Whitehead

A Conversation with

Peter Lorrimer Whitehead
By R.F. Paul
"Je m'accuse" by Penny Slinger-Hills

As an image he's sharp, eloquent, supremely ambiguous. The tricephalic Nordic God. Filmmaker, Falconer, Serial Confessor.
Author of ten novels where he keeps reopening the crypt, high on cadaverine, spaced on photographic emulsion, curator of his own mythology.

As Iain Sinclair put it:

"He passes through border

posts without leaving a trace.

He cruises with wealthy Arabs in stretch limousines. He brandishes letters from Philip on Windsor Castle stationery. And when the net closes in he

vanishes. Appearing, years

later, out of the high arctic or

the desert to reinvent his own legend."

He's always just ahead of the war zone, on the edge of the frame, at the dead center of the cyclone.