tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-211059372011-08-15T12:14:46.579-07:00A document of London artworld events, happenings, launches and shows, with occasional magazines.russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.comBlogger1301100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1167138070706993822007-03-02T05:00:00.000-08:002007-04-09T10:41:38.995-07:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rhp6x3M8jRI/AAAAAAAAADY/Spfsk5pQ4u4/s1600-h/DSCF0029.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rhp6x3M8jRI/AAAAAAAAADY/Spfsk5pQ4u4/s400/DSCF0029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051484929099861266" /></a><br /><br />Well, let's see. What are we drinking here? Ah yes...<br />Finally. After a year of stumbling round the dirty London artworld this is where it ends. Right here, with me, on my own, hunched over the keyboard, sipping from a glass. I set out to try and make a record of what was happening over a year and, whilst knowingly inconclusive, subjective, incomplete and flawed, I've done it. Over the last 12 - 13 months I've been to over 170 private views, made 130 seperate entries on this blog, seen a great deal of art and met a whole host of artists and gallerists, dealers and writers, wannabes and willbes.<br />I wanted to write something of what is is like to be in the artworld at this time. It is, although it may be sometimes difficult to see, a love letter. To London, to the London artworld and the people, all of them, who make it happen in so many surprising and brilliant ways. We were all in it together. We were all here, trying to get along.<br />I wrote it because I wanted to tackle history without hindsght. I wanted to find out what it all looked like now and not have to wait for history to rearrange it all into something that made sense. I wanted to know who was doing what and where and what did it look like? I was looking for what was coming next, or what was just happening or what was still on the way. I wanted The New. And with this in mind, I mostly avoided the big galleries. I sniffed around the smaller independent spaces; the front rooms, the disused shops, clubs and squats.<br />I undoubtedly missed some of the the key shows of the last year. And I undoubtedly stumbled drunk through shows which may one day be regarded as turning points, beginnings of movements, or seminal moments in artists careers. Well, so be it. I set myself an impossible task and I failed and I also succeeded. <br />Anyway, this is it. <br />Or more precisely, this was now.<br /><br /> <br />Thanks to all the people who appeared in different ways in this blog. Thanks to all the people who read it. Thank you to the people who emailed me invitations to come and see what you were doing. And thank you to the people who took the time to leave comments on the blog (even the lovely person who left this <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html#comments>one</a>). <br /><br />The following is a list of all the artists, gallerists, writers and curators, and other assorted people that have been mentioned in the blog - sometimes at length, sometimes merely as a name check/drop, sometimes as something in between - with links to, wherever possible and where I could find it, their own website/blog/myspace/info/gallery page, whatever. And sometimes, where I felt it was particularly relevant, back to an entrance in this blog. Usually a link back to this blog signifies an entry that has some interest more than just a namecheck. If you are interested to see where a name appears in the blog but there is no link to it in this list type russell herron + name into any search engine. It usually gets there.<br /><br />Thanks<br /><br /><br />It's been a ride.<br /><br /><br />Russell Herron<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>Artists, Gallerists, Writers, Curators, People</strong><br /><br />David Adjaye (<a href=http://www.adjaye.com/>website</a>), Kathrine Aertebjerg (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/rokeby.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.kathrineaertebjerg.dk/>website</a>), Jonathan Allen (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.jonathanallen.info/>website</a>), Craig Andrews (<a href=http://www.naimad.co.uk/studio1-1/unsteady/index.html>info</a>), <br />Artists Anonymous (<a href=http://www.artists-anonymous.net/>website</a>), Reza Aramesh (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/changing-guard.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/faces-and-names.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rezaaramesh.com/>website</a>), Katherine Araniello and Aaron Williamson (<a href=http://www.araniello-art.com/>website</a>),<br />Simon Armstrong (<a href=http://www.myspace.com/djsimonarmstrong>myspace</a>), Matthew Arnatt (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rachmaninoffs.com/>website</a>), Michael Ashcroft (<a href=http://www.artnet.com/galleries/Exhibitions.asp?gid=423788270&cid=101293>artnet</a>), Kate Atkin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/room-at-top.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.axisweb.org/grCVFU.aspx?SELECTIONID=15347>axis</a>), Raul Ortega Ayala (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/raul-ortega-ayala-at-economist-plaza.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Raul-OrtegaAyala.asp>retitle</a>), Franko B (<a href=http://www.franko-b.com/>website</a>), Francis Bacon (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Bacon_(painter)>wikipedia</a>), Jenny Baines (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>), Jess Baines (<a href=http://www.lcc.arts.ac.uk/22833.htm>info</a>), Sarah Baker (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.sarahbaker.com/index.htm>website</a>), John Balderssari (<a href=http://www.baldessari.org/>website</a>), Oliver Bancroft (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/blowdelabarra-standpoint-whitecube.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://myweb.tiscali.co.uk/whitelies/pageswhitelies/artistbancroftmain.htm>info</a>), Bandism (<a href=http://www.myspace.com/bandism>myspace</a>), Fiona Banner (<a href=http://www.fionabanner.com/>website</a>), Sam Basu (<a href=http://www.artfacts.net/index.php/pageType/artistInfo/artist/20866>artfacts</a>), Florian Baudrexel (<a href=http://www.kunstaspekte.de/index.php?k=4734&action=webpages>info</a>), Jibby Beane (<a href=http://www.jibbybeane.com/>website</a>), Olly Beck (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/whiteness-of-transition.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/hugohector>myspace</a>), Simon Bedwell (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/sarah-and-simon-at-platform.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.btinternet.com/~brain.love/bank.html>website</a>), Maria Benjamin (<a href=http://www.guest-room.net/>guestroom site</a>), Emma Bennett (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/psst-you-wanna-buy-word-part-two.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/bats-begins.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.thesehorses.com/>website</a>), Eva Berendes (<a href=http://artnews.info/artist.php?i=569>info</a>), Ashley Biles (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/blackness-then-ron-tom-and-rem.html>blog</a>), Bjork (<a href=http://bjork.com/>website</a>), Blood 'n' Feathers (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.bloodnfeathers.co.uk/>website</a>), Ryan Board (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/yes-its-becks.html>blog</a>), John Bock (<a href=http://www.designboom.com/contemporary/bock.html>website</a>), Andrew Bonacina (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-again.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://dams.rca.ac.uk/netpub/server.np?find&site=Show2006&catalog=catalog&template=genstudentcvcca.np&field=itemid&op=matches&value=1331>info</a>), Ben Borthwick (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/this-is-kind-of-shit-that-wins-turner.html>blog</a>), Rob Bowman (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/wonky-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>), Charlotte Bracegirdle (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/silent-but-violent.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/artist_profile/Charlotte+Bracegirdle/29409.html>saatchisite</a>), Brian who works at Tate Modern (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/no-more-grey-again.html>blog</a>), Martin Bricelj (<a href=http://www.martinbricelj.com/>website</a>), Marcel Broodthaers (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Broodthaers>website</a>), Jemima Brown (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/rosy-wilde.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.romandson.com/jandd/about/htm/about01.htm>website</a>), Millie Brown (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/mmmillie>myspace</a>), Bettina Brunner (<a href=http://www.cubittartists.org.uk/>website</a>), Matt Bryans (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/01/rubbed-out.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.katemacgarry.com/matt_bryans_text.html>Kate MacGarry's site</a>), Christoph Büchel (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/cheshire-grim.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hauserwirth.com/artists/portrait.php?artist_id=35>website</a>), Chris Burden (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Burden>website</a>), Harry Burden (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/faces-and-names.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.fosterart.net/artists/participating/harryburden/index.php>website</a>), Bev Bytheway (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/curatorspacerocketmummeryredux.html>blog</a>), C.Cred (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.ccred.org/>website</a>), James Capper (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>), Brendan Michael Carey (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/russell-herrons-69-magazines.html>blog</a>), Gillian Carnegie (<a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/turnerprize/2005/gilliancarnegie.htm>tate site</a>), Luke Carson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-like-us-at-no-more-grey.html>blog</a>), Hector Castells (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/this-is-kind-of-shit-that-wins-turner.html>blog</a>), Brian Catling (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.ruskin-sch.ox.ac.uk/People/staff_detail.php?id=4>website</a>), Jake and Dinos Chapman (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jake_and_Dinos_Chapman>wikipedia</a>), Fleur Charlesworth (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/mariefleur>myspace</a>), JJ Charlesworth (<a href=http://www.jjcharlesworth.com/>website</a>), Gordon Cheung (<a href=http://www.gordoncheung.com/>website</a>), Charlotte Church (<a href=http://www.charlottechurch.com/>website</a>), Oliver Clegg (<a href=http://www.oliverclegg.com/artists.php>website</a>), Colette (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/cathy-lomax-at-stella-vine.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/rosy-wilde.html>blog</a>), Anna Colin (<a href=http://www.canalonvyner.org/>website</a>), Laura Youngson Coll (<a href=http://www.theminiatureworldsshow.co.uk/laurayoungsoncoll/index.html>jerwood site</a>), Paul Collinson (<a href=http://www.theminiatureworldsshow.co.uk/paulcollinson/index.html>jerwood site</a>), Susan Collis (<a href=http://www.17space.com/index.php?p=2&id=16>seventeen site</a>), Celine Condorelli (<a href=http://www.canalonvyner.org/>website</a>), Mario Consiglio (<a href=http://www.artnet.com/artist/424210944/mario-consiglio.html>artnet</a>), Mike Cooter (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/silent-but-violent.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.mikecooter.org/>website</a>), Matthieu Copeland (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/your-gallery-at-guardian.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/right-pile-of-wank.html>blog</a> <a href=http://www.mathieucopeland.net/>website</a>),Tom Cox-Bisham (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/lunch-at-drive-thru.html>blog</a>), Patrick Coyle (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/yujiro-opens.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/patrickcoyle>myspace</a>), Martin Creed (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/martin-creed-wants-to-be-here.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.martincreed.com/>website</a>), The Crisps (<a href=http://www.myspace.com/itsthecrisps>myspace</a>), Stuart Croft (<a href=http://www.luxonline.org.uk/artists/stuart_croft/essay(1).html>lux site</a>), Bridget Crone (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/showroom-annual.html>blog</a>), Andrew Cross (<a href=http://www.andrewcross.co.uk/>website</a>), Dorothy Cross (<a href=http://www.frithstreetgallery.com/cross.html>website</a>), Oona Culley (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/trouble-at-flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.oonaculley.com/>website</a>), Stuart Cumberland (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/room-at-top.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.katemacgarry.com/stuart_cumberland02_01.html>web</a>), Will Cunningham (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/dude-has-show.html>blog</a>), Cyclops (<a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/Artistic_Vandals_II_PR_1.html>sartorial site</a>), Tom Dale (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/george-polke-or-what-exactly-is-in.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.daletom.com/>website</a>), Karen D'Amico (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/russell-herrons-69-magazines.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/blowdelabarra-standpoint-whitecube.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://karendamico.blogspot.com/>Karen's blog</a>), Virginia Damtsa (<a href=http://www.riflemaker.org/s-index>website</a>), Charlie Danby (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/cheshire-grim.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.charliedanby.co.uk/read/CHARLES+DANBY>website</a>), Matthew Darbyshire (<a href=http://www.canalonvyner.org/>website</a>), Sam Dargan (<a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/matrix_engine/content.php?page_id=365>rokeby site</a>), Christopher Davies (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/chrisdavies_statement.html>sartorial site</a>), Liz Dawson (<a href=http://www.theminiatureworldsshow.co.uk/elizabethdawson/index.html>jerwood site</a>), Guy Days (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/punks-not-dead.html>blog</a>), Richard Dedomenici (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/did-priya-pathak-ever-get-her-wallet.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.dedomenici.co.uk/>website</a>), Jeremy Deller (<a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/turnerprize/2004/deller.shtm>tate site</a>), Andrew Graham Dixon (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/yes-its-becks.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Graham-Dixon>wiki site</a>), Graham Dolphin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/seventeen-jerwood-art-monthly.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.grahamdolphin.co.uk/>website</a>), Douglas the bar (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/trouble-at-flaca.html>blog</a>), Sarah Doyle (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/artist-eats-swan.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/polite-party-in-two-halves.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/whiteness-of-transition.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.purestarproducts.com/>website</a>), Sarah Dwyer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-like-us-at-no-more-grey.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.sarahdwyer.net/>website</a>), Jamie Eastman (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/night-out-with-flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/russell-herrons-69-magazines.html>blog</a>), Hugh Edmeades (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>), Lee Edwards (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/silent-but-violent.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=63671942>myspace</a>), Einsturzende Neubauten (<a href=http://www.neubauten.org/>website</a>), David Ellis (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/crash-report-1983-2006.html>blog</a>), Kate Ellis (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/03/bad-then-good.html>blog</a>), Tom Ellis (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/flaca.html>blog</a>), Tracey Emin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/little-bit-of-frieze.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/tracey_emin.htm>saatchi site</a>), Simon English (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/cheshire-grim.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.fred-london.com/index.php?mode=artists&id=5&PHPSESSID=34045fac81a4b6f07a6a24329b0b7733>Fred site</a>), David Ersser (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/blowdelabarra-standpoint-whitecube.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.17space.com/index.php?p=2&id=4>seventeen site</a>), Ekow Eshun (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/private-staff-only.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ekow_Eshun>wiki</a>), Clare Evans (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/private-staff-only.html>blog</a>), Cerith Wyn Evans (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/cerith-wyn-evans-in-black-and-white.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/triennial/artists/wynevans.htm>tate site</a>), Flora Fairbairn (<a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/blogon/2007/03/laura_k_jones_interviews_flora_1.php>saatchi site</a>), Abigail Fallis (<a href=http://www.open2.net/newbrit/pages/casestudies/fallis_intro.htm>bbc site</a>), Tessa Farmer (<a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/tessa_farmer.htm>saatchi site</a>), Tatiana Echeverri Fernandez (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tatiana_Echeverri_Fernandez>wiki site</a>), Doug Fishbone (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/doug-fishbone-at-seventeen.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Doug-Fishbone.asp>website</a>), Craig Fisher (<a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/matrix_engine/content.php?page_id=394&image=710>rokeby site</a>), Ceal Floyer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/gimpel-fils-and-ceal-floyers-helix-2.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.lissongallery.com/artistDisplay.asp?ArtistID=39>Lisson site</a>), Josephine Flynn (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/right-pile-of-wank.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.axisweb.org/ofSARF.aspx?SELECTIONID=116>axisweb</a>), James R Ford (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.jamesrobertford.com/>website</a>), Laura Oldfield Ford (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/5-go-to-39-to-see-54.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/faces-and-names.html>blog</a>), Melissa Franklin (<a href=http://www.canalonvyner.org/>website</a>), Joe Frazer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/truck-art.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.truckart.org/>website</a>), Carl Freedman (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/little-bit-of-frieze.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.countergallery.com/contact.htm>counter website</a>), Katharina Fritsch (<a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/fritsch/default.htm>tate site</a>), Ellen Gallagher (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/ellen-gallagher-at-hauser-and-wirth.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.pbs.org/art21/artists/gallagher/index.html>art 21 site</a>), Ryan Gander (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-again.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/slightly-floored.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/right-pile-of-wank.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.storegallery.co.uk/artists/gander/>store site</a>), Francesca Gavin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/he-wants-to-make-world-better-place.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/trouble-at-flaca.html>blog</a>), Ana Genoves (<a href=http://www.pilotlondon.org/artists/details.php?id=147&year=2004>pilot site</a>), Gilbert and George (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilbert_and_George>wiki site</a>), Antonio Gianasi (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Antonio-Gianasi.asp>website</a>), Sarah Gilham (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>blog</a>), Liam Gillick (<a href=http://www.corvi-mora.com/liamgillick.php>corvi mora site</a>), Kirsten Glass (<a href=http://www.halesgallery.com/glass_overview.php>Hales website</a>), David Gleeson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/ceal-floyer-at-giorgios.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/seventeen-jerwood-art-monthly.html>blog</a>), Michel Gondry (<a href=http://www.michelgondry.com/>website</a>), Dryden Goodwin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/01/east-end-runaround.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.drydengoodwin.com/>website</a>), Douglas Gordon (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douglas_Gordon>wiki</a>), Paul Gorman (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/russell-herrons-69-magazines.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/rockpopfashion>website</a>), Anthony Gormley (<a href=http://www.antonygormley.com/>website</a>), Michelle Grabner (<a href=http://www.rocketgallery.com/in_mg.html>rocket site</a>), Andrew Grassie (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/something-ive-been-meaning-to-tell-you.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.speronewestwater.com/cgi-bin/iowa/artists/record.html?record=121>sperone westwater site</a>), Andrea Gregson (<a href=http://www.creeksideartists.co.uk/html/artists/andreagregson/andreagregson_galleryframeset.html>creekside site</a>), Beth Greenacre (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>), <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/knives-are-out-at-rokeby.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/>website</a>), Ed Greenacre (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/graham-hudson.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/>website</a>), Nigel Grimmer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/everything-must-go.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/nigels-big-night.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.nigelgrimmer-fanclub.com/>website</a>), Lucy Gunning (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/artnow/lucygunning/default.shtm>tate site</a>), Nick Hackworth (<a href=http://www.paradiserow.com/gallery/index.html>website</a>), Matt Hale (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/yujiro-opens.html>blog</a>), Trevor Hall (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/wonky-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>), Lesley Halliwell (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.lesleyhalliwell.co.uk/>website</a>), Nathalie Hambro (<a href=http://www.fullofchic.com/>website</a>), Chris Hammond (<a href=http://www.motinternational.org/>website</a>), Paul Harfleet (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.thepansyproject.com/>website</a>), Ellie Harrison (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.ellieharrison.com/>website</a>), Lucy Harrison (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.lucy-harrison.co.uk/>website</a>), Matthew Harrison (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/freezing-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/pages/mattharr.html>associates website</a>), Claire Harvey (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/dude-has-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.storegallery.co.uk/exhibitions/harvey-2004/>store site</a>), Eric Hattan (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/yujiro-opens.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.filialebasel.ch/hattan/microsoft_start.htm>website</a>), John Hayward/Hayvend (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/let-them-eat-cake.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hayvend.com/>website</a>), Nadia Hebson ( <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/whiteness-of-transition.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Nadia-Hebson.asp>website</a>), Celia Hempton (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>), Knut Henrik Henriksen (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/haddock.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hollybushgardens.co.uk/index.php?id=86&title=KNUT%20HENRIK%20HENRIKSEN>website</a>), Russell Herron (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/russell-herrons-69-magazines.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a> <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/george-polke-or-what-exactly-is-in.html>blog</a> <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/closing-drinks-for-grotto.html>blog</a> <a href=http://www.myspace.com/russell_herron>myspace</a>), Angie Hicks (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://angiehicks.co.uk/>website</a>), Damien Hirst (<a href=http://www.artnet.com/artist/8315/damien-hirst.html>artnet</a>), Jens Hoffmann (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/surprise-surprise.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/cerith-wyn-evans-in-black-and-white.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/private-staff-only.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jens_Hoffmann>wiki</a>), Emma Holden (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/rokeby-vs-mark-moore.html>blog</a>), Will Holder (<a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/first.html>associates site</a>), Sigrid Holmwood (<a href=http://www.sigridholmwood.co.uk/>website</a>), Matthew Holroyd (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/vaguepaper>myspace</a>), Gemma Holt (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/slightly-floored.html>blog</a>), Paul Hosking (<a href=http://www.fred-london.com/index.php?mode=exhibitions&id=15&PHPSESSID=228bf9fd1c49b577511c2bf83cc64cc6>Fred site</a>), Dave Hoyland (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/everything-must-go.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/raul-ortega-ayala-at-economist-plaza.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>website</a>), Graham Hudson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/everything-must-go.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/graham-hudson.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/build-it-and-they-will-come.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/this-is-kind-of-shit-that-wins-turner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/matrix_engine/content.php?page_id=920>rokeby site</a>), Richard Hughes (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/showroom-annual.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.themoderninstitute.com/artists/r_hughes/index.php>modern inst site</a>), Mustafa Hulusi (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/01/mustafa-hulusi.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html></a>, <a href=http://www.mustafahulusi.com/>website</a>), Gary Hume (<a href=http://www.whitecube.com/artists/hume/>white cube site</a>), Tom Humphreys (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/night-out-with-flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/yes-its-becks.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.flaca.co.uk/>website</a>), Adam Humphries (<a href=http://www.artfacts.net/index.php/pageType/artistInfo/artist/62507>artfacts site</a>), John Isaacs (<a href=http://www.aeroplastics.net/John_Isaacs/intro.html>website</a>), Hilary Jack (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hilaryjack.blogspot.com/>website</a>), James the bar (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-like-us-at-no-more-grey.html>blog</a>), Anna-Karin Jansson (<a href=http://www.transitiongallery.co.uk/htmlpages/wotw.htm>transition site</a>), James Jessop (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/12/sartorial-artistic-vandals-ii.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/James_Recent_Works.html>sartorial site</a>), Jasper Joffe (<a href=http://www.jasperjoffe.com/newindex.htm>website</a>), Daffyd Jones (<a href=http://www.dafjones.com/>website</a>), Reece Jones (<a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Reece-Jones.asp>website</a>), Jay Jopling (<a href=http://www.whitecube.com/>website</a>), Brian Jungen (<a href=http://www.nativeonline.com/brian.htm>nativeonline site</a>), Katsonobu (<a href=http://www.corkingproject.com/#>corking site</a>), Tony Kaye (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Kaye_(director)>wiki</a>), the Keith Talent boys, Simon and Andrew (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/little-bit-of-frieze.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.keithtalent.com/>website</a>), Ellsworth Kelly (<a href=http://www.guggenheimcollection.org/site/artist_bio_72.html>Guggenheim site</a>), Mike Kelley (<a href=http://www.mikekelley.com/>site</a>), Sarah Kent (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/seventeen-jerwood-art-monthly.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.iniva.org/archive/person/620>iniva site</a>), Calum F Kerr (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/office-politix.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/seeds.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/CalumF-Kerr.asp>website</a>), Tobie Kerridge (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/everything-must-go.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.virtueelplatform.nl/person-3123-en.html>website</a>), Annie Kevans (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/annie-kevans-studio-11.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.anniekevans.com/>website</a>), Neill Kidgell (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/silent-but-violent.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/neill_k>myspace</a>), Martin Kippenberger (<a href=http://wwar.com/masters/k/kippenberger-martin.html>website</a>), Sharon Kivland (<a href=http://www.sharonkivland.com/>website</a>), Tim Knowles (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/schoolgirl-crushes.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.timknowles.co.uk/>website</a>), Cressida Kocienski (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/circumstantial_avalanche>myspace</a>), Meiro Koizumi (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/touch-video-art.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.artfacts.net/index.php/pageType/artistInfo/artist/20482>artfacts site</a>), Rem Koolhaas (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/blackness-then-ron-tom-and-rem.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.greatbuildings.com/architects/Rem_Koolhaas.html>great buildings site</a>), Jeff Koons (<a href=http://www.jeffkoons.com/index_flash.html>website</a>), Thomas Kratz (<a href=http://www.veracortes.com/pdf/past/dead_hare.pdf>web</a>), Shay Kun (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/christian-marclay-white-cube-yeah-heard.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.shaykun.com/index.html>website</a>), Jari Lager (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/everything-must-go.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.vtogallery.com/>web</a>), James Lambert (<a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=94070521>myspace</a>), Jim Lambie (<a href=http://www.themoderninstitute.com/artists/j_lambie/index.shtml>modern inst site</a>), Andrew Lampert (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-and-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.ubu.com/film/lampert.html>site</a>), Philip Lai (<a href=http://www.stuartshavemodernart.com/lai.php>modern art site</a>), Bill Leslie (<a href=http://www.thesehorses.com>website</a>), Simon Linke (<a href=http://www.oneintheother.com/artists/linke/linkethumb.htm>website</a>), The Little Artists (<a href=http://www.littleartist.co.uk/>website</a>), Hew Locke (<a href=http://www.hewlocke.net/>website</a>), Cathy Lomax (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/cathy-lomax-at-stella-vine.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.transitiongallery.co.uk/htmlpages/girl_on_girl/cathy_lomax.html>transition site</a>), London Improvisers Orchestra (<a href=http://www.emanemdisc.com/E4203.html>website</a>), SR London (<a href=http://bak.spc.org/hayvend/press/pages/sr.html>web</a>), Liza Lou (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/room-at-top.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.deitch.com/artists/sub.php?artistId=14>Deitchsite</a>), Richard Louderback (<a href=http://www.museum52.com/index2.php?page=artists&a=7>museum 52 site</a>), Anne Low (<a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/pages/TempMea.html>associates site</a>), Sarah Lucas (<a href=http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/collective/A6641318>collective site</a>), Luci, Richard Dedomenici's girlfriend (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/12/dedomenici-gets-studio-like-real.html>blog</a>), Paul McCarthy (<a href=http://www.ralphmag.org/CE/mccarthy.html>ralph mag site</a>), Tom McCarthy (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/blackness-then-ron-tom-and-rem.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.physicsroom.org.nz/log/archive/14/mccarthy/>interview</a>), Sarah McCrory (<a href=http://www.canalonvyner.org/>website</a>), Peter McDonald (<a href=http://www.museum52.com/pages/bio.php?a=30>museum 52 site</a>), Mark McGowan (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/annie-kevans-studio-11.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/artist-eats-swan.html>blog</a> , <a href=http://www.markmcgowan.org/>website</a>), Alastair Mackie (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/rokeby-vs-mark-moore.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/schoolgirl-crushes.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.alastairmackie.com/>website</a>), Nina Madden (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/night-out-with-flaca.html>blog</a>), Fred Mann (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.fred-london.com/>website</a>), Christian Marclay (<a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yqM3dAqTzs>youtube</a>), Rebecca May Marston (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-and-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-again.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/slightly-floored.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/freezing-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a>), Helen Mason (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/emma-and-helen-leave.html>blog</a>), Matt the barperson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/room-at-top.html>blog</a>), Bob Matthews (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.gregorylindgallery.com/artists/matthews/>web info</a>), Flavia Muller Medeiros (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.flaviamullermedeiros.com/>website</a>), Ron Meerbeek (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/annie-kevans-studio-11.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/blackness-then-ron-tom-and-rem.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.motherstudios.co.uk/a_rmeer.htm>web</a>), Sebastian Mekas (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/5-go-to-39-to-see-54.html>blog</a>), Hugh Mendes (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/12/sartorial-artistic-vandals-ii.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hughmendes.com/>website</a>), Gretta Safarty Merchant (<a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/>website</a>), Alex Michon (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/russell-herrons-69-magazines.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.transitiongallery.co.uk/htmlpages/girl_on_girl/alex_michon.html>transition site</a>), Minkoff and Olesen (<a href=http://www.artpool.hu/ketseg/5-1-2/artist/MINKOFF.html>info web</a>), Jo Mitchell (<a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/Concerto+for+Voice+&amp%3B+Machinery+II+12871.twl>ica</a>), The Mixed Up Insects (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/bird-horse-or-muffin.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/themixedupinsects>myspace</a>), Catherine Morland (<a href=http://re-title.com/artists/catherine-morland.asp>website</a>), Jack Morton (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/tom-morton-and-tom-mortons-mum-and-dad.html>blog</a>), Tom Morton (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/tom-morton-and-tom-mortons-mum-and-dad.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.frieze.com/column_single.asp?c=304>interview</a>), Mr P (<a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/past_exhibitions.html>sartorial site</a>), Charlie Murphy (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/12/dedomenici-gets-studio-like-real.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.charliemurphy.co.uk/kiss/>website</a>), Rosalind Nashashibi (<a href=http://www.doggerfisher.com/artists/artistdetail.php?id=56>doggerfisher site</a>), Nathan 80 (<a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/>sartorial site</a>), Mike Nelson (<a href=http://www.friezeartfair.com/biographies/Mike_Nelson.htm>frieze</a>), Nick, Dave's business partner at Seventeen (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/blowdelabarra-standpoint-whitecube.html>blog</a>), Warren Neidich (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/room-at-top.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/spring-is-sprung-at-showroom.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/your-gallery-at-guardian.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/finissage.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.mediachannel.org/arts/perspectives/neidich/index.shtml>web</a>), Lena Nix (<a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/lena-nix.asp>website</a>), Gavin Nolan (<a href=http://www.myspace.com/gavinnolan>myspace</a>), Benn Northover aka Beautiful Boy (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/crash-report-1983-2006.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/5-go-to-39-to-see-54.html>blog</a>), O.two (<a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/past_exhibitions.html>sartorial site</a>), Dermot O'Brien (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/curatorspacerocketmummeryredux.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.dermotobrien.net/home3.htm>website</a>), Hans Ulrich Obrist (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/mike-kelley-at-gagosian.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.aaschool.ac.uk/library/obrist.pdf>books by</a>), Gary O'Connor (<a href=http://www.re-title.com/exhibitions/CuratorSpace.asp>about a show</a>), Kirsty Ogg (<a href=http://www.theshowroom.org/>website</a>), Louise O'Hare (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/george-polke-or-what-exactly-is-in.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.trebuchet-magazine.com/mainsite/index.php?/pages/louiseohare.html>trebuchet mag</a>), Ed Oliver (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/yujiro-opens.html>blog</a>), Sally O'Reilly (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/graham-hudson.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.axisweb.org/ofADVP.aspx?AID=169>info</a>), Christopher Orr (<a href=http://www.ibidprojects.com/ibid.php?id=1776>ibid site</a>), Kevin Osmond (<a href=http://www.kevinosmond.com/index.html>website</a>), Simon Ould (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/annie-kevans-studio-11.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/dude-has-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/no-more-grey-again.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/touch-video-art.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/tom-morton-and-tom-mortons-mum-and-dad.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/03/bad-then-good.html>blog</a>), Djordje Ozbolt (<a href=http://www.canalonvyner.org/>website</a>), Matt Packer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/ice-trade-or-what-you-dont-know-wont.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.glucksman.org./people.htm>website</a>), Maureen Paley (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/modern-maureen-crave-madder.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/something-ive-been-meaning-to-tell-you.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.maureenpaley.com/>website</a>), Lisa Panting (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/haddock.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hollybushgardens.co.uk/>website</a>), Seb Patane (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/modern-maureen-crave-madder.html>blog</a>), Simon Patterson (<a href=http://www.iniva.org/archive/person/201>iniva archive</a>), Mark Pawson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.mpawson.demon.co.uk/>website</a>), Pearse the Barperson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/rokeby.html>blog</a>), Pearse's brother (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/schoolgirl-crushes.html>blog</a>), Lisa Penny (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/annie-kevans-studio-11.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/nigels-big-night.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/graham-hudson.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/lunch-at-drive-thru.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://apartmentmanchester.blogspot.com/search/label/Lisa%20Penny>apartment site</a>), Giles Perry (<a href=http://www.newcontemporaries.org.uk/artist_single.php?aid=1317>new contemporaries</a>), Holly Pester (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/bats-begins.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/george-polke-or-what-exactly-is-in.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/batsart>myspace</a>), Raymond Pettibon (<a href=http://2ndthought.net/raymondpettibon/gallery.htm>website</a>), Sarah Pickering (<a href=http://www.sarahpickering.co.uk/>website</a>), Paul Pieroni (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/03/bad-then-good.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/paulpieroni>myspace</a>), Anne Pigalle (<a href=http://www.annepigalle.com/>website</a>), Cathie Pilkington (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.marlboroughfineart.com/artists/view.asp?id=122>web info</a>), Olivia Plender (<a href=http://www.axisweb.org/seCVPG.aspx?ARTISTID=9831>web</a>), Chong Boon Pok (<a href=http://www.imagemusictext.com/archive/pokseah.html>imt site</a>), George Polke (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/george-polke-or-what-exactly-is-in.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.georgepolke.co.uk/>website</a>), Polite Cards (<a href=http://www.politecards.com/>website</a>), Christiane Pooley (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/no-more-grey-again.html>blog</a>), Simon Popper (<a href=http://www.whitechapelprojectspace.org.uk/pabloetal.htm>project</a>), William Powhida (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/little-bit-of-frieze.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.williampowhida.com/powhida_final/index.htm>website</a>), Sara Preibsch (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/wonky-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>), Adele Prince (<a href=http://www.adeleprince.com/>website</a>), Richard Prince (<a href=http://nymag.com/nymetro/arts/art/11815/>nymag site</a>), Harry Pye (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-like-us-at-no-more-grey.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/rosy-wilde.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/through-large-glass-at-three-colts.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/artist-eats-swan.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/harry-pye-harry-pye-harry-pye.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/tom-morton-and-tom-mortons-mum-and-dad.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/mrharrypye>myspace</a>), Martha Pym (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/gimpel-fils-and-ceal-floyers-helix-2.html>blog</a>), Emma Quinn (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/spring-is-sprung-at-showroom.html>blog</a>), Jacques Ranciere (<a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques_Ranci%C3%A8re>wiki</a>), Olivia-Jane Ransley (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://almost-something.com/artists#olivia-jane_ransley>flux factory</a>), Niru Ratnam (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/dude-has-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/slightly-floored.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.storegallery.co.uk/>store</a>), Brian Reed (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/bargain-basement.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.17space.com/index.php?p=2&id=23>seventeen site</a>), Vic Reeves (<a href=http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/profiles/vic_reeves.shtml>bbc site</a>), Clunie Reid (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/trouble-at-flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.brooklynrail.org/2006/9/artseen/report-london-92006>brooklyn rail review</a>), Richard Reid, the shoebomber (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/harry-pye-harry-pye-harry-pye.html>blog</a>), Mari Reijnders (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/from-navels-to-nipples.html>blog</a>), Mandla Reuter (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://fourdublin.com/mandlareuterart.htm>web</a>), Joseph Richards (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://web.mac.com/warmtarmac/iWeb/site/Home.html>website</a>), Boo Ritson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/rokeby-vs-mark-moore.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/boo_ritson.htm>saatchi site</a>), Jo Robertson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/jorobertsonblood39n39feathers>website</a>), James Rosenquist (<a href=http://www.jimrosenquist-artist.com/>website</a>), Dieter Roth (<a href=http://www.moma.org/exhibitions/2004/dieterroth/flash.htm>moma site</a>), Paula Roush (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/he-wants-to-make-world-better-place.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.msdm.org.uk/>msdm</a>), Rob Ryan (<a href=http://www.misterrob.co.uk/>website</a>), Giorgio Sadotti (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/from-navels-to-nipples.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/lunch-at-drive-thru.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/yujiro-opens.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/ceal-floyer-at-giorgios.html>blog</a>), Micheal Sailstorfer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/yujiro-opens.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.sailstorfer.com/start.htm>website</a>), Rafael Sanchez (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/dude-has-show.html>blog</a>), Sarah Scarsbrook (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/wonky-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://amd.uwe.ac.uk/index.asp?pageid=1089>bristol site</a>), Joe Schneider (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/private-staff-only.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.joeschneider.co.uk/>website</a>), Collier Schorr (<a href=http://www.papercoffin.com/writing/articles/schorr.html>info web</a>), Rose Scott (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/tom-morton-and-tom-mortons-mum-and-dad.html>blog</a>), Liam Scully (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/bargain-basement.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.eventnetwork.org.uk/programme/exhibitions/290>web</a>), Tino Sehgal (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/psst-you-wanna-buy-word.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/tino-sehgal.html>blog</a>), Dallas Seitz (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/curatorspacerocketmummeryredux.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/through-large-glass-at-three-colts.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/your-gallery-at-guardian.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/bargain-basement.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.pilotlondon.org/artists/image.php?img_id=286>by Sarah Baker</a>), Frank Selby (<a href=http://www.museum52.com/index2.php?page=artists&a=22>museum 52 site</a>), Martin Sexton (<a href=http://sartorialart.com/martin_statement.html>sartorial site</a>), Chris Shepherd (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/truck-art.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.slinkypics.com/>slinky site</a>), Cindy Sherman (<a href=http://www.cindysherman.com/>website</a>), Noah Sherwood (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.artfacts.net/index.php/pageType/artistInfo/artist/78359>artfacts</a> ), Jamie Shovlin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/schoolgirl-crushes.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/jamie_shovlin.htm>saatchi site</a>), David Shrigley (<a href=http://www.davidshrigley.com/>website</a>), Jason Shulman (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/modern-maureen-crave-madder.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.24hourmuseum.org.uk/nwh_gfx_en/ART41784.html>web info</a>), Daniel Sinsel (<a href=http://www.sadiecoles.com/sinsel.html>sadie cole's site</a>), Mark Sladen (<a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/Mark+Sladen+appointed+as+ICA+Director+Of+Exhibitions+12388.twl>ica</a>), Florian Slotawa (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/modern-maureen-crave-madder.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m0268/is_1_41/ai_91202166>website</a>), Bob and Roberta Smith (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/sarah-and-simon-at-platform.