Category Archives: Current Events

Fourth Plinth: One & Other

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Any visitor to Trafalgar Square cannot help but notice the four large plinth or platforms which mark the corners of the square.  Erected in the mid nineteenth century, these hold statuary of the lion and Generals type.  All but one, that is.  The plinth in the northwest corner, directly in front of the National Galleries stands empty, or has for most of its existence.

A couple of years ago a contest was staged which solicited ideas for what to put on the fourth plinth.  This is really rather difficult at this stage, as London have gotten quite used to it being empty.  Many responses to the challenge were received, and a select group of these have been getting their day, as it were, for the past year.  When Pawn visited Trafalgar this past May there was a sort of post-modern deconstructivist piece up there, involving metal and perspex and some lime green stuff.  Rather distasteful if you ask me.

Anthony Gormley has a different idea.  His piece, One & Other invites regular folk to mount the plinth, assisted by a cherry-picker, for an hour each, 24 hours a day, for 100 days.  These 2400 people were selected by lot, and within reason are allowed to do what they wish with their time on the plinth.

Jill Gatcum, above, made an eloquent gesture with a baloon release.  She had solicited 60 of her friends and family members to each make a donation to charity which they would not normally have done.  She then assembled 60 helium baloons, each bearing a card comemorating her friend’s donation and soliciting whomever eventually found the baloon to similarly make a donation they would not otherwise have made.  During her hour up on the plinth, cheered on by her friends and family below, Jill released one baloon every minute, and then came back down to earth.

The Independent Online have published a photo gallery celebrating the begining of this audacious project.  Check it out.

Monumental Work

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A trip to the Racine Art Museum last night provided insight into the monumental work required to exhibit monumental work.  In this case the program was the first 2009 installment of “Meet Me on the Patio,” a summer series of members and visitors events.  The subject of the program last night was Living Large – backstage at RAM, which focused, through the compelling tour discussion of David Zaleski, on the issues and labors involved with producing an exhibit like Bigger, Better More: The Art of Viola Frey, currently on display in RAM’s gallery 3.

Zaleski’s talk provided wonderful insight into the suffering of a curatorial assistant and great enlightenment as to the procedures, methods, and issues involved in dealing with any large exhibit, but especially in dealing with an exhibit of the large.  Some of Frey’s pieces are so large they may require 30 or 40 or more crates just to move.  Several semi-trailers were involved with this show, not to mention the flights back and forth for the specialists involved, the couriers, etc.

All in all a lovely evening at RAM|Art.  Programs like this are an invaluable part of the mission of any art museum, but especialy one which, like RAM, focuses on crafts and their more accessible nature.  It also engenders thoughtfulness on the part of the casual visitor when they know more of what goes on behind the scenes to get great art in front of them.

Hats off to RAM|Art and to David Zaleski for his great talk.

London 2009 – Day 23 – Art Omnibus in Bethnel Green

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Having waited until most of the galleries are actually open, I’ve returned to Bethnel Green yet again to see some of the cutting edge works on display in the bevy of galleries there. First, however, I took a little trip back to Fitzrovia to check out Approach W1.

There are two Approach galleries, E2, in Bethnel Green (over the Approach Pub) and W1, in Fitzrovia, just above Oxford Circus (E2 and W1 are postal codes). I am more interested in the works of Chris Brodahl than I am in the works on display at E2.



It was a nice show, but not so much of the work really did it for me. I guess I may not be the audience for this stuff. I do like the pieces above, they are evocative of the work of Francis Bacon or some of his contemporaries. Oh well, off to stroll Oxford Street a little bit (it’s a “no traffic day” so that is made easier) and maybe shop a bit.

I end up shopping more than I want as the tube is suddenly shut for an “emergency” so I have to wait that out before finally getting into the station and on my way to the East End.

Once there I stroll up Cambridge Heath road to a few galleries Anne Redmond had clued me into. First on the list is “Look! No hands”at ¢ell Project Space, This is a group show featuring Athanasios Argianas, Kim Coleman & Jeny Horgarth and Simon Faithfull. The first piece we encounter in the darkened first storey location off the main road and back a mew is Simon Faithfull’s 1996 work, “Going Nowhere.” This is a video loop running about 9 minutes (I believe) in which the cameraman starts a video camera which is looking into the distance across the Oxfordshire landscape. It is winter and we see a snow covered field reaching to the horizon, a tree line in the distance, and an army of clouds on the march above. Once the camera starts rolling, the cameraman crosses from behind the camera and into the shot. He trudges off over the horizon over about two minutes, and leaves the camera, and us by proxy, behind.

This is the core of Simon’s work, and really this show. It is about what happens after the artist has taken their hands off of the work, hence “Look! No hands.” as the title of the show would have it. At first my reaction to Going Nowhere was, Okay, that’s enough of that… I waited, however, and started to think about the act of the artist, he has faith in his equipment and his setup and once he has got the machine started, the art machine, he just leaves it go for a while. This si either an act of hubris or one of exploration. I think it is in fact a mixture. In a way it made me think back to my days of exhibit development in a science museum. I would spend years making an exhibit, thinking it up, collaborating on design, watch it get built, etc. Then a day would come and it would go out on the museum floor. Then I could only watch to see how well it did its job as the public interacted with it.

About this time a shape appeared on the horizon and roused me from my reverie as Faithfull approached the camera again and shut it off. I guess he went nowhere, but I was left to think.

The other two rooms in the exhibit were less complex, in many ways, from the first. Kim Coleman & Jenny Hogarth provide four works, “Connect, (Venetian Blinds)”, “Connect, (hair dye)”, “Sugar Paper” and “Museum Light” all from 2008. Of these I most liked Sugar Paper which was shot from above looking down on a table covered with coloured construction paper (sugar paper) and a pair of hands move that paper about. It is projected from above onto a similar table, also strewn with sugar paper, which makes for an unnerving viewing experience as disembodied hands reach out and move the paper about, or so it appears until you look closely and realize that the real paper is stationary whilst the projected images are moving.

