Leg of Lamb

As a small, but important, consolation to our increasingly shorter days (we've just passed the darkness-before-four-o'clock barrier), many streets, greens, and parks are lit up with pretty Christmas lights and displays which make London brighter and cheerier. I met Bob at Bond Street station today, and this nearby display was a good example of such "evening" (and by that I mean 4:05 P.M.) cheer:

When we visited a few galleries in this general area earlier in the week, Bob asked if we were going to the meat gallery. When I responded with a confused look, he said, "You know, the leg of lamb gallery--what's it called again?" Well, he almost got the name right--and it is one of the strangest gallery names we've encountered so far (but apparently that still doesn't make it memorable in Bob's books): Haunch of Venison. Named after the hidden-away street on which it's located, I'm sure I've mentioned the gallery before on these pages, since it often hosts interesting exhibitions, but beyond that, it's simply a gorgeous gallery space, with three airy levels connected by an equally beautiful staircase. Every time we're there, we always talk about how the gallery would make an incredible private home. Anyway, we didn't visit the gallery on that occasion, but popped in today for a look at the current exhibit, the sheer volume of which covered the expansive gallery walls like chaotic wallpaper (and yet my favourite piece was one of the simplest). As we exited Haunch of Venison Yard, I noticed this nearly blank wall,

and a little further along, I also liked the way this parking garage looked, lit up in the dark.

A Slow Mimic

Since we were in the same neighbourhood again this afternoon, I couldn't resist another peek at the statue we saw two days ago; without telling Bob the reason we were back, I tried to make the statue move by striking poses in front of the tiny cameras that we hadn't noticed on our last visit. The statue was very slow to react and I think that Bob (and the long line of traffic that was at a standstill next to the statue) thought that I had gone a bit crazy, but we finally witnessed the sculpture's anticlimactic movement:

We also stopped in at a few nearby exhibitions. Richard Learoyd's photos are made "without any interposing film negative, transparency or intermediate material. Instead the apparatus of light is directly focussed by the camera and translated onto a sheet of positive photographic paper. With no means of reproduction, once created, ultimately every image is entirely unique in its existence. The photographs are created and conceived as a whole, not as fragments or miniaturisations of objects and people." The life-size images were eerily lifeless, the slightest bit "off," highlighting the photographic standards that we become used to without really thinking about them, and perhaps commenting on the widespread reproduction and mediation of contemporary experience along the way. The next exhibit was excitingly promising, but disappointing in its actual realisation. Patrick Keiller's The City of the Future, currently showing at BFI Southbank, "began by suggesting that many of the spaces glimpsed in historic footage look unexpectedly familiar, and asked why this might be so." Landscapes featured in 68 films from 1896-1909 are layered with maps of the same era, and the entire installation spans several screens, with each screen's content determined by gallery goers who sit at consoles equipped with DVD-style controls. While the premise sounded fascinating, I found the controls confusing and difficult to manipulate away from a very few scenes--something that the other people seemed to experience as well, since the different screens tended to show the same images, rather than the layered variety that the artist was perhaps hoping to contrast. Our last exhibition stop of the day was at The Hayward Project Space, where four strange videos by Klara Liden were screening: a journey through the clutter left by previous residents of Liden's new apartment, her frantic dance through Stockholm subway cars, Liden's snakelike burrowing under the wall-to-wall carpet in a gallery that would soon show her art, and her destruction of a bicycle. The last video was surprisingly disturbing as Liden circled the standing bicycle in an empty, claustrophobic room, teasing it with playful taps before smashing it into pieces. When I thought about it afterwards, I realised that what made the video especially uncomfortable (beyond the oppressive, screaming soundtrack, without which I think the video would have been even more effective) was the fact that the destruction took place indoors, in a room made more for interrogation than domestic storage. After our little art walk, we decided to end the evening on a completely different note, finding ourselves in the centre of Christmas shopping, walking past Regent Street's lights (and crowds)

on our way to Carnaby Street with its hefty crowds, here for the street's Christmas shopping event: 20% off at most area shops, with plenty of free food and drink to keep you in the area. It was a good excuse for Bob to get another of his favourite shirts from American Apparel (at a price even cheaper than in Vancouver, which in London is no small feat), and we were glad we'd arrived at the early end of the shopping event when we left American Apparel to find there was now a thirty-person queue just to get into the shop.

We walked around a bit more, but quickly tired of dodging all the people carrying cups and bottles of freebies from various shops, and decided to head home while the shops were still open and every person still pounding the pavement meant one less person crammed into the tube!