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/polite-party-in-two-halves.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://home.clara.net/sg/bob_and_roberta_smith/>website</a>), Matthew Smith (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-again.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.storegallery.co.uk/artists/matthew%20smith/>store site</a>), Rowland Smith (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/harry-pye-harry-pye-harry-pye.html>blog</a>), Steph Smith (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/da-da-da.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/dagallery>myspace</a>), Steve Smith (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/he-wants-to-make-world-better-place.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/whiteness-of-transition.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.nooza.blogspot.com/>Steve's blog</a>), Terry Smith (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.matthewbown.com/artists%26pages/incidents/index.html>matthew bown site</a>), Rosie Spencer (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/seventeen-jerwood-art-monthly.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/closing-drinks-for-grotto.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.icon-magazine.co.uk/contact/contact.htm>icon mag</a>), Malin Stahl (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/haddock.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hollybushgardens.co.uk/>website</a>), Simon Starling (<a href=http://www.themoderninstitute.com/artists/s_starling/index.shtml>modern inst site</a>), Georgina Starr (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/faces-and-names.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/return-of-georgina-starr-or-theda.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.georginastarr.com/>website</a>), Sarah Staton (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/sarah-and-simon-at-platform.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.sarahstaton.com/>website</a>), Lucy Stein (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.bloodnfeathers.co.uk/>blood n feathers</a>), John Stezaker (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/01/east-end-runaround.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.theapproach.co.uk/jstezaker.html>approach site</a>), Kate Street (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/01/up-your-street.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/closing-drinks-for-grotto.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.katestreet.co.uk/>website</a>), summerholiday.tv (<a href=http://www.summerholiday.tv/>website</a>), John Summers (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/dude-has-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/blowdelabarra-standpoint-whitecube.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/lunch-at-drive-thru.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/John-Summers.asp>website</a>), Superqueens (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/from-navels-to-nipples.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.thisissuperqueens.net/>website</a>), Ricky Swallow (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/faces-and-names.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/trouble-at-flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.hamishmckaygallery.com/artist_home.php?artist=Ricky%20Swallow>gallery info</a>), Marcus Sweeney (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/gimpel-fils-and-ceal-floyers-helix-2.html>blog</a>), Neil Tait (<a href=http://www.whitecube.com/artists/tait/>white cube</a>), Tomoko Takahashi (<a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/turnerprize/history/takahashi.htm>tate site</a>), Tatty Devine (Rosie and Harriet) (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/all-fun-of-circus-show.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.tattydevine.com/>website</a>), Neil Taylor (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/trouble-at-flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.campbellworks.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/aboutus.htm>website</a>), Jen Thatcher (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.kultureflash.net/>kultureflash</a>), Russell Thoburn (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/03/bad-then-good.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.russellthoburn.com/>website</a>), Barry Thompson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/barry-thompson-at-rachmaninoffs.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/no-more-grey-again.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/silent-but-violent.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/through-large-glass-at-three-colts.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rachmaninoffs.com/publish/rachmaninoffs_artists_barry_thompson.htm>rachmaninoff's site</a>), Matthew Thompson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/mia-at-mot.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.motinternational.org/matthew_thompson.html>MOT</a>), Mimei Thompson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.mimeithompson.com/>website</a>), Karina Thoren and John Chantler (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.room40.org/releases-chantlerfunction.shtml>recording</a>), Ross Tibbles (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-and-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.stuartshavemodernart.com/exhibitions.php>modern art site</a>), Wolfgang Tillmans (<a href=http://www.yvonneforceinc.com/yfinew/tillmans.htm>images</a>), John Tiney (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/lunch-at-drive-thru.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.transitiontradition.com/magazine_article_pic.php?article_id=55>drive thru</a>), Wawrzyniec Tokarski (<a href=http://www.artcontemporain.lu/site/index.php?s=14&a=9&SID=46dd63de3c269013d944fdadac4d5f92>web info</a>), Sue Tompkins (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.themoderninstitute.com/artists/s_tompkins/index.shtml>modern inst site</a>), William Tuck (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/12/sartorial-artistic-vandals-ii.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.artnet.com/Galleries/Exhibitions.asp?gid=141334&cid=108822&source=2&type=2>artnet</a>), Gavin Turk (<a href=http://www.artnet.com/artist/16873/gavin-turk.html>artnet</a>), Rachel Tweddell (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/corpsing-at-curatorspace.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/from-navels-to-nipples.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://apartmentmanchester.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html>apartment</a>), Simon Tyszko (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/bill-viola-at-haunch-of-venison.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.phlight.org/>phlight site</a>), Sally Underwood (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/sarah-and-simon-at-platform.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Sally-Underwood.asp>artnet</a>), Donald Urquhart (<a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/donald_urquhart.htm>saatchi site</a>), Lillian Vaule (<a href=http://www.flaca.co.uk/artists/lillian_vaule.html>flaca</a>), Gabriel Acevedo Velarde (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/eastsidewestsideunderground.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.theagencygallery.co.uk/gabrielacevedo.html>agency</a>), Julie Verhoeven (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/seeds.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.designerhistory.com/historyofashion/verhoeven.html>website</a>), Stella Vine (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-like-us-at-no-more-grey.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/07/cathy-lomax-at-stella-vine.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/rosy-wilde.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.stellavine.com/>website</a>), Bill Viola (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/bill-viola-at-haunch-of-venison.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.billviola.com/>website</a>), Banks Violette (<a href=http://www.teamgal.com/violette/>website</a>), Jessica Voorsanger (<a href=http://www.bway.net/~modcult/jvresume.html>modern culture</a>), Zoe Walker and Neil Bromwich (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.walkerandbromwich.org.uk/>website</a>), Simon Wallis (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/summers-end.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.chisenhale.org.uk/>website</a>), Andy Warhol (<a href=http://www.warhol.org/>warhol museum</a>), Jonathan Wateridge (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/cheshire-grim.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.davidrisleygallery.com/waterimgs.htm>david risley site</a>), Cecilia Wee (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/what-will-it-look-like-when-its.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/11/bird-horse-or-muffin.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/ice-trade-or-what-you-dont-know-wont.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.ceciliawee.com/blog/>website</a>), Anuschka Weise (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/02/5-go-to-39-to-see-54.html>blog</a>), Mark Westall (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/bill-viola-at-haunch-of-venison.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.fadwebsite.com/>website</a>), Michael Whittle (<a href=http://www.transitiongallery.co.uk/htmlpages/baroque/bmw_mw.html>transition site</a>), Virgil Widrich (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/da-da-da.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Td6UObEEaQQ>youtube</a>), David Wilkinson (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/lunch-at-drive-thru.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://apartmentmanchester.blogspot.com/search/label/David%20Wilkinson>apartment site</a>), Bedwyr Williams (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/yes-its-becks.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/becks-performance.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.bedwyrwilliams.com/>website</a>), Nicola Williams (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/no-more-grey-again.html>blog</a>), Robbie Williams (<a href=http://www.robbiewilliams.com/>website</a>), Rosemary Williams (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/something-ive-been-meaning-to-tell-you.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.rosemarygoestothemall.com/>website</a>), Sarah Williams (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/miniature-worlds-jerwood.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.myspace.com/williamssuggitt>myspace</a>), Rebecca Wilson (<a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/>saatchi site</a>), Sol Le Witt ( <a href=http://www.crownpoint.com/artists/lewitt/>website</a>), Roman Wolgin (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/wonky-in-hoxton.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.aliceday.be/Roman-Wolgin.html>website</a>), Ben Woodeson ( <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/posh-west-then-free-for-all-on-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/mia-at-mot.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/associates-and-vyner.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.woodeson.co.uk/>website</a>), Clare Woods (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/09/summers-end.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://stuartshavemodernart.com/woods.php>modern art</a>), Tom Woolner (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/flaca.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.tomwoolner.com/>website</a>), Liz Wright (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/10/ceal-floyer-at-giorgios.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ArtistWorks?cgroupid=999999961&artistid=2774&page=1>tate</a>), Angus Wyatt (<a href=http://www.newcontemporaries.org.uk/artist_single.php?aid=225>new contemporaries</a>), Mary Yacoob (<a href=http://www.mary-yacoob.com/>website</a>), Haegue Yang (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/02/hot-and-cold-in-hackney.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.heikejung.de/Haegue/lists_of_works.html>works by</a>), Kiyoshi Yasuda (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/he-wants-to-make-world-better-place.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.17space.com/index.php?p=3&id=9>seventeen site</a>), Ingrid Z (<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/let-them-eat-cake.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>blog</a>, <a href=http://www.residence-gallery.com/now.htm>website</a>).<br /><br /><br />ENDS<em></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116713807070699382?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com86tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-53982649762093827442007-03-01T15:44:00.000-08:002007-03-18T18:24:36.667-07:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rf3hvAU_ziI/AAAAAAAAADE/hCxGsY2xj2U/s1600-h/DSCF0080.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rf3hvAU_ziI/AAAAAAAAADE/hCxGsY2xj2U/s400/DSCF0080.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043435355382992418" /></a><br />I thought at first that the whole thing might be some kind of odd, though - I have to admit - impressively detailed, hoax. It began with an article in <em>The Observer </em> which caught my eye, about an artist, Russell Thoburn, who had been making his way into after parties of posh private views using a false name - mostly, from what I could tell, that of 'Alex James' from Blur. The article suggested that he had been doing this for about three years, so potentially I thought this might be quite interesting - if also not a little suspect, underhand, insidious and, quite simply, rude. And he was now putting on a show about his exploits called <em>The Fake's Progress</em>. I wondered what the show could possibly be. There was mention in the article of a work that he had made using matchboxes from the venues of these after parties, arranged like a sort of stonehenge circle, with some matches standing upright inside the circle and then many, many more matches outside it. I wondered, at this point, if this was really the sum total of what he had produced. I groped round the internet for more information and found a couple of sites on retitle, and a website dedicated to the artist himself. It makes for interesting reading on many levels, though none which I suspect the artist intended. Check out the website <a href=http://www.russellthoburn.com/main.htm>here</a>. Written with a breathy excitement reminiscent of a 1950s Boys Own adventure there's a lot of text about him and his career. Though when I say career....the main details, as spelt out endlessly by the artist himself are these: in 1997 he made a work about Saatchi's go-kart. This was 'notoriously' mentioned in The Daily Star and launched his art on the world. After this, though, there seems to have a been a period of not making any waves or work until 2004 when he pitches up in the Hay Gallery in Colchester (no, me neither) with a show called Paperscapes. And now this - a show at the Foundry, God bless it, about his adventures in the artworld, and a work, made out of matchsticks, which 'illustrates' this. <br />Boy, there are so many questions that I want to ask this guy. The quite astonishing thing is how far he is from where he (thinks) he wants to be. I want to ask him about what he thinks of all of this, this little adventure he - or rather, 'Alex James' - has been on? <br />He believes that if only the right people knew about his work then he would be bought and lauded like all the other artists that he is so clearly in awe of and about whom he is so twisted with jealousy. Now, ok, be honest, so far, so recognisable. You know, I'm not so far from those thoughts. I can get where he's coming from, but, what I don't get, is where he is going. Or rather, what he hoped to do when he got there. Did he really think that by getting into an after party it was all going to open up for him? And surely, once he'd been to one, standing there like a plum while everyone around him said hello to each other, did it not occur to him that this was not going to get him anywhere? And did he really think that by lying to gallerists and artists that this would ingratiate him to them? And what's with the whole 'Alex James' thing? What <em>was</em> he thinking?<br />Like I said, so many questions.....<br />Lena and I go downstairs in The Foundry and find a small show and a handful of people standing around. There's the matchstick work. And here are some things on the wall. They look like invites to private views except they're not, they are things he has made, I think, then printed the private view details on. And then overlaid these with the contents of emails from 'Alex James' to various people who work at galleries. There's maybe 8 examples of these. Surely he went to more over three years, I think? I have a closer look. There's one about getting into the Turner Prize and one about getting to an after dinner at White Cube. There's also one about getting into the private view for Surprise Surprise at the ICA. I don't mean to be funny, but a private view at he ICA is not exactly hard to be invited to. You certainly don't need to be Alex James. But, here we are, 'Alex James' has emailed the press department to see if he can get in....<br />There's some other stuff, about Gary Hume and some weird tarot like cards he has made showing his progress from nowhere to success. Or something.<br />I look around. Lena is trying not to laugh at the matchstick thing. Me too. It is dire. I'm also trying not to cry. It's such a sad show. What was he thinking? The chasm between where he is and where he wants to be is immense. And the only way he can think to bridge that abyss is by pretending to be someone else. Psychologically, it's all there, isn't it? I almost didn't write about this show at all, thinking that it didn't really deserve the one thing it so desperately craved which was attention, but, well, I don't really think anything will help this show. I've never seen anyone so desperate to be a part of something that they so clearly despise. I wonder what this story will be? <br />I don't think it will have a happy ending.<br />Lena and I decide to leave this strange show and head towards <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>Seventeen</a> where there will be some really good, proper, interesting art. <br />On the way, we pass Standpoint and pop in for a quick look. I bump into Steve Smith who writes the Nooza blog and after about 20 minutes I realise that I have talked incessantly about the Foundry show. I tell him he has to check it out. Which he does, <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com/>here</a>.<br />I'm obviously still in a whirl about the show and when we get to Seveteen, it is such a relief to see the restrained, precise, elegant and intelligent work of Susan Collis. I remember a work she did a few years back, <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/index.php?p=2&id=16&iid=4>exhibiting an old paint splattered boiler suit</a>, which on closer inspection turned out not to be paint splatters but embroidery. Terrific. Tonight's show takes that premise and makes something even more beautiful and interesting. That line of paint drips across the gallery floor? The paint spattered broom leaning near the door? The screws in the wall? Yep, none of it what it seems. All those spots of paint are made from precious metals or precious stones. It's beautifully done. It's a show, if you like, that calls up a few questions about what we value and what we don't - and therefore what is art and what is not, and who makes those decisions. It's also about the overlooked and unvalued; the unnoticed. Strangely, for a show that looks at first glance to have no work in it I'm soon feeling that there may be too much.<br />There's certainly too much going on in Simon Ould's head. Look. He shows me that piece of paper at the top of this. A scribble of openings and views and odd notes about things. I think his mind looks a little like this. But then again, so does mine. My life for the past year has been defined by the hours 6 til 9pm. <br />I see <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=23519848>Paul Pieroni</a>. He has curated a show in the <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=138523727>toilet of a club</a> not far down the road. I ask how it's going. He talks about Christmas trees. I have no idea what he is on about but he is clearly on about it in some detail. I also see <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=57770173>Kate Ellis</a>, who almost worked at the shop with us. I see Dave Hoyland and tell him that Jaguar Shoes got a name check in a Just Jack song I heard the other day. <br />And that's where we go, along the road to Jaguar Shoes. I have a chat with Lena and Kate and then decide to head off.<br />I'm tired. <br />I go down Kingsland Road, onto Old Street and then down the tube to home.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/426040235/in/set-72157600007903615/>bad then good pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-5398264976209382744?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-70587702690870426682007-02-27T16:34:00.000-08:002009-02-06T15:27:52.625-08:00<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RfX3awU_zhI/AAAAAAAAAC8/9HJe7_I8mDs/s1600-h/DSCF0026.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RfX3awU_zhI/AAAAAAAAAC8/9HJe7_I8mDs/s400/DSCF0026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041207396932767250" /></a><br />I'm walking through the door of 96 Teesdale Street and the first thing I see is <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=140497554>Liam Scully</a>, standing on a little stage belting out a karaoke version of Bowie's Let's Dance. All around the space, covering the walls like a bank of TV screens showing warped up versions of daytime/celebrity/reality programmes are his drawings. This is his event at <a href=http://www.eventnetwork.org.uk/programme/exhibitions/290>E:vent</a> - a sale of his works to try and raise money to reunite him with his wife. For reasons that I don't understand she has had to return to Australia and he is fundraising to get her back, or to go out there and bring her back. Or something. Whatever it is, it involves love, separation, and then possible resolution. But like I say, I'm not too sure. His works are being sold off at the knock down price of £20 each. <br />Anyway, he's singing Let's Dance and Dallas Seitz is recording him with a camera and Matt from <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=131264509>Vague</a> is there and we say hi. <br />The lovely <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=58374944>Kate Street</a> is there and I say hi to her and <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/index.php?p=2&id=23&iid=1>Brian Reed</a> is there too and we have a chat. He has some work in the latest issue of Flux magazine and more stuff coming up in the next issue of cabinet; then a show he's curated here at E:vent and then a show at <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>Seventeen</a>. I'm a big fan of his work. We talk for a bit about work and stuff and about Liam's work and Brian points to the work he's bought and I say I'm buying too but I haven't decided. Although saying that, I realise that my eye was taken pretty early on by a drawing of Amy Winehouse, legs apart, showing it off, and with a caption saying Amy Cunthouse. I'm a big fan of Amy Winehouse and this piece branded itself in my brain as soon as I saw it so I reckon I have to have that. Then, one of the other more scratchy, scribbly ones. Ah yes, this one about <em>I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here</em>. That's the one. Kate says she was thinking about that one, but wasn't sure about it having Jordan in it. 'Although, actually, I really quite like her,' she says, like she's confessing to killing children. All the works here are pretty much concerned with popular TV shows: Celebrity, Big Brother, Trisha - all of them down with enough scratchy lines to make you think there's a real anger underneath all this. But an anger at what, I wonder? It would be odd to spend so much time drawing and writing about that which you don't like. These drawings may seem critical of what they portray but I'm not convinced. Mostly people get angry about those things which they can't allow themselves to like. Seems to me Liam has a lot of time for all this trash.<br />Dallas comes up with Matt. They have bought five of these works. Dallas is laughing and screeching. Then he gives me a look. 'Look at him,' he whispers, pointing towards me, 'he's just looking for something to blog. Just looking for material. Searching, searching, searching, all the time...'<br />I say Dallas should give the karaoke a go. That would make the blog, I say. <br />I'll pay you. Five quid if you go and sing.<br />'Are you kidding, dude,' he says, 'no way, like, <em>no way.</em>'<br />I chat some more to Brian. I go off and buy the Amy Cunthouse work and another one. <br />There's still a bit of Karaoke going on, and someone tells a bad joke about an elephant having sex with a mouse. <br />I figure I might head off.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/419427642/in/set-72157594585207627/>Scully pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-7058770269087042668?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-55914477314081137192007-02-23T15:39:00.000-08:002007-03-04T16:58:33.039-08:00<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RetloBfYtNI/AAAAAAAAACs/zX4UNrq9xk0/s1600-h/DSCF0032.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RetloBfYtNI/AAAAAAAAACs/zX4UNrq9xk0/s400/DSCF0032.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038232346413282514" /></a><br />I'm at <a href=http://www.cubittartists.org.uk/>Cubitt</a>, looking at some art from the 1970s by Rose Scott and Jack Morton, or, to give them, for this show, their more relevant and, shall we say, more meaningful names: Tom Morton's Mum and Dad. Tom (above) has curated a show of his parents works stretching from the 70s to, so it says on the press material, the present day. It all looks fairly old and dated though; like relics. But, whatever, we are not here to look at the art at all, really. We are here to understand the back story, because this is a show that is not really being shown. Or, maybe, the work on show is only a small part of the show. It also includes the information in the press release, the interview with Tom by the Wrong Gallery, Tom's position as a curator, the current artworld, the last twenty years of curatorial practice, the past lives and histories of Tom, Rose and Jack, and conceptual recontextualising.<br />The details are these: Tom parent's married in 1970, they both worked as art teachers and produced their own work that was exhibited in the Cambridge area. They separated in 1982 and divorced in 1985. Tom answers questions on the separation and divorce in the accompanying information and you can read the full interview <a href=http://www.cubittartists.org.uk/interview.html>here</a>. The show, of course, is really about Tom. Or about the curator Tom Morton and the questions that are still up in the air about curating. Tom has said, and I'm sure he won't mind me dredging up this particular quote (ok, actually, he probably will, but, he said it, so tough), that 'I am no more an artist than I am a plumber.' Well, I'd say this show suggests that he could, at a push, install a toilet or unblock a drain. Probably couldn't quite put in a whole new central heating system, but there's still time. The whole artist/curator thing has been rumbling on for a while now - and I think, still has quite a way to go - but Tom's show here really is the curator stepping into a relational dynamic with the work on show that we would more comfortably associate with the sort of position taken by an artist. <br />But the truth of it is, that, despite myself, and the fact that Tom always seems to wear his shirts unbuttoned very low on his chest like some cheesy 70s actor, I really quite like this show. And I know I really like it because it sort of annoys and irritates me. It's too clever clever and too gestural and, in many ways, only as good as the idea behind it, but I do really like it. I like thinking about it. And it's a very rewarding show if you like thinking...<br />I'm talking to Bettina Brunner who works at Cubitt. We talk about Jens Hoffmann and Jens replacement at the ICA, <a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/Mark+Sladen+appointed+as+ICA+Director+Of+Exhibitions+12388.twl>Mark Sladen</a>, and we talk about Rob Bowman who is also a curator there and we talk about the ICA in general. Bettina worked there for a while in the exhibitions department so she knows the score.<br />I also see Simon Ould there. You see, I told you: he is at everything nowadays. 'It's because I have nothing else to do,' he says, genuinely and sadly. He fishes a newspaper out of his pocket. 'Did you see MM in this?' he asks. MM is his name for Mark McGowan. There's a picture of Mark in the paper, on all fours with a George Bush mask over his face. This is a work he's doing in New York, asking people to give him a big kick up the backside. 'That was taken in London, though,' says Simon. Behind Mark, in the picture, is a girl, carrying, rather ostentatiously I now realise, a plastic bag with I Heart NY on it. Simon talks about being in MM's shadow and that it's time he moved out of this and made some stuff on his own. 'I've always been the prop maker for Mark - or the prop. Remember when he did that piece about kicking a crack addict along the street? I was the crack addict,' he says. I've also seen him being the gambler in Gambler Eats a Horse - in which he had to eat a lot of horse meat and cover himself in horseradish sauce. And in other things, usually as the stooge to Mark's showman. Like the Ernie Wise to Mark's Eric Morecambe. It's high time he stepped out of all that. <br />Asking him if he's always worked with Mark gets me the answer that he first met him at Camberwell College and ignored him for the first six months and then struck up a friendship and then they worked together. He also goes on to tell me a long story about meeting <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=69549722>Harry Pye</a> for the first time. Initially he was given a flyer by Harry for the Peter Cook Appreciation Society. Then 6 months later he was looking at some work in Winchester, I think, and it was Harry's work - pens and pencil sharpeners with little cut out Harry Pyes on them and then he met him and said: 'Ah, so you are the world famous Harry Pye!'<br />Then he talks a lot about cardboard and footballers buying art, but I don't think I quite follow this. <br />Anyway, we move on. I say goodbye to Bettina and head off. It's pouring with rain and I am thinking about the show and Tom's mum and dad's work and then about Harry and his show and him including those paintings he did when he was five and then I think about shows in which the archive becomes the work and how the representation of a subjective reality becomes the basis for a historical documentation. And then my head starts to hurt.<br /> <br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/410672389/in/set-72157594570172681/>mum and dad pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-5591447731408113719?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-86154365493206724212007-02-22T14:59:00.000-08:002007-03-04T16:32:54.580-08:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RerOlxfYtMI/AAAAAAAAACk/o0TkyLR27ig/s1600-h/DSCF0057.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RerOlxfYtMI/AAAAAAAAACk/o0TkyLR27ig/s400/DSCF0057.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038066281502782658" /></a><br />Up to <a href=http://www.sadiecoles.com/index-flash2.html>Sadie Coles</a> place on Heddon Street and new work from John Bock. You have to like Bock. Not least because it's always a treat to see his remarkably striking and attractive face in his video and photographic works. And all that madcap stuff he does. And for Bock groupies tonight there is indeed a video piece here. One of the gallery girls is telling someone how good it is. 'It <em>is</em> 59 minutes long, but it <em>is</em> <em>really</em> good.' I squeeze into the crowd that is watching this piece and take in a couple of minutes. Bock is doing something with a vase of flowers in the grounds of a house. He looks great, but standing up against the back wall behind a load of other people coming and going is really not the way to be watching 59 minutes of video so I sneak off. There's an old scooter in the main space, with what looks like a large octopus made out of swatches of brightly coloured clothing beside it on the floor. I can't work out if they are supposed to be connected in some way. Also, the scooter has had the left handgrip removed and replaced with some contraption which now has a different sort of handgrip on a long lever, too far out to be comfortable to ride, surely. I head upstairs. For some reason the door on the next level is closed and people are walking past, up the stairs to nowhere then coming back down and wondering what's going on. I slightly nervously push the door, wondering what's going on myself. But it's fine. The office is still there and that extra, slightly awkward, space for further work is still there. Inside are two works on paper, with scribbling and notes and drawings and photos of Bock riding the weird scooter. There's also an assemblage with an old bar stool which looks exactly like something Graham Hudson had on Chelsea parade ground. <br />On the way out I see <a href=http://www.mathieucopeland.net/>Mathieu Copeland</a>, which is handy as I need to get some more copies of his curatoral project/magazine, <a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/Perfect+%231+11916.twl>Perfect</a> - a magazine printed with white ink on white paper. <br />Then it's over to <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a> in Hoxton Street.<br />Even before Ryan Gander says, 'That's the artist, over there,' and points to a girl dressed in a red tracksuit top, who's been laughing her head off with her mates since I came in, I knew it had to be her. She's big, loud, and has a dirty laugh which bursts out her mouth like a drunk falling through a pub door. She's brilliant. <br />It makes me laugh just being near her. She's down from Leeds and she's brought her mates with her and they're all having a laugh too. The gallery looks a total mess, though, like a gang of asbo friendly kids had been let in with a load of paper nicked from a nearby primary school. There are huge blob-like photocopies of what may be turds, genitals, bananas or just shapes, with big stupid smiles and dumb eyes stuck on them. There's some crappy silver foil sculptures, there's - wait a minute, what is all this stuff? Let's ask Josephine to talk us through it. 'Well, I like tin foil, don't I?' she gurgles. I point at things. 'What's that?' I ask. 'It's a croissant, isn't it, on it's side. You probably can't see that. It looks shit, doesn't it? No one thinks it looks like a croissant.' <br />'And those teeth at the back of the gallery?' I say, pointing to a scrappily stuck together laser copy of someone's teeth. 'Put teeth in Google and that's the first image that comes up,' she says and pulls out another big, thick laugh. 'I was a bit scared about it tonight, you know. I thought people were gonna come down and say this is a right pile of wank, isn't it? What is this shit? Anyway,' she continues, 'this is me mate Katie, she's come down today.' 'Hello, Katie,' I say and take her photo. 'Fuckin' look at that. You look good there,' she says to Katie when I show her the photo. Then we all laugh together for a bit. <br />I take Josephine's photo too. She obviously doesn't enjoy this and pulls a face. That's her at the top. It may be one of the best photos I've ever taken of an artist.<br />Anyway, I don't think anyone here thinks this is a pile of wank. I overhear at least two people use the phrase 'breath of fresh air' in relation to the show. More like a fucking tornado, though, I think. She has filled the gallery with work that just makes me smile. It's awesome. It's a show of pure energy and of a deep interest in what it means to be an artist. I haven't seen anything like this for years. It makes me think of the stuff Sarah Lucas did at the start. That enormous energy that blasted through everything she did. There's a slightly different motor behind this tonight, but no less fierce and powerful. <br />Later I am talking to Ryan and he mentions an earlier work she's done, where she bandaged her hands for her graduation ceremony. And suddenly, it clicks. This is another work I've loved, but had never connected the names. And now I do. If you don't know that work, there's a picture of it <a href=http://www.newcontemporaries.org.uk/artist_single.php?aid=1313>here</a>. At the end of her course, on graduation day, she bandaged her hands and kept them like that for the ceremony and the photograph. It's a shocking, hilarious, angry, passionate, sophisticated, clever and stupid piece of work, that doesn't sit easily into any real genre. But what a work. <br />And if you too want to join the Josephine Flynn Fan Club you would do well to check out the interview that Ryan does with her <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/first.html>here</a> and some of her videos <a href=http://www.axisweb.org/ofSARF.aspx?SELECTIONID=116>here</a>.<br />In fact, the interviews that Ryan and Rebecca Mmmmmmmm have been recording with the artists in this gallery are all excellent. Honest, genuine, revealing. <br />Associates is finding an incredibly rich seam for their programme. It's an important little space.<br />It's just a shame that tonight's show was such a pile of wank...<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/409888196/in/set-72157594568931399/>Bock and Flynn pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-8615436549320672421?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-17573310527835746142007-02-20T14:51:00.000-08:002007-03-04T16:18:47.369-08:00<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Req2wRfYtLI/AAAAAAAAACc/Oq-3OXVS58A/s1600-h/DSCF0020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Req2wRfYtLI/AAAAAAAAACc/Oq-3OXVS58A/s400/DSCF0020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038040073612342450" /></a><br />Pearce's brother is at the bar. We have a chat. Behind us the wall is dripping with blood and there's a chainsaw on the ground. Upstairs I had to pass a table of knives and knuckledusters. I also noticed a knife resting in a blood soaked sheet. But I'm not worried. Because this is <a href=http://www.artrabbit.com/events/event&event=1382>Craig Fisher</a>'s show and however much blood gets spilled, splattered and spurted on the walls, it's not real. It's all made of fabric. <br />As I'm getting a drink I see <a href=http://www.ellieharrison.com/>Ellie Harrison</a> and <a href=http://www.adeleprince.com/>Adele Prince</a>. They are on their way down to the ICA for <a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/Concerto+for+Voice+&amp%3B+Machinery+II+12871.twl>Jo Mitchell's re-enactment</a> of the 1984 Einsturzende Neubauten gig - when they had the power pulled on them for drilling into the stage. We say hello and then they have to head off.<br />I saw Craig's show here last year, when he had made an entire car out of fabric, crashing into the gallery wall. This show seems a little more restrained, despite the blood. The press release suggests that there is some sort of narrative at work, but I'm not at all sure about this. I think I'm missing something. Is there a torture scenario going on? There's a chair halfway down the stairs in that curious little hallway just by the toilet. The chair is made of fabric too. Some kind of premeditated killing? Whatever, Craig can certainly stitch. The knives and the table on which they lay, the knife in the blood soaked sheet and the chainsaw and blood spurts on the wall are exquisitely produced. <br />Outside I see <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=104930530>Simon Ould</a>. We chat. He talks, as he often does, about an upcoming show or piece of work or some strange project that he is involved in with <a href=http://www.markmcgowan.org/>Mark McGowan</a>. I've noticed that Simon is at many of the openings I go to. I think he may always have been there but I've only just noticed this.<br />I also talk to Beth Greenacre. She is just back from Rotterdam and heading off again tomorrow to join Ed in New York for the Pulse art fair. It's a busy time for gallerists.<br />We talk a bit about this blog, and about history. Beth talks about having been a student just down the road from where we are and walking along this street, with the weight of art history pressing down on her, never realising that she would one day be running a gallery of her own on this very street. I tell her about sometimes wishing that it were possible to reach thru time, momentarily, for like a few seconds, maybe, to a younger self and being able to offer some words of reassurance or help or support. Occasionally I find myself walking along Whitechapel Road, near where I used to live years ago. It was a devastating and depressing time (for many reasons, and I shan't bore), but whenever I'm there, I almost expect to see my younger self turning out of Cavell Street, looking down at the ground, hunched, unhappy, wishing that life wasn't the way it was. And as this younger self walks along, this me of now, this happier me who knows that the story ends ok, holds out a hand and says, it will be alright. It won't always be like this. It will pass and you will be happy.<br />Well, whatever...<br />You never know what's going to happen - or how life will be. <br />I give a little sigh. Poor Beth, I'm not sure she wanted <em>quite</em> as much detail as all this. <br />Maybe it was the sight of all that blood...<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/409822129/in/set-72157594568826846/>Fisher pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-1757331052783574614?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-87259844936334274882007-02-16T16:24:00.000-08:002007-02-25T16:04:55.789-08:00<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/ReIWNwkyeMI/AAAAAAAAACQ/ltvhhtLmDME/s1600-h/DSCF0059.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/ReIWNwkyeMI/AAAAAAAAACQ/ltvhhtLmDME/s400/DSCF0059.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035611758986950850" /></a><br />One minute I'm talking to Tom Humphreys in the basement of <a href=http://www.flaca.co.uk/>flaca</a>, the next I'm standing, abruptly, in complete pitch blackness. The lights have all gone out. I reach out and grab Tom's arm. 'What's going on?' I ask the black nothingness in front of me.<br />'It's -'<br />The lights come back on.<br />'- art.' says Tom, calmly.<br />The lights go off and on throughout the night. They are on a timer. Tom says they're on for the length of time the artist, Mandla Reuter, has calculated it takes to look at the show. I wonder how he calculated that? It could be useful to know for future use - how long it takes to look at any show? I wonder too - does this include thinking time? Does it imply a certain way of looking? In fact, this subtle, but noticeable piece, makes me ask a lot of little questions. I look at Tom. 'Nothing as gauche as a press release to accompany this show, I guess?' He shakes his head, 'Ooh, no,' he says. 'There is some text though, upstairs, near the door. The artist is up there. You'll see him: tall, brown hair, pacing around, chain smoking.'<br />'OK,' I say. 'And you. You also have some work at <a href=http://www.keithtalent.com/>Keith Talent</a> tonight?'<br />'Yes.' He thinks for moment. 'A very cool show,' he says. 'And I don't mean cool as in...I mean icy cool. Cold.'<br />Yeah. Lisa Penny was cold. Then she was hot. Then she was cold again. Earlier I saw her outside 1000000mph on Old Bethnal Green Road. Too much drink the night before, now suffering, hot and then cold. Couldn't cope with it inside - too, too hot - so is standing outside on the pavement. We have a chat. Don't put this on your blog, she says, but...(people always say this now. <em>'Here's something, but you can't put it on your blog.'</em> And there will be another two people tonight who say the same thing to me. It's a wonder I actually have anything left to write at all...) Anyway, back to 1000000mph. Or rather, hello for the first time! Regular readers will know the Herculean task it has been to get on the mailing list and now finally, a favourable constellation has brought my schedule and their private view into alignment. I'm also glad to be here as it's the launch of <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/vaguepaper>Vague</a> issue 2 and even more pleased because I know that the show has some <a href=http://www.sarahbaker.com/>Sarah Baker</a> work in it - and I'm a big fan.<br />I go in, leaving Lisa, going hot and cold, outside.<br />It's packed, naturally. It's loud and busy and there is some art on the walls but hardly visible behind everyone. There are two pallets worth of Vague magazine. Matt, who edits the paper, is there and so too Dallas, who runs this space. He's in his element. I lift my camera to take a shot. He sticks out his tongue, screws up his face. Also there is, hey wow, is that....? Well, yes it is, it's Sarah Baker herself (above). I say hello and introduce myself and she looks at me thinking who is this guy and I ask to take her photo and say I write an online diary of shows and then she knows who I am because it turns out she read what I wrote about her before and suddenly, in her eyes, I go from being weird pervert guy who might kill her slowly in a cellar at some point to ok guy who likes her work and can string a sentence together and, then I say, as further reassurance: 'I'm a friend of Dallas.' 'Oh,' she says, 'I didn't know you were his friend.' <br />'Isn't everyone a friend of Dallas?' I say. <br />'Well, yeah, sure,' she laughs. 'Or I guess you are either for him or against him.' I nod in agreement. He seems pretty popular tonight, though, with this crowd. There's always a crowd not far from Dallas. I wonder if Dallas has ever experienced standing in an empty room?<br />Sarah has some work in this new issue of Vague and also some flyposted up in the gallery. It's great stuff. Undiluted, unapologetic and unafraid to be what it is. In these pieces she is wearing her sunglasses with her familiar signature across the lenses and she's all all blinged up and behaving like a starlet. Her work, of course, suits a magazine format. Part art star, part celebrity in her own right, she happily plays with branding and surface and celebrity and glamour and fashion and icons and image and logos and identity. Phew. But she offers no easy critique of all this stuff; merely posits her own contruct in its place. Perhaps she's trying to see how far this can go. Perhaps it goes all the way. I guess, yet, we none of us know what her work could be. Much of the time what she does doesn't even look like art. How good is that?<br />In the basement of flaca though I am clearly looking at some art. There are electrical bulbs across the floor, a door with one end jammed up against the wall, the other end on the floor, against a book called What A Life by Georg Herold. This work is by, I think, Haegue Yang. I go upstairs and see the tall, brown haired, pacing, smoking Mandla Reuter. I find the text Tom referrred to. It is four titles on a piece of paper. This at least means that I now know the lights going on and off is called <em>Time Has Ceased Space Has Vanished</em> (and not: <a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/turnerprize/history/creed.htm>Work No.227: The lights going on and off</a>). But there's no other information on the paper. 'It does have the address of the gallery printed on it,' says Tom helpfully '... but I guess you already know that.' I do know that. Yes. The lights continue to go on and off and upstairs I notice that there is a hatch opened up in the ceiling and, just visible through it, a large speaker from which some confused sounds are emanating and dropping down onto the gallery like drops of water from a leaking pipe. There's also a large photograph fixed to the wall. An indistinct, shadowy form. It looks like art and it sounds like art. But it all seems a little bleak. <br />As I leave, heading north towards Keith Talent, <a href=http://www.woodeson.co.uk/>Woodeson</a> phones and says he's heading south and do we want to meet? We schedule a meeting at Talent.<br />On arriving I see him and also one of the Keith Talent boys - is it Simon or Andrew, I can neve-<br />'Fuck's sake, that pisses me right off. This fucking <em>'is it Andrew, is it Simon' </em> shit. Fucking hell, man. You're fucking taking the piss, you fucker. You and your fucking blog, it fucking pisses me off. If you fucking do that again I'll fucking bottle you, you fucking gobshite.'<br />I'm guessing here that Simon from Keith Talent isn't very amused.<br />Or is it Andrew who-<br />'FUCK. YOU. Stop doing that. And you can put that on your fucking blog too.'<br />Anyway, we do manage to have a chat. Seems Andrew (or Simon) is often also known as Keith. At art fairs and such, it's sometimes easier for him to be Keith Talent. We chat some more - about Charlie Brooker (who we both love), <a href=http://art.blogging.la/>art.blogging.la</a> and LA art fairs, selling art, Clunie Reid, spliffs and blowjobs, Miser and Now. It's a curious mix.<br />I go and have a look at the show. It is a little chill, as Tom suggested. There's Tom, Lillian Vaule and Tatiana Echeverri Fernandez in this show. I have no idea who has done what. Some pieces stand out: three reams of sealed photocopy paper are hanging on the wall, with a rectangle gouged out of each one; there is what looks like the back of a frame in its polysterene holder still; there is a badly drawn, glum looking cartoon Pink Panther gesturing with his hand as if to say, <em>this is it, this is what there is</em>. Other pieces sit awkwardly on the walls. Even for a private view there is a looming tension that these works seem to be emitting.