated on 9th May 1945, and this year one of my poems Root and Branch was beautifully read as part of a Liberation Day sermon by Dr Jonathan Frost, Bishop of Southampton. The service was featured on BBC Guernsey and you can listen here. The service starts at around 1:31 and my poem Root…
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How I became a Thatcherite
The unions broke my nose. The house lights suddenly went off, due to power workers’ industrial action, which meant I failed to dodge my brother’s playful but crunching ninja kick in the dark. It hurt like a bastard. Strikes were everywhere. In my Wembley comprehensive, not only did the teachers strike but my mate’s older…
Peter Kenny: a writer's notebook 