Fade like starlight to a glimmer
It's all very exciting living in the 'coolest city in the world' (see American GQ's November issue), but the truth of the matter is the ultimate highlight of my Saturday night might have been watching the spectacle that is Rhydian.
But then again, it might not have been.
Even still, it was a great weekend -- for one thing, swimming outdoors in the sunshine is a incredibly more pleasant way to work out than swimming indoors in the dark basement of my gym. And, I became a Louise Bourgeois convert, thanks to the Tate Modern's current exhibition. Except for the explication of purely historical fact (yes assuming that exists thanks humanist scholars one and all), the walltext, especially any quotes from the artist herself, should be disregarded. The work says plenty. Unfortunately, there's not much of it online, but the breadth of style and media is remarkable. The thematics remain consistent, though, and it's fascinating to see her reinvention of prior works even now. The late period output is installation and the late, late is fabric ('late, late' as in, she's in her 90s), and honestly it's some of her best. And, it's not just me that thinks so: Rachel Cooke wrote in the Observer, 'I walked through the final rooms three times. They are mesmerising.' Too right.
After the Bourgeois, I wandered along the South Bank to the Painting of Modern Life at the Hayward. The central premise is twofold: photography's mediation of contemporary painting, and contemporary painting's approach to everyday, lived experience. As one might expect, Gerhard Richter features prominently (okay by me because I can hardly get enough). More exciting, though, was exposure to a few artists whom I ended up loving: Peter Doig, Thomas Eggerer, Vija Celmins, and Wilhelm Sasnal. The exhibition did go on a bit (I got bored of the 'current events' stuff, and the top floor felt bloated), but I would be quite happy to see it again.
But next will probably be the sex one at the Barbican. For now, I'm off to be a goth: Siouxsie's playing a concert in Camden.
But then again, it might not have been.
Even still, it was a great weekend -- for one thing, swimming outdoors in the sunshine is a incredibly more pleasant way to work out than swimming indoors in the dark basement of my gym. And, I became a Louise Bourgeois convert, thanks to the Tate Modern's current exhibition. Except for the explication of purely historical fact (yes assuming that exists thanks humanist scholars one and all), the walltext, especially any quotes from the artist herself, should be disregarded. The work says plenty. Unfortunately, there's not much of it online, but the breadth of style and media is remarkable. The thematics remain consistent, though, and it's fascinating to see her reinvention of prior works even now. The late period output is installation and the late, late is fabric ('late, late' as in, she's in her 90s), and honestly it's some of her best. And, it's not just me that thinks so: Rachel Cooke wrote in the Observer, 'I walked through the final rooms three times. They are mesmerising.' Too right.
After the Bourgeois, I wandered along the South Bank to the Painting of Modern Life at the Hayward. The central premise is twofold: photography's mediation of contemporary painting, and contemporary painting's approach to everyday, lived experience. As one might expect, Gerhard Richter features prominently (okay by me because I can hardly get enough). More exciting, though, was exposure to a few artists whom I ended up loving: Peter Doig, Thomas Eggerer, Vija Celmins, and Wilhelm Sasnal. The exhibition did go on a bit (I got bored of the 'current events' stuff, and the top floor felt bloated), but I would be quite happy to see it again.
But next will probably be the sex one at the Barbican. For now, I'm off to be a goth: Siouxsie's playing a concert in Camden.