<br />Just as I'm thinking it's time to go I bump into the lovely <a href=http://www.lucy-harrison.co.uk/>Lucy Harrison</a>. I've been following a project she's doing down in Canvey with a series of monthly meetings/walks/conversations under the title of the Rendezvous Club. You can check it out <a href=http://www.canveyguides.com/>HERE</a>. It's a very interesting piece. She tells me about people she's met on these walks, people she's talked to in the community. It all seems a very long way away from the unhappy Pink Panther in the corner. <br />I think back to Sarah Baker's work. I think about the lights going on and off. I think about white pieces of paper. And I think about walking along with a bunch of people in Canvey on a brisk, light Sunday afternoon.<br />It has indeed been, like Lisa said, a very hot and cold evening. <br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/402672980/in/set-72157594556691828/>hot and cold pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-8725984493633427488?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-46140960849808913042007-02-15T15:04:00.000-08:002007-02-19T17:43:22.210-08:00<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RdpKgG4wHmI/AAAAAAAAACE/ORG-JhafUt4/s1600-h/DSCF0025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RdpKgG4wHmI/AAAAAAAAACE/ORG-JhafUt4/s400/DSCF0025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033417449004867170" /></a><br />Harry Pye can't paint for toffee. I'm looking at some of his work at the opening for his <em>Me, Me, Me</em> show at <a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/>Sartorial Contemporary Art</a> and I'm thinking, thank you, Harry, because at last, finally, now, I can splutter that staunch old tabloid favorite in my next sentence. <br /><em>This work looks like it could've been done by a five year old!</em> <br />(Ah ha!)<br />Oh no, wait, hang on, sorry, in this case, it actually has been.<br />The three paintings which hang in the entrance corridor tonight were all painted by Harry when he was about five years old - maybe a year later or so, but not much more than that. They are painted in splodges and daubs of colour and are titled in a teacher's steady and patient hand with things like 'We have P.E. on Monday' and 'Me in my garden'. Later, in the corner of a very crowded (Harry knows a lot of people - he's got over 750 friends on his <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=69549722&MyToken=02d32946-ed29-46ca-9364-a05e49a3ef8c>myspace</a> for a start) and very hot gallery upstairs I ask Harry about them. He confirms they are from his school days and also, and this is just one of those facts which can never leave you once you know, 'that brown blob in the picture is <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Colvin_Reid>Richard Reid, the shoebomber</a>. We went to the same school.' Sometimes life arranges itself in such a way that you can wonder about yourself, the world and your place in it, simply by a looking at a single moment from your past, while the intervening years explode loudly around you with revelation and horror and surprise. (Later, on the way out, I stand and look at the two blobs in the picture: 'Self portrait with shoebomber' I think).<br />In the gallery there are lots of Harry's more recent paintings. And despite the twenty five year gap from the ones in the hall they don't look all that different. Except that he has an unusual way of juxtaposing different styles into one image. Oh no wait, hang on, sorry, no he doesn't. 'I get other people to paint the bits I can't,' he says. He points to a small self portrait (that one, just behind his head, up there at the top of this - it's called 'Where's the party?'). He says he did the face then a friend of his, Rowland Smith, drew the cans of Fosters (as you can see from the photo above, Harry does indeed like Fosters). There's also a small blue dog just in the front of the picture with a sausage in its mouth. I think someone else painted that too. It looks too painful... Harry points to other paintings, picks out other peoples work, where they have painted what he felt he couldn't. So, that's what I've picked up with this strange stylistic thing in his paintings before. He didn't actually paint bits of them. <br />Later on I read the small catalogue which has been published for this exhibition. Harry has written his own essay in it. The prose is innocent, simple, honest, engaging and knowingly naive. Just like his paintings, I think. They are endearing and interesting and they evidence an intelligent and sensitive mind.<br />In one of his works two fish are swimming along, one saying 'My therapist says I crave recognition rather than actual accomplishment.' You see, Harry's not stupid. He knows what he's doing. As well as all the paintings - there's about twenty of them (and I think he appears in pretty much every single one) - there's an hour of tv that he's made, though the noise of the chattering crowd prevents me from hearing it, and there's his publication, The Rebel, and, although I don't see this anywhere tonight, I know he's also done five copies of a handwritten autobiography, called My Strugggle; and then there's the shows he's curated over the years, the fanzines he's produced (I said before about being interviewed back in the day for <a href=http://zinewiki.com/index.php?title=Frank_Magazine>Harry Pye's Frank Magazine</a>) and all the other art and writing he's done...<br />The title of this show is Me, Me, Me. Though I'm not convinced. I don't think Harry's work is really about him. I think Harry's work is about the possible existence of Harry Pye. And in order for Harry Pye to exist he needs to be seen to exist. Painting, television, writing, publishing. It's pretty much all the same in the end, as long as it serves to continue the existence of and propel the ongoing history of Harry Pye. Don't forget those paintings in the hallway. He's got them hanging down there without any sense of irony. I'm not sure there's many other artists that could show their school paintings like this and get away with it. But they are as much a part of 'Harry Pye' as his most recent stuff. They are, in the end, equally valid. It doesn't really matter how Harry paints - or who does the painting - or even if there are any paintings at all for that matter - as long as whatever there is is about the person who is Harry Pye. <br />In some of the info to the show Harry says: 'Maybe I make the work I do because I'm trying to kill off a part of me I don't like or a person I'm in danger of turning into. The battle is still being fought and I'll only know when the dust settles.' <br />It's a good quote, but I don't think the dust will ever settle. There's no resolution with identity. The battle itself is who you are.<br />In the end, Harry Pye, it's all just me, me, me.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/396061760/in/set-72157594545609139/>Pye</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-4614096084980891304?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-9080970531736219762007-02-12T16:41:00.000-08:002007-02-18T17:19:05.089-08:00<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rdj5rm4wHlI/AAAAAAAAAB4/K_q0akbroEM/s1600-h/DSCF0009.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rdj5rm4wHlI/AAAAAAAAAB4/K_q0akbroEM/s400/DSCF0009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033047111154802258" /></a><br />As you well know, I've been to a lot of private views over the last twelve months - small ones, big ones, some as big as your head, but tonight is the first time I've ever been asked to pay in order to gain entrance. Seriously, no kidding: I actually have to pay to get in, it's not like part of an installation or anything. And the real irony of this, I think, is that the place I'm trying to get into (and the place to which I was invited) is a derelict shop on Tottenham Court Road which is being squatted by a bunch of artists who are putting on a show. Well, what can you say? Yes, that's right, that's exactly what I think about saying - but instead, in the interests of my research, I keep my trap shut, pay my quid fee and walk in.<br />This is a show organised by <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=97033843>DA Gallery</a> - the DA stands for Direct Action - a group of young artists who find empty buildings and squat them to put on art shows. I walk into a dimly lit corridor which has some cotton or similar sort of string threaded across it, from wall to wall, like fake cobwebs. I have to dip my head slightly to avoid getting caught in it, or pulling it out the walls. At the end I walk up a staircase. Everything is dirty and cracked, plaster falling off the walls, holes where light switches used to be now housing claw-like wires holding tiny bulbs. It all looks like a proper squat. Then, on the first floor there's a brightly lit room with some people milling around. There's a girl who looks to be in charge - smartly dressed, clipboard, glasses, hair in a bun, official looking - and a team of boys and girls dressed head to foot in white overalls, as though they are conducting some experiment. There's a long table, a laptop and an industrious air about them. Behind them there are some words painted on the wall: Cows Under No Title (did you see what they did there?). Anyway, you have your photo taken, fill in a form with a few details, then your image and information is printed on a T shirt. In a couple of weeks time they'll email you and tell you where to pick it up. There's a suggestion that it will be a public place and you'll have to get there sharpish to get your own T shirt. I think.<br />I'm not sure about this. Maybe I'll have a look round at the rest of the show first...<br />There's another room on this floor, with a small bar, a few bits and pieces of things which may be art and some people miling around or standing looking out of the large window onto Tottenham Court Road. There are a couple of guys fiddling with electrical equipment and a short while later someone starts moving instruments in here too. I guess later there will be music. I head up the stairs. On the next floor there's another room with what looks like more art, though this seems more constructed and thought out. There's a kitchen sink arrangement with plants and tubes and buckets and wood and tape and lots of carrots. A girl is demonstrating its use, a chain reaction which ends with a small guillotine sharply descending and slicing through a carrot. Except in this particular demonstration she forgets the carrot. 'Oh,' she says, finally placing a carrot into the path of the blade, 'here - it will chop it.' She manually raises the blade again and lets it drop. It sticks in the carrot. 'It does usually chop it in two,' she says, wrestling with the blade. I move on. Near this is another contraption with lots of bicycle wheels. I don't know if this does anything. There's no one demonstrating anything here...maybe it just does nothing.<br />I head up, even further into the building and come across a room with a few chairs and a long hammock like construction. A film is being projected onto the wall. Oh no, I think, video art...<br />But then, wait, what's this - the film is brilliant. Lots of samples of old fifties and sixties films somehow projected onto little origami like paper trains that are roaring along a track. It's such an original piece of work I can hardly describe it.<br />It's fast, exciting, innovative, enormously inventive, breathtaking and truly captivating. I sit down. I can't take my eyes off the screen. I wasn't expecting anything of this calibre. When, about 10 minutes later, it finishes I'm so exhilarated I can hardly stop smiling. I can't believe I've just seen such a great piece of work. I scan the credits. It's a film by Virgil Widrich, who I've never heard of and who clearly isn't affiliated to the group of artists in this squat - they are just showing his film. Anyway, it's called FAST FILM and you can watch it <a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Td6UObEEaQQ>HERE</a>.<br />After this I reckon it'll be difficult to look at much else here. As I leave the room there's a girl with a string puppet mooching around. He doesn't look very happy. And neither am I when I almost put my foot through a hole in the floor. There's a fairly noticeable lack of concern for any health and safety issues about this place. And a minute later, still worrying about this, as I am standing in a room that has been completely covered with carboard, a guy comes through a hole in the wall on his hands and knees almost dropping the cigarette he is carrying. He scuttles past me while I wonder a) how long before the whole thing goes up in flames and b) how granddad here ought not to go to squats anymore...<br />It's all a bit of fun really. I suspect it's as well to leave your art criticism at the door (along with your pound coin) as this is an attitude, a proclamation, a stance, more than a serious art show. I suspect they'll hate me for saying that, but that's ok, I'm old and they're young - I'm not supposed to understand them.<br />I make my way back down to the room with the C.U.N.T.s in it and, what the hell, let them take a photo of my face and print it onto a T shirt. Earlier today I met up with someone I hadn't seen for 20 years (which was lovely and amazing) and I give this fact as my 'anything else we should know' answer on the form to commemorate it on the T shirt. I wonder where the T shirt will end up?<br />I got the invite to this place tonight by a girl called Steph Smith. I feel I should say hello and get a bit more information from her. I ask the girl with the glasses and clipboard if Steph is around. 'Ummm,' she says, 'she should be.' We walk round a couple of the rooms, but don't find her. 'She's wearing a black and white dress, black and grey tights, burgundy shoes...and she has brown hair.'<br />I spend the next five minutes looking at girls, their dresses and their shoes. None of them fit this description but I do get some rather strange looks myself.<br />I figure that maybe I have enough information on the evening after all and make my way back down the stairs.<br />Luckily there's no charge for leaving.<br /><br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/394722165/in/set-72157594543388826/ >DA</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-908097053173621976?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-67828832578757692082007-02-09T16:34:00.000-08:002007-02-12T16:32:57.509-08:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RdECi24wHkI/AAAAAAAAABs/RmZwGWDTTwk/s1600-h/DSCF0041.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RdECi24wHkI/AAAAAAAAABs/RmZwGWDTTwk/s400/DSCF0041.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030805056621911618" /></a><br />'Where are you off to tonight, then?' asks <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=115205&MyToken=9fb8d640-ec0d-4434-9f96-0e75d0577eb9>Francesca Gavin</a> as she's standing in the queue to pick up her ticket to see Jacques Ranciere speak (I told you she was clever) at the <a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/>ICA</a> tonight, catching me on the way out and momentarily causing me enough confusion to make me forget where the hell I'm setting off for...<br />'It's <a href=http://www.paradiserow.com/gallery/index.html>Paradise Row</a> with the Chapmans tonight,' she says. <br />'Is that tonight?' I say - I didn't know. 'Bloody Hackworth,' I say.<br />Nick Hackworth's running Paradise Row and even though I saw him the other day and said, look, here's my address, put me on your mailing list, please, he obviously hasn't. Sometimes getting on a list is like trying to get membership for the masons. And talking of mailing lists I ask Francescsa if she can forward me an email address for Ancient and Modern on Whitecross Street which opened a couple of months back but to which I still haven't been and which has no website. Rather scarily she reels an email address off the top of her head. She laughs, 'You know - not that I have all that information in my head all the time...'. She rolls her eyes.<br />OK, so where <em>was</em> I supposed to be going?<br />I was off to <a href=http://www.transitiongallery.co.uk/>Transition</a> tonight. I haven't been in months and months and months and I said I'd see <a href=http://www.purestarproducts.com/>Sarah Doyle</a> there to get a dvd of the work she was showing in the <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2007/01/artist-eats-swan.html>So Sad show at Guy Hilton</a>. But Chapmans at Paradise Row, eh? It's a tricky one...<br />I say goodbye to Francesca and head off.<br />I go straight to Transition. If I went to Paradise Row, I'd be there, everyone would be there, I'd never get to Transition, it'd all go wrong, yada yada yada...<br />I get to Regent's Studios and haul up to the second floor, following the crappy marker pen signs, and there's the lovely and glamorous Doyle accompanied by a distinctly nautical looking <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=55803456>Olly Beck</a> (he's wearing a a big black coat) on the balcony outside and lots more people inside. Doyle gives me a dvd called Opheliyah. The name is a mash up of Ophelia and Aaliyah. 'It's not very long. You'll watch it and go, is that it?' she says. I have a look round the gallery. It's a show called the Whiteness of the Whale, curated and including work by <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Nadia-Hebson.asp>Nadia Hebson</a>. And the first thing that strikes me going in is how mercifully few pieces of work there are. Group shows at Transition (ok, like, the few I've been to) always seem packed with more works than the space can handle. But tonight is a lot more restrained. There's barely six works in total. And it looks good. The show is inspired/based on/influenced by the novel Moby Dick, a twenty four hour reading of which has already begun. Olly takes up a chapter, standing behind a hurricane lamp in his nautical coat reading away (above). I'm chatting to Sarah. She waves her hand quickly in front of her mouth. 'Sorry,' she says, 'just done a samosa burp.' <br />Like I said, she's very glamourous. <br />She takes a sip of white wine (she'll be doing this a lot over the next hour or so...) and throughout the night I keep bumping into her and, during these little meetings, we cover the following subjects:<br />Essex women, suntans, plastic surgery, self botoxing, farting into jamjars, smiley faces, building things on beaches, mistaken or unknown identities, Mark McGowan's recreation of the 7/7 tube bombing tomorrow and what it looked like today when she was down there, death holes, Critical Friend, Alex Michon's patches, Pete Doherty being filmed stealing a teddy bear, Colonel K and the imminent attack, Calum F Kerr's parasites, scabies and its treatment, and many other really delightful things.<br />We go and have a listen to Olly reading. Cathy comes to say hello. She's looking lovely and very happy with the show. She points out Nadia Hebson to me (I notice that she is wearing a red coat - what is that with curators suddenly?) and says how nice it's been to work with her. She says that Nadia is a proper painter. Looking at Nadia's work, a ghostly, keening ship on a sea, I have to agree. It's a very accomplished piece. It makes me think of <a href=http://www.stunned.org/ghostship.htm>Dorothy Cross's Ghostship</a> - though they share very little in common other than their ghostlike theme. Nadia's painting has both an ethereal presence and the thick, heavy, slow weight of a wooden ship on a roaring sea. You can feel the movement, the creaking of the wood. This central work is balanced by the two other artists in the show. Reece Jones's works are moonlit studies of icebergs and Anna-Karin Jansson shows a couple of video pieces which most of the time I am standing in front of so no one can see. In these pieces, from what I can glance, there is a lake with steam rising from it and some kind of fog filled forest through which animals appear and then disappear. I could have got that wrong, but I'm sure that's the gist. All of it seems totally unsuited to a private view: we are all talking and nattering and getting drinks and crowding about (especially that twat standing in front of the videos pieces) and generally not really taking this quiet, delicate work in. But, I do think that when we all get out of the gallery there's a good show left behind. It's a show of moments and possibilities and things becoming. The monochromes of the pieces (it's a very black and white show) suggest a balance that is shifting between states, but without any clear resolution. The icebergs in the moonlight may eventually melt, or they may continue to freeze; the ship on the storming sea may make it safely to harbour or it may not. The lake breathes steam in the morning sun, but the rains will come; the animals in the forest pass by in the fog. Nothing is certain or fixed or explained. There are no easy answers or directions. We may take a moment here to try and understand something, but these moments reveal nothing - or maybe everything. What more could we say of life, than we are caught in moments whose outcome is continually unknown, whose movement is one way or another, whose meaning can only be guessed at? <br />Cathy suggests I do a bit of reading of Moby Dick and after listening to a girl ploughing to the end of a chapter I do a stint in which the narrator talks of the joys of sleeping and his growing tolerance for his companion Queequeg's foul smoking habit...<br />At least I think that was what it was about. Like the ship upon the sea the text is heavy and dense.<br />Also there tonight is <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com/>Steve Smith</a> who says he's been hoping to bump into me (we do a lot of the same views) as he has a proposition for a possible show and would I be interested in putting in some work? He says he'll email details and we talk further. <br />Interestingly I don't seem to talk to him about any of the things I talked to Doyle about...<br />Except the theme of identity.<br />Earlier, while I was talking to Doyle a guy came up and said hi to her. She gave him a completely blank look. He persisted. You don't remember me? He cites a show they were in together. Then another. Sarah still has a wonderful blank look on her face. 'No,' she says, 'I really don't remember you.' 'We had a conversation...' he says, clearly, I think, grappling to hold onto his self esteem as it runs like oil through his fingers. <br />She really doesn't remember him. I catch his eye and mime drinking heavily, nodding my head towards Doyle. She then starts giving me a look too. The guy gives up.<br />Doyle says that something similar happened the other day. Another guy came up to her and said 'hi' and she gave him a blank look and then said, 'My name's Sarah.' At which point the guy said, 'Oh, I don't know you then.'<br />Later on I'm talking to Steve about the name pieces I do and about branding and all that and he says, 'Well, maybe Russell Herron isn't your name. Maybe you're really called Bob Davies.' <br />Later on still Doyle finds me to say, 'Have you seen what they have called you on the list? Have you seen? What they've called you?' (Bare in mind what I said about the white wine earlier...)<br />It turns out she is talking about a list that Cathy is keeping of all the people who read Moby Dick. We step into the office. 'Look,' says Doyle, 'just after my name -' she points. After her name, someone has written in 'Glasses man'. <br />So maybe I'm not Russell Herron, nor Bob Davies, but Glasses Man.<br />(Looking at the running order I think Glasses Man may actually have been Olly, but I can't be sure. If this was the case though, I then end up with no name at all. Or Olly does. I don't know which. Just who is that short sighted superhero, Glasses Man??)<br />Even later still Doyle says, 'I think I'm a bit drunk.' I mime typing my blog. She looks worried. 'Oh, God, don't tell anyone that I [CENSORED].<br />So I don't.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/388551934/in/set-72157594532732320/>Whiteness</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-6782883257875769208?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-16919551914812926732007-02-06T15:04:00.000-08:002007-02-12T16:02:32.566-08:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RdD_uW4wHjI/AAAAAAAAABg/36Yjsc0D2JM/s1600-h/DSCF0009.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RdD_uW4wHjI/AAAAAAAAABg/36Yjsc0D2JM/s400/DSCF0009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030801955655523890" /></a><br />Ah, Mike Kelley. He's the man. The Dude. The Dudester. El Duderino. Yes, indeed, he's really one of the main men of American art from the West Coast 1980's. He's done it. He was there way before anyone else (well, maybe not Paul McCarthy, but that's another story). He was being a Dude.<br />Ah, yes, Mikey Mikey Mike Kelley.<br />I'm standing in the huge space that <a href=http://www.gagosian.com/>Gagosian</a> calls a gallery. Man, it's a big place. It's full of people in black coats. Us art folk love wearing black. And we like going to private views and standing around with other people wearing black. Black clothing is serious; it tells people who see us that we are serious. It's a cool colour. Plus, it's very slimming, don't you think?<br />Around the walls in this main room are Mike's drawings. Odd, doodly, disjointed drawings on pieces of paper butted together. They are called the hermaphrodite drawings - exhibiting charateristics of both male and female - or, in some cases here, just entrails and a head. They are weird and I don't get them at all. I look at each one. Then I look in the room off the main space and at some of the sculptural pieces. These I like a lot more. There are about 6 or so pieces in the room. They all have that Mike Kelley art and craft thing that he has going on, but their production is a little tighter, a little more finished. I walk round this room for a while, taking time to study each piece. They are really good, and get better the more I look at them.<br />I go out of this room, cross the main room and into the other smaller space tonight. Three Mikes and two Picassos. Blimey. Someone's staking out the territory here. I'm not sure this works, though. Is he taking on Picasso? Is there a resonance here? I'm not convinced.<br />Whatever, I go back to that room with the other sculptures in. There's a figure lying face down on the ground - except he has no face. He's made of straw. He has a red and white checked shirt and a pair of blue dungarees on. That's him in the photo above. Where his back should be is a depressed cube shape. There are some silver studs on the shirt in there and I think they say FRESNO. Or do they? Over there on the wall is another sculpture. This is two feet, vertically diametrically at odds to each other but sharing a single leg that seems to move through female to male. I like this a lot. There's a similar one with a blue and white theme and only a single foot just opposite this. There's a silver sort of torso in the far corner. What the hell any of this is supposed to be saying I don't know, but I can't shake off a feeling of sorrow and loss and a sense that he is dealing with American history. Except it's not how the west was won, but how it was lost. There's also a curious sense of male and female about these sculptures, as though they can't quite decide what they are, or as if they are unformed as yet, or maybe deformed. All these thoughts, ah hah, yes, of course, lead me back to the Hermaphrodite drawings...<br />Now I'm thinking about America, masculinity, femininity, history, suffering, war...<br />Well, didn't realise all that was going on when I wandered round in my nice black coat.<br />I see a few artworld stars in the crowd, and lots of women of a certain age with long blond hair framing faces whose skin has been polished and buffed with wealth and comfortable living for many years. I see the small crowd of bearded men I see everywhere.<br />And, as I leave, and head off down the street I see Hans Ulrich Obrist. He's striding along, deep in a serious conversation, heading into Gagosian's, wearing the same coat I saw him in the other day. <br />It is a bright shocking red.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/388531380/in/set-72157594532695594/>black coat</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-1691955191481292673?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-8284216950131967302007-02-01T16:20:00.000-08:002007-02-07T17:53:03.046-08:00<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RcqBapxnyVI/AAAAAAAAABU/3hP5y83dGc4/s1600-h/DSCF0005.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RcqBapxnyVI/AAAAAAAAABU/3hP5y83dGc4/s400/DSCF0005.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028974228803144018" /></a><br />It's been the ruin of many of a poor boy and god knows I'm one, so tonight when the free champagne comes round, poured by an exceptionally agreeable waiter, it is with some relief that I, yes I, am off the drink tonight (alright, steady yourself, there). Unfortunately, though, Lena Nix, my sometime private view bitch, isn't off the drink at all. No siree, she's very much <em>on</em> the drink tonight. So, when it comes to saying goodbye - to our delightful host <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=134894006>Nathalie Hambro</a>, for it is at her party in the luxury surroundings of the Soho Hotel for the launch of her book, My London, that we have been served so well with the free bubbles, and yes, canapes, and been chatted to by a simply delightful girl who does PR for the hotel chain - it is not going well: Lena has found a newly filled glass and a new friend and I'm saying, come on, or we're not going to get there, and I don't want to miss the Marclay at <a href=http://www.whitecube.com/>White Cube</a> because I just know that it's going to be good and so with an increasing sense of urgency I attempt to move Lena towards the exit as her glass and the agreeably nice waiter seem to be forming a very close relationship.<br />'We really have to go,' I say, 'we need to get to the Cube.' <br />We finally leave.<br />Oh no, hang on, wait a minute...<em>Lena needs the toilet</em>.<br />Ho hum.<br />What is she <em>doing</em> in there?<br />I look at my watch. We've blown it. We ain't going to make it. I know this, you know this, Lena knows this, but I decide that extreme denial is a great little strategy for a while tonight. I look myself firmly in the eye and tell that hopeful little face looking back to me that it may just be possible for the bus we jump on to take flight and hum like a helicopter, and drop us down in Hoxton Square. Flup, flup, flup go the propellers...and suddenly the old number 55 is landing! I run towards the Cube doors. Thump, thump, thump! There's still movement in the gallery! I'm pushing people over as I run through the beer swilling mass - Boof! Buff! Blat! and get to those bouncers that hang around the door at the gallery and they...<br />Well, they aren't letting me in, are they?<br />I can't believe it. The Marclay is over. Finished. Why didn't we leave the party earlier? I'm gutted.<br />'Let's get to <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>Seventeen</a>,' I say to Lena. 'They'll still be open.'<br />We nick round the corner onto Kingsland Road and to Seventeen and the Shay Kun show. We go the bar and get beer except that of course I'm not drinking tonight so ask for water. There's water sure, but no glasses. Dave 'let me sort this out' Hoyland gives me a white mug. 'It's mine,' he says, 'it's ok.'<br />I think I probably strike quite a cool figure, standing there while eveyone else around me drinks from beer bottles and I sip from my nice white mug... <br />Anyway, we like Shay Kun's work. It's odd but interesting. I know a few details: he paints scenes typical of the Hudson River School of the 19th Century - pastoral, idealised, chocolate box stuff - and adds peculiar incongruous details like killer whales, tightropes on fire, telegraph poles, smashed up cars...<br />No idea why he does this - or why he chooses the things he does. The juxtaposition of these two forms (the background meticulously painted in oil, the strange details in acrylics) makes me think it's all messed up, all wrong. He's pushing things up against each other when they clearly don't fit. The background is based on a style of painting that was out of date even when it was originally being painted. So how does this fit in today? And the who the hell thinks about killer whales these days? They're like something from my childhood. Whatever. Nothing, I think, is clear about these paintings. But perhaps the mistake I'm making is to see the images as in contradiction to each other and maybe they're not. I'm particular I'm struck by the fact that Shay paints that detailed oil background himself. That takes a bit of doing, no? And then when he plonks a big killer whale in the middle of it does he feel that this is in any way a contradiction? I wonder. If he thought that this stuff didn't fit he couldn't do it, could he? I don't know. The title of the show is 'Perversion is the love we feel when others feel love.' I think he is talking about difficulties of perception and understanding. I also don't think there are any easy readings of this work. I do think he is pretty interesting. <br />Anyway, back to Dave for a minute. Feels like I haven't seen him for years. And, look, there's Beth and Ed Greenacre. What happened to them? I haven't seen them for years either. Where has everything gone? I was always hanging out at <a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/>Rokeby</a> at one point. What happened?<br />I think back. I've been tied up in other galleries, other little groups, other openings, other adventures and discoveries. Just trying to find out what's going on, in London, with art and artists and galleries and curators and gallerists. <br />Just before I head off, I get a quick chat with Dave. About this blog he says: 'In fifty years time there'll be this record. Look, this is what we were all doing.'<br />Dave understands, I think.<br />This is what we were doing. <br />This was what it was like.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/383255849/in/set-72157594523775478/>Killer whale pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-828421695013196730?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-76265792170358093802007-01-31T14:21:00.000-08:002007-02-06T17:29:10.869-08:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RckoIZxnyUI/AAAAAAAAABI/N5fwxKCflFo/s1600-h/DSCF0027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RckoIZxnyUI/AAAAAAAAABI/N5fwxKCflFo/s400/DSCF0027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028594583758948674" /></a><br />There's an American game show called Touch the Truck (sometimes known as Hand on the Hardbody) in which contestants stand around a truck with one one hand touching it and attempt to remain in this position until, one by one, they can't stand it any longer and the last person left is declared the winner. It is, as it sounds, an appallingly stupid idea and an even worse game show.<br />But I'm reminded of it tonight, standing in the first floor of <a href=http://www.dicksmithgallery.co.uk/>Dicksmith gallery</a> watching some video art. It's a film piece by Meiro Koizumi. It shows a man dressed in what looks like homemade space clothes and surrounded by a similarly shoddily built space environment. There's a woman in the scene too (above) in a silvery dress. The man begins a lengthy series of questions in a dull voice, along the lines of, 'Can you see their shiny little eyes? Can you see their brothers and sisters? Can you see their dirty shirts?' to which the girl in the shiny suit replies, to each one, 'Yes, Captain,' in a a voice that sounds like it is being fed through a vocoder rescued from the 1980s. It is excruciatingly dull and tideous to watch.<br />But I decide I'm going to stay in this little room and watch it right the way through - or at least longer than anyone else.<br />There's only one chair in the room and there's a geezer sitting on it that I think is Carl Freedman. I'm standing. I'm touching the truck. People come and go. The questions on the screen continue. The answer to each remains the same, 'Yes, Captain.' There is me standing, Carl Freedman sitting on the chair and two girls sitting on the floor. Everyone else who was here when we started has gone. Others have joined, but it's just the four of us now with our hands on the truck. The two girls get up and walk to the wall just behind me and start fiddling with another smaller video projection on the wall. I move around the space. Freedman isn't giving an inch. He's hardly even breathing. The piece comes to an end. Nothing much happened. Me and Freedman watch the credits. I'm ready to go but still Freedman sits there. I'm terrified he might just sit through the whole thing again. And I can't face all those questions and that 'Yes Captain' again. But I gotta touch the truck, man, I gotta touch the truck. So here we go again. The man, the girl, the questions, the answers. And finally, he's up and out the room.<br />I WIN!<br />I go upstairs. There's another video playing. There are many more people in this room. Too many: I can't get in. There's some laughter and beard stroking. It definitely looks like this is the better piece, but I just can't get in to see it. I wander downstairs again. <br />I could wait, I think, but...<br />I decide to head on. As I'm leaving I pass a girl on her phone; 'Yeah, I'm at the gallery now. Pitfield Street. You know: Pitfield Street. Come along there...'<br />Whenever I'm out there's always someone in a gallery giving directions. The east end is full, every night, of people on phones either directing or being directed, either lost or at the destination. But it's the east end - everyone is looking for something. The New. The Next. The First. Everyone is going somewhere they haven't been before. This is the east end being discovered and claimed before our very eyes. We are just trying to get somewhere. And if we are lucky and we've found it, then we are trying to get our friends there too.<br />This was my first visit to Dicksmith. It's taken me a long time to finally come along here. I think that's partly to do with the shows not getting talked up much by the crowds I know and partly because, and this really is quite the most bizarre thing, but every time I've seen the name I've always thought: Why isn't it called Dick Smith Gallery? Like the name should properly be spelt. Why have they done that with the name? And because of this, and because it confused and slightly irritated me, I've tended to quietly push the place to the bottom of my list...<br />How fucked up is that? Pull yourself together Russellherron, I think, and get on with it.<br />I slip past the bearded group of people crowded outside the gallery and head down Pitfield Street and onto Old Street and along to <a href=http://www.thereliance.co.uk/>The Reliance</a>. <br />Here's another place I've never been (it's obviously that kind of night). It's the sister gallery of <a href=http://www.theapproach.co.uk/>The Approach</a>. They are both above pubs. <br />I go in and climb up into the gallery. It's show of work by Eva Berendes and Florian Baudrexel called Chess.<br />There's about four people standing in the gallery. Pretty quiet, I think, and then realise that probably most people are actually downstairs, in the bar, where the beer is. Ah, yes, of course. I wander round. It's quite austere. There's an angular sculpture and a curtain. There are some shapes made of polystyrene. I look through the file of photos of work. The photos look better than the things in the gallery. I'm not quite sure why this is.<br />It's been an odd little night and I decide I'm not going to push my luck so start to head home.<br />Outside on the street I bump into <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=122352630>Simon Ould</a>. He's just come from Dicksmith too. He was in the upstairs room, watching the video that people were laughing at. Simon recounts the entire story of the piece.<br />Here is what I remember of what he said.<br /><em>It starts with the camera on the artist. He is wearing a red shirt and has his face painted silver. Then there is another man, also wearing a red shirt, but not with a silver face. He is Dutch. He is from Amsterdam. He is going to tell us about a sad story. The artist, who is now the director of this scene, stops the man and asks him to adjust the angle of his head so that the camera can see the scar that's on his forehead. He does and then continues. He says that the story is of his life. He met a girl and was blissfully happy. They married. He started to drink. The director stops him again. Your face, he says, is so sad. This is a sad story but your face needs to be lighter. The man says he will tell the story in the form of a poem. The director says not to do this as poems are sad and the story is sad enough already. The man looks unhappy about this. The director then gives him an instrument of some sort to hold in his hand. It is a poorly made object with bits of silver foil attached to it. The man holds it for a while and begins his story. The director interrupts him again and says, no, no, that isn't working. Try this. He hands him a tennis racquet on which is painted a hand. He asks the man to wave the racquet up and down so that the hand appears to be waving. The man continues his story. The director tells him to stop, that this isn't working either. He takes the racquet away. You need to have your face painted, he says. The camera then cuts to a few moments later and the Dutchman looking at the camera, his face now covered in black marker pen shapes, defining a large toothy mouth around his own and big, black eyes. <br />The man continues his story. Finally the director appears behind the man and shouts (at this point, standing on Old Street, Simon does indeed shout, loudly and about five times in a row. I wonder what people are thinking). Then it ends.</em><br />That's what I remember of what he told me.<br />He also mentions that this video piece shares a certain Oriental flavour with a piece he himself is planning to do on Friday at an event featuring a whole bunch of people like Calum F Kerr, Gavin Turk, etc etc. Simon says he has a book he stole from somewhere and a toy emu that he bought from a market and together these elements will be used by him, whilst wearing a cereal box on his head, and reciting a song called OLD MAN EMU - the original words of which he has downloaded - to perform a piece. He says he has been studying Japanese theatre - well, reading about it, sort of - Noh and Kabuki - and he has been struck by how the job of the actors is to make the audience move from one emotion to the next. He recognises that using an old emu and a cornflake box may make this difficut but he does seem committed to the idea. <br />As we say our goodbyes I wonder how many people will be touching the truck at the end of Simon's performance.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-7626579217035809380?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-67418529347477284232007-01-25T15:56:00.000-08:002007-02-06T16:14:08.483-08:00<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RckVRpxnyTI/AAAAAAAAAA8/UbcQCt5CUas/s1600-h/DSCF0008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RckVRpxnyTI/AAAAAAAAAA8/UbcQCt5CUas/s400/DSCF0008.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028573851951810866" /></a><br />It. Is. Fucking. Freezing.<br />It's soooooooooo cold. I'm thinking: Why did I even bother to make the trip out east tonight? Far too cold. I'm hopping along Redchurch Street, thinking, I'll buzz round here and then off to <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a> and then home. I skip into <a href=http://www.naimad.co.uk/studio1-1/>Studio 1.1</a>, <a href=http://www.museum52.com/>Museum 52</a>, <a href=http://www.trolleynet.com/gallery.php>Trolley</a> and then an odd gallery/bar/club called <a href=http://www.vegasgallery.co.uk/>Vegas</a>. I mooch round here a bit, not really knowing what is going on. There are some paintings hung up and some just leaning against the wall. It's like they haven't finished putting the show up. I don't get a good vibe off this place at all.<br /><a href=http://www.woodeson.co.uk/>Woodeson</a> is supposed to be meeting me down Redchurch Street somewhere but we have all sorts of texts, with him saying he's coming, then he's delayed and then this and then that and then whatever and then I head up to Associates. I get another text saying, 'I'm almost there.'<br />I text back: 'Just left.'<br />I stomp up Hoxton Street to Associates. The show tonight is Matthew Harrison. Rebecca Mmmmmmmmm is outside the front door, wearing a hat. She sees me and goes straight into telling me about the work. There's a door handle, a huge thing, fashioned from different coloured strips of wood. And there's a door knocker. Rebecca tells me something about the knocker being a model of part of the brain (the medulla oblongata, as I fail to take in at the time) and how it links two parts of the brain together and I get the impression that this is playing on the liminal states between outside and inside the gallery. (Actually, Matthew provides a beautiful explanation of this in an interview with Rebecca, <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/first.html>here</a>, and I quote: <em>'The medulla oblongata door knocker is itself the threshold between consciousness and activity...like the transition between two very different spaces. What I’m saying is ‘art’, the art-viewing public touches before they enter their art-viewing space. It’s like getting them before they’re ready to see the work.'</em>) Marvellous, though I can't help thinking that it looks a little more like a...<br />'And of course it looks like a pair of balls,' says Rebecca, sweetly.<br />Then she holds her wrist up to my face. 'There's also this,' she says. What's going on? I think. Why is she holding her wrist towards me like a greeting? What am I supposed to do here? Kiss it? Surely not. Maybe it's a perfume? I put my nose down towards her hand. 'No. LOOK. <em>This</em>,' she says, rolling her eyes, pointing at a bracelet she's wearing.<br />Ok, got it... <br />The bracelet is also part of the show. Or part of an edition to accompany the show. It's made out of rare wood and says <em>Save Trees</em> on it. Nice.<br />And wasn't there a secret drawer too? I'm sure I remember Ryan saying something about this when I was last here.<br />I decide to head in, out the cold, for once quite grateful that Ryan's door policy is as tight as a coffin lid. Actually, even tighter. You have to knock to get in tonight. I'm not sure if that's part of the work or some fiendish rule that Ryan has introduced. He'll be charging admission next.<br />In the back of the gallery I see the drawer. It's a wooden drawer like the door handle. There's also a pile of boxes each containing bracelets, all made from various rare woods. All saying <em>Save Trees</em> on them.<br />I stay in the office a bit, keeping warm.<br />Eventually I decide to head off. I get back outside and Woodeson calls. 'I'm at Associates,' I say. 'I heard it's just a door handle,' he says, 'not sure I want to come up there just for that.' I wonder if I should say something like, well, it's not <em>just</em> a door handle....but think, no.<br />It's far too cold for that kind of conversation.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-6741852934747728423?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-12308900362928912202007-01-23T15:08:00.000-08:002007-01-30T16:57:45.334-08:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rb_is9j2OzI/AAAAAAAAAAw/ZqKOWTQTSCQ/s1600-h/DSCF0032.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/Rb_is9j2OzI/AAAAAAAAAAw/ZqKOWTQTSCQ/s400/DSCF0032.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025984971235801906" /></a><br />I'm saying goodbye to Matt Packer, above, shaking his hand. 'Great,' I say, 'great. It all looks good,' I say, nodding around at all the people who have turned out to the viewing for Ice Trade at <a href=http://www.chelsea.arts.ac.uk/30181.htm>Chelsea Space</a> tonight - and it's a very appropriately icy night too (ie <em>fucking freezing</em>). Matt's curated the show. He used to work with me at the ICA Bookshop. <br />'Look,' I say to him, 'this is good, but I don't understand any of it.'<br />He splays his fingers, his palms upwards, like he is giving me a gift. 'You don't have to understand it,' he says. He smiles. <br />There's a big, awkward, messy sort of installation in one room. I think this is by Thomas Kratz, though I could be wrong. There's also a bell hanging from the wall beside it in the same room. Throughout the night various people ring it - to no obvious effect. But it does make a spectacularly satisfying clanging sound. There's what looks like a sheet of greeny blue lino on the floor, but all messily folded and rolled up, and with the edges cut to resemble ramparts on a castle; there's a sheet or towel or something, sort of petrified in some white casting...<br />Who really knows what any of this is about...<br />Matt?<br />'Think of it in terms of a set of propositions,' he says. 'I'm doing this project which is about the ice trade, about transactions, history...and I've asked these artists to...'<br />'Respond to it?' I suggest.<br />He thinks for a moment.<br />'Not <em>respond</em> - that would sort of mean that I had nothing to do with it - no responsibility...'<br />'They're riffing on it...?'<br />He nods. 'Yeah. I like that better,' he says...<br /><a href=http://www.ceciliawee.com/blog/>Cecilia Wee</a> is there. I have a chat with her. About <a href=http://www.rationalrec.org.uk/>Rational Rec</a>, the <a href=http://www.chelsea.arts.ac.uk/graham-hudson.htm>Graham Hudson</a><br />film, stuff... I introduce her to <a href=http://www.jamesrobertford.com/>James Ford</a> who is also there. I think about how to contextualise him in Cecilia's world...'he had a car, and stuck loads of little toy cars on it to make it look like that <a href=http://www.generalcarbuncle.com/>car from The Dukes of Hazzard</a>...' Cecilia nods. I have no idea if this has provided any context at all.<br />I also see <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=151284530>Colonel K</a> there, looking grim and pissed off. 'I just want to see some good art,' he grumbles, 'I haven't seen any good art for such a long time...'<br />I guess tonight isn't helping.<br />We both look down at the lino piece.<br />I can feel him seething beside me. This whole thing is making him very angry.<br />I used to get angry. Now, very little makes me angry - at least in the artworld. I'm usually interested to see most things and if it's not something I like, well, there you go, I'm not going to be wasting any energy on it.I used to get angry because I <br />saw other artists works in galleries and I wanted to be in their place. And some curator had had the idiot sense to choose this artists work above mine! And the world was so unfair. And no one realised what a genius I was. And - and - and - well, then I would just stamp my little foot on the ground and cry...