As Iain Sinclair falls out of love with the city and wrote 'Last London', I'm just back from a fabulous weekend in the English capital. Apart from a brilliant concert by The National at the Hammersmith Apollo (someone buy me their latest album 'Sleep Well Beast' for Christmas?), Lotte and I took in three exhibitions - all excellent: Queer British Art at Tate Britain was probably best of the best with so many personal histories to follow along with the artworks... One artist knew to me was Keith Vaughan (loved the portrait below). And Oscar Wilde's prison cell door was a jaw dropping exhibit. Soul of a nation: art in the age of black power at Tate Modern also had some compelling stories to follow, but of various black art groups. Another arresting (sic) door here - the imagined door of a black power activist after it had been shot up by police. Terrible thing about the black power exhibition was that, after all that, its still happening: I picked up a book on Black Lives Matter in the gallery bookshop... Then, the Welcome Collection, which I love to visit (bookshop always reveals a must-have new title), had 'Can graphic art save your life' with a particularly stunning section on smoking from the classic Silk Cut ads through Death Cigarettes to a range of anti-smoking postage stamps from all over the world. Not my last London, I hope.
I am he as you are he as you are me, and we are all together
I said, hey what's going on?
A story, essay, lyric or rhyme with no reason almost every day... or at least sometimes, randomly