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I popped over to Studio 1.1 in Shoreditch after work to see Deborah's latest display. She's running an exhibition with Jo Wilmot called "Men and Motors". It was excellent.
I've only seen a few of Debbie's canvases before, and most of it has been work in progress. When i got to the gallery, I had expected to see maybe half a dozen 2 x 1 foot canvases but was pleasantly surprised when i entered a back room and saw a massive - really huge - canvas of one of her works. It was amazing and had me standing there for about fifteen minutes as i tried to take it in.
The painting depicted a couple of girls smiling at a topless male reclining on a bed, with a girl in the opposite corner looking apathetic from behind a window. Although painted within a week, it was crammed full of hidden meanings than begged me to decipher them. For example, the center of the painting showed a string of hearts - an obvious metaphor - but what was not so obvious was that the central heart was the point at which the emotions of the painting sharply changed. The women on the left were in close contact, touching, with each other and smiling. There were balloons and a bright red carpet. On the other side, though, was a dark window with a girl who was obviously on the outside of everything surrounded not by hearts, but by empty bottles of wine. No party for her, quite the opposite as a matter of fact. It was no surprise either that the the topless guy in the center of the painting had his legs opened invitingly towards the two women, but had his back turned against the loner. She was also painted more "vague" than the others, making her look less defined. The painting was technically excellent as well, the faces dripping with expression. The colours were spot-on and i cannot emphasise enough how large the canvas was.
Jo Wilmot's work was different, but equally as impressive. Whereas Deborah's work focused on the human equation (cars being potrayed more as a means than an end), Jo's work was very focused on cold machinery, but with dark humour injected carefully into each painting. I was impressed at how Jo focused on the refractive qualities of the modern car headlight, drawing chaotic reflections thrown from a machine designed to be coldly precise. If you saw the headlights as the eyes of the car then the paintings took on a more anthropomorphic look - as if these expensive cars were laughing at their human counterparts. Jo's attention to perspective was flawless, and her attention to light being thrown off metal as well as reflective bodypaint (even in the dimly-lit setting) made me realise just how complex painting can be. I guess it makes the reward for recognition all the sweeter.
I left with Deborah at the end of the viewing and she took me and some of her friends down to a stylish dim sum restaurant near Shoreditch. We took time out to catch up and i felt good at having seen Deborah vindicated when someone purchased a painting of hers for £900! It was a great antidote to my usual after-work weekdays, and i highly recommend you check out the gallery (and enjoy the nearby boutiques of Brick Lane) when you get a chance.
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The Bishops Blaize, a Romsey public house familiar to me from my earlier life, has started a new trend called "grumpy hour" where people can get things off their chest in public. Personally, i think this is an excellent idea because i have a lot to say about things that annoy me, and i want other people to hear my complaints. Even if they can't do a thing about it, and didn't ask me in the first place.
Unfortunately for me, Romsey is a bit of a distance from London and involves a combination of train and bus to get there. That and Josh moved out of Romsey last year so i don't have any business going there on a weekday evening to attend this event. But if i was able to attend and if i was able to grab the mic for a few moments, i would definitely complain about the following:
- British Gas: For tagging my boiler as "unsafe" and then trying to squeeze me for five-and-a-half grand (up front) for a new boiler. Turns out the problem was down to ventilation (and not the boiler) so i'm getting that all sorted. If that wasn't enough, they cold-call me every five minutes, trying to flog me poorly-though out promotions
- Gastropubs: Renaming "mashed potatoes" to "purée'd champ" and swapping white onions for red ones in the gravy doesn't justify doubling the price. And they still partially microwave it anyway.
- The Media: People always say that this country has some of the best journalists in the world. It doesn't. Even "reputable" news organs like the Guardian and the BBC suck. Their pathetic attempts at "unbiased" reporting were highlighted particularly brutally in the trial-by-media-abortion that was the Madeleine case. If i was stuck in a room with John Simpson, Janet Street-Porter and Richard Littlejohn, i'd tear open my wrists with my own teeth.
- Chihuahuas: Want to fork out over a hundred quid for a pint-sized shitting machine? Buy a chihuahua.
- People who scream in the street when drunk: This is an increasing annoyance. I get to hear drunken people - with proper day jobs - yell and scream out in the streets after a night out on the lash. For no apparent reason. It's like they don't realise that families with little kids are trying to sleep just meters away from them. And then we get all this "why are the youth so violent these days" crap thrown back at us.
- Dragon Fruit: Possibly the coolest-looking edible foodstuff on the planet with an enticing aroma. I expected to be overwhelmed by a thousand little tasty fireworks exploding in my mouth, only to be let down by what was, basically, a tasteless variant of kiwi fruit.
Okay, i'm done with that now. I plan to spend the rest of day taking a stealth nap out on the cot in the "nurse room" and then head down to brick lane with my team for a friend's leaving curry.
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I was enjoying a nap on the bus this morning when some broad came up to me and whispered huskily in my ear "excuse me, your zipper - it is undone".
I thought this was some kind of coded message and i mumbled back "Roger one-three-oh, the horse has entered the water". Then by the time the bus had crested Waterloo bridge, i awoke realising what she had said. I checked my jeans and the fly was indeed undone. I hastily zipped myself up and then realised that i had slept with my satchel on my lap, so how the hell could she have seen my "open cage"? The mind boggles.