<br />I also used to think you had to be angry to make art. But then later in life, when I got less angry, I made much the same kind of stuff. Not necessarily better stuff, and certainly not worse, just the same sort of stuff, but without all the suffering. Suffering for your art doesn't make the art better. Suffering doesn't make anything any better.<br />It takes Colonel K until the next day to calm down. He emails me to say he left the show and then read the press release and that got him started again.<br />'There's a story about James Rosenquist,' says Matt. <br />I nod, meaning: please tell me.<br />'James Rosenquist is due to put on a show at a gallery and the curator, the gallerist, makes a little maquette of the gallery, with little models, and plays around with arranging the works until he has got it just right. Then, when Rosenquist finally arrives he ignores the model and just starts hanging the works wherever he wants. The gallerist is really upset and confused and in a panic. But, if people ask what we have done, what should we tell them?<br />Well, says Rosenquist, tell them we don't know.'<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/374981844/in/set-72157594509446930/>icy pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-1230890036292891220?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1169249091285795512007-01-19T15:03:00.000-08:002007-01-22T17:00:22.287-08:00<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RbVbT9j2OxI/AAAAAAAAAAY/IHa4A5d93_w/s1600-h/DSCF0084.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RbVbT9j2OxI/AAAAAAAAAAY/IHa4A5d93_w/s400/DSCF0084.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023021357902215954" /></a><br />Apparently Wednesday night at <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a> was great - it was art's birthday, courtesy of Will Holder. Rebecca Mmmmmmmmmmm says that there were balloons and presents and cake.<br />Tonight though is a little more restrained. And if you're not careful it would be easy to miss. I arrive early and press my face up against the window. Andrew Bonacina walks across the empty space, opens the door (probably thinking, who's this nutter pushing his face against the glass - probably another Hoxton Street drunk...) and lets me in. I look around. Ahh, the floor is different. Today's artist is Gemma Holt and she's put down an entire new floor over the old one. Her floor is made out of small pieces of wood, exactly the size of those wooden 30cm rules you used to get at school. They look like this because, actually, they are 30 cm pieces of wood that have been prepared for a life of rulerdom but have been cruelly plucked away from the printing house and their natural vocation in the classroom, to end up stuck on a gallery floor in the east end of London. They look like tiny planks of wood. Apparently Gemma was here at 5.30 this morning with her boyfriend putting this stuff down and only finished at about 4.oo this afternoon. That's a lot of work for a floor.<br />Over the next half hour I stand around and watch people arrive and come in and look at the floor. This whole thing about Associates being a social space is, in some ways, what these exhibitions have been about. While there are individual artists each day the exhibition has actually been a group show, sliced and diced and arranged and overseen by Rebecca and Andrew. This twelve day show is theirs. It's a very interesting notion. The show is about creating a nexus of some sort for an art community that may (or may not) exist. It's a meeting point. I'm interested in this, naturally, because my work is about private views and people and conversations more than it is ever about the work (though sometimes that gets the better of me), and already I'm thinking about what these twelve days will look like in the future, how this will develop, what history will do to them. Luckily at this point in my thoughts Niru Ratnam comes up and says something stupid about filming the floor with his mobile. I immediately say something stupid back about taking photos of people's feet and together, I think, we both reach an understanding...those are his feet in the picture at the top.<br />Niru talks about Ryan's door policy. Ryan's obsessed about the door being closed at these private views, which is why they are always so damn hot and sticky. 'Wasn't like this in my day,' says Niru, sniffing and throwing out his chest, referring to when Store was here...<br />I lean over and put the door on its latch and watch it swing open again, figuring that should piss Ryan off.<br />And maybe it has because outside Ryan is putting on his big black gloves so he looks like a bouncer. Sort of. I reckon I could proabably take him if it came to it, though. People are coming and going to the bar, which is cleverly disguised as a little shop and off licence next door to the gallery. It's a pay bar, obviously. Ryan says that the shopkeeper is well pleased with all this. Ryan also thinks he should be getting a cut of the shop's profits.<br />I hang around taking messages on my phone and thinking that maybe I won't go to <a href=http://www.daniellearnaud.com/>Danielle Arnaud</a>'s opening tonight. I was going to go; you know, pop in at Associates, then tube down to Danielle's but, suddenly I'm thinking, oh, it's just too far. Of course, it's not too far, it's just south of the river, but that sounds just soooooooo far away....<br />But that's the way it is. Four people I have spoken to today say, yeah, I was going to go, but, you know, Danielle's is just sooooooooooo far....<br />We are a fickle crowd. I have a few words with Matthew Smith. I tell him I'm thinking about going down to Danielle Arnaud's.<br />'Bit far,' he says.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/366441946/in/set-72157594494861278/>floor pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116924909128579551?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1169402834581097582007-01-19T10:06:00.000-08:002007-01-23T16:31:07.982-08:00<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RbamVdj2OyI/AAAAAAAAAAk/dXj1UWlraBI/s1600-h/DSCF0062.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RbamVdj2OyI/AAAAAAAAAAk/dXj1UWlraBI/s400/DSCF0062.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023385322020813602" /></a><br />So, I nick over to the <a href=http://www.serpentinegallery.org/>Serpentine</a> to take in Damien's <a href=http://www.serpentinegallery.org/2006/11/from_damien_hirsts_murderme_co.html>Murderme</a> show. I have to say, it was a blast. Some really big, heavy, full on, top class, high range, serious minded, big statement, proper, no nonsense art. And all the time I'm walking round I keep getting drawn into things and looking and thinking and feeling great to be here amongst all this stuff and then suddenly, like a sledgehammer cracking a walnut, it just hits me that he actually OWNS all this. It's not like just a group show of stuff. THIS IS FROM HIS COLLECTION.<br />It's awesome. He owns a Francis Bacon, for goodness sake. He owns a Jeff Koons that is enormous. He owns a whole bunch of Jim Lambies and even more Richard Princes. And Sarah Lucas works by the bucketload. And Warhols! He has that massive splattering of dead whale bits that John Isaacs did - revolting and grotesque and I couldn't take my eyes off it. And he owns it. It's his. Don't get me wrong - it's fantastic to see all this stuff. But I couldn't get away from the thought of Damien owning it. It was like a group show and a solo show at the same time.<br />Then I'm at <a href=http://www.fieldgategallery.com/>Fieldgate</a>, for a group show called Latitude. I'm here, really, to see the Sarah Baker piece but I'm stopped by a great Doug Fishbone video piece which I think maybe I've seen before...I'm also struck by a wall of shopping bags by Rosemary Williams. She bought an item from every store in the Mall of America in order to get a representative bag from all the retail outlets. It's impressive and made me feel both nauseous at the concentration of consumer packaging - which, now reduced (or elevated, it's hard to know) to art, looks clearly like so much hollow desperation and worthless greed - and also uncomfortably attracted to the designs and textures of the bags. It's an ambiguous piece and well worth getting more info from Rosemary about this <a href=http://www.rosemarygoestothemall.com/>here</a> - her website has podcasts of her shopping trips and also some revealing commentary about the money she spent and the goods purchased (and although she attempted to take everything she bought back to each shop - minus the bag - there is a subtext about the issues surrounding her purchases - and those she does actually keep - which is enjoyably problematic and which she herself is happy to explore. Her husband less so, mind - he eventually refuses to open credit card statements for the sake of his health).<br />Sarah Baker's piece is in a room on its own. Nooza has written about it <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com/2007/01/its-all-about-work.html>here</a>. I love it. Sarah has produced a music video but she can't sing. The video uses cheesy edits, back lighting and cutaway slow motion clips from what looks like family footage of a young girl (Sarah?). There are two people standing in the room watching this with me and they are both laughing in disbelief at Sarah's atrocious singing. Sarah is utterly shameless about her lack of tune and pitch. She defintely doesn't have the X factor... <br />But she does, finally, seem to have the beginnings of a <a href=http://www.sarahbaker.com/>website</a> - which hopefully she'll be updating soon...<br />Then it's up to <a href=http://www.maureenpaley.com/>Maureen Paley</a>'s on Herald Street to see the Andrew Grassie exhibition. This is another real treat. There are five paintings, all executed in the fanatical, detailed photorealism that Andrew is so good at. Each painting is 15.8cm high and from 21.7 to 26.1cm wide. So, you know, fairly small. They are arranged on three of the walls of the downstairs gallery. Two on the left hand wall as you walk in, two on the next wall, much further up, and one on the far wall. The paintings are of the five shows that have preceeded this. Each one is based on a photograph that Andrew took of the installation of each of the previous shows. On the handout he even details the dates he took the original installation shots and then the dates that he began each painting. His show, this that I am looking at now, is called Installation.<br />Did you see what he did there?<br />OK, let's think about this. He's a painter. A very, very, very talented painter in terms of near photographic reproduction on an almost incomprehensibly small scale (I mean, I can't even focus on some of the details, let alone paint anything that small - check out that roll of masking tape, above, that's like about a few millimetres high). So, you know, he can do that bit. So then what? What to paint? What questions to ask? It seems to me that Andrew is trying to move painting into questioning itself; or us, as viewers; into questioning what it means to look at a picture. In these works we are looking at pictures of the room we are standing in, except the paintings show the room as it was, at five points previously, and at a point when the gallery was closed to the public. We are seeing the room as it was never meant to be seen. He is showing us a version of the room. So we are not so much looking into and at a painting which is showing us something in another place, he is reflecting back to us the room we are in. We are not looking into the painting but looking back into the room, and looking back at five installations. So, maybe, these five paintings are about perception. But note that he hasn't called this show Five Paintings or Five Rooms or Five anythings. The five paintings are called Installation. These are paintings that know where they are, know that they are installed in this room. They know they are being looked at. And they will always relate to this room. They're not like other people's paintings that sit on the wall waiting to be bought and hung on another wall. They are an installation. They are the room now, and in the past. In at least a couple of the paintings there are doors open in the gallery wall with views through to the usually hidden areas of the gallery. And this being Maureen's gaff the place always looks immaculate. But in the paintings he is opening the gallery up, carefully peeling away all the artifice that has been so assiduously constructed for the previous five shows. When I leave the gallery and think back I feel absolutely convinced that I did see in through one of the gallery doors, at a clock on the wall. But, I know, factually, that I was alone in the gallery the whole time and that the doors were closed.<br />It's a curious effect and one he achieved awesomely in the Art Now room at Tate Britain a couple of years back. Then, in a piece called <a href=http://www.tate.org.uk/about/pressoffice/pressreleases/andrew_grassie_28-04-05.htm>New Hang</a>, there were 13 paintings around the empty room depicting the room from various angles but showing a collection of different paintings and scultures from the Tate's collection. It was amazing. I came away from that feeling like I had been in a room filled with different works. This work today is different, but there is still that odd juxtaposition betweeen the five small paintings, the gallery itself and the residual memory of being in a gallery that had other stuff in it, other people's works, open doors, tins of paint, a stepladder... <br />These aren't paintings so much as propositions about the nature of paintings, about perception, memory and experience. <br />I don't know of anything else quite like them. <br />And seeing them is unforgettable.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/367467846/in/set-72157594496653609/>some pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116940283458109758?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168989046410332212007-01-16T14:32:00.000-08:002007-01-16T18:12:28.593-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/444405/DSCF0031.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/707906/DSCF0031.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><em>Tonight's entry on this blog is brought to you courtesy of <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/drinks.cfm>FIREFLY</a>, the healthy drink to help you wake up, detox and chill out!</em><br /><br />I'm up at <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a> again, like a dog returning to the kill. And tonight there is <em>definitely</em> something happening. I walk up Hoxton Street and see a small crowd standing outside the gallery. As I look at this crowd - young, arty, bearded, smoking, drinking, chatting - I think back to all the many, many similar groups I have seen over the last year of going to openings. So many times I have turned a street corner to approach a new gallery and never had to worry about where or what number on the street it was, the location always announced from afar by this same group. It in its own little way it's quite comforting. As I get closer I also notice that some of the people here are drinking <em><a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/?gclid=CPqMxvyp5okCFRgnEAodGzoaGQ>FIREFLY</a>, the healthy drink that is helping them chill out!</em><br />It's cold outside again tonight but hot and close, like my mother's breath in a hankie pressed into my eye, in the gallery. The windows are steamed up. Ryan Gander is by the front door, acting like a sort of doorman. I say my hellos and he offers a thanks to me for putting an ad for a studio manager for him into my weekly mail out. 'I owe you one,' he says, 'you may want to mark that down in your black book.' 'Already in there,' I say, 'already in there.'<br />I go in and my glasses do the same thing as the windows and completely steam up. I take them off and stand in the middle of the gallery wondering what on earth is going on in front of me. Rebecca Mmmmmmm comes out of the blurry colours and says hello. We chat. I tell her I was here on Sunday night but there was nothing going on, all shut up and quiet. Oh no, she says, we were here until about 9.00, then we decided to close up. We're sending out emails saying if you turn up and we're not here just give us a call. She tells me that they left a note on the door the other night saying they were in the pub and when they came back there was a little note from someone saying they had come along but didn't want to disturb them...<br />It's a very laidback vibe, as I said before.<br />Anyway, what's happening tonight? There's a whole bunch of people in the gallery, there's the sound of a voice, heavily microphoned, speaking calmly in the the back and some small objects arranged around the room, mostly hanging from the walls. The recorded voice is referring to these objects, describing them, alluding to themes and meanings, but it's hard to hear above all the chattering. I make out the words 'Figure one...coastal erosion...' I have a wander round. Lots of people are happily drinking <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/?gclid=CPqMxvyp5okCFRgnEAodGzoaGQ>FIREFLY</a>, the healthy drink helping them to detox! Well, you know, it is January, so I guess that's why...<br />I go back outside, opening the oven door, like a chicken breaking free from the imminent Sunday roast and gulp in the cool night air. Rebecca Mmmmmmmmmm is outside now too, drinking some <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/?gclid=CPqMxvyp5okCFRgnEAodGzoaGQ>FIREFLY</a>!<br />I meet Andrew Bonacina, Rebecca Mmmmmmmmmmm's co-organiser of this 12 step programme. We talk about what is going on. He tells me there are 12 days in this show to mirror the 12 months that the gallery is going to be open for. And then, not wanting to do a group show, and wanting to find different approaches to showing generally, they came up with this one day/one artist approach. There's a certain freedom that this gives too. There is the opportunity for artists to try things out, to experiment and investigate, a little less pressure to make the big statement show and a little more space in which to fail. And that's a good thing. He talks about these shows and viewings acting as a social space as well as just simply a place for showing art. This is a place for people to come, to meet up. I'm very taken with this. The whole thing that the two of them are doing is great. They both talk about how the performance on Saturday, Anne Low's presentation of a recording of Glenn Gould's Bach's Goldberg Variations, was an experience in audience expectation. For the first 25 minutes of the recital no one spoke. I imagine everyone was treating it like ART. Then, finally, someone said something and this broke the tension and soon everyone was talking and it was marvellous. <br />I get to meet Matthew Smith who did the first show at Associates and which I saw, though got so drunk that night that the only thing I can say to him tonight is - oh yes, you did the wonky shelf thing. I can just tell he's impressed by my acute summation of his work...<br />Anyway, he graciously stays to speak to me for a moment. He has a show coming up at <a href=http://www.storegallery.co.uk/>Store</a> and and has some work in <a href=http://www.norwichgallery.co.uk/>East</a>. That's great, I say. Ryan leans over and says, and <a href=http://www.whitecolumns.org/>White Columns</a>, don't forget that, eh? Matthew hurriedly looks for a bushel in the the street under which he can ram his now burning light...<br />He looks uneasy. Yeah, you know, ..he says.<br />I have to take a photo I say. I blast him. Love the background, he says. Hmm, I say, red chickeny things. Like my eyes, he says.<br />Ryan, who has consistently refused to have his photo taken every time I see him is now taking delight in moving people forward and saying, 'here, take her photo - she's the artist. Go on, get a photo of the artist.' I flash at the people in front of me. They look uncomfortable. I wonder if Ryan is enjoying this.... <br />And talking of enjoying: we're all enjoying some <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/?gclid=CPqMxvyp5okCFRgnEAodGzoaGQ>FIREFLY</a>! Seems like everyone is drinking this stuff tonight. Heck, it's better than the beer!!!<br />I go back in for another look round. I see Tom Woolner and Mike Cooter in there. They look woken up, detoxed and chilled out! They're drinking <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/?gclid=CPqMxvyp5okCFRgnEAodGzoaGQ>FIREFLY</a>! I also see a girl drinking <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/CMDrinks.cfm?DrinkID=5>FIREFLY</a> Love Potion and another guy drinking <a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/CMDrinks.cfm?DrinkID=15>FIREFLY</a> Sharpen Up! Hey, he looks sharp! And she, well she looks, you know, loved up, I guess...<br /><br />Associates is doing something a little special here. There are more views over the next few days - including a birthday for art itself - and I'll be back. Andrew says London needs a place like this for people to come to, to gather and to be.<br />He's right. That little crowd of people - young, arty, bearded, smoking, drinking, chatting - will always need somewhere to stand outside.<br /><br />Don't forget now:<br /><em><a href=http://www.fireflytonics.com/drinks.cfm>FIREFLY</a> - the healthy drink to help you wake up, detox and chill out!</em><br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/360060797/in/set-72157594483947139/>FIREFLY pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116898904641033221?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168907136106417602007-01-15T16:13:00.000-08:002007-01-16T17:20:49.126-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/370938/DSCF0001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/338621/DSCF0001.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Honestly, you can't give these tickets away.<br />I've got a bunch of tickets for a party at the Cobden Club in west London, thrown by <a href=http://www.politecards.com/>Polite</a> cards to launch some new designs they have coming up from David Shrigley, Vic Reeves and Stella Vine. I've emailed a bunch of names across to the RSVP address and we're all set. Except I just can't find anyone that's up for it. Everyone's like, it's too short notice, or, it's too far west, or this or that or <em>whatever</em>. Halfway thru the day and I even get an email from Sarah Doyle. Do I want to go to the Polite party tonight - she has a spare ticket. Now I'm thinking even she's having trouble passing the tickets. <br />What is going on?<br />Anyway, stuff all of you and your lame excuses! I'm going to go and I'm going to have a good time!<br />Over in west London I get to the end of Kensal Road and suddenly realise I have been daydreaming and forgotten to look out for the club. I have to retrace my steps, right back down the road, with no idea suddenly where my head was at. <br />I get there and find my name isn't on the list. The girl behind the counter looks at me. 'What was your first name again?' she sighs, having gone through about fifty sheets of paper, the neatly typed ones on the top giving way to increasingly more madly biro scribbled ones towards the back. She gives another little sigh and eventually just writes my name on one of the sheets at the back. 'Cloakroom's on the first, reception on the second.' she says not looking up at me.<br />I go up to the reception. It's a nice bar, there's a stage set up with band equipment, some banging music coming out the speakers and a girl coming towards me with a tray of champagne.<br />I stand around. I see Shrigley there, Bob and Roberta Smith, both in conversations. I see a few other people milling around in the shifting lights. I lean against a shelf where the new Shrigley designs are all propped up. I take a sip of my drink. Send a couple of texts. Try and listen to a message but can't hear a thing with the music playing.<br />There's some performances later.<br />I begin to wonder if I can make it. <br />I stand around a bit more, look across the bar at people.<br />I wonder if Doyle is going to turn up.<br />It drags on.<br />I don't see anyone I know.<br />I start feeling tired and wondering why I am standing in a bar drinking when I could be doing that at home?<br />I take another sip of my drink.<br />Look at the postcards.<br />Listen to the music, look up at the disco lights in the ceiling, study them for a bit longer than is normal...look at the mirror ball..have a few thoughts about that...have a few thoughts about the angle of the light that is pointing at it...about light theory... about...<br />Decide to leave. <br />Along the road to the station I see Doyle, looking glamorous and party ready. She says she heard that nothing would kick off until after 8.30. Best to watch the Paul O'Grady show first she figured and then head in. We talk a bit about Celebrity Big Brother (CBB). I tell her to have a great time at the party. We say our goodbyes and head off in opposite directions....<br />The next day I email her, ask her if things got better, whether she had a good time.<br />She says:<br /><br /><em>Yes it was nice, we listened to Bob Smith singing some of his songs then watched Mike’s band Bandism playing for a bit. Stella turned up too from Northumbria, looking gorgeous as usual. I think she’s the only other person watching this years CBB apart from me.<br />Never been to that club before, the working men of North London have better Working Men’s Clubs than the ones I remember in Sunderland!<br /><br />Bye for now<br />Sarah x</em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116890713610641760?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168819673571201622007-01-14T15:55:00.000-08:002007-01-16T16:57:31.146-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/13609/DSCF0009.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/967966/DSCF0009.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Closing drinks (or the <em>finissage</em>, as Warren Neidich would have it) are always slightly odd, but quite relaxed affairs. They lack the mad energy that accompanies an opening and generally have a quiet little air all their own. <br />Tonight is the closing party for Grotto at <a href=http://www.naimad.co.uk/studio1-1/>Studio 1.1</a>, the huge group show they have run through Christmas. There's so much work here. It has been a massive, 150 plus artists show. Even I have a work in this show, above (a magazine cover, with all the text collaged out, using cuttings of the background colours taken from multiple copies of the same issue.) Some stuff is great, some less so. It's impossible to see it all. <br />I do, however, see Kate Street there and have a chat. She tells me about a flayed squirrel skin she has just bought, and a dead magpie. Seriously, I'm not kidding, she's like that. When she used to work at the shop with me she was continually having boxes delivered filled with dead things she'd bought off ebay. I always expected to receive a package one day with blood dripping out of it. <br />While we are talking I overhear a conversation with a woman asking if it's possible to collect the <a href=http://cathylomax.blogspot.com/>Cathy Lomax</a> piece that she has acquired. I'm assuming that means a sale for Cathy. There is evidence of other sales or collections too, squares of velcro that delineate the corners of a invisible squares or rectangles sit within the hang. I get introduced to Oliver Bancroft and at last have an opportunity to tell him how much I liked <a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/248614639/in/set-72157594293065105/>this piece he did</a>.<br />I also bump into Rosie Spencer who I met at the Hayward Gallery party for Art Monthly. Yesterday I saw her coming into the Guy Hilton gallery as I was leaving. We talk about that show. She says she felt like the house was about to fall down. And what was going on in the basement? And Will Self just creeping around. And what were all those people eating in that back room? It looked like a swan. Ah yes, I had forgotten the little frenzy of picking at the swan that overtook everyone after Mark had taken his ceremonial mouthfuls, but yes, everyone was in there getting a piece of the greasy meat. Rosie introduces me to Jess Baines, who along with Rosie, produces <a href=http://www.lcc.arts.ac.uk/22833.htm>White Collar</a>, the small, odd, literary journal. It's an interesting piece of work. <br />I stand outside for a bit in the cold and talk to Kate Street again who can't find her name on the poster outside. It isn't on there. Mine is, so I take a photo.<br />Then I say my goodbyes and head up to Associates; it's on my way, and I'll catch whatever is on. I get there. The blinds are down. There's no one else around. I stand there for a bit, like the poor kid who has turned up to the party on the wrong day. If I had a balloon in my hand it would now be gently deflating, looking like a giant raisin. I wait for a moment wondering if something might happen. <br />It doesn't.<br />I leave the balloon on the pavement and trudge back home.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/359998734/in/set-72157594483850470/>grotty pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116881967357120162?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168729342191280342007-01-13T14:55:00.000-08:002007-01-13T18:09:26.403-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/106413/DSCF0026.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/842313/DSCF0026.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />This afternoon, in an extraordinary art performance, controversial artist <a href=http://www.markmcgowan.org/>Mark McGowan</a> eats a swan. No, seriously, he does. And that's why all those guys with the big cameras, above, are here. Look at 'em.<br />We are in Fournier Street for a show called So Sad... at the Guy Hilton gallery - a place I've seen mentioned a couple of times, but about which I know very little, other than that it is the best gallery in the world. Well, that's what it says above the front door, anyway.<br />Inside that door, though, the place looks more like a condemned property, or a serial killer's dream home. It's falling apart. It makes flaca look like Gagosian's...I wonder, as I go down the stairs, whether the whole place is just going to fall in about me. Or explode. Or go up in flames. <br />In the basement there are loads of odd and strange things on a table; things piled up against the wall, strewn across shelves, hanging from the ceiling. I think some of these things, or all of them, may be actual art. There's also <a href=http://www.dedomenici.co.uk/>Richard Dedomenici</a> in a suit offering people black coffee made with black milk; there's a video of Simon Ould covering himself in peanut butter (what is it about Simon and rubbing foodstuffs onto himself?); and <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=69549722>Harry Pye</a>, calmly sitting in an armchair writing on a sheet of paper. When I ask him what he's writing, he looks up and says: 'It's about a time when I got lost'. He points to a typed line on the page he is using that says something about children being lost. He motions to a pile of papers next to what looks like a scrappy ballot box. He gets back to writing. I think Harry thinks I should know what on earth is going on. I don't. <a href=http://www.will-self.com/>Will Self</a> is there too, skulking about (he was born to skulk) and I wonder if this may have something to do with him. But who knows? Who knows if everything down here is part of the show? Who knows what is supposed to be art or not? Or am I just being old fashioned and out of date, worrying about these kinds of distinctions? <br />Certainly I don't think Mark worries too much about these things. He just likes things happening, whatever they are. And he likes the press coming down. So, let's get outside and watch him eat this swan then.<br />He carries it out the front door and puts it on a small makeshift table and reads out a few words - about the piece being some sort of protest about the rich and the queen being the only person to legally have the right to eat a swan, and then gives a little bit of the swans history. Apparently it died, probably, of natural causes on someone's land, someone who had the foresight to pick it up, stick it in the freezer, then wait for an artist to have a project needing a swan, whereby they defrosted it, cooked it (for 2 hours, 10 mins, I remember, oddly enough, Mark saying) and delivered it up to Mark for him to eat. Anyway, Mark does eat it, holding a piece of it on the end of his fork half in his mouth so the photographers get a good shot. He's very good at this kind of thing.<br />He'a also very good at what he does. Mark's work is, despite what you may have heard, surprisingly subtle and very clever. The work, of course, is not the eating of the swan, nor is it the supposed 'protest' (I mean, come on, he's not really protesting against the rich, is he?), the work is those guys up at the top with all their cameras. Well, they are part of the work. McGowan's work is about the media representation of the act, the framing of the art performance within the contemporary media culture of edit, soundbite, story. Mark uses the media as his raw materials. He lets them construct the work for him. All he needs to do is enough to make sure that the act gathers coverage. Recently he 'performed' the work Dead Soldier, in which, dressed in British Army combat gear, he lay in a Birmingham Street all day. I think it only went on for about a day or so before the very real possibility of violence and death threats towards him made it prudent to abandon the laying down bit. But the work generated a lot of coverage. It generated the actual work itself. He said at the time that the work was neither pro nor anti war. At his best, Mark doesn't need a protest, he just needs the context. His work brings up all sorts of questions about the artists relation to society, how art is seen in society at the moment, how the media relates to and communicates about art, etc etc. The act needs writing up, photographing, filming, then editing and some form of transmission. I think maybe, this entry may indeed be a work by Mark McGowan. <br />Lovely <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=24548764&MyToken=d60805b8-8077-4a00-a7e5-757c186306d3>Sarah Doyle</a> is there having a bit of a fret about her dvd piece which she can't get to play. I tell her it doesn't matter, it's the private view. Sort it out tomorrow when people might actually look at it. Then, because it has now taken over my life completely, I ask about her myspace. Sarah's friends with everyone. Everyone, man. She's been on there years. In internet terms she's really old.<br />'Hey,' she says suddenly, putting a paper plate on top of the piano we are standing beside, 'take a photo of that.' I look at the plate. It has the remains of a bit of marmalade on it, like someone's been eating something then finished eating and put it down. Euuww. 'Take a photo,' she says, 'That's Gilbert and George marmalade and Will Self was eating it off that plate.'<br />Of course! Isn't it obvious? I take a photo.<br />Still more people are pouring into the delapidated house. Around me I pick up bits and pieces of conversation; most people are talking about the swan. <br />'I think he made a valid point,' says someone to their friend.<br />'It tastes a bit like duck,' says someone else.<br />'We should've called the police.'<br />I wonder: if Mark McGowan falls over in a forest and there's no-one there with a camera, does he make a work?<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/356383726/in/set-72157594477877638/>swan pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116872934219128034?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168647078682710732007-01-12T16:04:00.000-08:002007-01-16T14:30:43.846-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/799550/DSCF0005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/411084/DSCF0005.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />It's too hot in <a href=http://www.sadiecoles.com/index-flash2.html>Sadie Coles</a> tonight, especially as we are all wrapped up in coats against a vicious wind that is punching its way along the streets like a drunk, so I go stand outside and wait for the others to finish beers, conversations and looking at Raymond Pettibon's new show.<br />I've never made up my mind about Pettibon. <br />Have you?<br />Has anyone?<br />This show still hasn't helped (above).<br />We go along to a party thrown by the publishers MIT, up in Chenies Street. There are canapes and drinks and us huddled up in a group in the middle of the crowd. <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=51965755>Simon Armstrong</a>, from the <a href=http://www.designmuseum.org/>Design Museum</a> shop, is there and we talk about <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=72286005>Myspace</a>. This is because I am still in my first month of being properly signed up and because it is new and exciting and all those things you feel when you get addicted to something straight away, and you have to talk about them all the time. And I want to talk to everyone about it, ALL THE TIME. In maybe another week or so, I'll forget all about it, but for now, I HAVE to talk about it.<br />We talk about trawling through lists of friend's friends, the relentless and shameless attention of bands trying to build a fanbase, the people who post bulletins everyday, deleting Tom from your list of friends...<br />Where will this all be in 50 years time? I wonder.<br />Where will all these profiles go? <br />When we die will we all leave an internet footprint forever?<br />My head begins to hurt.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116864707868271073?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168558559659158182007-01-11T15:20:00.000-08:002007-01-15T17:41:07.463-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/669208/DSCF0013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/515588/DSCF0013.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a>, on Hoxton Street, have come up with a series of 12 one day shows over a period of 12 days, each taking place between 12 noon and 12 midnight. <br />That's gonna keep them busy, no? <br />It's Thursday, the first of the 12 shows begins, and I've checked the website and there's launches on some nights at 7pm but not tonight, but what the heck, I'm in that neck of the east end and so I'm going to pop along, see what, if anything, is going on. Maybe it'll be closed, shut up, finished. I don't know.<br />As I'm walking up there it doesn't look too promising. It's supposed to be Andrew Lampert, an American artist doing a thing called PUBLIC OPINION LABORATORY. I get there and look thru the windows.<br />Luckily it looks like something is definitely going on. There's a projector and someone holding a coloured gel in front of it and moving it around so that the room is going different colours; there's someone else painting onto a large sheet of paper...there are a couple of people standing around. I go in. The person painting is Rebecca May Marston (above), who co-organised all this with Andrew Bonacina. We say hello. She's painting a representation of a certificate of artists work. There are loads of these along the wall of the gallery that she has painted throughout the day from 12 noon. <br />The sound of a phone rings. A guy, looking at the bright glowing screen of a laptop says, 'ok: he says, move the gel a bit more. He says it looks really good. Keep doing it...'<br />The guy speaking is taking instruction from Andrew Lampert who is in the States, watching via a webcam and directing the people in the gallery into doing stuff. A girl comes out from the back of the gallery and starts reading aloud a text. I wander round, looking at the pieces Rebecca MM has painted. Each one describes a work, on which it is possible to bid and then own. They range from being sent a belated birthday card every year for five years, going out for a meal with the artist, having the artist shoot a super 8 film of the purchaser...small acts involving participation or connection with and to the artist in some way. I like them. <br />In fact, I like the whole gallery tonight. Despite the galleristas being ordered around by Lampert, and maybe a certain growing realisation that a full 12 hours of this is a pretty tall order for them, they all seem remarkably up for it and good spirits. It makes for a good vibe. And there's a certain frisson about the artist beaming into all this from the States. <br />I hang around for a bit. <br />Nice.<br />I have a quick chat with Rebecca MM while she paints then say I'm heading up to Modern Art and I'll be back later. She says something about looking forward to a beer...<br />Vyner Street is busy. There's <a href=http://www.modernartinc.com/>Modern Art</a>, <a href=http://www.ibidprojects.com/>IBID</a> and a bunch of strangers called <a href=http://www.artists-anonymous.net/>Artists Anonymous</a> all opening tonight.<br />I nip into see the Ross Tibbles show which I'm intrigued by because he uses old images from magazines, and that's something I like, but although there are some great resonances and dissonances in his collaging of images, objects and textures together, when seen as a whole they suffer from a singular tonality of form and colour which undercuts their individual power. I stand and look at one, trying to block out everything else. It gets better. It makes me think about images, how they are used, what they mean, how to look at them - all the sort of stuff that's been in my head since I saw Clunie Reid's work at flaca...<br />I hop across to the Philip Lau show across the road in the main part of Modern Art. It's a busy night. Underneath the parachute thing which is suspended across the ceiling of the gallery I hear people saying 'hi, long time no see' - as though Christmas has kept us all shut away and the first openings of the new year bring us all out again. Edging back out of the gallery I bump into Simon Bedwell, just back from New York, and we have a chat. Then I have to get down the road to check out the Artists Anonymous show on the corner. I have reservations about this - I included it in my weekly mailout but something in the arrogant, unironic and aggressive tone of their own missive left me feeling that there was going to be the same attitude at play in the gallery. In the back room is a psychedelic painting with an electric guitar coming out of it. Hmm, I think.<br />One of the artists is a woman wearing contact lenses which transform her eyes to those of a cat, black almonds looking out from pale yellow irises. Surely, I think, here's the photo of the night. But she's having none of it and won't let me take her photo. 'Only take photos of the work,' she says, forcefully.<br />Curious. Usually people who have cats eyes love being photographed. And being fed little bits of fish.<br />Across to IBID projects and while taking a quick look at Christopher Orr's work, Lisa Penny appears. She's come up from an opening at <a href=http://www.fieldgategallery.com/>Fieldgate</a> and is going on about Sarah Baker's video piece that's on down there. I'm well into her work at the moment so resolve to pay a visit at a later date. But, when though? Where is the time? Actually seeing shows is so hard. The time disappears. You could put a show on for ten years and the day after it closed I'd still be like, Oh, yeah, I really need to go and see tha- whaddya mean it's finished?<br />While we talk I take a few desultorily photos of the crowd in IBID. Lisa asks about the blog. I tell her that I'm almost done now. I just need to decide what the final private view will be, sometime near the end of February. She tells me to let her know in advance so she can be in the last blog. (She isn't the first one to ask this of me...).<br />From IBID we step to the pub, chat, and Lisa takes phone calls from her mate Sally who, although opting to stay at home tonight is still needing a vicarious private view experience so is texting and phoning with questions: Where are you now? Who are you with? What's the show like? Any good??<br />Ben Woodeson, who I have been saying hello to earlier and meaning to catch up with, appears at the bar and says - 'why don't you answer your phone? I've rung you three times since I've been in here.' I get out my phone. It says two missed calls. 'Ah right,' he says, 'so it was only twice.'<br />I have to go. I tell Woodeson I'll email him about next week - unless he wants to join me on Saturday to see Mark McGowan eat a swan...<br />He pulls a face. The same face that lots of people pull when you say you are going to see Mark McGowan do a [INSERT A SUITABLY PROVOCATIVE/STUPID/OUTRAGEOUS/ALL THREE OF THESE PERFORMANCE IDEA HERE]<br />I go, slightly later that I thought I was going to, and decide I can't really get back down to Associates. <br />I do wonder, though, what Andrew is telling them to do now.<br />Ring Ring: OK, dudes, start drinking beer!<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/358905819/in/set-72157594481960510/>no cats eye pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116855855965915818?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1168454550892117562007-01-09T10:41:00.000-08:002007-01-21T15:28:20.629-08:00<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RbP1r9j2OwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/1O6kThW5a0M/s1600-h/DSCF0002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022628145056332546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_S7y-KClI4jk/RbP1r9j2OwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/1O6kThW5a0M/s400/DSCF0002.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>That's a great quote, no?<br />It's taken from Hector Castell's film of Graham Hudson's residency at <a href="http://www.chelsea.arts.ac.uk/graham-hudson-archive">Chelsea Parade ground</a>, which regular readers will know was featured in this blog over last summer.<br />We are at <a href="http://www.rationalrec.org.uk/">Rational Rec</a> at the <a href="http://www.workersplaytime.net/">Bethnal Green Working Mens Club</a> for the first public screening of the film. Hector spent a lot of time on the ground and I'm interested to see how he has brought 6 months of building, rebuilding and partying down to 40 minutes of film.<br />There's a lot of footage of the Parade Ground itself, in various states of (de)construction and a few short interviews with some of the students who went out and built houses beside Graham's. But it's not until later that the film really picks up with some choice quotes from Graham, some neat bits of editing and some great interviews from the auction night. That's where that quote from the top comes from. A girl, playing the role of devil's advocate, with a loud, shouty voice that could do nicely on a Channel Five youth programme, is interviewing buyers and onlookers in the midst of the auction, goading them with talk of 'junk' and 'shit' and 'hype'. She does it very well. She speaks to Ben Borthwick, one of the curators at Tate Modern, who gives a brilliant interview - funny (actually hilarious in places - especially on the subject of his own laundry...), incisive, knowing and perceptive. Dave Hoyland appears too, walking round the parade ground with a microphone, mostly taking about how the work is really a way to meet girls....<br />Throughout the second half of the film there are some pieces to camera from Graham himself - digs at Tate Britain, which throughout the residency sat like a big, disinterested pompous lump beside all this adventure; an account of the Richard and Judy show and the Sharon Osbourne show coming to visit and Graham's attempt to undermine it all by presenting someone else to play the part of Graham Hudson, artist. He talks about the feature in The Times which leads to a visit from the local council to confirm that he isn't actually living there (he was, of course) and finally some off the cuff remarks that Hector was quick enough to catch: 'if we want to sit and drink beer and watch football then that's 100% part of the project...'<br /><br />Most of the filming is hand held, or propped up against something. The sound levels are all over the place and the editing is hard and fast. But that's all ok - it matches the aesthetic and the sensibility of Graham's project perfectly. It's all rough and ready, and rock and roll. Graham and his crew come across as cool, sexy, arrogant, hip revolutionaries against the might of the indifferent art establishment, unafraid of anything (except, in one telling sequence, the groups of little fifteen year old kids who buzz thru on their bikes and cause trouble). It's a fantastic document of the time and I am always interested in (flawed, immediate, subjective, inaccurate, biased) historical documentation, as you know, so I find it all immensely satisfying. It's not quite Ken Russell's Pop Goes the Easel, but it's close...(read a snotty review of that particular documentary <a href="http://www.iainfisher.com/russell/russ16.html">here</a>)<br />I'm happy to say there's some excellent and gratifying footage of the piece that I bought (I loudly tell eveyone around the table at the screening this - and point, repeatedly).<br />As the girl says:<br />'This is the kind of shit that wins the Turner Prize.'<br />It's only a matter of time.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116845455089211756?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1166606550197885342006-12-19T01:21:00.000-08:002006-12-21T17:48:35.796-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/725201/DSCF0054.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/769356/DSCF0054.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />We are watching 50 years of the Eurovision Song Contest projected up on the back wall of <a href=http://www.dedomenici.co.uk/>Richard Dedomenici</a>'s new studio on Commercial Street. He's only had the studio a few hours. Most of what is here isn't his, just stuff left by the previous inhabitant. But there is some wine and some plastic glasses and some bread and some cheese. Who could want more?<br />Richard has got a studio so he can make some things for a solo show he has coming up at <a href=http://www.wandsworth.gov.uk/Home/LeisureandTourism/Pumphousegallery/default.htm>The Pumphouse Gallery</a> next April. Like a real artist. <br />Oh yeah, he also has a karaoke machine here. But, due to a small technical hitch, it can only access Lionel Ritchie songs. Luci, his girlfriend, gives us a rendition of All Night Long, opera style. It sounds better than the original.