Venetian Blinds and Museum Light both are experiments in projecting an image of an object onto that same object (much like Sugar Paper). Venetian Blinds is the more effective of these (or else I am just too literal minded) as the projected blinds are opened and shut you almost do a double take to see if the real blinds just changed.

Lastly, Athanasios Argianas’s A demonstration of one thing as many as a demonstration of many things as one (I was swept off of my feet) is a masterfully effective piece of art. A pylon build of metal truss work rises out of a plinth in the centre of the room. Across this truss-work are three strips of white material (poster board or foam core) each about 3″ by 18″ wide and at different angles to you, one closer on the right, one on the left, the third about even. A projector fills each strip with imagry of three women, one on each strip, (one on the right, one the left, one the middle) as they start into singing rounds of a simple song. The interaction between these different planes, different strips, different coloured filters…It is quite beautiful, and I staye and watched it for more than a couple of cycles through the roughly 2 minute loop.

Okay Cell, on to monikabobinska gallery, just down the block. I needn’t have waited for them to open to see the installation piece by Sinta Tantra, for it is the paint job on the building itself. Interesting, but not really my cup of tea. Oh well. On to Vyner street and a whole bevy of galleries which dot the landscape. (Interesting sign seen on one building, “This is not a gallery!”)

Vyner Street is a few blocks of old factory and warehouse building backing on the eastern branch of the Regents Canal. There are small galleries all along the street. I stopped into all of them I could find, and as not all of them had handouts or cards, I am doubtless going to miss some.

First was Rene So at Kate MacGarry, a collection of bulbous busts which reminded me more of Pop-Art chess pieces than anything:


Again, not my style, but what the hell.

Then I crossed the street to Breaking New at Five Hundred Dollars an artist supported gallery conceived from the first to have a limited life of just a few months. This group showing consists of many artists. I will call attention to Aliki Braine for Forest (parts I – III):

forest

And Tessa Farmer for A Prize Catch (series):

aprizecatch-doormouse

There is other stuff you may like, so check out the website.

VINEspace gallery feature Your face, your race, the way you talk…I kiss you, you’re beautiful I want you to talk modern photography by Neil Drabble, Sean Fader and Oskar Slowinski. Of these easily Sean Fader’s work has the most impact on me. Neil Drabble offers us Roy, a documentary study taking place over an 8 year period and focusing almost exclusively on his subject, Roy, coming of age. It is interesting, but doesn’t really inspire any thing stronger in me. Oskar Slowinski offers us some intriguing candid street shots, but again nothing too special to me. Sean Faber, on the other hand, offers us this:



Here he is digitally manipulating images to show us him in other forms (or skins) or him in the ultimate act of narcissism. Quite effective, I thought.

Don Joint Waldameer and Chuck Webster at FRED were nice, Joint certainly a masterful collage artist, but neither grabbed me.


The Götz Füsser Studios is showing paintings by Bryan J Robinson. His small watercolours got my attention, but his featured big works seemed like someone had gutted Keith Harring over a canvas and framed the results:


Nettie Horn gallery features The Hidden Land with Gwenaël Bélanger, Daniel Firman, Ori Gersht and Lori Hersberger. Upon entering the gallery you are instantly confronted by Le Faux Mouvement (2008) by Bélanger, and it is truly stunning both in scale and for its captured moment:

The other works are quite eye catching as well. Ori Gersht’s series Falling Bird is a stunning use of photography to mount an exploration behind a classic still life by Chardin. Originally a short film shot with high definition, high speed cameras, Gersht captures the plunge of a pheasant into a dark pool of fluid, next to some grapes arranged on a shelf above the water. It is quite a series.


I am going to speed through the rest of this because this post is already too long and I want to save some space for the highlight of my trip.

A quick mention is due Alex Echo Arts who opens up his working studio on Saturdays for inquisitive (and no doubt acquisitive) art fans. I liked his complex collage work as well as his experimentation with incorporating words into his works. Check his website (link above) to see what I mean.

Dialogue at Vyner Street offers up Remnants of our past by Gerard Mannix Flynn. This installation piece features hundreds of rifle stocks and thousands of rounds of spent ammunition to try to teach us a little bit about the emotional costs of entanglements, but more importantly of disentanglements. He is referring, specifically, to the disarmament process following the Good Friday agreements which brought “The Troubles” in Northern Ireland to an end. Again, check the website (link above) to see for yourself. The thousands of rounds of ammunition scattered about on the exhibit floor made this the most interesting tactile experience of the day.

Lastly some °art, host the Signature Photography Awards 2009 show. This annual awards series honours some of DegreeArt’s crop of graduating or recently graduated student artists. I am a big fan of young artists, and fully endorse Degree’s stated mission, “Invest in the artists of the future.” There is much for these young artists to be proud of. I will bring special note to A Dream from the Posted series by Natalie Tkachuk, from the 2007 class of University College, Falmouth. Here is that piece:

Natalie Tkachuk - A Dream

Natalie Tkachuk - A Dream

This features wartime letters from Frank to Maude, and in each in the series Natalie has carefully folded the letters within the envelopes so that particular lines from them are visible through the open slit of the envelope. In this the top one says, “…a long past. I was so disappointed as I woke up to find it was only a dream.” And the bottom one reads, “I suppose I will just have to wait.”

Another piece which really struck me was Hammered (no pun intended).

hammered

Catherine Dwyer Harvey - Hammered

This homage to the classic pin-up photograph effectively addresses the power imbalance implicit in those, while having a sense of humour about it. Contrast this to those dreadfully cold and violent images by Helmut Newton I wrote about the other day. The young Catherine Dwyer Harvey is a clear winner in that competition, and she won the Singled Out Portraiture Finalist in this competition, as well. Keep you eye out for her work.

