UH HUH HER

Rachel Cattle is an artist, writer, and co-editor of JOAN. Previous publications include the sonic poem La a dybird (Ma Bibliotheque, 2019), and auto-fictive text/score Witch Dance (Centre for Useless Splendour, 2017). A member of experimental sound collective BxNT, and art-writing collective We Are Publication, Rachel has broadcast, exhibited, performed and collaborated with a number of UK arts organisations including Camden Arts Centre, Tate, and the ICA in London. She holds a Contemporary Art PhD from Kingston University, and an MA in creative writing from Birkbeck, University of London. UH HUH HER is her first full-length work.

"A Summer Reading Recommendation." Frieze --------- "A gripping and beautifully written trip through the scenes from an artist's life." The Crack --------- "Loved it so much. It's as if Charlie Kaufman had a baby with Gertrude Stein." Misha Honcharenko. "UH HUH HER made me realise that when people describe a surreal dream they experienced, they're describing the life of an artist; the self-taken quest in-and-out of our control and the uncanny comfort of feeling connected to everything and everyone." Jen Calleja ---------- "An intimate, loveable and witty whirl through a life in art. Uh Huh Her is a blissful homage to Ann Quin, PJ Harvey and anyone who's picked up a purple felt tip pen in anger and love." Toby Litt -------- "Cattle weaves ways of telling that conjure a life as a canon of writers, artists, musicians, women, magically unfolding, box within box, life within life. Subtle, twisty, rich, nimble." Joanna Walsh -------- "Drawing upon early punk years through to the stresses of precarious institutional life UH HUH HER weaves avant-garde and familial influences into a compassionate, compelling and politically astute work. A delight." Anne Tallentire -------- "It is a rare thing, when a work is openly trying to figure itself out like this, right there in the process of its own making. Rare but very welcome ... When I put this book down and turn off the light, it will still be pulsing, high on its own supply, humming, whirring, continuing to read and to write itself, smiling at itself in mirrors." Paul Becker