“It's very hard to make a statement on culture as there is culture happening every second,” muses editor-in-chief Lee Crichton and photographic curator Winter Vandenbrink of Collection of Documentaries (C.O.D.), a new magazine about to drop its first issue. “We wanted to create a culture within the pages of C.O.D. that reflects that youth worldwide has been influenced by British culture over the centuries.” Issue zero will see emerging creatives such as Dazed favourite Matt Lambert, recently featured Russian youth photographer Sonya Kydeeva and Vandenbrink himself, take over its ‘only in print’ pages, while wordsmiths such as Elizabeth Gregory pen prose (titled “Wild City”, premiered below) in honour of Blighty’s capital. “We are fascinated with it simply because Britain leads the way in youth culture – this may sound obnoxious, but it just does. We [Britain] are at the forefront of most things and magazine audiences love to flick through and relate in some way to the youthfulness of our British shores.”
Britain’s signature rebelliousness lingers within the pages of C.O.D and heads up the magazine’s own ideology, with both admitting that the main reason behind launching a ‘print only’ platform was to tackle, head first, the stale and exaggerated declaration that ‘print is dead’. “We were bored with everyone saying it,” the pair muse. “Print is not dead.” A quick search for the mag’s online presence will, in fact, prove the opposite, as their web trail is as bare as one can get in a technology-obsessed age. With its hard-to-search-for homepage (seriously, Google it and quickly find yourself sifting through a ladder of irrelevant results) signposting its launch, a nod to pre-order information and humble thanks to all its contributors. “We don't have an online presence as we are tired of the Facebook era of ‘coming soon’ – online magazines and social media are tiring. We are current because the magazine is image based – tying in with everyone's love for Instagram – but old fashioned as we are just a print publication.”
A self-confessed “long, hard journey”, the duo will be happy to see the fruits of their labour on sale today at “the coolest bookstore” Artwords in London – the only place you can get the issue until 15 February as the pair notch up the exclusivity element a couple of levels. “A lot of time went into finding the right people, we are very selective when it comes to who we choose – you only get one shot,” they reveal, with Vandenbrink researching imagery for “close to a year” before the wheels were properly set in motion. “I want people to pick up the publication and be inspired by the content and proud to have it as a collector’s item in their homes – the aim for C.O.D is to, firstly, have fun with it.”
“Wild City”, by Elizabeth Gregory
You are a different kind of wild if you are from here,
A madness that leaps across your glances,
Summersaults down your mind, down the hillside, down your mind.
I escape here to become engulfed.
Wordsworth said ' To peace so perfect,'
But there is no perfection here; no search for an ideal,
And yet peace. Sudden; Definitive; Resolute.
You are engulfed.
Here you are smaller than you; she is bigger than you;
More beautiful, more natural:
You are finally free.
Can you hear your heart beating? This time it is not the white
Charlie, Mandy, why are there so many girls at city parties?
Lonely spirits collecting together, the poison is my best friend, my
protector, my guard;
These beautiful creatures; swoon; swoon,
Perfection on a pedestal, perfect little birds in glass boxes,
Screaming and screaming and vomiting,
Yet so pretty.
City kids need medicine to be savage,
But this deep wildness, deep freedom, long winters full of silence,
The queen, always shrieking and shaking or tapping and tutting,
Creates deep hearts that hold the sky and the heavens, the rolling
Bitter reality and unbridled beauty.
These hearts raised,
Allowed to scream and run and play,
Far more wicked than city kids could ever dream of.
So I tap my phone as another boy cannot hold my strength, my
My ferocity? I don't know.
fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,
Sighing she takes another line,
Rejoins her friends for the evening.
Remember: swoon baby, swoon.
Her eyes still flash, but in a different way.
Follow Ashleigh Kane on Twitter here @ashleighkane