Do yourself a favour and check out °art website (link above), you will not be disappointed at the huge range of works and artists they offer.

At last finished I took a stroll through part of Victoria Park and then back on the tube. I saw this upstairs from a shop on Montmarch Street and though it looked interesting.

Ta!

London 2009 – Day 20 – In Other News, Pt. II

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There are a lot of little things that I keep meaning to mention, so today I will try to catch up.

First off, however, I need to comment on Havana Rakatan, the dance programme presented by Sadler’s Wells tonight at the Peacock Theatre. Ooh La La!

I have learnt that Sadler’s Wells do not disappoint, and tonight was no exception. Last year I saw Insane in the Brain and Tango Por Dos, and both were exceptional. Now, when I see an advert for a Sadler’s Wells production I just add it to my list and don’t worry myself about whether it will be a worthy investment.

So, tonight’s performance, ending Saturday, features the top Cuban Son band Turquino, and a crew of about 20 dancers representing the cream of the crop in Cuban dance. Every style of Cuban dance is represented in this show: Salsa, Mambo, Rumba, Flamenco, classic folkloric, Bolero, Cha-Cha-Cha, etc.

A crowd favourite was when, following a bracing ensemble number, just the men are left on stage wearing an assortment of tops and tie-up trousers. They all face the audience and strip off their tops. The women in the audience went nuts and we all cheered. Then they started to loosen the ties on their trousers, the whole audience gasped, and many started a deafening cheer.

Just then a female Flamenco dancer started in from stage right, all taught angles, quivering curves, a costume as red as if a vat of lip gloss had been dumped on her (and as figure hugging, too) and a severe glint in her eye. As she moved across the stage in that staccato fashion unique to Flamenco, the men preened, then shrugged and then, resigned, simply picked up their kit and slunk off the stage.

The moment was precious, and the audience was but putty in their hands after that.

The show nearly broke my heart when the band started into Guantanamera, that most Cuban of all songs. I cannot help myself, whenever I hear this song I am transported to a little Mexican restaurant I visited many, many years ago with X and her mum N. N loved Cuba, and when the mariachi’s band came by X asked if they could play it. They launched into a serviceable rendition, an N started to cry for her love of Cuba. It was a touching, and to me eternally precious, moment, and now whenever I hear that song I start to tear up at my love for N and for her love of Cuba. Oh what a tangled web…

The show ended with the entire audience brought to their feet and trying to dance along with the crew on stage. My seat mate, Carolina, (a Polish immigrant, by way of Australia) a salsa dancer, put me to shame as I just did the white-guy-shuffle and tried to keep in time.

So, the other news… I have already reported twice on the little constitutional crisis brewing over here. Well, it would be one if the Brits really had a constitution like the US does. At the root of the current mess are two separate scandals, which are coming to fruition simultaneously. The first is the peerage “laws for pay” scandal. This actually dates back to my last visit here, in early spring of 2008. In this one, members of the House of Lords, the upper chamber of parliament (think Senate) were found to be dispensing favours for money – aka taking bribes. Two peers have been found guilty, finally, and have had their privileges suspended pending further action. This is remarkable in that it hasn’t happened in over 300 years, dating back to the era of Britain’s civil war (yes, they had one too).

The second is the continuing Exes scandal, in which members of the House of Commons (MPs) have been exposed as having exploited rules which allow them to recoup various expenses associated with maintaining multiple households so as to attend parliament. This has now claimed several members of all the major parties, including senior aides and ministers, and has lead to calls for wholesale reform of the entire electoral system. Yesterday it took its biggest toll, the resignation of the Speaker of the House of Commons. Though widely expected, and called for, this act, again for the first time in more than 300 years, has set the entire government, majority and opposition alike, on their arse and made them think about just how quickly they are racing towards the abyss of writing themselves out of governance and into history.

There is a lot of talking about cooler heads prevailing and the like, but coming down the tracks like a dual locomotive are the 4 June county and EU elections. The electorate are fuming and they are ready to elect anyone who is not currently in power. This could potentially send a bunch of fascistic “England for the English” folk, like the British National Party (we’ll pay you to just move back home and leave us alone) into Whitehall. No one bargained for this.

Meanwhile the Germans and French, in the person of Angela Merkel and Nicolas Sarkozy, have already issued warnings that if the Conservatives (Tories) or isolationists are elected they may need to restrict England from having a say on EU policy going forward.

This is, as my dad used to say, a right bloody mess.

On a lighter note. I noticed something in Mayfair the other day. You know those ridiculously gorgeous models in the Abercrombie and Fitch catalogues? If you go to the Mayfair outlet of A&F those very same models are there in person, wearing virtually nothing, and ready to greet you at the door and hand you a shopping basket. I kid you not.

Marks and Spenser, known affectionately around here as either M&S or Marks & Sparks, celebrate their 125th anniversary this year, and so for three days, starting today, put 30 items on sale for a penny a piece, in recognition of their start as a penny shop (“Don’t ask the price, its a pence” was an early slogan). People started to line up at the flagship Oxford Street, Marble Arch location at 5 this morning and M&S handed out tea and coffee to those in line, along with cards listing the available products and little pencils so they could check up to five that they wanted.

Twiggy was there as Mistress of Ceremonies and has been all over the telly promoting it for the past week or so. At least we get to see a lot of Twiggy, whom fate and time have treated quite well indeed.

Bank Holiday, again! When Pawn first got here, nearly three weeks ago, England launched into a three day weekend, triggered by a bank holiday. In the US such a term evokes memories of the Great Depression, when “Bank Holiday” was a euphemism for a bank failure, wherein the government would shutter a bank for a few days while they sorted the books and then reopened the bank under national control. We have seen this happen with alarming regularity in the past year or so, but the FDIC, who handle such things, have gotten quite good at doing the whole thing over a weekend, so no one’s any the wiser.