<br />We also get to meet Charlie Murphy here who is very interested in <a href=http://www.charliemurphy.co.uk/kiss/>kissing</a>. <br />I talk to John Hayvend (just after he throws a glass of red wine on the floor) about <a href=http://www.myspace.com/russell_herron>Myspace</a>, my new, current hot mistress.<br />Later, after wine and cheese and handmade Dedomenici guacamole (and let me tell you, sister, you simply haven't tasted guacamole until you've tasted Dedomenici's guacamole) we watch some Michel Gondry music videos. I absolutely insist at one point that EVERYONE IN THE ROOM HAS TO WATCH THIS ONE. <br />We all stand and watch <a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x5nNfbTS6N4>Bachelorette</a> by Bjork. It's one of my all time favourite music videos, dealing, as I think it does, most improbably, with the combined issues of celebrity, the betrayals of fame, the isolation of success, the abuse of the earth's natural resources, autobiography and identity, predeterminism, the cyclical nature of experience, and the revenge of nature on humankind's ignorance of its power.<br />Or something.<br />Hell, either Gondry's a genius or I am.<br />I decide to have a little more wine...<br />Then I decide it may be time to leave. Richard, after all, now that he is a real artist, has to produce some work here...<br /> <br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/329606341/in/set-72157594432365725/>studio pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116660655019788534?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1165967435345254022006-12-12T15:42:00.000-08:002006-12-21T17:21:53.813-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/699178/DSCF0023.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/968301/DSCF0023.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I'm walking past shops selling exquisite antiques, ornately framed mirrors, objet d'arts and serious hardwood flooring and lifestyle solutions. I'm passing men dressed in black tie outfits and darlings wrapped up in expensive coats, their porcelain bodies twinkling with jewels; their rich, carefree laughter spilling over me like an accidentally knocked glass of ice filled gin and tonic...<br />Vyner Street, it ain't.<br />I'm way out in the unwild west, just out of Notting Hill tube and heading along to <a href=http://www.sartorialart.com/>Sartorial Contemporary Art</a>. This place has been on my radar for a long time but what with other openings and commitments, shows, work, it's location so very far west, and whatever, I've never managed to quite get here. I do vaguely know some of the artists from the gallery; have been along to the shows they have put on at No More Grey in Redchurch Street. But finally, tonight, I'm at the centre of the operation.. <br />The show is part two of Artistic Vandals curated by James Jessop, one of Sartorial's stable (along with people like Jasper Joffe and the very busy <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=69549722>Harry Pye</a>). It's a whole mix of graffiti inspired/influenced/mashed-up work by people with tags rather than names. So, we're looking at works by Nathan 80, O.two, Mr P, Cyclops, etc...<br />Actually some of them do have names and some of the work is quite good.<br />I see <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=55803456>Olly Beck</a> there and he mentions a new gallery venture that he has started in an old hairdressers. He seems in good spirits.<br />We check out the work: two highlights, I think. William Tuck's painting. Smooth, airbrushed, confident. And Jessop's work too. I think he's a step ahead of most artists plumbing this street/graffiti line. His work is clearly gallery ready, pay up front, get it shipped out, thank you very much guv'nor, stuff. But it is interesting. He mixes up graffiti history with pulpy covers, referencing a whole bunch of visuals that shift around to a sort of paranoid, sleazy, schlocky kind of vibe. He's certainly no fool. And didn't Saatchi buy up some of his stuff a couple of years back? I'm sure I remember reading about his big painting 'Horrific' and all the press articles talking about it being done by a securty guard (as opposed to an artist). I liked that. It made me picture an overweight geezer in his fifties, tight black uniform, shiny peaked hat, sitting in an empty office block during the wee small hours, despairing of his failing marriage, his lack of prospects, and nipping out in to some storage facility out the back, slowly working on this enormous, fucked up, nightmare version of his twisted, frazzling psychology painting...<br />It was, of course, nothing like that at all.<br />Hugh Mendes is here, also one of the artists on the roster at Sartorial. He has a solo show coming up next year here. I ask him about those obituary paintings he does (check them out <a href=http://www.hughmendes.com/obituaries.htm>here</a>). He says he used to do portraits, then, when his dad died, he moved to still lives. Someone suggested he painted newspaper clippings. He tried it, painting a clipping of John Lennon's murder, placed behind an apple. Then a story about cloning, placed behind an egg. Eventually, as this went on, the object in the foreground disappeared and the clippings all became obituaries. 'They are still, still lives,' he says. Then he laughs and says, 'It's all a bit morbid.'<br />I first met Hugh standing outside an opening at Rokeby. We both try and recall which show this was. I remember speaking to Boo Ritson that evening too - she'd just been bought by Saatchi and was very excited. But what was the show? Then we remember: the Mark Moore Gallery show with Alastair Mackie in it. Ah yes this <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/rokeby-vs-mark-moore.html>one</a>. <br />'Ah,' says Hugh, 'yes, I was at Alastair's studio this morning.'<br />Small world.<br />I eat some pretzels, eye up the cheese and grapes. (I told you it wasn't Vyner Street).<br />The gallery is run by Gretta Safarty Merchant. She has a piece in the show. It's all over the floor. A reworking of Alison Jackson's Last Supper with additions by Gretta. I don't get it at all. I see Gretta moving around, smiling and talking to people. I can't quite remember but I'm sure she's lived a quite adventurous and glamorous life, maybe she was in a couple of films at some point...<br />As I leave the gallery, thinking about Gretta, I'm suddenly reminded of another adventurous women who set up her own gallery: <a href=http://www.jibbybeane.com/>Jibby Beane</a>. I remember hanging out around her west london flat where the front room was the gallery. Heady times. She was always very glamorous and sexy and decadent. She once gave me a tour of her flat, stopping to point out a Vivienne Westwood basque that she had mounted in a frame above the head of her bed....<br />But hey, that's a completely other story. <br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/329596367/in/set-72157594432349970/>sartorial pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116596743534525402?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1163723552335206662006-11-16T16:12:00.000-08:002006-12-21T16:54:52.683-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/1600/136111/DSCF0033.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2958/2132/400/246632/DSCF0033.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Even the seductive qualities of vodka and lychee juice can't keep me at the ICA's opening of Alien Nation tonight - well, ok, that's a lie - I quickly knock down a couple straight off, but I'm really not staying. I've been round some of the show already and been blown away by Hew Locke's bright, shiny, trashy, cheap toy laden spaceships in the upper galleries, acting as some glorious counterpoint to the quiet, rhythmic, ritualistic films of Ellen Gallagher and - well, look, no more, I'm off. I've been thinking all day about whether to stay here tonight or venture off and I finally make the decision, luckily, just before the vodkas pull up a chair and tie me in with a couple of ropes made from old sheets, laughing and cackling at my abject lack of will, winking at each other and pouring themselves down my throat...<br />I'm going east end tonight towards Modern Art and flaca, looking for something a little bit more - what? I'm not sure at this point but I figure I'll know it when I see it. <br />Up Vyner Street then and to Ricky Swallow at <a href=http://modernartinc.com>Modern Art</a>. The Swallow has been up to some more wood carving. Small pieces on the walls, a couple on the floor. I get particularly taken by one piece, lying on the floor, around which people are standing and looking down at. It's a skull, lying on its side, with what I take to be some sort of fungus growing out of it. I don't why, but I really like this. It seems mysterious and obvious at the same time. I look at it for a bit. The finish on it isn't like his previous stuff, it's a bit rougher, a little less finished. It makes it seem more like a crafted piece. <br />I'm thinking about the skull and heading off out when I bump into the lovely <a href=http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=115205>Francesca Gavin</a>. She is there with a guy called James Lambert. She starts talking about blokes who sleep with lots of girls and get away with it, and metaphorically leans an elbow against a bar to steady herself for what looks like a long tirade. As she continues, and as we near the end of the year, my mind turns, of course, to the all important Russell Herron's - a prizegiving event, honouring achievements in the artworld, very much like the Turner Prize, only done a bit more on the cheap, not on at the Tate, with no media coverage and with nominations provided by a totally subjective panel of myself spread across whatever damn categories I please. Doesn't that sound great? Wouldn't you want a Russell Herron on your mantlepiece?<br />Anyway, one very important award, and one I think a number of people would be delighted to receive, is The Russell Herron for Most Viewed Photo in This Blog. And currently holding top position, and this is where I hove back into view of the conversation, is the lovely Francesca herself. I had assumed she had simply just been clicking repeatedly, endlessly, on her own photo (you know how people are...), but she swears she only looked at it maybe a handful of times (well, maybe, you know, a <em>few</em> times...). Anyway, whatever, her photo is well popular. Maybe because she looks a bit hot in it and a bit naked?? <br />You can click to see it <a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/224114699/in/set-72157594250372290/>HERE</a>, and, at the same time, help her win that prize! Go on, show the girl your support!! <br />I tell her I'm heading up to <a href=http://www.flaca.co.uk/>flaca</a>, and she tells me she's heading down to the VICE party. See you later, I think. When you collect your award...<br />I get to flaca, duck downstairs, get a beer and immediately see and say hello to the lovely Oona Culley. I don't see her around much but I do like her work. She does some really sensitive and subtle work about perception and memory and absences. Very nice work indeed: click <a href=http://www.oonaculley.com/>HERE</a> for her website. Oona is also quite a sensitive and subtle person herself and I'm not sure she'll appreciate it if I ask for a photo of her. I ask. She's not sure. Will it go on your website? she asks. Well, yes, I say, pointing out that if I was taking her photo without the intention of publishing it here then that would be a little bit even more weird and creepy...no? She agreeds with this but disagrees about having her photo done. Luckily we can compromise and I get a photo of her hand holding a beer.<br />John Hayward has been phoning me a couple of times today to try and arrange to meet but it has been such a crazy day I never got back to him to firm things up, but never mind because here he is now with a guy called Neil Taylor who runs <a href=http://www.campbellworks.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/aboutus.htm>Campbell Works</a>. We all talk about wood carving, skulls and barnacles (ah, I think, it wasn't fungus, it was barnacles - so instead of this skull speaking to me of damp forest floors it is actually whispering about the sea, about loss, about the deep blue mysterious ocean...ah, I think, yes, indeed...) and John and Neil aren't convinced about Ricky. Or are they? It's one of the conversations about art where I can't even start to understand what anyone (including myself) is saying...are we agreeing, disagreeing, or about to have a fight? Whatever, we move on eventually. Neil tells me a little about Campbell Works and a magazine/newspaper he produces called '<a href=http://www.campbellworks.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/newsletter.htm>ArtInit</a>.' <br />I go to the bar to get a drink. It's being run by a guy called Douglas who I've seen here before. I take his photo. He's an odd one. He works lots of private view bars around London - a lot of the fancy ones. <br />I get a beer and chat some more to some more people. I see Tom who runs flaca and say hi to him. He is talking to another guy who seems very intense, hunched over in deep conversation. Something's odd, but I can't quite put my finger on it. But hey, he's talking to Tom and Tom seems ok, so he must be ok too. Right?<br />Wrong.<br />The guy gives me a big hug, stands holding my arm, stands far too close.<br />'You're very...er..physical,' I say.<br />'Just sharin' the love, man,' he grins...<br />He sees my camera and insists on taking a photo of me and Tom. He's pleased with the shot. For no reason that I can fathom he then starts shouting 'Oi! Oi! Saveloy!' He shouts this some more. Then he's off after someone else.<br />I go upstairs with Tom. 'Who is that geezer?' I ask.<br />Tom gives me a look, fixes me with his eyes, trying, in that one look, to communicate much, much more than he could by simply saying what he says:<br />'Oh, he's a local.'<br />Uhuh...<br />'Yes,' continues Tom, 'he's been here before, smashed up some of the work.'<br />Tom disappears into the toilet, maybe for the rest of the night..<br />Our friendly local is coming up the stairs, reaching for the volume on some kind of music player. I think this might be a work, but I'm not sure. <br />I take his photo, above. He no longer looks like he wants to share the love with me.<br />I quickly decide it might be time to leave...<br />I look around for a press release to take off with and pass by a scrappy piece of paper stuck to the wall on which someone has written 'I once dreamt that someone was offering me a cornetto. I woke up with my right arm outstretched.'<br />I reckon I know who's work this is, but I figure I can confirm it at some later date...<br />The next day I email Tom because I didn't find any info to pick up and ask if he can forward a press release.<br />He replies that there wasn't one for the show. 'Bad Gallerist!' he writes.<br />Well, whatever, but it's exactly why I like flaca so much. Tom set out there to do what he wanted to do and explore the things he wanted to explore. It's based on his passion and enthusiasm and the sheer damn joy of looking and curating and thinking about art and life and what on earth that all might mean. It's a surprisingly rare set of criteria. It makes flaca very much one of a kind. It's a special place and soon, I think, it will disappear...<br />I came away from that night feeling like I had just escaped from an imminent fight. I also saw some work that made me think about what art was again. The piece about the cornetto was by Clunie Reid, who is doing some really interesting stuff at the moment, and wants, I think, to try and understand what it is to look at art again - heck, look at anything again - here, now at the end of 2006.<br />But what do I know?<br />I went out eastside looking for something. <br />And I pretty nearly found it.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/329576613/in/set-72157594432317065/>saveloy pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116372355233520666?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1163548744737319452006-11-14T15:43:00.000-08:002006-11-15T08:09:57.300-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0025.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0025.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />There's a real sense of occasion about the <a href=http://www.artprojx.com/GeorginaStarr.html>Artprojx</a> premiere of Georgina Starr's film Theda, which is receiving it's one off debut at the Prince Charles cinema in Leicester Square. As Giorgio and I turn into the square there are crowds of people, crash barriers, paparazzi, searchlights, men in sharp suits - oh, no, wait a minute: this is the premiere of the new James Bond film.<br />We skirt round the 007 crowds and up the side street to the Prince Charles. There are film posters outside and the hoading up above the cinema has THEDA by GEORGINA STARR in blissfully huge letters, which I love. ('You would,' says Sara Preibsch who I sit next to in the screening). <br />Missing in action some time ago (at least in London and to my notes), tonight is the return of Georgina Starr, coming back with a sold out screening of her new film work. There's a lot of faces around: artists, dealers, gallerists, writers, hopefuls, even a lonely blogger...it is, like I said, an occasion.<br />The work is accompanied, as every silent film should be, by a live band. Tonight is the London Improvisers Orchestra. And tonight will be the first time they have seen the film, undoubtedly putting a bit of pressure and excitement into their playing. <br />The lights go down, the curtain parts, the film begins.<br />The word THEDA appears in white on a black screen, followed by the word Prelude. Georgina's face appears in black and white. It's that face I recognise from her previous works: part beautiful woman, part little girl, part street urchin, part cute ventriloquist's dummy. It is truly a great face. The band shimmy about with a bit of clomping and parping. What's she gonna do? What's going on? She's has panda eye silent film make up. She starts pulling faces - no, expressions. Slowly, precisely, she goes through a whole repetoire of expressions, culled, I shouldn't wonder, from a selecton of silent films. She's awestruck, frightened, overcome, angry, afraid, terrorised, saddened, maddened, amazed...she gently moves from one state to another, letting each emotion have its time, its peak, and then moves on...<br />Eventually, this fades to black and the screen presents the word ACT.<br />What follows, as I take it, is a sort of story made up from various scenes that Theda Bara is known to have played but which are no longer extant (according to the press blurb some of the film stock spontaneously combusted). The 'story', therefore, goes a little like this:<br />Theda/Starr is a sort of medium, weirdly dressed in a bizarre headress (above) who is visited by a female client (also Starr). The medium goes into spasm, turns a misty green (a curious and surprising effect in a black and white film - and the only time a colour appears in the whole piece) then slumps over. Cut to a picture of a sphinx and Theda/Starr on its feet, looking up at a sort of crystal ball in which she herself is fighting some invisible demons. Then to London. A gentleman, who'll we learn is called Ronaldo Wright, with moustache and large pipe, appears. He too is played, naturally, by Georgina. He stops in his perambulation along the street to examine a poster advertising a performance by a sapphic Theda (called something like CleoSaloSappho...). Clearly excited by this he hurries off to the theatre. As he leaves we focus on the poster for a while longer and watch as the letters of Theda's name rearrange themselves to spell DEATH.... <br />Ronaldo/Starr watches Theda/Starr perform a bewildering range of bizarre dances, all the while drawing her in a succession of detailed pencil sketches. She dances with a dead mans head; in egyptian costume; I think there's even a dance of the seven veils in there somewhere...<br />After the performance(s) Ronaldo/Starr sends her a note, asking if she would pose for a sculpture. She arrives at his studio. A lengthy series of shots then show the scupltor, Ronaldo/Starr, wrestling with the clay, fashioning appalling lumps and bumps of scuplture, like Rebecca Warren on acid. Somehow, later, the sculpture is revealed to us - and a horrified Theda/Starr - as a double portrait of her standing back to back with herself. One the one side the young and beautiful her, on the other a wizened and deathly looking version. The work is called The Allegory of Vanity. During the night a cat burglar (complete with whiskers, no less) creeps in through the skylight and knocks the sculpture over, smashing it. Ronaldo returns the next morning to find it in pieces and, gathering them up, sits at the table, lamenting and raging at the gods, fuelling his despair with plentiful gulps of absinthe until, inevitably, he passes out, the pieces of the sculpture lying around him. Finally we see a vision of Theda/Starr prone over a supine skeleton. She leans forward and seems to kiss the skull's nonexistent lips.<br />Then follows: EPILOGUE.<br />A women is speaking to camera, but, of course, her words are silent and indecipherable and the quality of the film renders her almost invisible beneath the scratches and the age of the stock, which, after a short while completely falls apart and burns away.<br />THE END.<br />We all give a big round of applause. There are some cheers and some whistles.<br />Georgina, with a sweeping flash of blonde hair, stands up from the audience and takes a shy bow, turns and applauds the musicians.<br />We all leave.<br />The press blurb says that the film questions 'ideas of loss and neglect within all art forms. Looking at deception and pretence within both art and acting; the mythologising of artworks, performers and stars; the lure of vanity and obssession with possesing artists and art; and finally confronting mortality, ownership and ultimately destruction and death.'<br />I think they pretty much have it covered. After all, that's a pretty good checklist for any artwork to stand up against. <br />I was thinking about memory and loss though. And difficulties in communication.<br />No one makes silent films now. But we've all just sat thru one and watched as Georgina performed a range of emotions for us. Was she communicating those emotions? Or was she practising communicating? How do we communicate those emotions? So often in life the real emotions decend upon us without any chance for rehearsal. We can often make mistakes. But here she is, showing how to do them. And it's all being subtly subverted by the musicians, who are also scrutinising the expressions in order to provide fitting accompaniment. It's safe to say that their interpretation didn't always fit with mine. We couldn't agree. We were all looking at Georgina but we were all seeing something slightly different.<br />We couldn't reach agreement on the middle of the piece, either, the ACT. The story was like a series of vignettes, strung together by Theda's presence within them. They were like fragments of memories tied together for the purpose of understanding. While the press info says that this shouldn't be seen as a film about Theda, it neglects to say that this could be seen as a film about Georgina. Or rather about Georgina's 'memory' of Theda. It's rare to spend time on something that you don't, on some level, fall a little in love with, or empathise with, become protector and champion of. And Georgina must have a done a big piece of research into Theda and her life to arrive at where she is now. She has rescued her from the rotting films and history books, and she has rescued a part of herself too. I wonder: who will do that for us? Who will represent us in 90 years time? Keep us from the dark corners of history, quietly self combusting? What fragments will we leave behind?<br />That last decaying piece of film at the end. Was that Theda? Or was that Georgina again? It was hard to tell. Hard to tell not only what that woman was saying, but who indeed, she was. A scratched, fading, literally decaying image of a silent figure, talking but not being heard. A memory, but not a very good or clear one.<br />And then, suddenly, she is burned away.<br />Theda, or Georgina, is gone. <br />But not, now, forgotten.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116354874473731945?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1163463784378667832006-11-13T16:19:00.000-08:002006-11-15T16:47:56.980-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0013.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0013.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />John Hayward invites me to a show he has put on. It’s in a derelict house on some of his land. Or is it rented? I can’t tell. Either way, it’s pretty creepy. I’m wandering round corridors and rooms that look like they haven’t been inhabited for some time. There’s a sort of party going on in one room, but it looks a bit dodgy. There's a bunch of blokes jostling each other about in a way that suggests that real violence is only the flick of a knife away.<br />I go further down the corridor, into another room, looking for the toilet. The room is huge and as I walk across the floor I suddenly feel a hand touch my face. This isn’t as frightening as it sounds, given how spooked I already feel. I look up and see a small girl looking down at me thru the ceiling, her hand still resting on my cheek. <br />I lift up my arms and bring her down through the hole. I carry her under my arm, her hands around my neck. Her name is Maryam.<br />I think the room with the party going on has kicked off finally into a fight and I feel very protective towards Maryam. Later, as the sun is rising her name turns out to be Lisudysani. I hand her over to what I assume are her parents and check my watch. It’s 11.30am. The whole night has just disappeared. And now I’m late for a meeting that was scheduled for 11.00am. I can’t believe I’ve messed up like this!<br />Why didn't I check the time earlier? <br />Then I wake up.<br />In the evening I go to <a href=http://www.andrewmummery.com/>Andrew Mummery</a>'s for a low key little event which is Warren Neidich's <em>finissage</em>, his drinks party to close his show.<br />I shake his hand, get a glass of wine, as many canapes as I can hold in one hand and wander the show.<br />Warren has put up some photos from a series of works called Earthling (1 and 2). I like these. I don't quite understand what they are on about but they are easy to like because they look quite funny and quirky. In each photo there is always someone holding a magazine or newspaper up to their face so that one of their eyes can peer through a hole cut in the picture on the page where someone else's eye should be (above). It's like animating a face.<br />There's more to it than that - you know what Warren's like - but I like them just the same. The magazines and newspapers come from different times and countries, clearly at odds with the surroundings in which the readers are placed. It's like he is mixing up history and place and understanding. Are the people in these photos looking out, or are the images on the magazines themselves looking out?<br />I glance at the press blurb: 'Apparatic Unconscious', 'a fetishistic network of becoming', 'a narrative that is not really a narrative', 'diachronic, Eurocentric pictorial iconography', uh huh, yes, yes, hm, hm, yep, that sounds like Warren alright. <br />Mathieu Copeland is there. I say that I seem to be going thru a phase of him recently. Wherever I go, he is there. 'Most likely,' he says, 'we are the only people who go out on a Monday...'<br />He could be right.<br />Also on show in the gallery tonight are some works by Alexis Harding. He does paintings that fall off the canvas and end up on the floor. I've seen his work in reproduction but never in the flesh, never actually falling off the canvas. <br />I think these are interesting works because they seem to be throwing their hands up in despair at painting. What can you do, they seem to be saying, what can you do?<br />It's all gonnna end up on the floor, whatever happens.<br />I wonder if any of his works cling to the canvas long enough to make it into someone's private collection? That'll look great in your posh living room, sticking like toffee in your nice posh carpet...<br />I take a couple more canapes and say thanks to Warren and head off.<br />La finissage is finished for me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116346378437866783?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1163463569016449372006-11-07T16:16:00.000-08:002006-11-16T03:26:41.380-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0128.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0128.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Dan leans over and whispers:<br />'You can tell it's an art crowd: there's someone behind me doing their knitting.'<br />I look over his shoulder at the table behind and, yes, sure enough, there's a girl sitting there with her mates doing some knitting.<br />So, definitely an art crowd. Which isn't surprising seeing as we are at one of <a href=http://www.rationalrec.org.uk/>Rational Rec</a>'s art quiz nights at The Bethnal Green Working Men's Club. I have managed to gather together a few people from the ICA to come along and pit our collective wits. In fact, I've been so successful in getting these volunteers that we actually have two teams. Twice the chance of winning!!!<br />But before the quiz starts, it's time for music from <a href=http://www.myspace.com/themixedupinsects>The Mixed Up Insects</a>, who play a mashed up/mixed up version of (I think, but could be <em>totally</em> wrong) The Police's Message in a Bottle - it's pretty diabolical at first but actually ends up quite interesting, as layers of other songs drift in and out. I'm pleasantly surprised. Some of the others in the team, however, look as though they are in physical pain.<br />Quiz master for the night is <a href=http://www.dedomenici.co.uk/>Richard 'one-man subversive-think-tank-primarily-dedicated-to-the-development-and-implementation-of-innovative-strategies-designed-to-undermine-accepted-belief-systems-and-topple-existing-power-structures' Dedomenici</a>, standing up on stage with a mic and a set of fiendish questions.<br />Yeah, those questions...<br />I mean, how do you answer this:<br />Dedomenici: 'What artist am I thinking of?' Slight pause. 'Right, next question.'<br />I mean, how the hell?<br />The answer turned out, eventually, to be Picasso - and we had a narrow miss: Catrin from the ICA had threatened to come along and drunkenly shout out 'Picasso' to every question...if only she had followed through on this, she could have bagged at least one point.<br />Then a question about a novelist - I don't remember who - and the poser: is a particular novel of theirs a bird, horse or muffin?<br />Eh? Does anyone know what this is about?<br />By this time I'm beginning to think that there are no answers to any of these questions at all, but change my mind when I nail one with the correct 'Bo Derek and Dudley Moore in 10.'<br />Where did that come from?<br />This is not the sort of art quiz I was expecting. I'd stayed up the whole night reading the Art Since 1900 cover to cover. Pah! What a waste!<br />Anyway, it goes on, with the later questions being set by Dedomenici himself. So a particular thanks to him for such easy ones as 'What is the range of the guns on HMS Belfast?'<br />For future reference, fact lovers, it's 23 miles...<br />Art schmart quiz, I think to myself.<br />We get to the end and pass our question papers to the next table.<br />As the answers are read out I let out a sharp, breathy 'YES!' in the hope that everyone will think we got loads right...<br />But unfortunately we didn't get loads right.<br />Our team got five and half. Our other team got nine.<br />The winning team, behind us, got twenty four.<br />How the hell did they do that?<br />I look across at them.<br />Ah yes...<br />Next time I'm bringing my fucking knitting.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116346356901644937?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1162201161277159002006-10-26T01:38:00.000-07:002006-11-05T08:17:36.166-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0054.2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0054.2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Would you say that's nerdy?<br />I am talking to Graham Dolphin (above) at the opening of his show at <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>Seventeen</a> gallery and he is pointing to the album cover of Patti Smith's Horses, one of his works perched up on the wall. 'When people walk past and look in it'll look just like the cover of the album, as though I've done nothing at all to it and I'm just showing the thing itself.'<br />But of course, it's not simply the cover, because scratched into the cardboard of it are the lyrics to all the songs on the album. Tiny, tiny script that goes from one side of the cover to the other. It must have taken months.<br />Would you say that's nerdy?<br />'And look at this,' says Graham, pointing to the word Horses on the album. 'This is a first pressing of the album and in the subsequent editions the word Horses is in grey, not white like this. Apparently, when they were first put out there was some worry that people wouldn't be able to see that title.'<br />Would you say that's nerdy?<br />'It sounds a bit nerdy, really,' says Graham, and you know what? I have to agree.<br />But that of course is precisely the strength and attraction of his work. I've been a fan of his stuff from seeing a series of works he did using <a href=http://www.grahamdolphin.co.uk/magazines.html>fashion magazines</a> a few years back. 'I kept getting put into shows about fashion, and it's not that the work is really about that.'<br />'So now,' I say, looking round the gallery at the albums, singles and pop posters, 'you'll be in shows about music.'<br />'Yeah. Probably,' he says.<br />We would have talked more about this but Dave Hoyland comes and introduces someone to Graham who has just bought one of his works from tonight's show.<br />I head off, down to the Jerwood to check in with Simon Tsyzko and the show Blurred Certainty. We have a quick chat but I have to move on, up Blackfriars Road, left onto Stamford Street to the Hayward and a party celebrating 30 years of Art Monthly. <br />It's a big party. And there's free champagne, so you just know that there will be some blurred uncertainties by the end of this one...<br />I see Jen Thatcher and JJ Charlesworth there. Sally O'Reilly too. While Sally and I are trying to attempt to have some sort of conversation that doesn't involve silly voices, Patricia Bickers gives a wonderfully measured and perfectly concise speech about Art Monthly and its hardcore crew of long serving staffers.<br />Then we head over to see the Art Monthly cake. While we are there I meet Rosie Spencer, who I recognise from the background of thousands of private views we've both been at over the last year. She has just been working on the big new Phaidon book Vitamin Ph, is working at Icon magazine and even finds time to produce White Collar, a small magazine which I have been stocking at the bookshop and which is a unique little read. I bump into David Gleeson who I met recently at Giorgio's (who is also there himself, muttering darkly, and apropos of nothing 'I don't like you anymore,' which is not as bad as it sounds as I point out to him that he never liked me in the first place anyway....). Andrew Cross is there with David and I hang out near them for a while. Being near David is like having all the gossip delivered directly to you. People rarely pass him without handing over some delicious piece of information or name of a recently successful applicant for whatever job is currently hot...and so as Sarah Kent stops off for a chat, and we say hello to Rebecca Wilson and many others I slowly realise that there's practically nothing I can report back. But then again, it'll all be common knowledge in the next few weeks anyway...nothing is more important to successful gossip as a sell by date. <br />I meet other people and chat but, as there's free champagne, I think you know the rest of this story already...<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/289497803/in/set-72157594361748094/>party</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116220116127715900?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1161647391080332462006-10-23T16:37:00.000-07:002006-11-05T08:22:35.766-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0025.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0025.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />There's, like, about a million artists on the <a href=http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/>Saatchi Your Gallery</a> site. Everyone puts their work up there, hoping that one day Saatchi, at a loose end, sipping a cup of tea, will be idly scrolling through the artists and works online when suddenly, he comes across YOUR work and, spurting tea out of his mouth, shouts: 'MY GOD! THE FUTURE OF ART! I HAVE TO BUY THAT! NOW!'<br />Of course, this doesn't happen. Saatchi never drinks tea. He likes coffee.<br />I like coffee too. So a few months back, when I get an email from the Saatchi website that says, could you have a look through the artists online and maybe suggest a few names that we could put on a shortlist, BY TOMORROW, I let a little drop of coffee fall from my mouth too.<br />There's no way anyone could go through the whole list. It's just not feasible. So, I quickly scroll thru and find the names of anyone I know.<br />Yes, people of integrity and moral fibre, this is what happens. You all know it, but wish it wasn't so. It is the lesson that everyone has to learn eventually: It is not what you know, but who. Or in this case, who knows you. <br />So I know some people on the list. I send their names off to the website with a little bit of text saying what I think of their work.<br />Weeks, months pass.<br />Then I get an email from James Ford saying he is in The Guardian this morning having made the shortlist for a possible show at The Guardian's Farringdon Road offices.<br />Well done, James, I think. <br />He was one of the names I put forward.<br />So then there's a bit more voting by people and eventually there's a group show of ten artists.<br />James sends me an invite to the view. He got through.<br />Well, he sort of got through.<br />This is where it gets a bit curious.<br />James's work is General Carbuncle, a piece he has spent the last three years, on and off, working on. This is it <a href=http://www.generalcarbuncle.com/>here</a>. It's a car, covered in thousands of little toy cars to produce a knobbly looking version of the General Lee car from the TV series <a href=http://www2.warnerbros.com/dukesofhazzard/index.html>The Dukes of Hazzard</a>. I like this because it has a lot of impact. I like it because it nods to my own childhood with the toy cars and the TV series. And I like it because I think it is really, really stupid. Stupid, in a good way, though.<br />Tonight the General is sitting outside the gallery on the road, looking like a car has just parked up but obviously creating a lot of attention. <br />I find James inside. There are ten artists in the show and he isn't one of them.<br />Eh?<br />'First they phoned me and said I was joint 10th, which was a bit odd. Then they said, er, actually you're 11th. Bring the car, they said, put it outside for the opening night.'<br />So James got the car to outside the gallery where inside the top ten artists are standing around, with their works on the walls, reading about themselves on the all the press material that's being handed out.<br />But no mention of the General or James. <br />We chat for a bit. I'm a bit confused by the whole thing.<br />And talking of being confused, I bump into Warren Neidich, who, true to previous form, looks slightly dazed, and says he has just landed. He's always just landed. He blinks and looks around. Maybe it's another planet he has landed from, I think. <br />He has a show coming up at <a href=http://www.andrewmummery.com/>Andrew Mummery</a>'s place and he is over here for the opening and, strangely, for the closing. Or the <em>finissage</em>, as Warren calls it. Warren likes those kinds of words. In the sentence after that he uses the words: 'postproduction', 'metaphysical', 'ontological' and 'symbolic'. It's a very Warren sentence. And he was only talking about going to the corner shop.<br />Mathieu Copeland and Dallas Seitz are there too. Mathieu is talking about my blog, saying that when he looks his own name up on google it usually ends up in my blog somewhere. I wonder, how many times does Mathieu look up his name on google? <br />Probably, I think, as many times as I do.<br />Dallas is talking about 1,000,000mph, his gallery. He says he should do more in terms of trying to get people to review it and stuff, but, he says, I'm too embarrassed to phone people up and talk to them...<br />Both Mathieu and I start laughing. This is rather like the pope saying he feels uncomfortable talking about religion. <br />Dallas's partner Matt is there too and I took a magazine for the shop from him the other day. Dallas had talked to me about it when I last saw him at Three Colts a while back. I say I was so relieved that the magazine was good; there's nothing worse than being recommended a fantastic new magazine/book/handstitched CD in a limited edition jewel case by an acquaintance only to find that it's complete rubbish.<br />Dallas says he wouldn't do that to me. He says when you tell people you run a gallery, the last thing you ever want to hear back is someone saying, 'oh, a gallery? You know, my friend's a really good artist..'<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/289480245/in/set-72157594361720488/>guardian</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116164739108033246?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160823945153983922006-10-13T04:05:00.000-07:002006-11-05T08:25:33.336-08:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0084.4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0084.4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Frieze week is nearly over and I end up on Friday with a bit of history.<br />Ah, history. You know, old people and bits of paper. That's what history usually looks like.<br />And this is sort of true for the <a href=http://www.thecentreofattention.org/home2.html>Centre of Attention's</a> very selective review of independent spaces and collectives of the latter half of the last century. At least three people ask me why City Racing isn't in all this; possibly one of the most famous independent spaces of the last 30 years. But there you go, there are plenty of others missing from this and, also, that's history, isn't it? Selective, subjective, incomplete, random, fickle.<br />The opening is at <a href=http://www.fieldgategallery.com/>Fieldgate Gallery</a> which is a pretty big space and more than adequate to the job of displaying all these bits of paper. The magazine Women's Art Library, which then became Make which then became nothing at all is presented as a carpet of magazines in the floor. Other historical organisations seem no more than a table, a chair and a title. There's bits of paper from workfortheeyetodo, 2B Butler's Wharf, Artslab and lots of others that I've never heard of.<br />BANK, who I have heard of, also have some bits of paper there - as well as some lifesize crucifixions that are leaning against walls and pillars. I still like all that mad BANK stuff. It was just so arrogant and angry and, really, downright childish. I can't think of anyone doing anything like this now. <br />But maybe that's no bad thing...<br />I look around. There's a whole mix of people here - lots of old people who look like hippies. There are also lots of kids who look like children of hippies. For a while a few of them play football with an enormous black balloon (above).<br />Near the back of the gallery there's a video screen showing a short piece of film of naked women with their bodies painted in a decidedly sixties type way. It all looks very...free, man. But also beautifully innocent. And fun.<br />There are a few women watching the screen too, wearing expressions on their faces that I'm sure could only be read as 'look at me there, what was I doing?' and then taking photos and howling with laughter...<br />The whole place seems to be a multi pocketed reunion for different groups. Some of them have faired pretty well, some of them have clearly gone mad. That Japanese woman who kept screaming and running around and then later, lying on the floor. Not sure if she was faring too well.<br />There's some interesting stuff here, but the best bits are actually to be found sitting down with the <a href=http://www.thecentreofattention.org/>website</a> and taking time to read thru the texts and looking at those old photos of groups of people inside and outside their galleries. I adore those photos. So of their time, so dated. So hopeful. It reminds me of some of the photos that I have on this blog, great people caught up in the little history I am writing; making history now, instead of waiting fifty years. And we all know what history is like: selective, subjective, incomplete, random, fickle....<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/289449255/in/set-72157594361670948/>old</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116082394515398392?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160697460414686082006-10-12T16:45:00.000-07:002006-10-25T16:25:12.896-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0032.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0032.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Here we go, then - 1 million artists and over seven million pieces of work. All of it for sale.<br />It can only be Frieze Art Fair. <br />By row D I actually can't see anything. As usual there's far too much to take in and my eyes just give up. They hand in the towel. They refuse to carry on. They are ex-eyes (etc etc).<br />We are all there, bumping into each other and saying hello and wandering along for a bit in the big Frieze soup for a while then detatching and meeting up again...<br />You don't really look at art at Frieze, you look at other people and you look at small examples of reputations. You shop. You buy.<br />Or many people do. It is, after all, just a big, noisy trade fair, with lots of stalls selling their wares, and then trying to sell more. Nothing wrong with that. Just like most other industry trade fairs.<br />But we still find it all a bit difficult. I lose count of the conversations I have with people who say 'this isn't the art world,' when it quite clearly is. Might not be the bit of the artworld that they like, but it's defintely a major part of what keeps people interested. And it's growing each year. And it won't go away. <br />Anyway, what do I care? I'm in the VIP Lounge, sipping a mojito and eating creme brulee canapés. Or at least Lena is. 'These are great,' she says, carrying canapes and glasses over to us from the bar.<br />Tracey Emin is in here too, signing her big new book. And there's lots of people going up with the big new book and saying how much they like her.<br />Which is nice.<br />Just before it ends I figure I ought to get a signature too. Except I don't really want to get a book or anything signed, nothing that could then become an object which I would have to keep and puzzle over. I have a little idea.<br />Unfortunately, as I go up to see her there's a guy in front of me talking to her. Carl Freedman. Bloody Carl Freedman, hell, that's all I need. Yep, that Carl Freedman who wrote the book on her and used to go out with her a long, long time ago and who she doesn't now have a great relationship with. She's looking pretty pissed off, looking away from him and he's looking like he's enjoying it. She refuses to meet his eye. <br />He turns and looks at me 'I just put my head in the lion's mouth,' he grins, then clears off.<br />Leaving me and a well pissed off Tracey.<br />'Hi,' I say, being all lovely and pleasant. 'I was wondering if you wouldn't mind signing my...hand?'<br />I figure this will work. I get a signature on my hand for the rest of the night, it slowly fades, there's nothing to sell or to worry about at the end of it, just a cute little memory.<br />'No, I won't sign your hand, I'm not signing flesh.'<br />She's not laughing.<br />'The last two times I signed people's skin they both died,' she says.<br />I figure maybe she has a point here. I don't want to die. Specially not because Tracey signed my hand. What is she? Some kind of voodoo woman?<br />'I'll sign some paper or something,' she says, 'but not your skin. People go and have my signature tattooed on them.' She flicks over a little paper napkin. 'I'll sign this,' she says. 'Then you can put it on ebay later.'<br />I say I was trying to avoid all that object business.<br />She looks at me as if to say, 'prat.' Then she laughs.<br />I thank her and take my napkin.<br />Now what do I do?<br />Well, here's what: Leave Frieze and head down to Year_06, one of the many alternative fairs that have sprung up round the big party. This is the thing put together by the Keith Talent boys: thirty one galleries from Europe and the US. <br />As we leave the Frieze tent and are looking to cross the road a Canadian voice, coming from a small, anxious looking middle age woman, stops us. 'Could you tell me how to get to Charlotte Street, please? I'm diabetic you see, and all my things are there, in the Charlotte Street hotel. I'm from Canada.' She doesn't look too steady and I'm thinking, woah, lady, you need to get there quickly for sure - but isn't this too much information already that you're giving me? I recommend she gets a cab. I point out the best corner, just across the road from us. 'Best place, there,' I say. She thanks us and ambles off.<br />We cross the other road ourselves and I see a cab start coming up the road towards her. It looks like a done deal. Suddenly, though, there's a whole lot of shrieking - 'TAXI! TAXIIII!' and Tracey and her mate are haring across the lanes of traffic, waving their arms around, towards this cab.<br />We stand and watch. Will the driver stick with the original Canadian woman who really needs to get to the Charlotte Street hotel before she keels over? Or will he pass her over and let Tracey, a well known shrieking celebrity - 'guess who I had in the back of my cab tonight?' - get in?<br />Well, Tracey's shouting and waving, still running like a banshee towards the cab, and the Canadian woman is doing a fairly ineffectual, but quite moving, queen mother type wave.<br />OK, you are the cab driver: What do you do?<br />Exactly right. You pull up sharply, stop for the guy in the black suit who's chivalrously stepped out of nowhere in front of all these women, get him straight in and on the back seat and put your foot down, hard...