Crash and William Egglestone
I had a cunning plan - I needed to go to two exhibitions in North London; I would use the HST. All I can say is that I am very enamoured of the service, but it only gets me to London 10 minutes earlier than the slow train is I want the first cheap train of the day, for £3 more (weekends is different, natch). But it is now busy.
There was work related stuff to do, so I hid in the AMT and used St Pancras's wifi* and tried to email people. Blackboard doesn't seem to be a fan of Firefox. Sigh.
A bit later than planned, I went to the Gagosian on Britannia St, where a bouncer opens the door for you.
Crash: Homage to J.G. Ballard, Gagasion, Britannia St, London, to April 1 2010
I don't have the crib sheet to hand, so I'll rely on memory - but a huge aircraft undercarriage confronts you in the lobby, a series of prints, a chandelier and a lcd screen, and a pile of the remixed Crash by the Chapmans.
The main room - entered via a slogan above the door about death - is dominated by a crashed car, and a crystal-encrusted engine, the latter of which is very beautiful. The paintings on the wall here are mostly industrial or postindustrial lanscape of US strip cities, and cars and aeroplanes. There is the surrealism of the Paul Delvaux canvas here - a nightscape room reminiscent of Paul Nash - but watch it, as there are contact lenses on the floor which are difficult to spot.
The other half of the main room contains an autopsy table prepared by Damian Hurst, a striking painting of decaying tenements and photographs of graveyeards and tower blocks. The other exhibit you won't notice - a door in the wall. Go through it.
A third room is dominated by the other half of the installation you didn't notice and a (Lamentables beware!) animatronic pig. The installation is hotel lobby as art, but smells like a damp shed. There are some very striking photographs and paintings here, a strange triple mushroom sculpture and a fascinating picture of two freeways intersecting, along with railways and housing. It's a J.G. Ballard world.
Back to the start for the final room - actually two, to the right of the entrance. Filmed footage of the Soviet space base, with abandoned gantries, and then more sexualised images and a Ballard montage.
This is very much the Ballard of The Atrocity Exhibition and Crash/Concrete Island/High-Rise and I want to go again to take a closer look.
I was sidetracked on the way to Wharf Road by a fractured reality,
and spent rather too long walking to there. I should have caught a bus but I needed a pee and needed food (and needed my Oyster topping up, it turns out), and it was all failing to happen. I noted a drive-in McDonalds, but foolishly I went to the Victoria Miro gallery first. I mean, they must have a toilet, yes?
William Eggleston 15 January-27 February 2010"
When my work went on display, a colleague compared the photos to Egglestone, an American photographer whose work I did not know. This was an exhibition of about twenty large photos, and I see (and am flattered by) the connection - and felt inspired and empowered by the exhibition. He doesn't feel the need for horizons lines and verticals to hit the grid, and the frame doesn't have to be perfect.
A typical photograph is a newspaper page on the grass. Or a car park of a yellow shop - notice the animal hospital sign, the ladder, the green bottle next to the ladder. Or the inside of a freezer. This is the fabulous in the everyday life, without it ever being camp or focred or looking down. It is the little unimaginable details that count. I need to say more.
And so, inspired, I dashed to McD's, and it was a close run thing as to whether bladder explosion or starvation would get me first. I actually enjoyed the burger - my first in three years I suspect.
I walked back to Angel - after some admiration of the
and decided I had time to go down to Charing Cross Road to pick up more Wordsworth horror classics (two more women, a Howard, one other) and then back to St P's. I didn't really have time - the Picadilly line was delayed, so I needed to change there and back. I caught the HST with a minute to spare, but felt smelly and sweaty all the way home.
There was work related stuff to do, so I hid in the AMT and used St Pancras's wifi* and tried to email people. Blackboard doesn't seem to be a fan of Firefox. Sigh.
A bit later than planned, I went to the Gagosian on Britannia St, where a bouncer opens the door for you.
Crash: Homage to J.G. Ballard, Gagasion, Britannia St, London, to April 1 2010
I don't have the crib sheet to hand, so I'll rely on memory - but a huge aircraft undercarriage confronts you in the lobby, a series of prints, a chandelier and a lcd screen, and a pile of the remixed Crash by the Chapmans.
The main room - entered via a slogan above the door about death - is dominated by a crashed car, and a crystal-encrusted engine, the latter of which is very beautiful. The paintings on the wall here are mostly industrial or postindustrial lanscape of US strip cities, and cars and aeroplanes. There is the surrealism of the Paul Delvaux canvas here - a nightscape room reminiscent of Paul Nash - but watch it, as there are contact lenses on the floor which are difficult to spot.
The other half of the main room contains an autopsy table prepared by Damian Hurst, a striking painting of decaying tenements and photographs of graveyeards and tower blocks. The other exhibit you won't notice - a door in the wall. Go through it.
A third room is dominated by the other half of the installation you didn't notice and a (Lamentables beware!) animatronic pig. The installation is hotel lobby as art, but smells like a damp shed. There are some very striking photographs and paintings here, a strange triple mushroom sculpture and a fascinating picture of two freeways intersecting, along with railways and housing. It's a J.G. Ballard world.
Back to the start for the final room - actually two, to the right of the entrance. Filmed footage of the Soviet space base, with abandoned gantries, and then more sexualised images and a Ballard montage.
This is very much the Ballard of The Atrocity Exhibition and Crash/Concrete Island/High-Rise and I want to go again to take a closer look.
I was sidetracked on the way to Wharf Road by a fractured reality,
and spent rather too long walking to there. I should have caught a bus but I needed a pee and needed food (and needed my Oyster topping up, it turns out), and it was all failing to happen. I noted a drive-in McDonalds, but foolishly I went to the Victoria Miro gallery first. I mean, they must have a toilet, yes?
William Eggleston 15 January-27 February 2010"
When my work went on display, a colleague compared the photos to Egglestone, an American photographer whose work I did not know. This was an exhibition of about twenty large photos, and I see (and am flattered by) the connection - and felt inspired and empowered by the exhibition. He doesn't feel the need for horizons lines and verticals to hit the grid, and the frame doesn't have to be perfect.
A typical photograph is a newspaper page on the grass. Or a car park of a yellow shop - notice the animal hospital sign, the ladder, the green bottle next to the ladder. Or the inside of a freezer. This is the fabulous in the everyday life, without it ever being camp or focred or looking down. It is the little unimaginable details that count. I need to say more.
And so, inspired, I dashed to McD's, and it was a close run thing as to whether bladder explosion or starvation would get me first. I actually enjoyed the burger - my first in three years I suspect.
I walked back to Angel - after some admiration of the
and decided I had time to go down to Charing Cross Road to pick up more Wordsworth horror classics (two more women, a Howard, one other) and then back to St P's. I didn't really have time - the Picadilly line was delayed, so I needed to change there and back. I caught the HST with a minute to spare, but felt smelly and sweaty all the way home.