Anyway, Bank Holiday weekends mean a few things. First off, sales, lots of sales. Two, everyone tries to leave London for the hinterlands, beaches of Brighton, etc. Third, half the underground goes under repair at once, and you cannot get anywhere you want. Fourth, the weather sucks. The forecasts are always rosy, but the actual weather always seems to suck. We’ll see if this time is any different.

The next item on today’s gazette, STRIKE! The RMT union have struck the Victoria line for a 24 hour stoppage from tonight at 9:00 pm. This is due to a little incident a couple of months ago wherein a train operator mistakenly opened the doors on the wrong side of the coaches of a Victoria Line train. The union pointed out that this line lacks the safety devices which prevent such a mistake on the other lines, but Transport for London (TfL) sacked the driver nonetheless. Thus the strike.

For me this means I may not get to see Cirxus up at Arcola Theatre’s new experimental Studio K space. Arcola are up in Dalston, in Hackney, and the only good way to get there from here is via the Victoria. I meant to go there tonight, but couldn’t risk being stranded with no way home. Thus my choice to attend Sadler’s Wells show. Tomorrow may work, but if the strike does continue for the full 24 hours it will be a no-go to get to Hackney. Bank Holiday means massive trains works, so that means the whole weekend is bullocks. >Sigh<

In other news of the day, I treked east to Bethnel Green again today, hoping to check out some more galleries there. Oops! Must learn to check the fine print more carefully. Most of these galleries are only open by appointment or on Friday and Saturday. Okay, add that to the list for the weekend.

Tomorrow L shows up from Wisconsin to visit her brother. We’ll hang out some, too. So look forward to more reports of someone getting annoyed at me for walking fast or refusing to hail cabs or other such indignities. I am hard to cope with, which just adds to your reading delight.

Two final notes: I pinched an office chair from a rubbish skip the other day, an office block across the street is under rehab and they had a half dozen chairs out to the curb.

My favourite Gay-Bollywood-After-School-Special, Nina’s Heavenly Delights is on BBC One right now. Ah, joy!

Ta!

London 2009 – Day 14 – A Little Tragedy After the Flood

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A day of work today, work and writing, and then off to wander Southwark in search of interesting sights, some din-din and finally { EPIDEMIC }, an experimental theatre work at Southwark Playhouse.

After doing a few hours of work, and a couple of writing, I decided to head out early for my show in Southwark. I move tomorrow, from tony Fitzrovia to the more frugal climbs of Bloomsbury/St. Pans. I decided to take a walk to Kings Cross station by way of the new flat, so I could get an idea of what awaits me. It was a nice stroll over into an area, Bloomsbury, with which I am already familiar, having stayed there for a while back in 2000. The sights are mostly the same, just the works are different.

From Kings Cross I took the eastern branch of the Northern line down to Bank so that I could walk across London Bridge to the South Bank at Southwark (say “suth-ark”). After snapping a few photos of the Monument to the Great Fire of London

I took the walk and was prepared to find a right mess on the south bank, as there was a major water mains break early this morning, which lead to 1.5 metres of water in Tooley Street, right outside the London Bridge tube station, and caused hundreds of businesses, hotels and offices (including City Hall) to shut down.

London is currently pox marked with works involving replacing the Victorian era water mains (should sound familiar to Milwaukeans), and a break like this (the second in 3 months) really brings home the need for it.

As expected, Tooley Street, just east of the station, was closed to vehicular traffic, but the various agency seemed to be doing a bang up job of sorting it all. There were fire brigades from all over, Whitechaple, Kentish Town, etc. as well as Plastic Cops, the PCSO support corps., water works lorries, etc. Quite a scene.

Had a walk around and then settled for a dinner of penne carbonara not far from the action.

Back out to stroll around some more, wandered along the southern side of the train trestles to take some photos of the ornate, but sullied masonry. Along the way encountered Pierre Garroudi, a slender French designer who has honed his skills in Manhattan (I’m guessing Pratt) and Milan before settling in London. He introduced me to his cat (who has lived in all of those places with him) and his designs.

Check out today’s gallery for all the photos. “Are you an architect?” he asked, when he saw me photographing the masonry. “No, just an admirer” I told him. We had a nice chat.

The area along the southern bank of the Thames here is called MoreLondon and includes a number of very modern structures in the shadow of Tower Bridge. It is quite vibrant, as most of the old docklands are, and tonight was no exception. A lot of public art, and a lot of people admiring it. I took more photos of that.

Finally it was time to go to the playhouse to see {EPIDEMIC}, the show I had come for. The story behind how I came to be here is this: A week ago, as X and I were traveling down to South Bank for a show, we encountered a vivacious group of young Thespians on the train. They were quite animated and one girl, maybe 21, was asked by a nearby lad if she was Indian (she obviously was). She was quite a striking beauty, and coyly looked at the young man and without skipping a beat said “No, I’m white, I just tan easily. My name is Emily.” as though that name was enough to establish her racial identity.

natalie

In modern England the question of whether someone is Indian is foolish, to say the least. Indian, as well as Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Afghanistan people have lived here for generations. So, to be Indian here is to say third or forth generation Indian, and with intermarriage (which happens more often than you’d think) it all becomes meaningless fairly quickly. This young woman had the dark ruddy skin and Arian features which I happen to find quite lovely, but I was not the one pestering her, so let’s leave that out of it.

I was more interested in the large hand made drum which the quietest and shyest member of the troupe was carrying, or rather trying to carry. After helping her get settled into a seat so that her drum didn’t obstruct traffic, I inquired what the story was with the drum. She answered, in a accent I would later discover was Greek, and halting English, that they were all with a theatre troupe, and the drum was a vital prop.

ioli

I asked what show, and she said it was an experimental production at the Southwark Playhouse based upon Antigone which would be produced for one night only, May 14th. I went online the next day and got a ticket for the whopping sum of £3.

Life is short, and when you have an opportunity to see some truly new and different perspectives in theatre, I say go for it. Enough of my theatre career was spent producing just that kind of show, so I can truly appreciate it when I have a chance to see it.