<br />We trudge off on our route, leaving three women on the pavement to a conversation about bad cabs, London art and diabetic collapse...<br />A little later and we are standing in the Mary Ward house where Year_06 is happening. We are drinking beer and, because we suddenly got hungry and they were selling it, eating a cheese sandwich.<br />Lena wails: 'two minutes ago I was drinking mojitos and eating creme brulee - now I'm drinking a warm beer that cost 2.50 and eating an old cheese sandwich....'<br />She has a point.<br />There are lots of people here and I see the Keith Talent boys (looking very smart in suits) moving around the place. They seem pleased - if a little tired. But I have to credit them, they've pulled it off.<br />A couple of galleries already sold most of their work this morning, before they even opened. There's a real freshness to a lot of the stuff here and I'm delighted by both stuff I've seen before and new stuff too. Also, the gallerists all seem friendly and eager to chat and relaxed about the whole thing. It's a really good vibe. <br />'Look,' says Woodeson, 'I've found you!' He points out the piece at the top of this posting. It's by William Powhida, who has done a whole series of neatly observed skits on the artworld and it's archetypes. Worryingly, I think the picture above does actually look a little like me....<br />He's drawn a picture of Tracey too, in amongst a load of other people, in a piece called The London Enemies List. <br />It's getting late and I blow my nose, wondering if I'm getting a cold.<br />Then I put the used napkin back in my pocket.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116069746041468608?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160823998594345192006-10-11T04:06:00.000-07:002006-10-25T03:26:40.090-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0022.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0022.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />We say goodbye to Matt Packer who leaves the ICA bookshop after less than a year. He's off to Cork in Ireland for a year-long curatorial fellowship at the <a href=http://www.glucksman.org.>Lewis Glucksman Gallery</a>. <br />His erudition and learning will be missed.<br />So too, his beard.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116082399859434519?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160643926774227932006-10-11T02:04:00.000-07:002006-10-25T03:23:54.163-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0001.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0001.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Matt Packer laughs and says, 'Ah, Russell. You do High and Low, don't you?'<br />'Matt,' I say, laughing back at him, 'to me there's no difference.'<br />Which roughly translated means:<br />You are all off at the opening night Frieze party and I, well I, am standing holding a cold beer in the Green Room at the television studios with Charlotte Church, following the recording of the last in the present series of her Friday night show. <br />And a very jolly experience it was too, thanks.<br /><br />Anyway, isn't Charlotte Church the Tracey Emin of the light entertainment world?<br />Discuss.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116064392677422793?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160518620624369012006-10-10T15:16:00.000-07:002006-10-25T03:21:41.873-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0094.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0094.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I have just jumped up on the bed of a lorry, walked along the back trailer and climbed down through an unexpected hole in the floor. I'm now in a very low ceilinged room with what look like some sort of indian carpets on the floor, or prayer mats or somesuch, and then I'm in the next room which is just a few plastic chairs and the walls covered with newspaper pages featuring naked women.<br />It isn't nice. It's claustrophobic, clammy, dirty, unsavory, scary and grim.<br />I'm in one small part of the vast installation that Christoph Büchel has produced for the <a href=http://www.hauserwirth.com/index.php>Hauser and Wirth</a> space in Coppermill in Cheshire Street off Brick Lane.<br />I bump into someone who has been working on this thing for the last month. Yes, the last month. It's taken a whole month to install all this - the hundred or so fridges piled up, the containers leading to dirty, rank eating areas, beds, a freezer that you can climb through to an even more claustrophobic and dirtier area and a sort of archeological dig (I don't do this - the queue is too slow moving, there's a promise only of more discomfort and dirt - and suddenly I'm just not that interested); there's a caravan almost buried beneath hundreds of old, mashed up computers and dvd players; there's the whole scrangy hotel set up you have to walk thru when you arrive...<br />I don't think 'scrangy' is actually a word, but it summed up the hotel rooms for me. And I think you can probably get what I'm meaning. <br />So, what else?<br />Well, not much really.<br />It's a bit like walking round a film set. It's wonderfully done, the attention to detail, the effect of a just deserted blackmarket workcamp extremely well executed. But....<br />Well, it's art, innit? There weren't really people here running this whole thing like it was some sort of illegal work place. Those people were never really here. I can't stop thiking that this is so well done, that I don't actually believe any of it. And if I don't believe it, I don't really know what it's here for.<br />(Other than to go down in art history as a monumental installation, of course.)<br />Coppermill is a big building in which to make your mark - a sort of anti-turbine hall. It's huge and daunting and a real challenge.<br />Sometimes, I think, do we need another space this big? <br />(Then again, sometimes I also think, do we really need any more art? But that's for another day, maybe)<br />Since Paul McCarthy inaugerated it last year with the Whitechapel show Hauser and Wirth have followed with the Dieter Roth/Kippenberger show and now this. I can't help thinking that Büchel's show really isn't helped by following these two previous shows - both of them teeming with rancid material and chaotic order one way or another. This now looks like one more variation on a theme.<br />And this piece also feels too close to the surrounding environment - weren't there sweatshops and black market factories all round this area? And isn't it still possible to find areas where a pile of fridges or broken computers is just daily life? Why would I go to Hauser and Wirth to see this when it's happening all round me anyway?<br />And, finally, isn't this all a bit Mike Nelson? <br />I meet up with <a href=http://www.woodeson.co.uk/>Ben Woodeson</a> there. He goes off round it sniffing like a tracker dog, looking to find the really good bits. He takes about 10 minutes. He comes and finds me, shakes his head.<br />I know what you mean, I say.<br />Woodeson has seen Büchel's stuff before, he says, and it was a much better piece that he saw.<br />We head off out, back into the street, bumping into <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com>Nooza</a>, <a href=http://lucy-harrison.co.uk/>Lucy Harrison</a> and others, then heading up to <a href=http://www.fred-london.com/>Fred</a>'s on Vyner Street. We take a quick look at Simon English's big scratchy drawings. These are quite nice after the nightmare of Cheshire Street. And surprisingly detailed. Just when you think you've looked at every bit, another little scenario appears, offering up another little avenue of thought...<br />Woodeson says, 'check out <a href=http://www.davidrisleygallery.com/>David Risley</a>, next door. See what you think.'<br />I do check it out and I like it a lot. There are four paintings by Jonathan Wateridge. Big, bold, thick paintings depicting plane crashes and shipwrecks. And all of them painted on about eight or ten sheets of perspex hung one in front of the other, so that when you look at them up close and from an angle you can see that he has painted different parts of the picture on different levels. Stand a little distance away, straight on, and they look like normal 2D paintings. I'm not convinced that the added depths provide added depth, but I really like them. As I'm standing there (probably nodding to myself like an idiot) <a href=http://www.charliedanby.co.uk/read/CSite>Charlie Danby</a> comes up and says hello. Charlie is a writer and a curator and an artist and he writes really well on artists for magazines like i-D. Anyway, I know him because of stuff he has written and curated and we are standing looking at Wateridge's works and I say I like these because of the colours: I say I like that one because it's really blue, and I like that one because it's really green. I'm not sure Charlie was ready for quite such insightful criticism and appreciation of this painters work, but that's what he gets. Charlie's got his doubts about the whole perspex depth thing too. We chat for a bit then we head off.<br />Wateridge's paintings stay in my head. They have tapped on the shoulder of a memory and it is only a few days later that the memory turns and faces me. Of course. They remind me of the cover paintings on the trashy paperbacks I read when I was growing up: adventure stories, Willard Price books, Leo Kessler, Sven Hassel books. I always loved those covers. I used to sit and look at them. Or look at them while I took a breather from the actual reading. And his paintings took me back to all that. A plane, crashed in the jungle, the survivors fighting for their lives, trying to get back to civilisation. <br />I can almost see the strapline: <br />'Lost in the rainforest, desperate and a long way from home - how long before they start eating each other??' <br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/278966854/in/set-72157594344174618/>cheshire cheese</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116051862062436901?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160336463719803482006-10-08T12:38:00.000-07:002006-10-24T11:16:35.543-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0064.6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0064.6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I am standing in Giorgio Sadotti's front room. Well, sort of front room. It's not like a usual house because Giorgio lives in a <a href=http://www.adjaye.com/docs/work.html>David Adjaye designed house</a> in the east end. From outside it just looks like a big brown thing, with no windows or doors or anything. From outside it looks a bit weird. But inside it's great. A really quite amazing house. The whole of the back wall is just a giant window, letting light down into the bottom of the house.<br />I'm here for one of Giorgio's - what? I don't really know what they are called. Every year he shows work by an invited artist and himself. It's usually on a Sunday afternoon. It's not really a show and it's not really a party, though there are lots of people and there is some drink and some food. It is what it is, I guess. I'm very fond of it and of the idea. I have done something similar for the past few years too. Make some work, invite people round, feed them, give them some drink, have fun.<br />Anyway, I'm here and looking at a monitor showing a road where there are some cars passing. This is Ceal Floyer's work. It's slight and short and minimalist.<br />I am drinking red wine from a white china cup and saucer and talking to Liz Wright, Giorgio's partner.<br />'Where's Giorgio's piece?' I ask, expecting to suddenly hear something blaring out, loud and disruptive.<br />Liz smiles, inscrutably. Liz does inscrutable really well.<br />'OK,' I say, 'Are you alright if I take a couple of photos?' It's like her and Giorgio's house and everything, it's not like a gallery so I'm not sure of the ground rules. <br />'Ask Giorgio,' say Liz. Then she says, 'I think it's time you stopped taking photos, isn't it? It's a Sunday. Have a day off.' She looks at me pityingly, like I'm a child wanting to play the same game again and again.<br />'I will have a day off,' I say, 'in about five months time. Five months and then I'm done.' Five months and then this blog, this piece of work about history, place and identity, about what it means to be here, now in London, in the artworld (whatever that is), chipping away at a thin strata of what the artworld is for me, for all of us, comes to an end. But that still all feels a long way off. And there's still lots to do. <br />Anyway, more of that later...<br />I try again.<br />'OK,' I say, 'Ceal's work is these cars going past, but only white cars....And Giorgio's piece is....?'<br />Liz smiles that smile again.<br />I often think Liz would make an excellent sphinx.<br />'OK,' she says. 'So. White....'<br />She motions to the cups we are drinking from, raises her eyebrows, nods towards the table of cups and wine....<br />Hmmmm, so Giorgio's response(?) to Ceal's piece is the cups we are drinking from.<br />Maybe his work is just a generous gift of drinking vessels.<br />Seems unlikely, though, I think.<br />I go over to the table to look at the cups (and get more wine) and chat to Mathieu Copeland who is there. I tell him that Cerith Wyn Evans bought three copies of his magazine, Perfect, the other day, saying, 'I bet you don't sell many of these' - but actually we do, it's one of the most consistently selling magazines we have. So Mathieu is very happy. I also wonder if he is a little drunk...<br />I see Gavin Turk there, Bob and Roberta Smith and Jessica Voorsanger. It's a good turn out. Whatever it is.<br />I also get introduced to David Gleeson. He is very funny and very gossipy. He mentions ArtRumour which everyone used to read online. He used to contribute bits and pieces. No surprise, I think.<br />I'm starting to get myself together to leave (wondering if I should take one of the cups and saucers, but don't), say my goodbyes and, by chance, leave with David.<br />Before we go separate ways I give him my card. 'I really ought to give you mine,' he says, 'but I've only got this on me.' He offers me his Boots Advantage card. If there were enough points on it I might have taken it, but I let him keep it. We say our toodle pips and I head to the tube.<br />I stand at the edge of the road, waiting to cross. There are lots of cars, and inevitably, none of them are white.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116033646371980348?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160336287145134072006-10-06T12:29:00.000-07:002006-10-23T15:20:03.603-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0009.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0009.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />and see James Ford and make a victory v sign with my hand to denote that I just need two minutes (to go to the toilet actually - I've just arrived, yes) and then I'll be back and then when I am back Harry Pye comes up and says 'you look well' and I say yes, and think, ugh, I feel awful because I have a cold coming and I don't feel well at all and then Harry says, have you been in the other room yet and I say what other room (I've only just arrived in this room) and he says I'll take you there and I follow him along a corridor and there's no one around and I suddenly think where is Harry taking me and what is going to happen is Harry an axe wielding maniac and taking me to my death and I make a joke of this with Harry and he laughs but then we get to the other room so it's ok and Harry doesn't murder me and the room here is pretty much empty (although Harry says it was really full about 10 minutes ago) except for a whole pile of TVs and some sort of projection on the wall and Professor Timecreep standing around in the middle of it and we know Timecreep from <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/timecreep-in-walthamstow.html>here</a> and there's also some painting on the wall, the words The Crisps, in big black letters and there's also one of Harry's paintings (above) and Harry talks to me about it and says it is a painting of him with two people who he housesits for and he did it while they were away and painted himself as this sort of wizard and them as his helpers and now they are moving to Scotland and I ask is there any coincidence there and Harry laughs and says they are moving to Cromarty which I recognise from the shipping forecast so we say that that is good and that Harry will always know what kind of weather they are having and then we look at a work next to Harry's which is black and has some back to front text on it and the face of a cat but the eyes of the cat have had jewels put in them and it's all a bit weird and Harry says that an Italian girl he knows has done this and there are also some headphones beneath it to listen to and we both agree that it's not good to have headphones as that takes more effort than either of us are up to at the moment, so I take some photos and Professor Timecreep comes over to see me and says would I mind taking some photos of her because the flash on her camera isn't working and so I do and I say I will send her what I take and then my phone goes and it's Ben Woodeson, I see his name come up on the screen, but I don't answer it quick enough and he doesn't leave a message and there was a sort of arrangement to meet him here tonight so I decide to go back to the main gallery and I walk in and there's Barry Thompson and he says hello and motions me to come and stand near him so he can ask - ain't this always the way - if I can do a favour and the favour is can I get him tickets to a sold out gig at the ICA next week that his friend's band are playing and he is the second person today to ask me this, but I can't do anything unfortunately (although a couple of days later I can and that makes it all pretty cool with people and they get in to see the band) and then Barry kind of loses interest shall we say and then two guys come up and say hi to Barry and Barry says, these two guys are the lego artists and I'm not sure what he means and then they say they make sharks and dali clocks out of lego and I think maybe I have seen some of their work, I think they are these guys <a href=http://www.littleartist.co.uk/>here</a> and we say hello and then Barry says we're going to find Harry Pye, you coming...I say, no, I just want to have a quick look round and I think better phone Woodeson to see what is happening so I go and stand outside the door and ring him and as it starts to connect he taps me on the shoulder and he's here and we get a beer and then I say have you seen the other room and we start to walk there and see James Ford and we talk to him about his work <a href=http://www.generalcarbuncle.com/>General Carbuncle</a> which is coming up in The Guardian show that he is in and he talks about getting engaged to his lovely girlfriend and he shows us a tattoo he got done when they got engaged which goes up his arm which I think means 'joined' but I could have got that wrong and then I say well, we are going to the other room and we say goodbye to James and Woodeson talks a bit about a show he has going on in Lancaster and I make a joke about being an axe wielding madman as I walk with him down the corridor when we get there to the other room The Crisps are playing and we look at them for a very short while and then we go back to the main gallery and we bump into Simon Ould who is wearing wellington boots that he bought for £3 and he is talking about being in Harry Pye's show about John Peel and that he is doing a painting of Mark E Smith for it and then Dallas Seitz comes up and we talk to him for a bit and we talk about The Crisps ('they're, like, the art band du jour,' says Dallas) and then we talk about Sarah Baker whose work I think is very interesting and Dallas shows me a ring he has on his finger which is a Sarah Baker ring and while we are talking Woodeson says he is heading off and I take a few photos and when I look at them later when I am at home I see that Sarah Doyle is in one of them but I didn't see her there as I often take photos without looking at what I am taking, so, belatedly, hello, Sarah, and talk to Dallas a bit more and then I say I have to go myself and<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/277696415/in/set-72157594342010823/>large glass</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116033628714513407?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1160088923690066542006-10-05T15:50:00.000-07:002006-10-17T15:40:35.170-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0035.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0035.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I'm south of the river so feeling a little uneasy already, trying to find a new gallery called <a href=http://galleryyujiro.com>Yujiro</a> which is on some industrial estate. It's dark and I see a girl wandering round with a similar email print out to the one I am clutching, for the show The Universe in a Handkerchief. We join up and stalk through lots of buildings and eventually find Block A, go up about five flights of stairs (there's a lift but by this time neither of us are feeling keen) and we get there and it's all ok. In fact, better than ok - we're in what looks like a good show....<br />Sometimes when you walk into a gallery (especially one you've never been to before) you know instantly that you have walked into a good show or a bad - the size of the gallery, the layout of the works, the amount of pieces, the colours even, the smell, the vibe, something...<br />And also, as an added bonus, I have to say, being served saki in small wooden boxes instead of green bottles of beer, is a complete winner. Even if everyone does end up spilling quite a lot down their chins.<br />I'm chiefly here because Giorgio Sadotti (above) has some work in here and I see his stuff almost immediately. How could anyone miss it? Plastered up all the way round the gallery is a series of large (maybe) arbitary words, in a range of fonts and backgrounds and styles, all prefixed with word 'not': <em>'Not averse. Not useless. Not these. Not promised...</em> I also notice that actually these words don't go all the way round the gallery in a single strip - they are in the spaces between the other individual artists works. Bet Giorgio didn't like that, I think. He always likes things to have a completeness, a unity. And to get his own way. Then I think: how on earth did they get him to compromise on this? Was there money involved? A gun to the head? Concrete shoes??<br />I have a wander round. In the middle of the first part of this big gallery space are a collection of video pieces by Eric Hattan. Odd clips of a shopping trolley freewheeling across a car park and crashing into a car; a large mechanical digger dropping a large heavy ball onto a bridge and slowly demolishing it; people crossing roads; humdrum, slightly off-beat things. And the monitors are looking out from a pile of cardboard boxes. It's good. <br />A weird, very loud mishmash of sounds suddenly start thumping and wailing thru the gallery, replacing the clattering chatter. Then another sound starts up with like a thick club dance beat, really, really loud.<br />I look across the gallery and see Giorgio standing calmly by a turntable and speakers, a large lump of butter in his mouth, which is very obviously not melting.<br />He's arrived then, I think.<br />I also think, how typically Giorgio, to do a work that totally defines the whole space. Defines and influences, dominates and ultimately, controls the space.<br />It's a very Giorgio type of thing, I think.<br />The thumping sound piece last a few minutes. It's a (very) limited 12" made up of people's voices performing a techno track.<br />Later, when it ends and the gallery goes back to its tinkling babble, there feels something missing. As well as heralding Giorgio's arrival, the piece also brought a sense of excitement and energy to the whole place. I start looking forward to it coming back on. Which it does, whenever Giorgio, or me, or someone decides to start it up. It gets better each time. The whole gallery starts happening...<br />I meet Matt Hale. I've known him on and off over many years as the person you email to place your ad in Art Monthly. I also know him as one of the original City Racers, so that makes him not only pretty special in my book (or, even, blog...) but in art history itself.<br />We are looking at a video piece by Ed Oliver which shows a cut together Super 8 film of a guy jumping up and then moving, seemingly in mid air along a path, as though he were inexpertly, and jerkily, flying, stuttering through the air for a short length of time. I absolutely love his piece because it reminds me of a dream that I've had a few times where I suddenly realise that if I jump up and keep my legs moving I can, actually, for a short distance, almost fly. It's the most beautiful feeling. And it feels completely real when I dream it.<br />Bizarrely I must have said all this out loud.<br />Matt says dreaming you are flying is good, that dreaming you can fly means good things. I hope so. He then tells me about his dreams of flying. When he was young he used to jump from the stairs in his house, seeing just how far up the stairs he could go and still jump to the bottom. He used to have a dream where he was jumping down the stairs and instead of landing at the bottom, just took off into flight.<br />Isn't that wonderful?<br />Anyway, there are some other works there that are really good: I like Sarah Pickering's photos of shells being detonated. I've seen these before and they are great. It looks like clouds have come down from the sky to take a rest just above the ground. Or like there are trees growing, made entirely of smoke. <br />Micheal Sailstorfer shows 10 photographs of a hut being dismantled and burned in the stove that sits in the midle of the hut, thus consuming itself. It makes me think of Simon Starling's works. Minkoff and Olesens Meteorites of Love are photographs of balls of duvet made in hotel rooms.<br />I bump into Patrick Coyle who says he just discovered my blog the other day and sat down for an afternoon to read it. He says he's been in many of the views I have been to, just over the other side of the room. I say that's great and take his photo. <br />I hear Giorgio's piece start up again.<br />The gallery starts to energise.<br />I lift my right foot slowly off the ground and hold it in midair. I gently ease my left foot up beside it. I spread my arms, carefully, out to the sides and, like I am swimming, softly push myself along, flying, for a little while, and then for a little while longer...<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/272598015/in/set-72157594333340759/>square box</a> photos<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-116008892369006654?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1159917765856490762006-10-03T16:21:00.000-07:002006-10-17T14:39:13.350-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0020.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0020.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I'm on my way home but detour through Soho to have a quick look at <a href=http://jemimaanddolly.com>Jemima Brown</a>'s show opening at Stella Vine's place, <a href=http://www.rosywilde.blogspot.com/>Rosy Wilde</a>.<br />I've seen some of Jemima's work before at Family Viewing at <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/04/halos-family-viewing-baroque-my-world.html>Family Viewing at Curatorspace</a> so I'm prepared for the show to look pretty spooky and unhinged. And indeed it does. She has some of those familiar sculpted faces in flowery wreaths that she's had before. I don't like these at all, they look like props from some 70's Hammer horror film. From what I understand there's this whole family thing going on with Brown and a lot of these sculptures relate to family members. There's also tonight a wallpaper piece that she has covered the walls of the gallery in. It's to do with the unamerican activities committe from the 50's but is also spliced up with images from more recent American wars. And there's a video piece too. This has people (from Rosy Wilde, I think) looking directly to camera, but with their eyes replaced by Jemima's. She's done this before at the Curatorspace show but instead there she used photographs of her grandmother. This new set is less interesting than those because the difference between the individual and her eyes is much less noticeable, so it could be just a single, slightly weird, person you are looking at. The ones at Curatorspace worked much better as there was a definite disconnection between the still, old, black and white image and Jemima's eyes, softly blinking and looking around, partly as though they were surprised to find themselves in that face and yet, sort of complicit in the imposition and rather interested and amused by it. There were layers of meanings about genetic make up, history, personality, psychology, determinism. Actually, yes, they were brilliant - way better than the piece she has done for tonight. They really had a ton of psychological weight behind them, and were done so delicately.<br />And I'm thinking about all this, and thinking, wow, they really were good works and I didn't, I don't think, write about them at all when I saw them - it's only now, with this new work, that I have understood those pieces. And only now, that I realise how much they have stayed with me. Mmmm. Good, yes, I'm starting -<br />'You're looking very serious,' says Harry Pye.<br />'Just thinking,' I say, wondering if, having slipped into the chair that I keep in the little comfy study in my mind, my face, momentarily forgotten about, had fixed into some rather unsettling scowly frown (I do that a lot - I was born with a frowning face).<br />Harry starts pointing at faces on the wallpaper and naming the figures that are on it. 'Recognise her,' he says, 'that's Condoleezza Rice.' We look at them. Is that Cheney? That's Blair. Rumsfeld, David Kelly. And that's that girl in the prison pictures with the tortured Iraqi soldiers. Wasn't she called Lynndie? Something?<br />Harry says he has been here a little while, hanging about, waiting to meet up with some friends and apart from Stella doesn't really know anyone else here. I know that feeling. I often go places on my own. And going to private views is sometimes like going to someone else's party. Even though they sent you an invite and they want everyone to come along, most private views are groups of the artist's friends. So I go along and step into someone else's bunch of friends for the night. Some galleries have a committed bunch of attendees for every view while others have an ever changing crowd who come to their friend's view and then never again. And that's fair enough. It's just the way it is. I'm kind of used to it now. And I'm usually there just to catalogue things and then move on.<br />Harry then tells me about some shows he has coming up. Stuff he is curating, or has work in, or is waiting for funding for. He's busy. He goes through loads of things and finally peters out in March next year. It's a long list.<br />April, Harry? Anything in April?<br />'Not yet,' he says.<br />I ask if I can take his photo. I figure I ought to as he has a new thing on his face. A beard.<br />'OK,' he says, 'but I need someone attractive to stand next to me.'<br />He looks around and, as we are at Rosy Wilde, it's an easy choice: Colette is here, managing the drinks. I take a couple of photos.<br />Harry heads off.<br />I hang around a bit and chat to Colette and take more photos of her.<br />Then I take a quick look back in the main room.<br />It is full of someone else's party.<br />And they all have Jemima's eyes...<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/272556332/in/set-72157594333263232/>rosy pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115991776585649076?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1159917714767969782006-09-30T16:21:00.000-07:002006-10-17T13:36:28.233-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0015.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0015.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Now here's something I don't do very often. Hardly at all, in fact.<br />I go and see a show.<br />And I mean, I go and see it during one of the days that it's open - when it's quiet and there's no drink and there's no crowds and it's just a bunch of things in a room that look like art in an exhibition.<br />Weird, huh?<br />It's Three Colts and a show called <a href=http://www.re-title.com/exhibitions/ThreeColtsGallery.asp>Drive Thru</a> that I couldn't make the opening of because of a prior engagement with Robbie Williams, but since I pretty much know everyone in the show, to lesser or greater degrees, I figure this is a show I can't possibly miss.<br />John Tiney is there when I arrive, invigilating for the day. I haven't seen him for a while and it's good to catch up.<br />We have a chat about stuff and then I get him to walk me thru the show. <br />There's piece called 'Bless You Fuck You' (above) by David Wilkinson which, slowly, I work out. A turbanned all-white figure seems to be floating slightly above the floor, with his hands by his sides. But look at this: the hands have strings attached to them that go up to the ceiling, then along and come down a few feet away. You can pull them and the figures hands rise. One hand has a symbol of peace (Bless You) and the other the finger (Fuck You). I play with this a bit. It makes me smile. <br />Then we are looking at John Summer's piece. It's a ...well, wait a second, <em>what</em> is it? Well, it's certainly a John Summers piece alright. OK, it's a sort of wooden frame that looks like a georgian window but which has been bent and curved out of shape and then covered with some gooey, sticky-looking half transparent stretchy material, through which you can see a thick jumble of kids toys - figures and cars, all mashed up. Eurghh. What a mess. It stands up off the floor, balanced at one end on just a bent piece of metal pipe. <br />Typically John, though. Tiney says that Summer's work has a 'complicated humour' which I think is an excellent description.<br />It also looks very wonky.<br />I say that there should be a group show called Winky Wonky.<br />'Minky Manky', says John straight back, which I kinda like because he gets the reference. I also then think in my head 'Winky Wanky' after what Tony Kaye did.<br />And if this isn't making sense, please don't adjust your set: for those of your watching in black and white: the brown is still behind the blue....<br />John then offers me some of his lunch - ham and cheese roll, very nice thanks, and we look around a bit more.<br />Lisa Penny has some work in a corner of the room. She sends me various bits and pieces as images attached to emails (as do a few people) and I like this a lot. It means you get to see a piece of work without any context or before and after - it's just some image out of nowhere. Anyway, here are three works of hers. A couple of images and a little coconut man buddha thing. I have absolutely no idea what it's all about. There's a large poster of what looks like a holidaying family, but the dad's face has been replaced by some weird maniacal horror face thing. Then there's a picture of a woman, with some of the photo shaded in with black felt tip.<br />Anything yet?<br />And then there's the little coconut man. He looks happy. Sort of.<br />Nope, haven't a clue. I must remember not to ask her about it when I next see her...<br />Moving on. 'This is by Tom Cox-Bisham,' says Tiney, pointing across - hang on, hang on, I say, we seem to have missed looking at this one...<br />It's Tiney's work. 'Ah yes,' he sighs. No one likes talking about their work and I sense he likes it less than most. (So I make sure I ask lots of questions.)<br />There's a quote from some press release ages ago about Tiney's work that has always stuck in my mind. It says something along the lines of 'John Tiney makes work in the spaces between culture(s)' (sic). I don't really know what this means, but whenever I see some of his work it seems to chime. Today is a case in point. There's a large 2D eagle in black and white, but with a few wings coloured in a rainbow palette, pulling a net with its claws in which are three cartoon birds in a big sock that look like they are off a cheesy Christmas card. Well, that's art in the space between cultures I think. The eagle looks like it's off the Eagle comic (the boy's own adventure comic from the 50's), but the wings have these colours on that could be from the peace flag, or from the gay pride flag, or even just from a rainbow. Who knows? Is there a definitive reading to all this? I suspect not. It's a good work. Though it looks cramped in the space here. The eagle looks so powerful it needs room to really fly. <br />OK, so now Tom's work. It's a big silver thing that looks to me like a pair of owl's eyes but turns out to be the symbol for a car. I don't get this piece at all.<br />So I look at it and poke my nose up close but it refuses to take me anywhere.<br />That's the way of it sometimes.<br />Then, finally, three works by Giorgio Sadotti. Now these are interesting. He mentioned to me before about these, saying he was putting some watercolours into the show. I struggled to picture Giorgio sitting out on a hill with a set of watercolour paints daubing away at a slice of paper on an easel, blue for the sky, green for the fields....<br />It's always hard to get away from that watercolour image.<br />But suffice to say Giorgio's watercolours are nothing like this. There are three and they are all called Face and then a number. Each one is a large piece of paper with three symbols painted on them, placed to suggest a face; two symbols for the eyes, one for the mouth. They are curious. Nothing like any of Giorgio's other work that I know. The symbols mostly seem to be logos or recognisable signs. They are placed high up in the paper and then the paper hung so that they seem head height, suggestive of an invisible body beneath them. They seem like lost souls though. As though the features have been reduced to logos and signs, as though that is all there is left...they feel quite sad to me. They seem quite lonely. Is this what is left of identity, living in an age where identity is a corporate construct? Or is it more hopeful than this? That an identity, with two eyes and a face, still looks out from behind all these surface constructs? <br />It's difficult to know. But I also think that's because this show presents a clutch of works that are themselves undecided about good and bad, hope and hopelessness, heaven and hell, bless you and fuck you. The answers to stuff are never black and white - or rainbow coloured, even. Picnics with the family are lovely - or hellish or both, at the same time, all the time. Nothing is ever simply one thing or another...<br />Blimey.<br />I finish my cheese and ham sandwich.<br />Well, there you go. <br />I drove thru.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/272510000/in/set-72157594333175243/>drive thru</a> pics<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115991771476796978?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1159917684683039362006-09-29T16:20:00.000-07:002006-10-16T16:44:40.493-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0147.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0147.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />What do you call a donkey with three legs?<br />We are at an ICA meeting waiting for some more people to turn up and someone tells this joke.<br />The answer is: a wonkey.<br />Ha ha. I like this. And it will also underpin, in a very slight way, and with a change in spelling, the evening that will unfold for me later and also even then still inform a small interaction I have the following afternoon. <br />But let's take it one step at a time.<br />We, Lena and me, arrive in Hoxton by cab which is unusual, but we are with ICA curator Rob Bowman which is also unusual but also very welcome. New gallery manager Trevor is also along for the ride and is going to kick around with us in Store for a few minutes and then head off to 1,000,000 mph - which, finally, I seem to have got on the mailing list for - an email dropped into my box the other day and I could hardly believe it. I say to Trevor that I'll see him there later. We are heading for <a href=http://www.storegallery.co.uk/>Store</a>, or rather <a href=http://www.associatesgallery.co.uk/>Associates</a> as it's now called, which used to be Store, at number 92 Hoxton Street, but is now a twelve month project, with twelve artists, put together by Ryan Gander. This first show is by Matthew Smith.<br />Dave Hoyland is there with a girl called Kate. Dave is on good form, telling stories about things I can't repeat here (suffice to say that all the stories seemed to involve rudeness and a certain part of an artists anatomy which - no, yes, let's leave it at that). Anyway, I am looking at the work here tonight, including a nectarine on the floor towards the back of the gallery (which Trevor kicks across the floor by mistake - as do many other people throughout the night), an album cover and a shelf that is fixed to the wall at a ridiculous slant and I'm saying to Dave that the word that keeps coming to mind when I'm looking at stuff in galleries at the moment is 'wonky'. It started when I was thinking about Graham Hudson's work, but now seems to be cropping up all sorts of places... <br />Rob is talking to Rosalind Nashashibi (Beck's winner 2003, factlovers) and Lena and I say a little hello to Ryan and his 'associate', Rebecca May Marston.<br />We work out the right direction for the new Store gallery and head down there. The artist showing tonight is Roman Wolgin and we are expecting quite a heavy, grey Russian sort of show. Instead we get quite a colourful one which seems to be a pastiche of a whole bunch of other artists...Richter, Kippenberger, Rauch...and slap bang in your eye as you walk in is a <em>'Gerhard Richter'</em> painting of a naked woman. Rob and Lena start talking about the unusually large nipples that the woman seems to have and this conversation buzzes around us all evening like flies round rotting meat. At one point I pass Sara Scarsbrook and say hi, and 'sorry, we're talking about nipples', shrugging and meaning to be quirky and off beat. But to which she immediately says: 'I know. Aren't they big?'<br />Seems like this woman's nipples are a major talking point of the evening...<br />I chat to Rob for a bit and then we decide to maybe head on, there's after drinks at the Rivington and there's still 1,000,000mph, but it's already after 9.00 suddenly and I'm thinking I can't believe it but I'm not going to make it there...<br />Bedwyr Williams is outside. He starts on a story about getting caught up in some large e-mailout from an artist that went wrong recently. Some guy emailed out his entire list and everyone who replied seemed to be locked into replying to everyone on his list (or something). It was a long story. Then he disappears off with Ryan to the Rivington and, what the heck, we follow.<br />After getting nearly crushed to death we make it to a little pocket of breathing space, miraculously just next to the free wine table. How nice is that? Sara Preibsch joins us around now, Rob introduces us to Tom Morton, there's other people we see and wave to and there's the free wine to drink. Rob leaves after a little while and I'm beginning to feel that if my life were made of wood, I swear I can hear a carpenter calmly planing all the sharp edges off everything....<br />Sara borrows my camera, runs off getting all <a href=http://www.dafjones.com/>Daffyd Jones</a> on everyone and makes me a breakfast of complete bafflement the next morning when I look thru the photos thinking, 'I don't remember taking these..'<br />I don't remember - hey, has Rob gone? How come we are sitting here? I thought, oh yes, thanks, I will have another...<br />Details after this point are removed from my evening as a chimp might pick fleas from its partner.<br />We now seem to have our own bottles of wine. How did we...oh never mind. Where's Rob gone? Really, when was that? Anyone for tennis, dear??<br />The evening slips away like a ship being launched in the sea...the Titanic, I think, in this case...and after a few more glasses of wine it all...gets...very...very...wonky...indeed...<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/271750748/in/set-72157594331830893/>drunk pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115991768468303936?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1159917631822950702006-09-28T16:20:00.000-07:002006-10-16T16:02:35.736-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0010.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0010.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I think this sums it up:<br />I am standing outside Clare Evan's house, some time around midnight, in the pouring rain, shaking my camera about in the wet night air to try and cool it down as it's so overheated it's completely locked up every function and I can't get it to do a thing. I can't even turn the damn thing off and it feels as hot as hell, like it might just explode. I've been shooting stuff inside her house: a hallway plastered with the names of everyone who works at the ICA written on seperate pieces of cardboard, a kitchen table immaculately spread with food, all and every bit of it white, and all under an ultra violet light; 20 editions of my name on A4 sheets of paper stuck around the house; Joe Schneider playing his accordian; Ekow Eshun knocking back a shot of rum before being blindfolded and having a go at 'Pin the Smile on the Mona Lisa'; a girl with masking tape across her mouth filming everything; a french girl shouting at me from the bar when I'm trying to get a drink; the neighbours dropping in to say 'hi'; djs playing, people dancing, drinking 'Private Staff Only' beer, numbers one to many. And all this for: the private view for a show that is happening a few miles away, which opened nearly a month ago and which you can't see because it isn't being shown.<br />Clear?<br />I thought so.<br />What is all this about? <br />OK. First, we need to go back a few months.<br />Joe Schneider is an usher at the ICA and an artist and that's not unusual to be an artist and work in an arts institution. And Joe is putting up signs as a call for submissions for some sort of ICA staff show. He wants to get something going with people here - something like a show or whatever, the details aren't that clear, but he wants to make something happen.<br />I'm intrigued, but a little unsure of how this can work.<br />OK, wait, hang on, we need to skip back even further. <br />Let's take it right back to 1996. I'm working at Waterstone's Booksellers in their Charing Cross Road branch (it closed a few years ago and became a luggage store, then a Soho Original Book Shop, an erotic art gallery and then also home to Claire de Rouen books, but whatever) - I'm working there and for most of the time there I do the window displays. As part of this role I have a sort of studio, off the shopfloor, a couple of flights up, off a back corridor in the building. It functions as my studio for the display works and also, sort of, as some kind of studio for me. I make a work called, <em>'It is November 1996. I am working at Waterstone's, Charing Cross Road. These people work here too.'</em> It is 50 individual photographs, one of each member of the staff that works there. I put it up on the wall round the corner from the studio.<br />I send out invitations to the shop staff. They come and look at it. I keep it up there for a month and then take it down.<br />Now, skip forward maybe six or seven years and I'm at the ICA and we have a new Director of Exhibitions coming and he is called Jens Hoffmann and there's an article in frieze about him and we read it because we want to know who he is and what maybe he is going to do here. In the piece Jens makes reference to a show he curated while he was at the Guggenheim. On his desk. Without telling anyone. I like this a lot.<br />So, back now again to a few months ago and I say to Joe that if we are going to have a staff show maybe we could have it in the ICA, but only in non public areas, so it can't be seen.<br />Joe's at first a little confused as to why we should do a show you can't see. I tell him about the Jens show at the Guggenheim and I'm thinking about the piece I did at Waterstone's and I talk a little bit about the show having a layer or two about it.<br />And eventually, he agrees. We have thoughts originally about public tours round the back of the ICA and people making appointments but this doesn't work out - it's too tricky with insurance and yada yada yada...<br />So we do it. Joe and I put together a show by staff at the ICA and we place it in the back areas of the ICA. Some people have clear ideas where they want the work to go, many leave it to myself and Joe.<br />Joe opts to be the unofficial artist-in-residence for the duration of the show and I put a very large wall piece of my name in Ekow Eshun's office (above). Regular readers of this blog (thanks, love and gratitude to the pair of you) will know that I am doing a series of works just using my name (click <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/08/george-polke-or-what-exactly-is-in.html>here</a> and <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/kitson-kaleidoscope.html>here</a>). Anyway, people submit works, a complete range of stuff -styles, media, qualities, whatever...well, we take them all. I figure that this is a show about art institutions and the people that work in them, it's not just about the works. I give the exhibition a subtitle of 'a show that is not being shown.'<br />We set up a blog to record all the works. Jens writes a piece about the show and so does Joe. And now I am writing this. The blog has photos of the works in situ and and text by each of the participants. The word artist seems also to be at question here too - there are people who put things in who are resolutely not artists and I like the way that his seems to scratch away at another level. The works come in throughout September and October. There's a start date but I'm happy for the whole thing just to build up as and when people can contribute, as and when we can find the time to access monitors, dvd players, hammers, nails, extension cables...<br />You can look at it <a href=http://privatestaffonly.blogspot.com>here</a>.<br />Eventually my camera cools down, turns itself off and shuts down. <br />I go back inside and pick up another bottle of beer. Clare's piece for the show is a party. Clare did a project before about bands that never made it. Now she's doing this private view for a show that is not being shown.