Tag Archives: art

to the museum I

“Fuck you, Van Gogh! Look at me!” At the Museum of Modern Art, New York, October 2015.

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private view

The stuff of stock photography, this. Leaning into jellied eels, Tubby Isaac shouts over traffic to a short customer who can’t position her ear at quite the right angle. A surge of sentimentality. Then: He might be a right bastard for … Continue reading

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the subject of British art

A young Pynchon was there. In black tie. I assumed he was going to the Oscars. Another man was very silently giving birth to a succession of babies. Then the cat cried for breakfast and I started to lose them. … Continue reading

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is this Spring?

You learn to tell things as they are. You learn to cut back. Minimise to the point of. Lying. Based on what is there in. Front of your eyes. What you saw. Or what they say they. Saw. Or what … Continue reading

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finding Facchinetti

They rose early, having decided to keep that morning clear. They took their tools to the corner of the room and, carefully, with a routine that only an old couple could share without prior planning, began to unscrew the cupboard … Continue reading

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suicidal at the Serpentine

In his high-collar lambs’ wool jersey (navy, of course), he is bellowing into the slender i-Phone in his palm. “We’re at the Chapmans’ show, Ems. Fabulous building. That Muslim woman did it.” He’s standing, legs apart in a capital A … Continue reading

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at the Tate

Through the glass wall they step, one after another, until the six of them are on the other side. One looks back. The young woman. Oozing anxiety, she searches for the shape of her reflection, a need to check her … Continue reading

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