The venue was the bar of the playhouse, which itself is under the bridges of the railway interchange at London Bridge Station. In the darkened caverns of space is carved out a little antechamber to the main theatre, and this is where the production would take place. By the time I arrived, almost an hour before the show, the box office was already turning interested parties away as they had a sellout show. Eventually the eager audience prevailed upon the box office workers to sell them SRO spots, so at the start of the show the place was packed. I had three people sitting on my feet for most of the performance.

While the audience milled about and got their drinks and seats sorted the cast started to coalesce in the centre of the bar room, performing stretching and limbering exercises (made my back hurt just watching).

warmup

Then, when the audience was all watered, the actors gelled into a cohesive mass and started the show.

There is nothing grand or unheard of to report about the show. It is an old tale, Antigone, but this was a vital and inventive telling. Props were spare, mostly just a large piece of orange-red fabric and a couple of puppets. Most of the creative work went into the movements of the cast and the turns on the traditional story. Our “Emily” from the tube, Natalie Naomi Bamunuwatte, was stellar as Antigone, Luke Harris shines as Creon and Konstantinos Kavakiotis triumphs as Haemon. Ioli Adreadi, the shy woman with the drum, played director cum ring-master to the cast of eight, and crafted a piece seemingly purpose built for the space.

natdown

natpuppet

That’s the trick, it wasn’t. {EPIDEMIC} are all about constant change within the company of actors and the spaces they inhabit. The cast of tonight’s one-off performance consisted of 4 veterans and 4 newcomers. They will perform, as well, in Athens. They previously performed, with different cast, at Edinburgh and the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, both in 2008.

group

I felt honoured to have been amongst the 100 or so people to get to see them this time out.

London 2009 – Day 9 – Scandals and Demons

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Pawn may be disenfranchised but he is neither humbled nor disinterested. Some honesty is displayed, to what end is unknown. Some dishonesty is revealed, outcome unclear. Dirty laundry is aired, outcome most certain. Chains are rattled, hammers have fallen, polls have been rocked. Oh, the turmoil!

Whilst your intrepid travelers have been blithely gallivanting about London, do not for a moment think that they have been ignorant of the goings on in politics. All about us a scandal has been brewing, and that brew has now burst the bottle and sprayed its frothy mush all over the Zeitgeist. That is the MP Expenses scandal; it doesn’t look as though it is getting much coverage across the pond, but it is all the rage on every front page over here. Here is the story in a nutshell:

British Members of Parliament (MPs) are allowed to claim a variety of expenses, such as second homes in or around London (so as to attend Parliament), service workers, meals, etc. Each member is limited to about £25,000/year. The system was first engineered back in the 1980s when the typical MP earned a relative pittance for their service, up against comparable professions, such as bankers, solicitors or barristers. Recompense has since increased, but the expenses system remains.

Gordon Brown, the current Prime Minister, has been trying to change the system for years, but these efforts have been successively rebuffed by the House of Commons (the UK equivalent to the House of Representatives), year after year. When word started to get out about some potential abuses, the government responded by preparing an audit, and announced that it would be releasing the details in July, well after the British county and European Union (EU) elections coming up in late May.

Well, best made plans… The Telegraph, a decidedly Tory rag, performed some exceptional investigative journalism, and dug up all the facts on who claimed what, when and why. [I believe the muckraking consisted of paying someone £300,000 for the expenses reports – an offer the more principled papers here refused. – X] They then put these facts into the partisan journalism blender and released an overly sensationalised account which focused almost entirely on Labour MPs (only mentioned one Tory) and containing many flat out distortions, conflations and errors.

No matter that, the chum was in the water, and in no time at all every paper in the country had picked up and repeated the Telegraph’s claims, right or wrong, and in a matter of days Labour numbers dropped 14 points in some polls (23 in others) and with elections looming the Tories now stand at 48%, Labour 27%, Liberal Dems 18%.

Having done its dirty deed, the Telegraph is now reportedly going to start releasing the results of their investigation vis-a-vis the Tory MPs. You can fully expect that they will do so in such a manner as to selectively pick off some perceived weak members, and reorder the party to their liking.

This is redolent of nothing so much as the House Franking scandal which rocked the US House of Representatives back in 1992. That lead to the downfall of Dan Rostenkowski, then the Democratic chair of the House Ways and Means committee, the most powerful seat in the house, by many measures. If that is any guide, we can fully expect that Chancellor of the Exchequer Darling and PM Brown will be jobless in short order. The Telegraph, of course, will live to slander another day.

Well, enough of scandal, how about some demons. Tonight took us to the Vaudeville Theatre for Duet for One. Here is X for that review:

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Juliet Stevenson has long been a favourite of mine (since the lovely film “Truly Madly Deeply” with Alan Rickman), so on that basis alone I was interested in this show. I did not know that it was about a brilliant, successful violinist who (pressured by her husband) is seeing a psychiatrist after developing MS and becoming unable to play music. The story was inspired by the story of Jacqueline Du Pre. The play is profoundly moving, well written and brilliantly acted. Stevenson, in a motorized wheelchair for the most part, is riveting as she talks through her rage and suicidal thoughts about having MS in the prime of life. The set, the subtle details of Stephanie’s deteriorating condition, the music and lighting are perfect. It’s physically hard to take your eyes off her to look at her doctor (Henry Goodman), but when you do, his reactions to her words and actions are perfectly in tune. There were several people in the audience who appeared to have MS, and, judging from the audible sobs of the woman next to me, must have friends with the disease. I thought of my dear NR and BB with love.

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duet-for-one

To expand a bit on X’s able hand, I would add this: During interval we discussed how strong of a performance Goodman turned in. In a two-hander like this, where the lead is so strong it can be hard for the second to really do much more than show up. Goodman does way more than this. He never just shows up, he is present and inhabits the stage every bit as much as Stevenson does. Given few lines in the first act, he has to rely instead upon gesture, body language, movement – all subtle, but all pitch perfect.