<br />I look around at some of the ICA staff who are here.<br />It is September 2006, I think, and I am working at the Institute of Contemporary Arts. Some of these people here tonight work there too.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/271714503/in/set-72157594331735847/>party pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115991763182295070?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1159302395412704172006-09-26T13:12:00.000-07:002006-09-26T16:14:50.536-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0003.2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0003.2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Doctor Who used to travel around time and space in a machine called the TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension In Space, factlovers!) and he would explain the peculiar attribute of this time travelling box - that is, it having an inside way bigger than its outside - by saying that it was 'dimensionally transcendental' (sad but true again, factlovers...). <br />I am reminded of all this complete guff tonight when I drop into the Economist Plaza to catch a work by Raul Ortega Ayala. It's a passenger lift, with mirrored internal walls and Raul's familiar arrangement of post-it notes inside.<br />I'm wondering how he got hold of a passenger lift, because those things don't come cheap. I run into Dave Hoyland and we go and look at it. There are two windows in the closed outer doors, just like a normal lift, and you can peer in through these. The first thing you see, which is quite surprising, is your own face looking back at you from the mirrored wall opposite. Then you notice the face of the person beside you in the other window, and then you notice a field of post-it notes stretching away, like cornfields. It's bigger on the inside than on the outside! It even <em>looks</em> a bit like a TARDIS from the outside too, the way it just sits there, a solid block with two lit windows, incongruous yet strangely resonant of the surrounding office blocks and their own passenger lifts...Like this little TARDIS got the right form to blend in but the location dial was slightly awry and instead of landing neatly in a lift shaft, it's ended up out here, with people coming up and peering in.<br />OK, that's enough of the Doctor Who thing now...<br />Anyway, Dave and I are looking in the windows and looking at each other and Beth Greenacre comes up. I have to ask - how did Raul get hold of a passenger lift? 'He didn't,' says Beth, 'he made this.' Apparently he delivered it pretty much flatpacked.<br />Dave then says that he has noticed some lifts that are made by a company called Shindler. As in Shindler's Lifts. Though I'm not actually sure I believe him on this...<br />I bump into Pearse from the Rokeby bar. What do you think of this? I ask him.<br />'I helped build the bloody thing,' he says. So, obviously he really likes it. I haven't seen him for a while - he's been busy working on film productions. He seems to be VERY SUCCESSFUL at the moment. (There you go, that's a fiver, thanks, Pearse).<br />Pearse also has an idea for the blog next year. Instead of writing everything up, just post a spreadsheet - you know, amount of beers consumed, people in attendance, quality of work (on a simple 1 to 10 scale). We both get quite taken with this but call a halt to it when we have talked ourselves to the bit where we are plotting scores of galleries over a twelve month period across a map of London with different colours signifying...<br />Well, like I say, we called a halt.<br />I stroll around a bit looking at the lift from all sides, thinking about the rolling landscape within. It's a really nice piece, turning an object like a lift, which pretty much embodies the very notion of claustrophobia, into a boundless, infinite summer landscape. A place of awkward discomfort and anxiety has become a comforting vision of nature. And a passenger lift, here, in the square is good. So close in look and feel to its surroundings, that it's enough to give a hint that there could be something special in all the grey stone offices and corridors if you looked at them in the just right way. I know Raul is a great believer in the power of creativity being generated by the more unlikely places, like offices and the corporate working environment.<br />I go and catch Raul and shake his hand. He seems very happy, roaring with laughter after everything he says (maybe he's just pissed, I think). I say it's great when you look in and you can see another person in the other window.<br />'Ah yes,' he says 'you can maybe flirt with them a little.'<br />I explain calmly that when I was looking in the window it was Dave Hoyland in the other one.<br />Raul lets out another big laugh.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/253623632/in/set-72157594301185322/>lift pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115930239541270417?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1159107907661106252006-09-22T07:22:00.000-07:002006-09-26T14:21:12.486-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0042.7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0042.7.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Aaahh, it's Friday. And the end of another fairly hectic week. So it's nice to find myself at a comfortable and sedate opening for a show by Matthew Thompson at <a href=http://www.motinternational.org/>MOT</a>. We are five floors up, there's a nice cool breeze in the air and I'm looking out across the fading night sky at the twinkling lights of Canary Wharf and beyond.<br />Along the way I see Brian Reed and Monica; and there's Lisa Penny and Sally Underwood; and here's Ben Woodeson and Mia.<br />Mia's lovely. I give her a few kisses and stroke her face. She's likes this a lot.<br />She's very loving back to me too. We spend some time together.<br />Everyone at the view notices her. She's so gorgeous and friendly. She's stunning, in fact. <br />Ben smiles and takes a small lump of food from his pocket and holds it to her mouth. She scoffs it down. Then he puts her on the floor and stands holding her lead so she can't run off.<br />Mia is Woodeson's 12 week old puppy.<br />We have a quick look round the show. As usual with MOT it's precision stuff, but somewhat baffling. Reading the press release doesn't really explain anything more. What is that package (above) in the middle of the room? Has it been sent here? According to the release there's supposed to be a single work as a solo exhibition, a publication and the start of a library (I'm not even sure what that last bit means. Is that what the package contains?). There's a drawing(?) in a frame of a banner across a road, on which is written, backwards, the name Caspar David Friedrich. The same picture appears again in a small book in the gallery - drawings of the same image getting fainter and fainter on each successive page. And then there's also a table by Tom Ellis - what's all that about?<br />MOT often feels like a series of clues to a mystery which I can never unravel. I always quite like that and it certainly marks out a trip here from many other galleries. I just wish I was a bit more clever.<br />Chris Hammond who runs it has been putting on tough shows like this for years it seems and I have a lot of respect for him. This kind of thing takes a lot of work.<br />Anyway, I'm trying to get to the beer but get talking to Lisa Penny. I need to write something down for her so take out one of my business cards (an edition of only 1000, mind), but find I don't have a pen. A guy she is with lends me his. A very nice fountain pen; smooth and expensive looking. Which of course I drop. I'm mortifed. I don't think I've broken it but by the way he is holding it up to the light and squinting at the tip it suggests he's not too happy. I apologise profusely.<br />As I'm walkng away he comes after me, taps me on the shoulder and suddenly rams the pen in my neck, repeatedly, the blood shootin - <br />actually, no, he doesn't do that, thank goodness, he says he'll come and see me about a book in a couple of weeks. (I guess Lisa tells him that I run the ICA bookshop - either that or he really is pissed about that pen and I need to watch my step when he comes stalking in.)<br /><br />Me and Woodeson and Mia chat for a bit.<br />Mia falls asleep.<br />It seems like a very good idea.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/253575587/in/set-72157594301098899/>Mia pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115910790766110625?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1158872170743940142006-09-21T13:52:00.000-07:002006-10-08T12:42:32.306-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0021.2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0021.2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><em>Silent but Violent</em> is schoolboy slang for farting (along with Silent but Deadly, my own personal preference). It's also the title of a new show and it makes me laugh when it comes thru on email. It's one of the reasons that I go along.<br />The other reason is because the email is sent from the curator of the show, Lee Edwards. I don't actually know very much about him, other than I've run into him at various pvs over the last year. He seemed to have a knack of appearing in the background to many of the photos I took.<br />So I figure I really have to go along - even though a glance down the list of the participating artists produces at least two names of previously unsuccessful interviewees for jobs with me at the ICA. I figure it could be a difficult night...<br />I get there and see Nooza and we talk a bit. We are both fans of each others writing and we generally seem to be covering the same ground, although with quite different experiences. Nooza's take on tonight is <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com/>here</a>.<br />I look around for Lee, who, frankly, isn't hard to spot, dressed, as he is, in full dinner jacket and black tie (above). I shake his hand. It's still early but the place is really packing out nicely. He's looking around, excitedly checking out arrivals - 'people I've invited have actually turned up', he says, both thrilled and surprised. We look across the room at <a href=http://www.andrewmummery.com/>Andrew Mummery</a> scurrying along the gallery walls, sniffing at various pieces.<br />Lee's had this show in place since March and has been thinking and re-thinking and then re-re-thinking it through...and it looks to me like he's done ok. There are still more people arriving...<br />Thankfully, given such a big space - <a href=http://www.theempirestudios.co.uk/html/silentbutviolent.html>The Empire</a> in Wadeson Street, which is a completely new one on me - he has mercifully resisted the urge to fill it with thousands of pieces and has exercised restraint by strategically placing a few works around the space.<br />I take a look around. I say hello to Barry Thompson, Kate Street, wave to Laura Oldfield Ford, see but fail to speak to Oliver Bancroft and tell him how much I liked his film piece at Studio 1.1, and bump into Mike Cooter and have a chat with him. Mike has been having a steady run of shows for which I pick up invites on email but never go to. Not because I don't fancy his work, just that the shows tend to be in Holland, or Germany or the US. And my budget just doesn't stretch that far. Anyway, Mike has a website which is well worth checking out <a href=http://www.mikecooter.org/>here</a>. We talk about the Cerith show at the ICA. While many are struggling to cope with the seeming emptiness of the galleries, Mike is the first to say to me that he feels that Cerith overloaded it. <br />He refers specifically to the magpie and a black neon that sits high up on the wall between the two upper galleries. It's actually a good point. In the piece I wrote about the show I didn't even mention the neon. I just dismissed it. Mike's right, he overloaded it. The neon and the magpie, even, seemed like afterthoughts. I wonder if they were? <br />Anyway, I'm doing my impression of an ice cream left out in the sun, so I figure I ought to take a look around before I end up as a slippery pool on the floor with a yellow sign placed on top of me saying 'Caution Slip Hazard'.<br />I drift round the works, without reference to the information sheet I've picked up, as I only usually look at all that when I get home. It seems to work for me.<br />I see two works which I'm pretty sure are by Neill Kidgell - I met him once and he told me about some works he was doing in red biro. And here on the wall are two delicately drawn works in red biro. That'll be his work, then. They are of leaves. One is a square made of many leaves put together and the other is the word 'Never' twice, crossing each other at right angles through the shared 'V' of the word. They are very nice indeed. <br />It strikes me that sometimes the quieter works in these big shows sit at an unexpected advantage. It's often the smaller, more subtle stuff that gets looked at the longest. Two artists who seem to therefore benefit tonight are Barry Thompson and Charlotte Bracegirdle. Barry is showing his familiar extraordinarily small canvases, painted with eye bleeding detail. Both of the ones here tonight hinting at strange goings on in country lanes and fields. A huddled figure in one is hunched in a field against a breaking dawn, while in the other the legs of a young person rise upwards into a alien light. Barry's work often revolves around themes of youth, music, the countryside and some sense of the spiritual or psychological made fact. They are striking pieces.<br />The other standout tonight is Charlotte Bracegirdle (not least for that fantastic name) with some framed old fashioned illustrations from children's stories which she amends, distorts and refashions to put a slightly (more) disturbing slant on the original intention of the image. I read later that sometimes she doesn't do anything at all but just exhibits the original found image as is. I like that even more.<br />There are other works there too: big colourful things, big wooden things, sculptures which sit grumpily on the floor (surely they would have benefited from some sort of plinth?), drawings in nice frames, a pricelist that seems a little hopeful...well, it looks like an art show and that's no bad thing.<br />As I leave, nearly tripping over a huge fried egg person on the stairs (or the victim of a giant fried egg falling from the sky) I think about the show's title. A great title, but not really what the show was about.<br />It should have been called: 'It's always the quiet ones...'<br />Because it always is.<br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/252812568/in/set-72157594299820123/>violent pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115887217074394014?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1158668001273696802006-09-19T05:11:00.000-07:002006-09-24T10:24:35.543-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0058.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0058.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />In 1975, at the age of 17, Cerith Wyn Evans (above right, with Donald Urquhart, at the private view) came to see a show at the ICA by Marcel Broodthaers, called <em>The Battle of Waterloo</em>. This exhibition, Cerith's attendance, his subsequent visits to the ICA and his involvement with the institution over a number of years provide the basis for his own show at the ICA now, 31 years later, entitled 'Take My Eyes and Through Them See You'.<br />So this is a show about Cerith Wyn Evans, about his relationship to the ICA, about the ongoing history of the ICA itself and about history and, what we might also call, History.<br />It's big show, then, but with seemingly very little in it.<br />In the lower gallery he has removed, entirely, the right hand wall, exposing the original brickwork and windows and thus offering a view onto the Mall from the gallery itself. It's absolutely beautiful. This piece is called <em>Decor</em> (after the Broodthaers show). In the morning before the private view Cerith is standing in the gallery with all us staff, taking us on a small tour of the show. (click <a href=http://squaresofwheat.wordpress.com/tag/art/>here</a> to read Danny Birchall's excellent alternative piece on this morning talk). We walk in and the sun is streaming in the windows, casting the window frames across the floor. Cerith turns his back to the sunlight and, raising his arms, mocks a crucifixion of himself against the shadowed window frame on the floor.<br />Then he lets his arms drop, and turns, looks out the windows.<br />'I just wanted to open it up,' he says. He motions to the sunlight. 'Just look at that,' he says, 'Just look at it.'<br />We look.<br />'That's all,' he says, 'I just wanted to open it up.'<br />It is a disarmingly naive statement from a man whose work is usually loaded with vast intellectual learning and academic back story. Could it really be this simple? <br />Later that night, at the view, I am talking to Simon Tyszko about his <a href=http://www.phlight.org/>Phlight</a> project. This is the thing where he is building the wing of a Dakota airplane into his flat. He is talking to me about his father and him being in the Polish air force during the Second World War.<br />It seems somehow appropriate a conversation. I was thinking earlier that Cerith could've just walked out of the Second World War himself. He dresses in a sharp thin suit and sports a small moustache, speaking in a curious clipped, <br />not-quite-any-longer, Welsh accent. He looks like he just arrived back from the Front, having seen things that men should not have seen. He's like a ghost of a war he never experienced. There is a wearyness to him, that he carries in his eyes and face, as if all this around him has lost meaning when set against the atrocities he has seen on the battlefield...but maybe that's just what life can do to you. <br />Upstairs in the galleries, he is using Morse code. He's used Morse code before in his work (most notably with chandeliers) and it seems a favourite method of communication for him: archaic, increasingly less understandable, and with a solid history of employment in Second World War too. He did a piece at the Venice Biennial using, you guessed it, a Second World War searchlight to beam a text in Morse code up into the night sky. In the galleries here he is using specially constructed blinds to open and close, transmitting a morse code text that plays, slowly, across a monitor screen, into which they are programmed. The text makes reference to a piece written on astro photography and of photographs of the southern hemisphere where imperfections, dust or even dandruff, in the photographic emulsion resulted in false atribution of stars and star systems. 'It shows how the micro can be mistaken for the macro,' says Cerith as he walks us round.<br />The blinds open and close, sending a message out across the Mall and beyond. But it's unlikely that anyone will really notice this outside and even if they do, put the work in to trying to decipher what it might be saying. So what is he trying to communicate? Inside the gallery, with blinds opening and closing you are aware, really, that there is a lannguage being spoken, but not what it is saying. You are also aware that the blinds change, dramatically, the room in which you are standing. Light and then dark, light and then dark (it makes me think of Martin Creed's <em>Work No.227: The lights going on and off</em>). Open and closed, one and zero, yes and no, black and white.<br />In the other upper gallery is an enormous film projector (I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me if this was from the 1940's too...). It is playing a blank reel of film, so that the screen shows it completely black. Black, other than the scratches and dust and other marks which are already begining to corrupt the celluloid. Even on this first day there are scratches appearing, like sudden flashes of lightning. There is also talk of another reel which may be played at some point, which is all white, where the scratches and dust would appear as black marks. The projector whirs away. As it plays, we are watching the film become more and more scratched and dusty. As it plays, so it will never be the same again, from moment to moment. <br />It is a film about film, and it is also a film, not about, but <em>of</em> death. The celluloid is decaying, dying, as it moves round the projector, picking up dust and wear and tear. Didn't I read somewhere that, like, 60% of dust is human skin, falling off us and falling into the air? I can't help thinking of the exposed brickwork downstairs in the lower gallery and of all the histories of dust and skin that must have been lodged into those bricks and panes of glass in the windows. This film is death, death now and death from a long time ago. Maybe even, in taking down that gallery wall, in pulling away some of the wooden plinths and cracking the bricks underneath, there is some infintely small particles of Cerith himself that date back to that visit in 1975. Dust, particles of almost nothing, the micro becoming the macro.<br />While we are standing watching the film, Cerith is talking. At one point he motions to the pot plants he has positioned around the gallery, or maybe to the flickering screen - or maybe to everything - and says, 'It's a love letter to Marcel.'<br />I think this is true. But I also think it is, in some ways a letter to himself, the 17 year old Cerith who came and visted this gallery over 30 years ago. It is a letter to that boy. It is an acknowledgement of the impact that the show had on him and to an acceptence that one can never not have ones own history, that what has happened to you has happened and can never not happen. <br />'You can never get away from who you are,' I say to Simon Tyszko later, after he has spoken of his dad in the air force and the wing he is now building in his flat. We are in the bar. And thanks to Cerith, walking to the bar down the conourse now means walking beneath a (stuffed) magpie, balancing on a branch. 'It's always one for sorrow when you are walking to the bar,' say Cerith. The magpie is black and white. The branch it sits upon is a real one taken from one of the trees outside the gallery, on The Mall - from the trees which we can now see through the windows of the lower gallery.<br />This magie piece is small flourish of melancholy. The show is deep with melancholy and sadness and of the passing of time. Of how personal history is also the history of an institution or a city or a place.<br />So maybe, in some ways this show is also a love letter to the ICA.<br />The whole show is black and white. I've always thought of the ICA as black and white. In physical as well as metaphorical terms. Those three big heavy black letters: I. C. A. They sum up years of intensity and extremism and relentless experimentation. They seem very seventies to me. Like the way history always seems to be in black and white.<br />So this show, in it's extremism and two shade palette is timely. The ICA is changing. From now it will be known as The Institute of Contemporary Arts. And it's logo will be in colour - actually, a whole range of colours depending on the activity it describes. The <a href=http://www.ica.org.uk/>new website</a> changes colour everyday. In this month's Art Forum, Jens Hoffmann is talking of his departure from the ICA and I lift this quote: ‘The overall ICA is planning to change, aiming to become more popular and maybe more mainstream. There will be a very different program once I have finished my exhibitions there.’<br />This show is a love letter to the ICA as it has been. <br />It is melancholic and filled with beauty and sadness.<br /><br />And the rest, as they say, is history.<br /><br /><br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/251444498/in/set-72157594297696701/>Black and white pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115866800127369680?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1158667908607515672006-09-15T05:11:00.000-07:002006-09-20T17:31:53.673-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0102.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0102.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />The photo above is available in an edition of about 70,000.<br />We are here, at Milton Keynes Bowl to see Robbie Williams. And we can, actually, see him - way, way, way over there like a little model railway figure, jumping about, miles away. Me and 69,999 other people. All armed with cameras, mobile phones and whatever else you can take a photo with these days, all getting much the same photo as the one above.<br />(OK - I wouldn't usually write about this: it's not London, and it's not art. BUT, given the reactions that my coming here has sparked in people: disbelief, outrage, disappointment, shame, surprise...I felt I had to. I mean, what's going on with you guys?)<br />Anyway, one of the best bit of these big Robbie concerts is this. He gets everyone in the crowd to prime their cameras and phones and whatever, turns down the lights, and on the count of three, gets everyone to take a photo. Thousands and thousands of flashes go off in the space of a few seconds, like a galaxy has just fallen on earth. It's quite the most beautiful thing. And I love it every time he does it.<br />Anyway, isn't Robbie just the Damien Hirst of the pop world?<br />Discuss.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115866790860751567?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1158275294730109772006-09-14T15:56:00.000-07:002006-10-08T12:18:00.086-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0067.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0067.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />We are at <a href=http://www.blowdelabarra.com/>Blow de la Barra</a> (or The Blow as I like to call it) on Heddon Street. I stand around, looking at Jo Robertson's new, big, messy paintings of women who may be either the vulnerable victims of some threatening, unseen force or raging harridans who would tear the flesh from your face for looking at them the wrong way. It's hard to tell. I stand around, waiting for someone to take my photo and post me up on the gallery's <a href=http://www.blowdelabarra.com/society.php>Society</a> page. <br />Surprisingly, no one points a camera in my direction. <br />We leave the women grimacing at each other and head east...<br />We arrive at Old Street. As we come out the tube station I catch sight of the small gold plaque that has been erected near the pavement. It says, Russell Herron Passed This Way a Million Times on His Way to East End Gallery Openings in 2006...<br />We go to <a href=http://www.standpointlondon.co.uk/spgallery.html>Standpoint</a>. We are checking out <a href=http://www.kevinosmond.com/>Kevin Osmond</a>'s work for the Mark Tanner Award. Someone hits me hard in the shoulder with their fist. I turn round, ready to sock someone in the mouth, but it's John Summers, grinning. 'Hey, dude, how you doin'?'<br />He's here for the presentation of this year's award - because he, no less, is the winner.<br />Nervous? 'Hey, dude, no, it's cool, man. Well, like, I wasn't nervous this morning, man, but now it's like, everyone keeps asking me if I'm nervous...'<br />The Standpoint guy calls everyone to order and makes a speech about Kevin's work and then says a few words about John. <br />He comes over and shakes John's hand.<br />'I'm sure John will fill the gallery with great work,' says the guy.<br />John grins and nods.<br />He gives John an envelope containing the prize cheque.<br />John grins and nods.<br />The guy grins back. And nods.<br />People start to talk, the gallery moves on.<br />Hey, dude, nice speech, we say.<br />John looks shiny but happy.<br />I think he'll do a cool show, man.<br />He also has work in <a href=http://www.re-title.com/exhibitions/ThreeColtsGallery.asp>Drive-Thru</a>, opening at Three Colts tomorrow night - a show I really should be at but can't make as I'll be in Milton Keynes watching Robbie Williams.<br />'Dude, you're kidding! You're going to see ROBBIE <em>WILLIAMS</em>, man???' <br />Yes. I certainly am.<br />I am out tonight with <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/lena-nix.asp>Lena Nix</a> and we pick up <a href=http://karendamico.blogspot.com/>Karen D'Amico</a> here and tell her to come on to White Cube and more. She's up for this and rides shotgun with us for the rest of the evening.<br />As we turn the corner of Coronet Street there's a car outside The Cube with a bunch of geezers on it playing a bass guitar and drum and singing. 'What is that? Is that <a href=http://www.truckart.org/>Truck Art</a>?' asks Lena. 'No,' I say, unsure, 'I thought that was last night....'<br />Actually it turns out to be some sort of cheap publicity stunt for the web address they have written across their car (and just to show that cheap publicity stunts can work: the address is <a href=http://www.summerholiday.tv/>summerholiday.tv</a>). Although it's still early the beers have gone quick tonight. We have a scoot round the gallery at Katharina Fritsch's work. Coming out of the darkness the white of the gallery is almost blinding. I can see some colours on the wall and a large vase. Then into the gallery above and Neil Tait's work. Then out. What was all that about, we wonder?<br />Lee Edwards is there sporting a large beard. He has curated a show that opens on Thursday. The show is called <a href=http://www.re-title.com/exhibitions/Empire.asp>Silent but Violent</a>. I take a photo of his beard. <br />Someone comes up and says 'Are you Russell Herron?' It's Laura Norder of Savage Messiah fame. Curiously, instead of then having a chat she stands in front of me and has a text conversation on her phone with someone. 'You going to Seventeen, then?' she asks 'We'll catch you there.' <br />We are off to <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>Seventeen</a>.<br />It's hello to Dave 'I-think-I've-got-one-more-bottle-of-beer-out-the-back' Hoyland and also tonight hello to a guy called Nick, who is Dave's business partner at Seventeen - and who also runs cult bar <a href=http://www.dreambagsjaguarshoes.com/>DreamBagsJaguarShoes</a> (or 'JagBags', as you young hoxton boys and girls like to call it). <br />So, how did all this come about then, we ask?<br />It's long story he says - ooo, good we say.<br />It is a story of blood, sweat and tears, steep learning curves, friends, helpings out, pullings together, community, people having an active part in their own environments, rent rises, landlords and their vicious ways and means, startings from scratch...And toilets. Let's not forget the toilets at Seventeen.<br />He hasn't stopped for four years. He says he's going to take it a bit easier over the next...yeah right. It never stops. It never stops.<br />Anyway, let's take a moment to look at the work. It's David Ersser's stuff. I've seen some of his work before in Larry's Cocktails at Gagosian last year. In the gallery tonight are carved sculptures of work-a-day stuff from an artists studio. There's a bench with tools and bits and pieces on it - crushed beer cans, an electric drill, scissors, an ipod, speakers, an ashtray, lighter, ruler, saw...<br />There's also a camera on a tripod, a heavy duty circular saw; and a neon sign attached to the wall up by the bar. There's a set of keys hanging from a nail in the wall.<br />And all of it, all of it, made from balsa wood. Carved out of the stuff. That strange fleshy pink-white coloured soft light-as-nothing wood. Everything made from this. <br />It's quite an achievement. It must have taken months of slicing and dicing to create tonight's show. I congratulate David (above), who is busy bending over and repairing various balsa wood 'electric cables' and bits and pieces. We are talking about the work and he bends down and picks up a balsa crushed beer can. 'Shouldn't really do this,' he says, handing it to me, 'but feel it.' I hold it in my hand. It's a beercan - but so impossibly light it makes my brain go a little odd from the disparity of vision and touch. It's a weird thing. I touch the chair that sits by the table. It almost starts to float in the air. It's very, very odd. But brilliantly done. Although not so brilliantly that the workmanship disappears - it is done with a certain amount of the nerdy scratching and whittling away visible. These are representations of things, not things themselves. They are a little reflection of reality, not a substitute.<br />'You really have to understand things to do this,' David is saying, 'you have to really take stuff apart and look at it. It's like drawing,' he says. And I think he has really looked very closely at things - for a very long time. <br />We decide to try and make it to Oliver Bancroft's show at <a href=http://www.naimad.co.uk/studio1-1/>Studio 1.1</a> - or at least for a drink at the Owl and Pussycat in Redchurch Street. We head off and somewhere around this time Karen D'Amico disappears. We get there in time to have a couple of minutes in the gallery. I get very taken with four projectors, lined up, purring away like congested cats, showing four separate parts of one view of four lines of trees. This is a very nice piece. Kate Street is there. She showed us her <a href=http://www.katestreet.co.uk/>new website</a> the other day. Emma Holden is there too. The last time I saw her, her arm was a <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/05/rokeby-vs-mark-moore.html>beer drinking green snake</a>.<br />(Ah, what great drugs they were...)<br />We got to the Owl for a beer. I hold it in my hand. It is exactly the right weight a glass of beer should be.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/248615435/in/set-72157594293065105/>balsa pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115827529473010977?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1158274559402540172006-09-13T15:54:00.000-07:002006-09-20T02:49:44.136-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0193.0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0193.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />'I'm here, because, because, because, I like, I <em>like</em> to, I want to be, to be here. I like, I like doing this.'<br /><a href=http://www.martincreed.com/contents.html>Martin Creed</a> is pacing around the stage of the Purcell Room at the South Bank.<br />So, yes, I guess he wants to be here. He says so. <br />He also said much the same as this when he did the <a href=http://www.lecturelist.org/content/view_lecture/2344>Roland Penrose Memorial lecture</a>, 'Everything is Something', last year. I was there. He said much the same. He tried to explain why he was there, and he tried to be there, on stage, in front of people, then and there. He talked about doing work in front of people and not just sitting in a little room, in that 'soup' that you get in when you sit in a little room on your own and think.<br />It's not good.<br />I used to sit and think. Got me nowhere.<br />Anyway.<br />Tonight he is here and now. Tonight he's saying this, trying to explain to us and to himself why he is here, standing up on a stage, with us lot (I count maybe a hundred of us) looking at him and waiting to see what he does. Will he do anything? There's a drumkit, bass and guitar to one side of the stage, but that means nothing...<br />Also, while he is striding across the stage, stopping, thinking, speaking, hesitating, frowning, sighing, his movements are being replicated by a girl behind him. When he lifts the mic to speak, she lifts an invisible mic to her mouth; when he walks across the stage, she too walks across the stage, miming, copying, trailing him.<br />He picks up his guitar. The girl disappears off the side of the stage.<br />He plays a song, with his two band members now on bass and drums (they are both excellent - the girl on the drums especially so). I think it's 'Feeling Alright.' He finishes, plays another song maybe, I can't remember.<br />Then he walks off the stage, up to the the back of the auditorium and whispers into the microphone, so we can all hear, 'Play the video now.'<br />The screen at the back of the stage lights up. It is white. A girl comes into view and abruptly throws up on the floor. Repeatedly.<br />I've heard about this - his film of people being sick. Having seen <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/06/feeling-sick.html>Millie throw up in mutlicolours</a> earlier in the year, this seems quite tame. I also read about the film he was doing of people having a shit, in a film called SHIT, but I don't know anymore about this. I emailed Hauser and Wirth about it a few weeks ago, but they never answered...<br />Anyway, he's back on stage and he's back to playing guitar. More of his spiky, post punk, edgy classics.<br />As he's playing 'I Like Things', I'm suddenly reminded of David Byrne circa Fear of Music and Talking Heads '77. <br />He plays some more. <br />He plays 1-100, the words of which are, yep, you guessed it, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...etc<br />It's one of my favourites. <br />And of course he ends with 'Fuck Off'.<br />It's his usual ending. Provocative and endearing.<br />Nice, I think.<br />I was here because I wanted, really wanted to, to be, to be here.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115827455940254017?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1157669892011596142006-09-07T15:41:00.000-07:002006-09-19T17:27:52.996-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0124.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0124.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I am in Savile Row. Which is unusual for me to be so far west, but I'm at the <a href=http://www.matthewbown.com/>Matthew Bown Gallery</a> to see a small, intelligent and elegant group show called Incidents. I'm here in particular to catch a look at some work by Brian Reed who was at the Graham Hudson auction the other night. I've scant knowledge of his work but there's a couple of images I've seen that have made me think I need to see more. I arrive and nose round the show. It's a real mix of names - big and not so big - but beautifully put together. There's a bit of a mash up in the doorway with some sound pieces and headphones that could've been thought thru a little better maybe, but after that the show is very nice indeed. There's a piece by <a href=http://www.anagenoves.co.uk/>Ana Genoves</a> whose work I haven't seen for years. It's called <a href=http://www.anagenoves.co.uk/cementshrine.html>Cement Shrine</a> and is a sort of cement chair. Or that's what I thought it was, until one of the party tonight trips over it and breaks the corners off. Then it's polystyrene with a paint job. I like it all the more for this, though. Well done, young japanese girl not looking where you were going...<br />Then I get completely caught up by a video piece (almost unheard of for me) by Terry Smith called Erotica. To a sleazy, easy jazz background sentences appear from a black screen, tracing an erotic adventure. Or at least that's what I think at first. I watch it for ages until I realise that there are a number of different people's fantasies and experiences contributing to this. Different sexes and creeds and colours. It is a captivating piece and manages to be original with a terribly old and flogged dead subject. Brian arrives and we look at his work. Two pieces: an upside-down placard saying UNDERAGE SALE and a small scratched wood sort of work with the word BEG dug out of it. I love them. I ask him to talk about them and he says some interesting things about how they came together and gives some context to them. But, ultimately, he has made some works which speak to me on that level that goes beyond words, ironically enough, and straight into that instinctive bit of your head/gut/arse(?) that knows that what you are really seeing is a connection between what someone has done and what you have only barely begun to understand yourself. They have given you a missing piece. The next piece. So now you can make that journey a little further.<br />Obviously I say none of this to Brian (he'd think I'd lost it), but nod and say I think they are great. I could stay and have a longer chat - it's feeling distinctly nice and cosy in here suddenly but I have other things to see. I say my goodbyes. 'Lisa Penny and Ann Marie are heading down here too,' says Brian. 'Say Hi from me,' I say. I shoot off.<br />So I get to Cambridge Heath Road and I'm on my way up to Vyner Street and - hang on, hang on, aren't I always on bloody Cambridge Heath Road? They should put up a bloody plaque for me here... - and bump into <a href=http://home.clara.net/sg/bob_and_roberta_smith/>Bob and Roberta Smith</a>. We walk and talk for a bit on the way there - he's just come from <a href=http://www.gasworks.org.uk/>Gasworks</a> and is raving joyfully about what he has seen there. Katherine Araniello and Aaron Williamson. He's laughing out loud at this still. We talk about his show at Peer - his <a href=http://www.peeruk.org/html/projects/smith1.html>Shop Local</a> project. Part of this is the brilliant tube campaign for 'Ron's Eels and Shell Fish.' Bob says Ron has had six extra customers since the campaign started. If Ron had a website you can bet that I'd be putting the link here right now.<br />We get to Vyner. On the way down we see Sarah Kent walking away. The following week she puts the boot into most of Vyner Street galleries in Time Out. Bless her, eh? <br />Bob and I separate into the crowds. There's <a href=http://www.vilmagold.com/>Vilma Gold</a>, <a href=http://www.vinespace.net/>Vine</a>, <a href=http://www.fred-london.com/>Fred</a>, <a href=http://www.davidrisleygallery.com/>David Risley</a> and <a href=http://www.oneintheother.com/>One in the Other</a> all opening tonight. It's the usual free for all on Vyner Street.<br />In Vine I see some works by <a href=http://www.lesleyhalliwell.co.uk/>Lesley Halliwell</a>. I've seen some stuff she did before in a magazine but can't now remember what magazine it was. Anyway, she does things using a spirograph - that little thing you had when you were growing up, a circle of plastic with teeth round the edge that slotted into the teeth on the inside curve of a larger plastic circle and that then allowed you to draw intricate and repetitive patterns of circles. Remember that? About the time you were playing with your Etch-a-sketch. Well, Lesley hasn't given up on the old spirograph like you and I did, and she now makes very large circles of lots of little circles. And she uses a biro to do this with, going on and on until the biro completely runs out and then moving on to the next colour. Nice, really nice stuff. <br />I bump into Andrew (or is it Simon?) from Miser and Now and <a href=http://www.keithtalent.com/>Keith Talent</a>. Well, I don't really bump into him, I actually try and wrestle him to the ground. He's a little caught off guard by this but maintains his stance. I've emailed Andrew and Simon time and again to get on their mailing list but it never happens. I tell him this. I also tell him that he hasn't got back to me about writing a piece for the magazine. 'Ah, no,' he says, 'yeah, that would be great. I did have a conversation with you but it was only in my head and I said yes and you said you'd write something and it's all great. It's sort of like writing a letter but not actually posting it.' 'OK,' I say. 'Is this like those people who come to the ICA Bookshop and say, 'have you got Miser and Now? I'm a subscriber, but they never send me a copy...'?' 'Ah, no,' he says, don't do this...' <br />Then I say, as a killer blow, the single word: '<a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/haddock.html>HADDOCK</a>.' <br />'Oh, no, that's really cruel,' he says,'stop it, now.'<br />Ok, they have been busy. They are organising some kind of Frieze Fair thing in Tavistock Square with about 30 galleries from America and Europe. Would we like to be involved in some way as the ICA Bookshop? 'Tell you what,' I say, 'why don't you email me about it...?'<br />I go outside and see <a href=http://www.woodeson.co.uk/>Ben Woodeson</a>. We go gallery hopping. In David Risley I see Lisa P and wonder how she managed to get here so quickly from Brian's show. 'Oh shit,' she says, 'I couldn't make it.' 'Well,' I say, 'he told me you and Ann Marie were coming.' 'Oh shit, oh shit, oh no, please say he didn't say that. He didn't say that, did he? Cause Ann Marie can't make it either. I've got to send a message. Oh shit!' She rushes out. <br />Sally Underwood is there. 'Look,' she says, 'I wore my best shoes.' I look down. They look good. <br />And weirdly enough, a few minutes later and I'm standing in a different part of the gallery and I overhear a woman behind me say: 'I just had to speak to you because of your shoes.'<br />I look round. Sally is nowhere. There are, however, two women smiling at each other in a very friendly way...<br />I guess Sally's shoes just weren't as good as we all thought.<br />I talk to Woodeson about mailing lists. He too can't get on the Keith Talent list - and he only lives round the corner. And Dallas's list, I ask? No. He seems to have dropped off this list, though he was actually on it for a while. Dallas (1000000 mph) has the hardest list to get onto and stay on. What's all that about?<br />Woodeson introduces me to Paul Hosking (Beck's Futures 2002, factlovers). We all have a chat. Woodeson keeps saying stuff and then saying 'and you can't blog that.' So I don't. Later we are coming out of Fred and Woodeson goes and shakes hands with the man himself. Fred Mann is big guy and has a big handshake. It breaks a blister on Woodeson's hand. 'That big monkey really hurt my hand,' he says - 'and you can put that up on your blog.' <br />So I do.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/247853189/in/set-72157594291674142/>Vyner pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115766989201159614?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1157579826271834882006-09-06T14:21:00.000-07:002006-09-14T17:15:36.456-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0032.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0032.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />So last night I was at Chisenhale. <br />And I know, I know, gentle reader of this blog, that you have become accustomed to a little bit more than one gallery in a evening when there is so much suddenly going on...so apologies. And tonight, just for you, I have spread myself a little thinner. <a href=http://www.modernartinc.com/>Modern Art</a>, <a href=http://www.maureenpaley.com/>Maureen Paley</a>, Rawspace and <a href=http://www.madderrosegallery.com/index.html>Madder Rose</a>.<br />Enough for you?<br />Good. Because that is certainly enough for me. More than enough, thanks...<br />Arriving at Modern Art I bump into Lisa Penny, freshly back from the Berlin residency and I get to hear potted bits and pieces about her time. Seems there was a lot of drinking involved, but I could be wrong. Anyway, while she is talking we are wandering round the Collier Schorr works and I'm trying to work out why I'm not really liking it. I stand in front of each piece listening to Berlin, but it's not happening. All the component parts are there for me to like: magazines, cut up photos, just the sort of aesthetic I like, but it's just not happening. Unlike Berlin - which was really happening.<br />We go across the road to see the other space and an installation by Florian Slotawa. This I can get a grip on. Three sculptures, all made using a bath, a stepladder, a window frame, a metal shelving system and a bright orange belt, but all in different combinations. It makes me think of a clean, methodical version of Graham Hudson's work. But then again, most things make me think of Hudson's work at the moment. I can't walk down any street in London without seeing a skip full of building junk, scattered bits of wood on a pavement, delapidated housing, construction works....<br />Lisa P is on her way to the big opening at The Hayward. I have decided to do my east end thing. I say I am heading to Maureen Paley's and she says she can stop off there on her way to the Hayward. She is on her bike. We'll meet up there.<br />As I'm walking down Cambridge Heath Road she trickles past me. That's the last I see of her all night...<br />Anyway, there's a trendy and lively crowd at Maureen's place as befits Seb Patane and his arty dj credentials. I look around. I say hello to Maria Benjamin from <a href=http://www.guest-room.net/>Guestroom</a> and I also see Andrew Grassie who I used to know from when he worked at the ICA. He has a show coming up here, at Maureen's, in a couple of months. He paints incredibly small paintings that command a huge space and presence. He is enormously talented at this.<br />I also see Maureen stalking around. She is wearing big dark glasses and has her hair up in some kind of sixties way. She looks more and more like Audrey Hepburn's wicked elder sister each time I see her.<br />We've never properly met but I decide tonight is the night. She frightens the shit out of me to be honest, but I sink a bottle of beer in one and go up to her.<br />'Hi,' I say, and then quickly say some positive things about the show. <br />I ask if I can take her photo. She says yes, but insists on wearing dark glasses on account of a bloodshot eye (a fight, I reckon) and asks who I am.<br />I tell her I write a sort of online diary of art events and give her a card.<br />She takes it, much as one would handle a dead bird presented to them by their cat, turns it over, decides it has no importance whatsoever in her scheme of things and (and I have to say I love her for this next move) calmly hands it back to me, as if to say, 'here, this is of no use to me. Maybe you, little man, could use it for something.'<br />Bliss.<br />Anyway, she is as good as her word, stalks off into the gallery, adjusts her glasses and stands for me to take a photo. It's a tense moment. I know two things: 1. I will only get this one chance to take the photo and 2. I will have to immediately show it to her once it's taken for her approval. I take the photo. It's a bad photo, like all the photos I take (which is the point) and then I quickly flip the switch to get the image back on screen, even as she is already moving towards me to check it. <br />She looks at it and nods. There she is, above.<br />We have a few more words and I tell her that I work at the ICA bookshop. She softens, slightly, in much the same way that a glacier could be said to be melting on the basis of a single drop of water the size of a baby's tear zigzagging it's way down the icy cliffedge. <br />Well, as long as you like the show, she says. I nod. I want to keep my kneecaps.