One of the best things about London is the randomness; an aimless wander around usually yields some pretty pleasant surprises. Last year Flowers Gallery in Shoreditch was one of my best finds. I accidentally walked into Jiro Osuga’s exhibition with a collection of intriguing perspective views of Tokyo. I made another visit to Flowers a few weekends back just to see what was in store…
Turns out I have missed the masterly Patrick Hughes exhibition by a weekend. He does these ingeniously 3D paintings that create the illusion of depth and angles. Instead I was met by this sausage boy’s underwhelming display. So this guy bought too much paint of the same colour so he decided to go patriotic. No matter how hard I try, all I could see was the stereotypical relationship between fatty sausages and the Americans.
Upstairs was a little better, or just more obscure. I guess modern art and I still have discrepancies… is it just me? I mean, this guy must have found a huge box of useless gadgets in the attic and stuck them together, then the gallery gets his shit and he gets more space! That said I managed to find a favourite:
Just because it is a physical impossibility in reality.
Back in those happy days when I was still doing Art in college, we used to do life drawings almost every week with a model, usually female ones because the naked body of a woman is so much more graceful with their curves. The ones I enjoyed most were a plump middle-aged lady and an elderly. The roundness of the model was beautiful, and painting wrinkles was a. The old lady wasn’t too pleased with my piece; she said the wrinkles were too faint. So proud to be old.