As has so often been the case on this trip, however, we were blown away by the tectonic shifts which occurred in the second act. Goodman, as Dr. Alfred Feldman, at one point launches into what must have been a 10 minute soliloquy about life and suicide and psychiatry. It takes one’s breath away, it does. It takes Stevenson’s breath away, as well, and for a short while the tide is turned on stage and in the audience’s hearts. That Stevenson comes back in the very next scene and steals the show back for herself is just one more example of the emotional whiplash to which we are subjected.

Testament to the high state of London theatre arts is the fantastic lighting, scenography, soundscapes, etc. to which we have been treated this past week. Tonight was no exception. The set, by Lez Brotherston, is a near-perfect rendition of a doctor’s office. Comfortable yet not too inviting. Jason Taylor’s lighting and John Leonard’s sound do exactly what they are supposed to do, not get noticed. The subtly of both is the most exquisite expression of theatrical art one can achieve. Taylor’s lighting is a masterpiece of naturalism rarely seen in today’s over-sensationalised shows. Well done!

If there is one bone to pick with the production, well I will pick it. The set decoration, while complete, was perhaps a little too much so. The bookcases were full, edge to edge. The CD shelves were full, edge to edge. The same with cassettes and LPs. I can believe that the good doctor is a collector and aficionado of music, I cannot believe that he has this custom built shelving system and has only got space for maybe 2 CDs out of 12 entire shelves. Good thing that they don’t make cassette tapes any more, ’cause there is no room for any more of those, either.

A small point, I know, but I noticed it, so I am willing to guess that others did as well. Barely a blip of a blemish on what is otherwise as perfect a production as one could hope to see.

One last point. In England one typically must pay for a programme for the West End theatre. £2 or £3 will get you the typical cast listings, bios, etc., as well as general theatre news, and such. Not so tonight. We gladly paid the £3 for the evening’s programme, only to find that is was nearly a book, replete with extensive details on MS, causes and treatments, the music used and referred to in the performance, as well as the usual interviews and such. It is quite the reference.

Ta!

London 2009 – Day 9 – Camden Rocks

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Last year there was a large fire in the Camden Lock area of Camden Town. Every Saturday the open spaces of Camden Town come alive for market day, there are tens of thousands of people shopping, market stalls pop up everywhere, Inverness Market, Camden Market, etc. Camden Lock is the largest of these shopping districts, and the loss of about 12 square blocks (by US standards) was a remarkable blow to the local economy. The day I went there last year, 15 February, was the first day that the unscathed portions of the market had reopened, and this is how things looked:

Camden Lock Feb. 2008

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Today marked the official opening of the rebuilt Camden Lock, and thanks to X’s sharp eyes and even sharper wits, we were early there (after first venturing down to Leicester Square to score 2 in stalls for Duet for One tonight at the Vaudeville Theatre). Here are some shots from the new Camden Lock:

You can find all of today’s photos here for comparison to last year’s.

The market was so alive! It was remarkable, all of this energy coming from the crowd. We walked all around, stopped in at all sorts of vendors. I bought a punch of well photographed shots of Banksy graffiti from one stall. X was thrilled to discover, as we passed Proud Camden, a gallery and performance space in the heart of the Lock, that they had up Withnail and me, an exhibit of Murray Close photographs taken on the set of Withnail and I, her favourite film of all time. Twelve hours later we left the gallery and continued our walk…okay a wee bit of exaggeration.

X is proud to report that we somehow managed to escape with nary a piercing nor a tattoo. Still trying to figure out how we worked that miracle. We grabbed some noodles and fled the crowds (like a human car wash, constantly pressing in on one) across the street. It struck me suddenly that where we were standing was last year a no-man’s land of construction barricades and works. Just down the way was the Hawley Arms, a favourite hangout for artists and their mates, like Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen. This is what it looked like last year:

And this is what it looks like now:

Notice the second floor? This was a remarkable rebuild, and as soon as we finished our noodles we were glad to go inside and give them some “welcome back” business. Polished off our cocktails, checked out the loo where so many of our fave stars have both pissed and passed out pissed, and then went to head home.

Not so fast. First there was the small matter of the marching band and the Camden Town Crier to contend with:

Such perfect timing that we emerged from the pub just in time to hear the marching band playing, wait for it… California Dreaming! What a hoot, just wish I would have fired up the video recorder option on my phone to capture it all for you to hear. Then, when that song was done, the town crier (the chap in red) made a pronouncement about the eminence of the occasion and bearing well wishes from the Queen(!) to which all and sundry exclaimed “God save the Queen!” and went back to their shopping, graffiti, piercing and tattooing. We went to the tube and back home again.

Ta!

London 2009 – Day 5 – Retrospective Analysis

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[Note: We started this post on 5 May, but have only just now gotten around to completing our review.  Please forgive this slide in our duties.]

Last evening we went to see “England People Very Nice.” A controversial new play premièring at the National Theatre. This is a difficult beast, social satire in a full length form, clocking in at 2:50 with interval.

We discussed it a bit last night, during and after, but were too tired to give it proper treatment here. We decided to let it be, sleep on it, and write in the morning. Here we are, so here goes.

England People Very Nice is an ensemble piece with a very large cast. The stage is spare, with a large wall of wooden construction occupying the centre rear of the stage and miscellaneous chairs and such scattered about. Prior to the start of the show a gentleman settles down into a folding chair centre stage with his laptop and his paper whilst the audience mills about and gets settled themselves. Suddenly a voice crackles over the house intercom, “Notes please. All assemble for notes.” And thus begins our play, we are soon to learn that this is a holding prison for inmates, illegal immigrants awaiting news of their status review, and they are putting on a show. Led by a liberal do-gooder, the inmates launch into a final dress rehearsal of their show, and we are along for the ride.