<br />Anyway, it really is an interesting show. I first saw Seb's work in Beck's Futures last May. It stuck in my mind like an awkward, sharp edged shape. His work isn't easy. There are thematic arrangements that refuse to yield any simple deconstruction. He seems to put disparate, subtly augmented objects together - old theatrical photos, their faces inked out by swirling, writhing pen marks; old magazine and newspaper images adorned by pressed flowers, covers of old vinyl records, print images with the eyes obscured by a black censorship rectangle. And noise/sound/music. Always there is some interventionist sound which hovers between noise and music. And usually there's an image acting as some sort of mysterious focal point. In the upstairs part of the gallery, where the sound piece is, there's a small picture of a man carrying what looks like an axe handle. And there's also what looks like exactly this axe handle resting on some of the boxes which sit in the noise piece. His work is deeply set, I think, in a personal series of signs and symbols. I think sometimes that these things serve as a form of communication for Seb, but I don't think they commuicate in a way that he intends. But they do communicate in a very individual way. I always leave his works feeling a sense of irresolution, but am fascinated by what I've just experienced. Not easy, but certainly not forgettable.<br />With all this going on in my head I arrive at Crave, a group show under the auspices of RawSpace, in a disused office or retail outlet just off Spital Square down near Liverpool Street. And although it's a group show I'm really here to see one of <a href=http://www.gordoncheung.com/>Gordon Cheung's</a> works. I've seen his stuff in reproduction loads of times but I've never actually seen one in the flesh - or in the FT, I should say. Gordon's easy hook is that all his works are painted onto cut up collages of the Financial Times stock market figures. And here it is. A huge painting on a collage of the Financial Times. His work always looks like the end of the world, but strangely always both optimistic and sad. Great. I look around at the other stuff. Michael Ashcroft has presented a piece which seems to be photographs of mountains ripped from magazines. I like this a lot.<br />I don't stay long. I still have to try and get the last drink in at Madder Rose in Whitecross Street, the new gallery run by Flora Fairbain (ex of Studio 1.1)<br />I get there and nearly bump into a couple of very well known television actors, squeeze past a shoal of giggling blonde girls, and catch a couple of guys, who wouldn't look out of place wearing rugby shirts, lining up empty wine glasses on the window sill outside as a bit of a hoot, building some sort of glass pyramid. Everyone has come along dressed up and out for the night. I arrive knackered, crumpled and bedraggled, the veteran of three other private views already tonight, with my customary black shoulderbag accessorized by an old black rucksack (for reasons I'm not going into, suffice that I had no option) and try and blend in. Which I do, about as well as a drunk uncle at a childrens tea party......(read more about feeling in the wrong place at the wrong time on <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com/2006/09/madder.html>Nooza's</a> blog - he was there too, although we never met)<br />I am taking a few photos. One guy there is dressed in a sharp black suit, big black hat and dark glasses (<em>at night, sir?? Are you sure??</em>). He sees my camera turn in his direction and dodges down, puts up his hand up and makes an extraordinarily ostentatious display of not wanting to have his photo taken. Which is fine by me, but then if you don't want to be photographed, DON'T DRESS LIKE THAT, DUDE....<br />Anyway, this is the second show at Madder Rose and I remember reading about it in a Sunday supplement before it had opened so we all knew it was going to be very <em>chichi foofoo</em>. And it certainly is. I part some womens blonde hair and have a look at some of the works by Jason Shulman. The first piece I see I really like, two solpadeine tablets dissolving in a glass, both tablets on the undulating pirouette that they make, just dropped in the water, sinking to the bottom, bursting with thousands of tiny bubbles. But the whole thing is static. It's a sculpture. I like this a lot. Then, pushing past some expensive suits, jewellery and some more blonde hair, I see more solpadeine tablets in various different arrangements and situations. It begins to feel a little tiresome. Each piece has an art historical reference to bounce off, but it becomes a little too: 'and now I've done this with a solpadeine tablet. And now this! Look!' It fails to convince. It gets very tideous very quickly and by the time I get back to the first one I saw all I can now see is one of those tacky souvenir shops (are there good souvenir shops, I wonder?) that sell fake glasses with plastic flowers stuck in transparent resin...<br />There are more works downstairs, but I don't make it down there. There's a sculpture of his dad, oh, no wait - the sculpture <em>is</em> his dad - his dead dad's ashes sifted and arranged. Part of me is glad that I don't see this tonight. But it also clicks as well with the whole crowd here tonight - I think dad was Milton Shulman, the famous theatre critic. I wonder what some of those actors are thinking, looking at his ashes?<br />A few glasses suddenly smash outside on the pavement. The glass pyramid is falling down.<br />I am tired and crushed and not a famous actor or a blonde haired girl. <br />I figure it's either I get my hair done - or it's time to leave...<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/243467429/in/set-72157594284551609/>mad pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115757982627183488?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1157411487317549582006-09-04T16:09:00.000-07:002006-09-14T16:22:10.450-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0007.1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0007.1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Summer is over. It's official. And I know it's over because this week, despite the temperatures in the high 20's (what's that about?) - this week <em>alone</em> - there are openings at Rokeby, Rachmaninoff's, Aquarium, Camden Arts Centre, Rosy Wilde, Chisenhale, Modern Art, Madder Rose, One in the Other, i-cabin, Barlett's, Maureen Paley, Vilma Gold, Alison Jacques, David Risley, Bearspace, Matthew Bown, Lisson, Gimpel fils, Foster Art, Unit 2, Lounge...<br />And those are just some of the ones I know of. Everyone's back, everyone's showing and everyone's already started, strapped in, clunk click, on the downhill, hurtling, towards the almighty, rub your hands together and count the cash, unmissable meat market that is, after all, the mighty Frieze Art Fair in mid October. <br />What's a boy to do?<br />Well, here's what: I go to <a href=http://www.chisenhale.org.uk/>Chisenhale</a> to the opening of Clare Woods show.<br />Yep, caught me a bit by surprise too. Not where I thought I was going to be at first. It is, after all, a two tube trip with a bus ride to follow (and, as it transpires, a little bit more walking than I had planned, jumping, as I did, on the wrong bus...) and I know Clare's work and it's good, but I'm not really a big fan and well...and well, I almost didn't go: Cathy and Alex from <a href=http://www.transitiongallery.co.uk/>Transition</a> came in to the ICA and were going to Rosy Wilde and then I think - well, maybe I should just nip in there, then I could comfortably get up to <a href=http://www.rokebygallery.com/>Rokeby</a> (and you all know how much I like Rokeby) and then maybe home...<br />But no. I have to go to Chisenhale.<br />I have to go because for everything that I think about Clare's work (yes, fine, interesting, a little reserved) I can't get the image of a photo of one of her new paintings that comes through on email from Modern Art out of my head. And it's a photo of one of the paintings in the show (one of them, mind) and it's huge. It must be like 30 or 40 feet long. It's amazing. And I just have to go and see it and see where she's taking herself off to on this one. What a great leap.<br />And so I go. And after the tubes and the bus and the short walk made longer by the wrong bus, I'm going down the slope inside Chisenhale and pulling open the big gallery door and I feel ilke I'm walking into a washing machine, such is the noise of the chattering and talking and hello-good-to-see-you bouncing off the gallery walls and hard floor and having nowhere else to go but back into the middle of the room and then out again and back in and out and in and out like a rough, loud sea.<br />And boy, yes the paintings are big. Three huge paintings.<br />They are all done in parts, and where the joins are sometimes the paint runs across it and it joins up, and sometimes it doesn't, as though she has done the paintings all in one go and had these sheets of aluminium lined up with the spaces between them and what the heck if the paints falls through the spaces and the line is broken. That's just the way it is and the way it is.<br />They are great pieces.<br />The biggest one - which is nearly 40 feet long - is like some sort of jungle or underwater scene, or some place where nature has just been allowed to keep growing and tangling up, unchecked. It's exuberant and full of life...<br />And the one on the right is like a coastline. There's a definite suggestion of sea and sand, coastline, grasses, paths, waterpipes, rusted trawler chains.<br />I've just been for a few days in St Ives and it reminds of the glorious coastline I've just left behind. I hung out there on the beach making sculptures out of seaweed and circles out of seagull feathers. <br />I see Simon Wallis there who runs the exhibitons and who used to be Exhibitions Director at ICA. We have a little chat about Jens Hoffmann going to the Wattis and this and that and we talk about Clare's work and I say I really like it and I'll write about it and am thinking to say that I write a blog of London art stuff, but before I can he says, 'oh that's right - you really liked the Dryden Goodwin show we had here. I remember reading your piece on that.'<br />So I guess I don't need to give him a card...<br />'Anyway, look,' he says, 'I'm sorry, excuse me, I've got to work,' he says, raising his eyebrows, 'Work!?!' he laughs. 'You know what I mean,' and, as a woman walks through the big door to the gallery, he kisses her delightedly on both cheeks.<br />I'm off.<br />Summer is most defintely over.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115741148731754958?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1157155003298271692006-09-01T16:56:00.000-07:002006-09-13T18:09:53.516-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0570.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0570.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />So this is it.<br />Sort of.<br />It's the closing ceremony/party/auction/gameshow for Graham Hudson's residency at Chelsea Parade Ground. <br />Hudson, the leader of the revolution, is moving on (to LA and then Nairobi) but there's still time for all this: an auction of 30 pieces of his work and another outing for cult art gameshow <em>Sculpture Wars</em>...!<br />I arrive and register to bid. There's one piece that's totally worth buying. It's Lot 23, <em>'When It's Windy This Sculpture Falls Over'</em>. For me, it is what this residency has been about and what Graham's work is about. I remember a version of it, in cardboard, on a very early visit here (why the heck didn't I just pick it up then, goddammit???). It's easily the key piece. So I shouldn't be surprised when both Dave Hoyland and Beth Greenacre say they have got their eye on it too. This is not good news. I have no idea what kind of prices are going to be coming in tonight -and I'm not sure anyone else has either. Are we talking a few pounds? Tens of pounds? Hundreds? Thousands??? Who knows? <br />The auction doesn't start for a bit so I hang out. Noah Sherwood is there, filming his sculpture which is tonight's bar. It looks fantastic. It's a reworking of the sculpture he had in Spitalfields. He's pleased how its turned out. 'Look,' he says, 'people are being served drinks by my sculpture. This is great. I've gone all relational aesthetics on my own work...'. He's having a laugh with this but it's a lovely observation. He continues filming.<br />Francesca Gavin is there too, though I hardly recognise her with her clothes on...(fnar, fnar). James Capper comes and has a chat. He's the student here at Chelsea who first came out and started building another house next to Graham's. He's always around. I talk to him for a bit, ask him what it's been like living out here, and what people have said about the place. He presents me with a key phrase. Commuters, walking thru this ground, day after day, over the months, have seen it transform and change and stand up and fall down. They ask: 'What will it look like when it's finished?' We both have a wry laugh at this. <br />What indeed would this all look like when it's finished? What would it look like before it's finished? Where is the end and the beginning with Hudson's work? When it's windy, it might all fall over.<br />And it does fall over from time to time. Hudson has been out here working for months. Part performance piece, part open studio. If he makes a mistake it's all out in the open for anyone to see. There's no working on a piece and then presenting it to the private view crowd. There is no private view, or, well, the private view is continual....<br />Everything teeters on the edge of being something else in Hudson's world. Everything is in a state of becoming. What is made is never really finished, and what is not made is never quite abandoned. Only death and money will finish anything he does. And tonight there are people here with money.<br />Me included. But it still feels odd to be thinking of buying one of Hudson's works. For someone who has spent the last months challenging all that stuff, it's ironic, slightly surprising, and unexpectedly exciting to be able to get hold of something more palpable than a memory. Hudson is a very shrewd guy. He rips up the rules on art, then calmly plays along with them like there's no contradiction. If he had made a cake he could have sold it as well as eating it at the same time.<br />So, I'm in the market for art and I'm fixed on this work I mentioned. I look thru the little catalogue that's been produced. Various works I recognise from previous visits here. And I'm flicking thru and then suddenly I see Lot 30 - which is the house. Hudson said before that he wasn't going to put this in. But there it is. Lot 30. The iconic house. Who knows what's going to happen here?<br />The house - that beautiful, lopsided sculpture with it's mad bay windows and secret sleeping compartment (the 'research hub' as he once referred to it as...) - is the major work of all this. The really central piece to the whole place. Bits of it have fallen off over the months and been replaced. Things have been added. The whole parade ground has shifted and changed and been rebuilt and been allowed to fall over.<br />But don't let's get too carried away with the falling apart bit. Hudson isn't slapdash or chaotic or disorganised. This is a carefully considered - if sometimes not articulated - rage against the machine. It's the revolution that wasn't televised. The only thing really missing from this whole venture was a red flag, with Hudson's face reversed out in black, fluttering over the roof. Students would have bought posters of it to put up in their rooms...<br />Whatever, it's been a hell of a first residence for the parade ground. <br />(Let's, for a moment, just consider some words written by Bedwyr Williams in his excellent book, <em>Basta</em>, of his residency in Venice:<br />'Artists in residence smell, they fill their spaces with special teas, comfy mules, Olbas Oil and other kick-knacks. They get ill, they misunderstand the heating system in their lodgings. They haven't really got enough clothes with them. They don't have a car and are usually damp. Also you must go out for a drink with them sometime. THEY NEVER REALLY DO WHAT THEY SAID THEY WOULD.')<br />The bidding starts.<br />There's a scaffolding tower on top of which are perched Hugh Edmeades of Christies and Beth Greenacre. They are wheeled around the parade ground on this contraption as the pieces are sold. Hugh, perfectly turned out in an expensive suit and tie is, I have to say, the consummate professional. He is on top a scaffolding tower, with a hammer wrapped in hazard tape, getting people to bid on bits of scrap metal, wood and plastic. He is fantastic.<br />So, first up: Lot number 1 - <em>Untitled (Bollards and Table)</em>. Bidding starts around £20.00. Then suddenly it's up to sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, a hundred...it goes for £130.00. Dave Hoyland gets it. This is the first piece. A good one, but blimey, I need to check my wallet on this. This means the piece I want is really going to go. On lot 8, <em>Untitled (Arch and Trolley)</em> we reach about £1300.00. Things are not looking good here for my piece. Also, I don't want to blow money before Lot 23 in case I need everything I've got. So I hold off bidding on a couple of really, really nice pieces. Brian Reed is there and strikes a fantastic deal of £30.00 on Lot 19. I'm kicking myself. Then suddenly, abruptly, we are on Lot 23. There's me, Dave and someone else. Dave pulls out but I keep going. Another hundred, another hundred, and <em>another</em> hundred. I see that I'm up against Ed Greenacre. Shit, I think, I might as well be up against the Bank of England. He's got more money that I can muster on this. It's his. He knows. I know. And so I stop bidding. I pull out. The piece goes to Ed for over a grand. <br />So I'm gutted - but also now frantic about making sure I get a good piece. Other than the house, which is going to go big time (as well as having to be transported and stored) there's two pieces I think that are still worth it:<br />Lot 25 and Lot 27.<br />And I get Lot 25. <em>Good Old British Sex Comedy After Sarah Lucas</em>.<br />Two hundred quid plus VAT.<br />I get it. I'm really, really happy to have this piece. It's an old wonky metal trolley with an office chair and a paint covered easel having sex on top of it. <br />It's mine. It's absolutely wonderful.<br />And it also makes me part of some secret club. As soon as I buy it a guy sidles up to me, out of the darkness. 'Nice piece,' he says, 'Very shrewd. That'll be worth a thousand in 18 months.' 'Less,' I say. He disappears. A woman comes up. 'You got yourself a bargain there,' she coos gently in my ear.<br />I'm expecting someome to come up and give me a funny handshake and a wink at this point, but it doesn't happen.<br />What does happen though is that the house, lot 30, goes for something like £6000. I speak to Ed later and he says he bought it. 'I had to - I had to keep it from being destroyed. It is the residency.' <br />Later I speak to Graham who tells me that two other people have bought it. I also speak to Dave Hoyland who says he bought it....<br />Somehow, loads of people bought the house. And, really, I don't actually care who bought it, I'm just glad someone did. It is beautiful and iconic. It's when Duchamp met John Bock (as a TV channel in a parallel art world might fashion a cheesy programme about it).<br />Then it's gameshow time: Sculpture Wars. Graham and Dave Hoyland are presenting, wearing identical light brown suits, and bawling the rules into mics - which I don't quite follow. There are three contestants a round, each charged with building the tallest, free standing sculpture, from a whole pile of offcuts and tools, which will ultimately be judged on a combination of height and weight. It's like some bizarre Generation Game for the artworld. And each round is accompanied by big war movie themes.<br />Dave and Graham run round like seasoned gameshow hosts, encouraging the contestants, proffering some commentary here and there, keeping the whole thing going.<br />I stand a little back from all this, stand near my new purchase, which suddenly seems very vulnerable to all sorts of nasty things now that I have just agreed to pay 200 quid for it. Will it be safe here till I can get it on Sunday? What if it rains? What if someone nicks it? <br />All thoughts I never had before I agreed to buy it.<br />How fickle I really am....<br />'I was in an early version of Sculpture Wars. In Leipzig.' says Brian Reed. 'I got in to the final,' he continues, wistfully.<br />He introduces me to Cecilia Wee. We both look at each other, registering some faint recognition but from some unknown time. Then I recall: she came into the ICA shop once, looking for a certain subject area and I ran round the shelves trying to find stuff for her. She has written about Grahams's work <a href=http://www.chelsea.arts.ac.uk/hudson-war.htm>here</a>. She is very clever and writes really well and you can find out more about her <a href=http://www.ceciliawee.com/index.html>here</a>.<br />Sculpture Wars finishes. I don't remember who won. But then we are being ushered out of the ground - on account of the neighbours. It's gone ten, after all.<br />I make my way home thinking about my <em>Good Old British Sex Comedy...</em><br /><br />A couple of days later I go down to the parade ground and pick up the work, transporting the whole piece back in a black cab - which seems only fitting.<br />I get it home and rebuild it in my garden.<br />I stand back.<br />I think back to James Capper and that line he said: What will it look like when it's finished?<br />Well, now I can tell you:<br />It looks like two things. It looks like an old wonky metal trolley with an office chair and a paint covered easel having sex on top of it.<br />And it also looks, incontrovertibly, finally, and without any doubt, like a genuine Graham Hudson.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/242745245/in/set-72157594283229519/>war pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115715500329827169?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1156463482120610592006-08-23T23:21:00.000-07:002006-08-24T19:19:09.516-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0193.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0193.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />The place is filled with balloons. Occasionally one of them hits a pin on the wall or the ceiling and lets out a loud, unmistakable and satisfying balloon-going-pop big bang! People are milling about, clutching at the strings hanging down from the balloons and looking up, everyone is looking up, as the balloons rise up to the pin covered ceiling...<br />And in the middle of all this, all this popping and looking up, and while I am following Hector as he is running along with his video camera trying to keep up with Kiyoshi Yasuda (that's him above) who is talking into the mic which is connected to Hector's camera and I am also holding <em>my</em> camera, a plastic glass of beer and Hector's glass of beer, I run into Dave Hoyland who introduces me to Francesca.<br />'Hi, there,' I say.<br />'Oh my god,' she says, 'I read your blog last night. I've been standing on the other side of the room at practically everything you've been at,' she says. 'And I interviewed you once by email,' she says. And yes, I think, right, this must be Francesca Gavin. She <em>did</em> interview me, years back, about <a href=http://www.re-title.com/artists/Russell-Herron.asp>this</a>. (The interview ended up, fact lovers, as a few lines in Marmalade magazine, issue 3). Anyway, how nice to actually meet her. I have to take her photo. The first shot makes it look like she is in a night club in Ibiza, so I ask if I can take more. 'You can do me as much as you like' she says. Nice quote, I say, might use that on the blog...<br />And just before she goes off to spend the rest of this private view on the other side of the room to me I have to notice and mention her necklace. It is a small gold chain with her name on it. Oh no, no it's not. Not quite. It says 'Frantastic'.<br />Ah ha. I like her a lot. <br />Someone else I meet tonight is <a href=http://nooza.blogspot.com>Nooza</a>. OK, that's not his real name. His real name is Steve Smith, but he started writing a blog a little while back about his arty jaunts around London and I started reading it and started noticing that I was standing on the other side of the room to a few things he was at. I'd actually been introduced to him before but never made the link. And then I did make the link and here he is tonight. We chat for a bit. He writes a very carefully considered blog, takes his time, makes some very nice points and I like it a lot. He did a course with Paula Roush, who was supposed to be in the Kitson Kaleidoscope I was in a while back, but arrived too late or something. I met her the other day and she remembered me from the pub after the kaleidoscope thing where we were first introduced. Needless to say, it being a pub and me being me I had no recollection of this meeting at all. <br />And talking of pubs I have to mention something about <a href=http://www.seventeengallery.com/>Seventeen Gallery</a> tonight. I've already documented in a previous post the wonders of Seventeen Gallery's toilets (toilets so amazing, in fact, that the first time I came here with Lena Nix we went to our respective toilets and so impressed was she that she photographed the girls with her phone and sent it to me in the boys across the gallery), but tonight Dave has really provided something a bit special. <br />I'm very used to being in a gallery, dipping my hand into an old dustbin of cold water to fetch up a label-flapping green bottle of beer (very used to it, thank you), but Seventeen has gone that bit further. On the bar he's got mounted a proper pint pulling draught thing. It's huge. And magnificent. And I am in love.<br />'Mr 'Oyland,' I want to say, 'wiz zis big poomp, you are rilly spoiling us....' <br />It's such a piece of kit (I mean, how many galleries do you know that can pull you a pint???) that I think it might end up in the running for best barperson at a private view. Even though it is not actually a person.<br />So he pulls me a pint and then I'm running off after Hector and his camera and the very talkative Yasuda....<br />There are black balloons rising up to the ceiling, large yellow balloons tied to trays on the astroturfed floor of the gallery, little fabric men hanging from cotton, even smaller little paper men scattered across the floor and sharp pins all over the walls and ceiling. It's a party atmosphere.<br />And joining the party are Noah Sherwood and Graham Hudson. Noah has been building the bar at the Chelsea Parade Ground for the grand finale of Graham's residency next Friday. From what he says, it sounds like the bar will be built out of his own sculpture that he had in <a href=http://www.freeform.org.uk/PDF/SpitalfieldsArtProgramme.pdf>Spitalfields</a>. I think next Friday will be great.<br />Hey, tonight has been great.<br />It feels like the first real show after the long quiet summer. It's pouring with rain for a start. And Seventeen is the start of the rest of the year.<br />Yasuda's show has been a blast. Everyone's in high spirits - though none as high as Yasuda - especially when he filled the girls toilets with balloons like some kind of mad Martin Creed thing gone wrong.<br />Loads of people had that look you get when you are so full of wonder, if only for a second, that your face goes all silly: mouth open, eyes wide, slight smile. That's a pretty good thing to pull off.<br />So, yes, you have to hand it to him. Yasuda says in the press material that he wants to make the world a better place. And tonight I think he has.<br />Except for the slightly sullen, pouty girl I almost bump into as I'm coming out of the boys toilets. As she goes in behind me, she gives me a look and says, 'sorry, but the girls' are full of balloons...'<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/224114699/in/set-72157594250372290/>balloon pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115646348212061059?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1155855953327901272006-08-17T16:03:00.000-07:002006-08-24T19:12:55.056-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0083.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0083.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />We can't quite remember in which film it was that Kevin Costner said this, and, well, quoting Costner about anything is maybe a little naff in the first place but we like the quote and it sort of seems apt, standing, as we are, Graham Hudson and I, one quiet, still and heavily peaceful evening in Chelsea Parade Ground looking across at his house that has stood there since April when he built it and which has been standing there since then right up until tonight when the sky is just getting dark and the lights inside the house are on and it looks so beautiful and peaceful.<br />Well, he built it. He did do that. And yes, some did come. Some students looked at what he did and came out and did it too. As we walk round the ground tonight I see a couple of students painting the roof of their own little shack. There are maybe, what, four, five, six houses out here along with Graham's, in this quiet little shanty town.<br />Maybe, if he was staying here longer, there would be more. Though, however many came, I don't think it would have been enough for Hudson. He was always, I think, after a revolution, albeit one that might not be televised. He wanted the students to throw their homework on the fire and to give up being taught in favour of coming out here and trying to learn.<br />But you never get what you want. Earlier when I arrived there was a guy called Brian here, talking about all Hudson's stuff. He had come across it, thought it was amazing, and has just been photographing it ever since. The revolution may not be televised but it has been photographed and written about and recorded, a bit, in here. Brian seemed not to understand why everyone just hasn't completely got all this. I know what he means. But I also know that a lot of people don't get into things until they are told they can get into them. It's all just fashion. And fashion is history close up. Though I don't know if that's the case with Elle Korea ('That's Korea, not Career,' say Graham dryly). They were here to do a fashion shoot against all this stuff down here. Apparently Vogue are on their way too. And there was that piece in the The Times the other day. And that piece in Art Review. 'The art lot don't come down here,' says Graham, 'They're not interested. Except the guy who does the music programming at Tate; he passes through here and he was really into it.'<br />'Well, there you go,' I say, 'that's because this is all rock and roll.'<br />Brian leaves and Graham takes me on a tour of some of the pieces that are going to be up for auction on September 1st, when the ground is going to become a big party and auction room. As well as the venue for another round of sculpture wars...<br />There's a lot less stuff now all over the ground. Graham is slowly beginning to clear himself away. Back into skips and so forth, though not quite, not ever now, back to where he came from. It has all changed now, the landscape and the history of this little area of London. And Graham.<br />He points out some sculptures. There's a version of one I saw months and months ago when I first came down here - 'when its windy this sculpture falls over.' I love this so much. 'There's a Sol Le Witt,' he says, pointing to a table with a couple of clothes airers on, another table balanced upside down on top of them. 'There's a Sarah Lucas' - an easel and a chair having sex. There are the tables which have been thrown out by the college, covered in paint and history and other stuff. These are wonderful.<br />And there's also, more problematically, 'The Gillicks'. He can't quite get his head round selling these. 'The Gillicks' are/were the structures and seats that have been made from the reclaimed, red painted wood structure that Liam Gillick designed for the Kiosk show at the ICA last Christmas. 'Maybe the college will hang onto them,' he says, 'as seating for the cafe area.' <br />It's getting dark now. I'm struck by how quiet and tranquil the place is at night. 'Good time to work,' says Graham, 'you can just get on with it.' I look across at the house with its lights inside. Usually when I'm here it's party time, but tonight its just the two of us walking round.<br />Graham has to head off. We go to lock up the house. Just inside the door I notice a couple of intricate Rob Ryan cut outs hanging from a screw in the wall. It was always Graham's intention for people to come and make work and add stuff to what he was doing.<br />I take out one of my business cards and push it onto a screw on the wall. <br />It says my name on it. But it also says, I'll miss this house not being here.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/224104604/in/set-72157594250357488/>sculpture pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115585595332790127?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1156466151667875622006-08-10T13:03:00.000-07:002006-08-24T18:29:40.800-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0042.6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0042.6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I get to the <a href=http://www.jerwoodspace.co.uk/>Jerwood Space</a> and get a phone call - it's <a href=http://www.woodeson.co.uk/>Ben Woodeson</a>. I said I might see him there.<br />'I've just left,' he says, 'I saw you going in. You ought to introduce yourself to Sarah Williams. She's got blonde, slightly curly hair. She's wearing a black and white dress and she'll probably be standing by the front desk. And she has a pierced tongue. I was talking to her and mentioned you.'<br />I listen to this while looking at a girl with light brown, slightly curly hair, wearing a black and white dress, standing by the front desk. She isn't sticking her tongue out so I don't know about the whole pierced thing but I reckon it's her alright.<br />I say goodbye to Ben. <br />And yes, I probably should go up and say hi to Sarah. She looks friendly and nice and interesting, but sometimes, well, sometimes it's just too tiring to think, ok, let's say hi and chat and then give her my card...and sometimes it's a little treat, a bit of a relief, to just walk anonymously and completely quietly round a show, not networking or saying hi or handing out my details or saying anything to anyone. I decide this show is right for this approach. Or maybe I am just tired. <br />I get a beer and wander round. <br />I look at some work by Adam Humphries, a 'digital drawing', made up of hundreds of bits of illustration picked out from comics - weeds, stones, rocks, grass, small explosions....Then I look at his other work which is a real mish mash of outsized/undersized objects made out of polystyrene. I also check out Tessa Farmer's work - she's been getting a good bit of press recently, largely because she has a neat media hook - she makes work from insects: wasps, flies, grasshoppers, bits of other things, bones, birds, all sorts of dead stuff. And all tiny. Tiny little figures made out of bits of insects, looking like evil little fairies...I think she maybe calls them Hell's Angels or something. Anyway, fairly grotesque little things (above). And all set up in some scenario tonight where they seem to be menacing a hedgehog. Very odd. Bit creepy. Hell to try and photograph...I go round a bit more and look at some paintings by Paul Collinson. When I originally saw the email for this show one of his works was included. It looked like a photograph. Then later I saw it in a slightly bigger format and I thought, ah no it's not a photograph, it's a painting. And now I'm standing in front of it and it really is, clearly, a painting. Two guys are standing next to me. One of them says 'Hey. Look at this, it looks just like a painting.' His friend says, 'It <em>is</em> a painting.' <br />I don't know quite what to make of this.<br />There's also some long wooden boxes, standing on stilts, which contain landscapes, created by Andrea Gregson, which you can peer into. And people do indeed peer into them.<br />Laura Youngson Coll creates weird hybrid plants and has a plug socket attached to the wall on which lots of strange tiny birds are swarming...<br />Liz Dawson has done some accomplished, small scale paintings...<br />Michael Whittle has done some fine drawings...<br />I go back and look at the polystyrene stuff. And Tessa's insects for a bit.<br />Look at the landscapes in the boxes.<br />Think about the meaning of miniature in terms of this show...<br />Get another beer...<br />Look some more at Adam's digital drawing....<br />And so, it seems to me, go on and on.<br />Maybe I am just completely crap at looking at art and that's all there is to it. Maybe I'm better talking about people and ignoring the art, but, I just don't know.<br />There's all this work gone into these pieces, and many of them are good pieces, but, well...I just don't care.<br />I really can't make myself care about any of these works. Looking at them is like looking through a glass case. Nothing comes off them. Nothing really reaches out and pulls me in.<br />It's another show in another gallery.<br />Ho hum.<br />I see <a href=http://www.antonygormley.com/>Anthony Gormley</a> there, peering in to one of the landscape boxes.<br />He looks like he's enjoying himself. He looks like he's having fun.<br />Just like he looked when I last saw him, oooh, when was that? Oh yeah, last October in a show at <a href=http://www.thehospital.dreamhost.com>The Hospital</a> called New Romantic.<br />Hmmm. <br />I seem to remember some of Adam's work in that. And Laura's...<br />(Ok. It takes me a couple of days, but I get the answer: Adam works for Anthony, that's all.)<br />I take a last stroll round the gallery.<br />I'm really...not...getting...it.<br /><br />Maybe I should have said hello to Sarah after all.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/224097114/in/set-72157594250345912/>insect pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115646615166787562?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1154776854059314352006-08-04T04:17:00.000-07:002006-08-07T18:20:37.793-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0041.2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0041.2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a href=http://www.jamesrobertford.com/>James Ford</a> is sitting outside the warehouse that is the venue for <a href=http://www.georgepolke.co.uk/>George Polke Invites</a>, the second of three Polke happenings over this month. No one seems to know who George is or if he even exists. He's like a mysterious Svengali figure. I say hi to James. He says he's already seen my piece inside and that it looks like all that crap behind it is my work too. I have no idea what he means. I got someone else to bring my work down and said it could be put anywhere, hung in any way, whatever, I wasn't bothered.<br />So I go in. The place is enormous. It's some old factory. Most of the delapidated contents, old machinery, broken down bits of gears and metal sheets and rods, have been moved down to this end and marked off with hazard tape to clear an area for the show. And propped up at the front of all this junk is a large white board with my name on in black letters.<br />That'll be my work, then. Or maybe James is right. Maybe all that huge amount of stuff is my work too. I don't know. Could be. It's difficult to know where any of my works start or end. <br />Anyway, I'm here for the view so better get a beer and get looking around. There's already quite a few people here and - hang on, there's a queue for the drinks. And I mean, like a really long queue. I join it. It takes me <em>12 minutes </em> to get to the front and to the poor guy who is handing the stuff out. Seriously, 12 minutes. That has to be some kind of record for a private view, I'm sure. It's like the worst bar service at a private view this year. (It may even get a special category in my end of year round up...)<br />'Hi,' I say, 'three beers, please,' thinking, <em>I'm not going to be queueing here again.</em><br />I take my bottles and look about. There's some really nice works here. I'm pleasantly surprised. I get particularly taken with a grey ball, about the size of a football, that has a small castor attached to it and sits both dumbly and smartly on a white plinth. I also see a piece of fabric hanging up on a wall that has a castor at each corner. I figure they must be by the same person, surely, and I really like them. I pick up a map of the show but don't check it for names of who's done what. I figure I just want to see what grabs me.<br />Holly Pester is there. I went to the launch of her strange little magazine, Bats. I tell her that I've just sent a copy of it to the Sunday Times who rang me asking for information on the current zine scene. I sent them a whole bunch of stuff, so it's up in the air what they'll use. They're probably looking for fashion and lifestyle and I've sent them a quirky little thing about foxes, spiders and bats...hmmm. Anyway, turns out that Holly is a good friend of Louise O'Hare who organised this show tonight. I ask her for information about George. Who is he? What does he look like? What colour is his hair? How does he smell? Does he wear cravats? etc etc. She's vague, but she says she'll try and find out...<br />John Summers is there with two works, not quite happy about where they are placed and desperately wanting to get some lights shining on them to pick them out. John Tiney's also not too happy about where his work is, worrying about it getting covered with pigeon droppings. 'Look, that's where they all hang out.' He points way down the factory and there, up in the rafters, is a pigeon blustering about. Apparently he had to do a lot of cleaning up of pigeon droppings when he got here. He was here installing his piece last night I think.<br />Someone comes up to me and says hello. I recognise him, but am struggling with a name. 'It's Tom,' he says, '<a href=http://www.daletom.com/>Tom Dale</a>. I used to be at the ICA.' Ah, that's right. I remember. 'And you're...er...Sam?' he says, guessing a bit. I give him one of my cards with my name on. 'Russell, right.' We have a chat. Turns out he has some work in the show (but then again, who here doesn't?). 'What stuff is yours?' I ask. He mentions a ball with a castor fixed to it and a piece of fabric hanging up. I'm thrilled. I quickly flick back through the photos I've taken tonight (and it's been a nightmare trying to get photos tonight - the place is too underlit to go without flash and too large for a flash to do much at all) and show him my two favourite works. I think he's impressed. Or maybe surprised. We talk about how rare it is to get feedback on your work. This is true. When you start putting stuff in shows you always think people are going to talk to you about your work, or the ideas behind it, all that stuff. Actually, for most of your life as an artist, no one will say anything to you at all. It's like there's a hole in everyone's conversation where a discussion about your work should be. You put stuff out there thinking people will be really interested in what you are trying to do. And even the people who are actually, genuinely, interested in what you do don't say much. Your life is a monologue, chuntering away, waiting for a dialogue that rarely comes along. The most feedback you'll ever get is after you're dead.<br />And thinking these happy thoughts I decide to head off. I walk past the white board with my name on it. There can be little doubt who has done this work (and I do find it quite pleasingly ironic, given that my contribution to this show is simply my name, that in all the accompanying literature for the show my name has been misspelt), but I still wonder how much of all that junk over there tonight is actually my work. Maybe some. Maybe none of it.<br />Maybe that's not even my name.<br />Maybe my name is George Polke.<br />Names, I think, can be tricky.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/209611475/in/set-72157594228476155/>polke pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115477685405931435?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>russell herronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05981341622526834626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21105937.post-1154646922173499752006-08-03T16:15:00.000-07:002006-08-08T02:23:08.550-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/1600/DSCF0068.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2958/2132/400/DSCF0068.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />'Vote for Pooley,' whispers Simon Ould, 'She has the best eyebrows. Go and have a look. They are the best eyebrows.' He hasn't voted for any one else, just Pooley. There's also some connection between Pooley's name and a nickname he had at school, but I can't quite remember the details of it now.<br />And so I do go and look at Christiane Pooley's eyebrows. Luckily, and unusually, this exhibition comes with a picture board of photos of all the artists with their names, so I don't have to go and stand in front of Christiane and come across like some weirdo; I can casually address Simon's claim by looking at the board.<br />And I think he's right. She really does have very good eyebrows.<br />But, are her eyebrows good enough to win the Zenith.06 prize? Is she the standout candidate of all on show here tonight at No More Grey?<br />It's a difficult decision. We are supposed to be voting for our top three. And No More Grey is an interesting but perplexing space. It's run by Luke Carson. I went to the show <a href=http://russellherron.blogspot.com/2006/03/people-like-us-at-no-more-grey.html>People Like Us</a> here way back in March and tonight I'm here again for this show. In between times the place, I think, manufactures and sells furniture. I don't quite get this and nor does anyone else I talk to. I have a quick chat with Luke tonight but I'm still none the wiser. <br />I grab a beer and join Calum F Youknowwho and Simon Ould, all of us sitting at the bottom of the stairs leading to the backyard. Simon is knackered from the three legged race he's in at the moment and Calum has hurt his back on the train back from Goodwood. We sit there like a bunch of old men at a teenagers party. I guess this is how we will end up. Watching the young things glittering like stars around us as we sip our beer and mumble about what we are up to.<br />Calum has been doing some tattoo thing featuring Frankie his alter ego (why do people have alter egos? Isn't it difficult enough when there's just one of you?). He shows me a tattoo that is stuck in his diary. I take a photo, but only after he has covered up various scratchings with his hands. He seems to think that these would be decipherable by someone else...<br />Simon is two days into a three-legged race organised by <a href=http://www.markmcgowan.org/>Mark McGowan</a>. He is Abu 'The Hook' Hamsa, running along tied to Charlotte Church (not the real one). The finish is tomorrow night and Simon says the cup and award money will be awarded by David 'Kid' Jensen. It's this last piece of information that almost makes me change my plans for tomorrow night...<br />But I don't. Tomorrow I go to George Polke. <br />I have a look round the show. There are a couple of pieces I like. In particular Nicola Willams' piece called 'In the Mud On Your Knees'. It's a dramatic canvas featuring a lot of pink and brown (nice mix) and the canvas has been kicked thru or torn. The accompanying blurb says Nicola was brought up on an isolated farm in Aberdeen, dominated and surrounded by men. Well, really, there you go. She was made for being an artist. It's a good piece. It seems to be real. <br />I bump into Barry Thompson who I last saw at his show at <a href=http://www.rachmaninoffs.com/>Rachmaninoff's</a>. Barry is very big in Japan. I tell him this. He's perplexed and surprised. I explain about the hit counter I have set on my blog. As anyone who has a blog or a website knows, the first thing you do is set up some kind of counter so you can see if anyone is actually reading all the rubbish you post. Within seconds of downloading the programme and setting it up, the counter then takes over your life. I used to check mine practically every minute when I first set it up. Nowadays, I'm down to maybe 30 times an hour.... It becomes completely addictive. It tells you some interesting things: where you are getting your hits from (ie Referrals), how long people stay (providing they visit more than one page, otherwise they mark up as zero), what country they are logging in from, the server they are using, and some other little bits and pieces. The counter I use is called Sitemeter. Lots of people use this one. It appears right at the bottom of the page on peoples sites (scroll down to see mine). Sitemeter is interesting because unless you set the preference to 'private' anyone can click on the icon on your site and be instantly taken into all your info -not something that many people who use sitemeter would be happy with. I've done it to a few peoples sites. It's spooky. Like looking through their underwear drawer -ok, not quite <em>that</em> exciting - but you certainly feel like you are somewhere you shouldn't be. And you are so tense in case the person whose data you are rummaging through will somehow see you and catch you out. It's a very big adrenalin high. It's the nearest thing you'll ever get to hacking, like those nerds do in the movies when they crawl thru the CIA's most important files. This information is highly personal. Nobody likes their number of hits to be public knowledge. Including me. <br />But, then, I thought, what the heck. Does it matter, really? <br />There. <br />I've just taken the privacy button off. <br />Click on the sitemeter logo below and you'll be transported straight into my underwear drawer...<br />Anyway, back to Barry. After I wrote about his show at Rachmaninoff's I noticed I was getting some hits from Japan, and not just one or two, but multiple hits, via different servers. And all of them going straight to the page about Barry and his show and almost never reading anything on any other pages. And most of the searches were coming in under the criteria 'Barry Thompson art' or variations thereof. So, you see, I know, Barry Thompson is big in Japan. (Lets see if this new entry has them logging in again...)<br />Less big in Japan is Brian who is with him. Brian works at Tate Modern bookshop (doesn't everyone at some stage?). We say hello. I take his photo. <br />I notice he has quite good eyebrows.<br /><a href=http://www.flickr.com/photos/72964064@N00/209597612/in/set-72157594228452512/>pooley pics</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21105937-115464692217349975?l=russellherron.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>