Zoë Martlew

Deafened by the whirling blades of the stealth chopper I check my parachute clips for the last time. Anti flak fire arcs towards us from the steaming jungle below. I shout over the din to Agent Sponberg:

“Free bowing? Phrasing? Piano trios? Quartets? Solo playing within an ensemble context?” He gives a double thumbs up. “Just as they told us in training.”

We nod and solemnly high five. “We’re going in.” We release the safety catches and jump.

This is ‘Nam. This is chamber music. Anything can happen. [Read more…] about Life, liberty and the pursuit of music

Crouching with shoulders submerged I sprint like a pre-murderous slow-mo Pistorious through hot ice blue water, bitter winds driving sulfurous steam at 1000 miles per hour across the surface of the space lagoon. Zombie heads loom through the thick fog, glued together in pairs. I’m an invincible winged god racing through the clouds, my mercurial mission sprung from the silky mud beneath my feet.

This is Iceland’s famous Blue Lagoon, and I’m getting off on the trippy hyper-speed effect of billowing steam pouring over me whilst creeping about immersed in geothermal milk. The heads belong to desperate honeymooners already bored with each other who, like me, have smothered themselves with white silica mud in the hope of becoming younger, lovelier and better paid. [Read more…] about And beauty shall reign alone

In the velvety darkness I slowly extend my right arm, feeling my way to the point of the bow, praying it won’t fall off the string into the void beyond. Suddenly my hand encounters resistance and there is a tiny tussle in the inky blackness as I struggle to disentangle my bow from an invisible counter force.

It’s alive. My legato line hiccups for an instant and I hear a small but definite snort next to me. I’m not alone. [Read more…] about Unbounded by Art

High above the rooftops of Turin, my red state of the art Mini Cooper screams around the high raked corner of the Formula One racing track, steering heavy in my gloved hands with the weight of the gold bars stashed in the boot.

Either side of me two identical minis in white and blue keep formation, a wailing police car and motorbike in hot pursuit immediately behind, the roar of our race-tuned engines almost drowning out the cacophony of the worst traffic jam in Italian history below us, carefully choreographed as part of the heist.

The getaway is going to plan. Millions of lire and a 60s fantasy girlfriend in leather mini skirt and kinky boots await me out of shot. They’re mine. All mine. [Read more…] about The Italian Job

Space station chrome doors swish shut behind us with a high tech click, penning us in the second air-locked chamber. Sharing the small glass box are about twenty-five people from every corner of the planet. They, like me, are silent. Tense. Awaiting instructions.

The other side of the glass, Japanese tourists take photos of each other in the brilliant morning sunlight, oblivious to the devotional act that is about to take place a few feet away.

Minutes pass. Time crawls. Drops drip.

Suddenly we are released into a high-ceilinged, dim, cool interior. And there it is. Quietly blazing from the wall above my head is one of the greatest works of art of our age, Leonardo Da Vinci’s Last Supper. [Read more…] about The Taste of Flight