The weekend was good though. I went to our corporate Summer Party, dressed in a white suit that i hastily procured from a palsied Italian tailor down Bond Street. He did some alterations to the off-the-peg trousers, pausing only to flick the steel-rimmed glasses onto his nose from his bald, liverspotted pate. He also hummed gently with a mouth full of needles, a sure-fire sign of a good tailor. End result - i looked tasty and avoided anyone drinking cranberry juice.
"Paul's" barbecue in my back garden went pretty well, even if Pablo's hazy invitation did result in people trickling in and out like it was some kind of food brothel. To be fair, there was ominous signs from the start when Paul and I bought a 5 litre keg of Heineken from Sainsbury's. He bought the only one in the store without a tap and i prompty lost the receipt. This resulted in a "Fraternity Kegger"-style recovery of the beer inside (using a hammer and a screwdriver) which in turn left several of the more thirsty invitees getting showered in foamy amber ale. Mark, Char and Richie turned up loaded with Pimms equipment, and we met up with some of Pablo's current squeeze and Ian for a post-mortem down at a Underworld. Oh yeah, Sisqi turned up with her housemate Babs and they ate most of the birthday cake. They like cake.
Sunday saw me turf out the remaining posse in the early afternoon as i prepared to hook up with Adrie. I decided to give the house a bit of a clean-up to help wake me up, but i'll be honest here and tell you that i needed to take several power naps to sufficiently energise myself. I met Adrie at Kensington and took her to Bricklayer's Arms down behind where Neil works. It was a lovely venue, only slightly marred by the fact that it was the Euro final and was packed to gills with Spanish and German supporters. We managed to squeeze into a table outside and chatted for hours. Adrie's in PR which basically means she'll know if i'm lying to her.
Hey, how about this nice weather?
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I awoke at 5am this morning feeling confused and slightly hungover. As i walked to the bathroom, all around me lay evidence of a midweek night out gone awry. There were pint glasses next to my bed. Was that really my bottle of German whiskey next to the graphics tablet? Whose Oyster card was stuck to my leg? I saw Scouse sprawled out on my futon. This was clearly not a sight to be enjoyed in the cold light of a midweek morning. Flashbacks to night before indicated that me and Scouse had gone out to a live music night up in Hoxton at the Mother bar. We hooked up with Neil and his girlfriend, Melissa, whose friend had organised the event. This much i can remember. But all that used film in my camera? The purple-coloured inkstamp on my hand... The pair of red shoelaces in my jeans pocket... The smell of smoke machine on my t-shirt... this was all a mystery to me. I resolved to go back to bed and write off the entire day.
I regained consciousness again a few hours later by the sound of Scouse making washing noises in the bathroom. I dry-swallowed some ibuprofen and forced myself into the recovery position until Scouse had vacated the bathroom. Within half an hour i was reasonably presentable and felt human enough to proceed with my usual weekly discourse. We took the bus down to Waterloo and parted company, Scouse turning over my spare set of keys so that they could be passed onto Josh for his perusal while i was at work. Josh is joining me on account of his company forcing everyone to take a week's unpaid leave in order to save some money. This is not the sign of a business that is in rude health, but then again Josh gets strangely compelled to work at places that are on the brink of bankrupcy. I know this because he keeps a scrap-book of his experiences and there are a two pages in it dedicated to bounced cheques he has received in lieu of hard currency for his employment. Anyway, he has come over to spend the weekend at mine and i intend to provide him with the keys to my house so that he can come and go as he pleases while i am at work.
After alighting from the bus at Waterloo, i headed towards Southwark, brow deep in pensive thought. I decided it was the overproof rum that i had consumed in lively amounts at the bar that had lead to haziness of my recollection. Aside from remembering one of the band's lead guitarists breaking an E string in mid-performance, and being given a flyer for a dubious Hampshire event called FestiBelly, my mind was still swigged. Fortunately, i had a large breakfast awaiting me at work as well as well enough espresso to tie me over, so i feel relatively human as i type this, but i'm telling you now - the next five hours are seriously touch and go.
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Hey! Things are looking up!
First off, i found a company just around the corner from me that can fit gas vents into windows (a task that most DIY shops shy away from because it falls into the plumber/glazier realm that nobody usually requires). Not only that, but they correctly guessed that my boiler was tagged and it's only going to set me back six stretch to get the entire operation done. Then hopefully i can get a corgi plumber over to verify that the setup is safe (and maybe fix the knackered washer in the feed tank) and then my central heating will be back on track.
I spent Friday night clubbing with Pablo. We trekked up to Goodge Street the morning after and bumped into demonstrators outside the Dianetics centre. I would have liked to have hung around for longer, but Sisqi was expecting me over at the Hayward for the Psycho Buildings exhibition. It was pretty good, my favourite display being a darkened room filled with doll-sized houses, each one lit from within. I also got to meet some of Sisqi's friends. They were good people.
I also went to Bella's engagement drinks over at Putney. I took a quite detour to see if things had changed over at SonyBMG as they are due to move soon. The building was, as expected, completely empty. It's been nearly 5 years since i left there and the whole experience seems surreal. I didn't feel anything close to nostalgia, so i wandered over to the nearby Duke's Head to Bella's shindig.
I didn't really know any of Bella's friends at the event, but they all seemed really nice and a few people smiled when i was introduced, apologetically, by Bella as "Gill's Ex". I got chatting to this really foxy South African girl about her job as in PR. I was intrigued by the way she was able to switch from business-speak over to personal opinion without missing a beat. She also used a lot of hand language which indicated she was good with Metacommunication. And she had nice hands. And freckles.
Oh yeah, and i need to get some new trainers.
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Vanilla Beach 2005 ::
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