Not Just Any Old Beans

Supermarket tofu in London tends to be expensive and mediocre, and the big chains like Tesco and Sainsbury's usually only carry one brand and one consistency of tofu, if any, in their larger shops. Funnily enough, their tiny tofu sections are often almost empty when I try to buy any, so there must be demand for it, but until the big supermarkets catch up in the tofu department, I'll be getting my tofu at Asian markets, like I did yesterday at Japan Centre:

The "silken" tofu above is a brand that I sometimes bought in Vancouver, although it was never my first choice--the box is extremely annoying to open and some of the tofu always gets stuck inside. I much preferred this Vancouver company, and (predictably) I didn't realise how much I depended on their products until I couldn't buy them anymore. I also miss the incredible, made-on-site tofu we used to buy in Toronto at the always-welcoming Sanko, where you just told the person on staff (often the man who made the tofu!) how many blocks you wanted and you would get a plastic container full of your yummy cubes--I can't remember exactly how much they were, but it was something ridiculous like 25 cents (12 pence) each. And they were great. Anyway, the other block in the photo was a first-time purchase for me, and after using it in tonight's dinner, I'm very impressed. At about a third of the price of Sainsbury's tofu, with a much nicer texture and quality, and made locally in New Malden, it's now my tofu of choice . . . and their website even shows you how their GM-free tofu is made. As an exciting bonus to my purchase, I found out that the company who makes the tofu runs four Korean supermarkets in London, with one located in north London which is now on my list of places to visit.

Looking at Art that Looks at Art

Bob and I met at Green Park station this afternoon for a visit to a few West End galleries before dinner. It wasn't the best weather for wandering around, as the drizzle started as soon as we left the station, but we still stopped into one new gallery and two that we've previously visited before descending into the tube for the crowded ride home. Michelangelo Pistoletto's pieces at Simon Lee Gallery seemed simple, but were haunting and layered,

as the photographic prints on stainless steel reflected the gallery, gallery goers, and the other works, confusing dimensions and reality in a playful way. My favourites were the objects, Lampada appesa and Barriera, but I also liked seeing the people reflected in opposing sheets of steel. Next up were Louise Lawler's photographs of art and the ways that people look at art, being shown at Monika Sprüth Philomene Magers gallery. I know this photo doesn't provide any sense of the art itself, but I mainly took it to show the projection of snowflakes that floated across the front gallery space--and if you look really closely, you can just make me out in the reflection as well. Um, maybe think of it as a meta-meta-meta photo that takes Pistoletto's and Lawler's art into consideration?

Our last gallery stop was at White Cube Mason's Yard for a dose of Vancouver in the form of Jeff Wall, a Canadian (mistakenly called an American in the current issue of Time Out) and a Vancouverite. As usual, many of his photos were of Vancouver, and I don't think we'll be in many more London galleries where Bob will walk up to a large-scale photo and say, "Heyyyyy, my band played there!" With two other galleries still on our list, we decided to head toward the tube station instead, popping into the courtyard of the Royal Academy of Arts to get a look at Zhang Huan's Three Legged Buddha,

gazing into the festive and gluttonous Christmas windows of Fortnum & Mason,

and going into the newly expanded Japan Centre to pick up some groceries along the way. We got on the tube at Piccadilly station, and I miraculously got a seat right away, so I zoned out with our heavy purchases on my lap the whole rattly way home.

Tap Window and Wait

It's sometimes difficult in London to slow down, look around, take time to notice things around you. Whether on the crowded streets or overcrowded public transportation, every step forward means you're that much closer to getting a seat, getting to where you're going, getting home. Although I often try to catch myself from succumbing too supremely to this mindset, the truth is that London's a busy city and you can get trampled here if you don't keep your feet moving and your elbows at the ready! (For example, this Lloyd's TSB advert pretty accurately represents a rush-hour crowd hustling to catch a train, and made me smile the first time I saw it, although it doesn't realistically show what the inside of the train looks like after that many people have successfully crammed into the carriages!) I don't know how many times I've passed the site of today's photo and thought, "That would make a good picture" before continuing along in the crowd transferring from the Northern line to the Jubilee line at London Bridge station. Today I waited until the crowds from my train passed through and I snapped this pic:

Artist Gayle Chong Kwan and catering students from Southwark College created these eerie food landscapes, part of a larger installation called Journey to the Centre of the Earth. The experience of walking through a tunnel lined with a sci-fi world of fruit and vegetable cuttings always brings a smile to my face. After we met at Southwark station, Bob and I walked over to Jerwood Space, a wonderful arts space that we've long had on our list for a return visit.