The first act is a telling, in foreshortened form, of the history of England. The arrival of the Romans, the Saxons, the successive waves of immigration from France, Ireland, Denmark and Holland. The humour is very broad, almost like a skit show – and like so many skit shows it suffers at times, when the the comedy fails the show has precious little left to stand on. A theme of repetition quickly develops. There are two characters, in the outer play they are Sanji, an illegal from Pakistan or Bangladesh or somewhere like that (no specifics) and Camille, an illegal from somewhere in the former Soviet block. These two, in each iteration of the waves of immigration, fall in love at first sight (and quickly couple), but are, of course, star crossed. Similarly, there is a bar maid, Ida and her boss, Laurie, who wryly observe the goings on. Ida, with the mouth of a cockney bar maid, begins each scene with a comment of the form, “Fecking Frogs,” where the pejorative term for whatever race is substituted for Frogs. It is this aspect of the show, its bald faced exposure of prejudice and hatred, which garnered it on-stage protests early in its run.

By interval we were up to roughly the turn of the last century, and took a break. I asked X what she thought.

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Like Nic, I was at this point baffled by the uproar this play caused in sophisticated London (there was a protest early in the run in which attendees stormed the stage, and occupied it until the performance was canceled). What’s the big fuss? Drunken, incestuous micks, perpetually farting and mincing frogs, rapacious or anarchist yids, etc. Maybe if South Park still upsets you, but come on now. One recurring exchange that brought a reliable laugh from the audience was, “This is the closest we will ever get to paradise on earth!” with the disbelieving response, “Bethnal Green?????” What I liked most was the brilliant use of animation on the rough wooden structure behind the actors. As in any farce, there were endless exits and entrances and slamming doors and windows, but with the projections, you saw crowds running down streets, a shop become a church then transformed into a synagogue. Ida’s pub in the corner is a constant, with her marrying a wealthy and well established Jewish man, and her “regular” offering his comments. “Aye, I have them living upstairs from me, the…” [insert current disfavoured ethnic group here] The subversive element is the colorblind casting [or whatever the current term is]. An Indian actor plays a weaver from Norfolk, an Italian priest, a Jewish Russian printer, etc. OK, wine is drunk and the interval* is over.

*Travel tip: order your intermission cocktail before the play starts and it’s right there for you – drink efficiently, I say! xx X

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Okay, another voice heard from. My take at interval was that this is a show that belonged in the ranks of Off-West-End, perhaps on a smaller stage up in Hackney or somewhere else on the East End or North London. But the National?!? This just reeked of PC over-reach to me. Guilty Liberal self flagellation and the like. But what was it doing here, and what did it really contribute to the national dialogue on immigration, and issue with which the British, like most of Northern Europe, are struggling (as I referenced last year: http://www.fortunespawn.com/2008/02/23/london-journal-day-12-a-close-up-view-from-abroad ).

We finished our wine, and whining, and repaired to the theatre for the second act.

First, however, a personal note. The first act shows the impact of the Jewish immigrant wave brought about by the Tzar’s pogroms near the end of the 1800s. This strikes a chord with me, as this is when my forebears, my great grandparent’s people, fled Ukraine for England’s promise. They settled in the Tower Hamlets district in the East End, and while I know little about that generation, my grandfather was the stereotypical Jewish furrier and tailor, with his workshop and home in Stepney Green until it was bombed in the Battle of Britain. My father, at this point entering medical school, worked as a corps man, collecting the remains of those who perished in the streets during the Blitzkrieg.

Act two begins with the onset of the second world war, and we see the members of the Indian Merchant Marine who worked so hard at the aid of the British to keep supplies moving in treacherous seas. Some are coming ashore on leave but others have swum ashore to strike out for work and a new life. In this half of the show we are brought face to face with the still entrenched class-ism and hostility to immigrants modern Britain is known for. In this half we follow primarily one story, the lives of a Bangladeshi immigrant, Mushi, and Deborah, the daughter of Ida, the bar maid. These two actors, Sacha Dhawan and Michelle Terry, have played the recurring love-at-first-sight characters throughout the show, but now they settle down into the same roles for the rest of the night. There is an odd bit of playing with the time line as the act starts with WWII and ends in a post-9/11 era, but in the character’s lives it is only about 30 years.

We see Mushi go from merchant seaman deserter to assistant to the Attar, to the invention of Chicken Tikka Marsala and, as a wealthy restaurateur, a leader of the Bangladeshi immigrant community in his part of Bethnal Green. Deborah, when we first meet her, is a 14 year old of questionable morals who proudly works in a factory making parts for something war related (she doesn’t know what, as is explained in a lovely ensemble musical number evocative of the burlesque hall style). She falls in love with Mushi, with whom she spends a night in a bunker during an air raid, but is already set to be married to Hugo, a criminal miscreant in her father’s gang. Ida (nee Houlihan), a black Irish lass is married to Harvey Klienman, a Jewish thief.

Mushi is destined, he believes, to sire twins with the daughter of a Christian and a Jew, thus bringing together the three faiths, Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Harvey is not convinced, nor Ida, so Deborah does get married to Hugo and tension develops between the now swelling populations of Indo-Asian immigrants from Pakistan, India, Bangladesh and the Irish, Jews, Jamaican and other cockney residents of the East End Burroughs of Bethnal, Bethnal Green, Spittlefields, Stepney; the “Tower Hamlets” they are called for their proximity to the Tower of London, which marks the eastern edge of the City of London.

The story progresses up to the modern day with the tensions between these groups increasing, the British born offspring of the first generation immigrants bridling under the oppressive hatred of the “natives” and the rise of the National Front (“Britain for the British!”). While the comedy continues, there is a much heavier tone to this act. The tension between the “tribes” in the first act was comical and absurd. Not any more. Now it is violent and vitriolic.