After we looked through the 2007 Jerwood Photography Awards exhibit, we decided to walk up to Tate Modern for a peek at an exhibit that we hadn't yet seen. Along the way, the funny instructions on and around this building's buzzer caught my attention:

As we approached Tate Modern, neither of us could remember seeing this statue before, situated just behind the gallery:

After I got home, I discovered the most amazing thing about this piece, Monument to the Unknown Artist, unveiled just six days ago: it moves! We'll have to go back again and try it out for ourselves . . .

Making a List

Well, it may not even be December yet, but the Christmas-fair season is already in full swing. Bob and I walked up to Church Street for a local sale, being put on by the Hidden Art collective at Abney Hall, across the street from Abney Park Cemetery.

The calibre of items up for sale was high, and it was nice to go to such a great (although still expensive) sale in our neighbourhood.

On our way to our next destination, we passed this house with a trio of rams on display,

and the next open-studios sale we stopped at was at the wonderfully named Chocolate Factory Studios, whose lovely building and courtyard were themselves worth the visit:

A Different Kind of Take-Away

Bob played soccer again today, down in Wimbledon, so while he was running around in shorts on this cold afternoon, I did some urban running around of my own, but with my winter coat and scarf to keep me cosy. My first stop was at Rivington Place, the first newly built, publicly funded art space to open in London since the Hayward Gallery opened in 1968. The building makes a rather enormous modern statement amongst its old, brick neighbours on narrow Rivington Street:

Although the exhibition spaces are expansive, the inaugural exhibit, London Is the Place for Me, seemed somewhat lacking in content, and also suffered from a bit of careless setup. In spite of this, I'm interested to see what direction the gallery takes with its mandate to focus on culturally diverse arts, and its close proximity to home practically ensures a return visit. After a quick peek into the adjoining café, I headed to my next destination, St. Pancras station. After last night's festivities outside the station, I decided to head inside to have a look at the much-touted renovation. While the lower level is still rather empty and boarded up, with signs proclaiming the names of shops that have yet to open, the platform level is busy with people--many of whom were taking photos (so much so that an increasingly exasperated man made repeated station-wide announcements that flash photography is not allowed on the platform level). The powder blue of the station roof served as a nice replacement for blue sky on this overcast day:

Two statues can be found in the station, fairly close to one another near the Eurostar platforms:

The first is of John Betjeman, who was paramount in saving St. Pancras from demolition in the 1960s. Two concentric rings of calligraphy line the base of the sculpture. The innermost is a dedication, "JOHN BETJEMAN 1906-1984 POET - Who saved this glorious station," while the second ring quotes a portion of Betjeman's "Cornish Cliffs": "And in the shadowless unclouded glare / Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where / A misty sea-line meets the wash of air."

The second sculpture, The Meeting Place, is an enormous (30-foot-tall) representation of two people embracing.Strangely out of scale, there is no easy way to get a good look at the people's faces, considering the sculpture's location at the far end of the station. Conceived as a meeting point for users of the station, the work is meant to represent an English man and a French woman being reunited on the Eurostar platform, and in response to the rather conventional pose, the sculptor has said, "A lot of people will no doubt detest it because it is not violent or controversial but I'm sure those who do feel touched by it will outweigh them. It is not in an art gallery, but a sculpture for a very public place, and therefore has to be accessible for people who may not regularly experience art." I'm not particularly impressed with this comment--to me, the grand scale seems to suggest that art is something that may appear to be connected with everyday experience (an embrace), but is still something that is beyond mere mortals, in terms of scale and the ability to feel any connection with art. On a different critical note related to accessibility, while I was standing nearby taking photos, a middle-aged woman walked past the statue, looked up, turned to her companion, and said, "Well, that's certainly heterosexist, isn't it?" I also witnessed a glitch in the sculpture's imagined use as meeting point while I was taking photos of the Betjeman statue, when a slightly harried-looking man rushed up to a woman standing next to me and said, "There you are! I meant the other statue!" Another feature of St. Pancras that's been nauseatingly touted in the press is that it contains "the longest champagne bar in Europe" at ninety metres. Quite a few people seemed to be taking advantage of this superlative today:

As I walked around, taking photos, I noticed these people working up on the roof--you can just see them at the upper right, perched almost directly on top of the station:

The contrast between the station's blue railings and red bricks is quite lovely,

and after I was done walking around the station, I found I was just in time to catch a performance being put on as part of the St. Pancras Arrivals festival. The videos that comprise The Take-Away Shows are my type of music video: one handheld camera recording a non-studio performance in a continuous unedited shot. I hadn't heard of the series until recently and was happy to discover performances by some great performers including Beirut, Alan Sparhawk, Hidden Cameras, Dean Wareham, The Shins, and Arcade Fire. Today's performance was by Serafina Steer on harp, Etienne Jaumet on saxophone, and an unknown member contributing other odd noises. The cameraperson is Vincent Moon, the creator of this lovely series:

Steer smiled between her charming, quirky songs when a woman, thinking these were some great buskers, stepped forward to put a pound near the base of the harp. "We made money!" Steer said, holding up the shiny coin. My next stop of the day was at an independent artists' Christmas sale at Cockpit Arts Open Studios in Holborn. Normally £5 to enter, but free with the Arrivals brochure, the artists' studios were filled with lovely creations of every sort.

The only downside? In spite of buying items direct from the artists, the prices still seemed very high. The only place in the building where bargains were to be found was in the charming café, where I had a coffee as I planned a few return visits to individual studios for another look.

Bob Plays Dress-Up

Bob and I met at Oxford Circus station this afternoon, not to join the busy Friday evening shoppers, but to have coffee at nearby Nordic Bakery, whose tasteful calm is much further away from Oxford Circus than its nearby location would suggest. On our way to our next destination, we found ourselves on Carnaby Street, and as with last year's Christmas lights, the seasonal display lent a festive feel to the pedestrian street:

We browsed at the London Artists' Book Fair, which was positively filled with beautiful books--not books about artists, but books made by artists. I wanted many, many of the items on display, but, alas, the prices definitely reflected the quality of the books (fair enough). We left the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Arts) building, whose glow was lovely in the dark night, and walked through Admiralty Arch, part of an imposing office building through which traffic passes between St. James's Park and Trafalgar Square.
Every time we've walked through it, I've wondered about the inscription, and this time I finally remembered to look it up: "In the tenth year of King Edward VII to Queen Victoria from most grateful citizens 1910." A short walk later, we arrived at Ray's Jazz Café in Foyle's bookshop, where we've seen performances in the past. Tonight's show was in conjunction with the ten-day-long London Jazz Festival, and the room was packed with appreciative people as the Alboran Trio played their pleasing pieces on piano, double bass, and makeshift percussion.
Ah, but the evening wasn't over yet! We made one more stop before heading home, near the newly reopened St. Pancras station, for an evening being held in conjunction with the St. Pancras Arrivals festival, a series of events to herald in the new station in style. Tonight's event, ETA, was vaguely described in the guide as a parade and circus, and we showed up not really knowing what to expect. The first thing we saw when we arrived at the designated meeting point was a simple, but brilliant, piece of video art which made use of the bricked up windows in one of the buildings along the parade route:
Each of the four station employees sat in their "windows," reading newspapers, staring at computer screens, and occasionally interacting with an unseen public
while we waited for the parade to begin.

It turned out that this parade was a bit of a participatory event, as people went through the crowds, recruiting some of us to join in on the parade's theme of travelling. Bob and I were standing, talking, when a woman walked up to us and asked Bob in a conspiratorial voice, "Would you do me a favour?" "Ummmmmm, okay," Bob said, "What do you want me to do?" "Would you put this on (holding up a trenchcoat identical to her own) and bring this suitcase to me at the end of the parade?" We looked around and noticed about a dozen trenchcoat-clad people trailing suitcases around us, and Bob got into his costume, ready to join the parade. You can just see the woman who roped him into this in the photo below--she's on the left, with sunglasses and a headscarf:
The parade was a rather low-key affair, but definitely a pretty one, as paper lanterns lit up the now very cold November night.

Ah, but the best paper lantern of all was this one, the Eurostar itself, which led the parade along the dark streets.
The screen with projected images of the Eurostar's route was a nice touch!
At the parade's end, the promised circus acts started, beginning with a ringmaster who made a tower of suitcases (including those that Bob and his fellow travellers pulled through the parade),
quickly followed by a lot of dizzying spinning around by these two men:
The ringmaster than announced the arrival of train passengers from different parts of Europe, and they appeared to float in the night sky, toward their "station":
By this time, Bob was quite cold (he hadn't worn his heavy winter coat to school today, and his costume had lent some extra warmth that he now missed) and it began to sound like the music part of the evening wouldn't be to our taste, so we got on a warm bus, looking forward to our cosy living room, hot Ribena, and a late dinner.