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We’re writing this several days later, and the impact of the second act, and the play as a whole lingers with me. Now, the animation washes over the wooden structure and the ceiling above. The bombs of the Blitz, the roar of the 9/11 jets, the graffiti covered buildings of Brick Lane, the skinhead scrawls on walls, the church/synagogue now a mosque…the laughable racism of the past now dead serious. The audience quiets, able now to laugh only at “themselves” – the wealthy, white couple who move in with the hope that the area is going to gentrify. The woman carries a Whole Foods grocery bag, and, after the man is mugged and beaten by a gang, believes that as a liberal he can only blame himself. – X

London 2009 – Day 5 – Accidental Tourists

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Upon which day Pawn, having slept properly for once, finds things sorted in his life, and embarks upon a day full of promise. Has contact with a voice from London past. Makes plans, and learns what happens when plans go awry.

Oh my, what can go right when something goes wrong! “No hay mal que bien no venga!” as X would have me put it. But, as usual, let’s start at the beginning…

I slept well last night, and upon awakening undertook to sort out the issues developed with my computer when I decided to upgrade it yesterday. [A brief note to you Ubuntu users out there. If you are using an ATI Radeon chipset, you will want to disable the proprietary drivers before upgrading. The new driver is fubar, and you will end up booting to a blank screen with no recourse.] After getting little Flatso working properly again it was time to make some breakfast and set about the day. X came around about 9:30, wiping the sleep out of her eyes and complaining about something which I can no longer remember.

Today we had planned that X would go out in pursuit of some theatre tickets and other errands, occupy herself, whilst I tended to Flatso and some client issues (i.e. do some work). Well, due to the miracle of sleeping in, by the time X awoke I was done with all of my chores, and was ready to go. So, we stumbled out the door and took a bus down to Picadilly Circus to find the box office of the National Haymarket Theatre to see if we could score some seats for Waiting for Godot, starring Sir Ian McClellan and Patrick Stewart. Oops! No go, nothing left but restricted view seats on the fringes of Dress Circle.

Next, then, was a saunter up to Soho to do some shopping at Fresh & Wild, the UK tradename for Whole Foods. Guess what; melatonin is not legal for sale in the UK! Okay, another strike on the day. We bought a bag lunch of Malaysian chicken, a risotto dish and a spinach and ricotta croissant. I also got a banana to polish it all off, while X thought an 85% cocoa chocolate bar was a better dessert option. Who am I to argue. We dined in Golden Square, and enjoyed watching the council worker tending to the flowers and other plantings, and watching and eavesdropping on the other diners in the area.

After lunch it was down to the National Portrait Gallery, one of my personal faves here. The big show right now is Gerhard Richter. I say; Ooh La La! Richter’s technique consists of starting with a photograph, and then painting from that. But, the big thing with Richter is that for many years he wouldn’t simply recreate the photo, he would drag the image left to right, create a constant horizontal element in every image, so that you grew to expect to find a certain side-to-side displasia in his work.

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Pawn is particularly taken with Ema, “Nude on a staircase”:

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But, he could also produce works so perfect that you would be hard pressed not to simply see them as photos, such as Lesende [the reader]:

gerhard-richter-lesende

Or his iconic portrait of Gilbert and George:

Richter’s work is otherworldly in that what he sees, and by dint of that, what we are asked to see, is not something which exists. No, his portraits are a very personal experience, and very iconagraphic. In the entry to the wing of the portrait gallery housing this exhibit we walk past a stairway, above which, in the wedge shaped space defined as that space above the stairs and up to the ceiling, we see 48 photographic portraits by Richter of various statesmen. This installation is in direct contradiction to what we find in the exhibit, in that these are straight photography, whereas the exhibit focuses on his oil on canvas interpretations of his photographs. It is as though the National Portrait Gallery is trying to remind us that no matter what the media, it all begins with portraiture. In this, they are right, and right, again, to remind us thus.

After a jaunt thru the gift store we launch ourselves towards the theatre for this afternoon’s performance of Madame de Sade, staring Lady Judie Dench. Oops! That is tomorrow afternoon, not today! Suddenly we have our entire afternoon open. Suddenly we are accidental tourists. We walk down to the London Eye and book ourselves a River Cruise (see photos: http://www.fortunespawn.com/gallery/main.php?g2_itemId=4906) and a “flight” on the London Eye. Well, we are just tourists for the next two hours, a very different experience for me, but a thoroughly enjoyable one. Please look at the photos before you condemn me for this indulgence.

After the Eye we descend into Southwark to find some din-din. X spots a Spanish Tapas restaurant, Meson don Felipe, and we go for it. OMG! What a great dinner! We order a bottle of Reserva Riojas and settle in for prawns in oil and garlic (two orders), artichoke hearts salad, pork meatballs in tomato sauce, bread with tomato and garlic puree, mushroom caps stuffed with chorizo… Ooh la la! We have struck gold here! To top it all off, the waitress, with whom X tried to negotiate some raw eyes (a linguistic disaster), had the most beautifully sculpted arms. To watch her serve was to watch a classical sculpture dance!

A long walk back to the southern embankment left us plenty of time to prepare for the show.  Along the way we stopped in at the Young Vic and booked a couple of seats for Pictures at an Exhibition on Friday night, this is not straight classics but a cutting edge dance performance.  I can’t wait.  Meanwhile, I noticed a package of Party Ring biscuits (cookies) behind the counter.  I don’t even know from whence it came, but a tribal, an essentail spirit rose in me and made me say, “I haven’t had a party ring in many years.  We used to eat those when I was a kid.”  “Would you like one?” asked the oh too helpful clerk.  “Oh yes I would” I replied.  Oh, it was exactly as I remembered it, though I don’t actually remember where or when that memory was born.tt

All I can say is that I was caught in the vise of a childhood memory virging on an adult memory.

Tonight’s show?  I don’t even   I won’t go into that now, however. X and I have discussed it, and we wish you to indulge us by letting us enough time to properly report our feelings about this complex show during a virtual online conversation tomorrow morning (our time).

Ta!