To Firstsite!… on Saturday morning. I had a little spare time to kill whilst in sunny Colch. Window shopping is not for me. Ponsing around in an empty art gallery is where all the real action is.

There was a time when I was completely across the Firstsite schedule and agenda. Not one single exhibition was missed. I felt like something of a Firstsite completist.

Not so these days. I find myself less frequently in the strange hybrid town/city. I pop into Firstsite whenever I can, but I confess to not having a clue as to what is currently being exhibited.

That’s sometimes the best approach when it comes to art. Just go for a quick shifty with low expectations.

The low expectations approach worked rather well on Saturday. I wasn’t blown away; the art or arse game tended to move along the sliding scale a little more towards the latter.

Three exhibitions are currently showing. The first is the University Centre Colchester UCC Degrees show, To Be Continued. This hints very strongly at what is to come with some emerging local artists.

Most of the work in the Berryfield space was physical rather than artwork. There was an awful lot of fine detail on show. My only thought was that it must have taken a long while to produce all of this - which I guess is the whole point of a three-year art degree.

I haven’t got a clue what it’s all about but I don’t think that’s really the point.

The major exhibition, a little further down the bonkers banana-shaped art gallery is from an artist called Nalini. This is a photographic series that explores the history of her mother, her grandmother, and herself.

It’s very thoughtful in documenting how the three generations are interconnected using art as the building block. It was also a very personal exhibition. It felt more like flicking through a giant family scrapbook.

There were some fantastic photos on show, showing great depth and capturing inner city scenes.

At the other end of the scale there was also some macro photography, which was particularly impressive. The subject matter was very much less is more, focusing on the small and finer details of your life to tell a larger narrative.

By now I was on a mission; my mission was to tick off all three current Firstsite exhibitions. I made my way down towards the far end of the gallery for a major exhibition by the artist Godfried Donker.

The exhibition is called It’s a Numbers Game. It’s quite a mishmash of history, memory, sport, music, migration, trade, and popular culture. The blurb says it uses these themes to explore how people are connected across time.

A large part of the exhibition references the slave trade. It can be uncomfortable viewing at times.

I confess to rather enjoying the contrasting background colour schemes painted on the walls to hang the artwork, rather than the artwork itself. There’s a time and place for the bland white gallery spaces of London. Thankfully Firstsite has taken a more radical approach to offer something a bit different here.

Collage features heavily in the work. Some interesting ideas included extensive use of stocks and shares listings from the old Financial Times dating back to the early 2000s. Black imagery showing exploitation is placed over this. The message of finance and covert racism is staring you right in the face.

So that was Firstsite ticked off for another season. It’s always an interesting place to wander in and have a shifty as to what’s going off. Some of the main structural artwork at the front of house is in need of a refresh and update, mind.

A little random quayside wandering, and we stumbled upon the opening of the summer season down at The Notage. There is a three-week run with the local artist Ernest Turner. It’s a name I’m familiar with, if not the artwork itself.

As ever with The Notage, the exhibition is very quirky, with random display boards laid out on the top floor. If you’re looking for a Newport Street Gallery minimalist experience, then probably turn away now.

We didn’t turn away though. The artwork and the random nature of the exhibits was rather appealing. Plus there wasn’t too much detail about Ernest, something which is always a bonus for me in these exhibitions. I want to look at the art, and not read an essay.

The brief bio details that were available explained how Ernest Turner was born in Wivenhoe in 1899. He came from a well-established Wivenhoe family. His father was a shipwright and his uncle was Captain Albert Turner, a professional yacht captain.

The term used in the exhibition to describe his style was naive. I’m not sure if this is a piss take or not. There was definitely an element of not really wanting to be an artist and creating his work as something of a hobby.

This gives a great injustice to the quality and playfulness of the work on show.

The story continued explaining how once Ernest had retired from working in the shipping industry himself, he took up the paintbrush. Initially he wanted to paint for money. Soon he became rather decent and managed to sell all over Europe.

This coincided with the town itself undergoing a major shift from the industrial to the more arty and academic. The small paintings created by Ernest capture a certain playfulness as you see this transition taking place in front of you.

Sculptures are also included. It was pleasing to see some ships in bottles forming part of the exhibition.

His body of work is a great snapshot of local history. It documents the boats of Wivenhoe and elsewhere along the estuary. It’s also some of the rarer moments where you can see the old Crab and Winkle line being captured as it shuttles along from Wivenhoe to Brightlingsea. That Dr Beeching was an absolute bastard.

Ernest died in 1977. The paintings on show at the Nottage are a wonderful memory of a town that has long since changed.

We popped into The Minories whilst in Sunny Colch. I would hesitate to call it an art trail, but being right next door to Firstsite, and well, it would be rude not to have an extra serving of art or arse.

The current Anglian Abstract exhibition is very much of the art variety, rather than the anal. It celebrates modernism in East Anglia. This is a landscape that is often captured in watercolours, and not rigid, geometrical patterns. Anglian Abstract adds a little balance.

Many of the works on show are either models, or 3D in presentation. The artwork leaps out at you, not waiting for you to chin stroke and come up with some crap about what it represents.

It all felt very earthly, even for a medium that can be cold in outlook. It all felt very analogue and not of the modern world, despite the modernism tag.

Artwork with straight lines can work wonders for an OCD obsessed amateur art critic.

Sue Webster’s Birth of an Icon at Firstsite has the type of bombastic exhibition title that you would expect from a confident artist. Tell It Like It Is, etc. Thankfully she just about gets away with it.

Birth of an Icon is no doubt a little playful, a tongue in cheek description to herald her first major solo exhibition. It comes right out of the punk playbook that the exhibition celebrates.

Basically it’s an exhibition spread over four gallery spaces, documenting how the first four Banshee albums shaped the artist. There’s some incredible detail with the various artefacts on show.

The main gallery walls resembles the contents of your loft being carefully curated and put on full public show. It’s a timeline of late 70’s, early 80’s post-punk culture, all presented in not quite a lineal style.

What works really well is the orange string that joins up the dots. It can be confusing at first, but it makes all the connections, showing how different artists, scenes and experiences are all related.

I worked my way along the timeline, surprised to see that Bowie was nowhere to be seen. Ah, don’t worry; there he is in some of the few, final spaces, showing how he helps to hang it all together.

The second gallery space has a stunning collection of DIY punk leather jackets, all bastardised showing love for the Banshees. A third room has some self-portraits of the artist whilst pregnant in her 50’s. The final space was a little too happy clappy for me with scented candles.

Oh - and I bloody loved the Crazyhead reference.

What the chuff am I doing in the epicentre of the Mayfair high art world, knocking on a majestic front door, asking to enter a gallery?

Erm…

And so I made my way over to Woodbury House on a recommendation to see the Lee Quiñones exhibition.

You might know Lee from his work and starring role in the Wild Style film back in 1982.

I can recall watching in at the old Odeon back in Nottingham, hanging on to every last detail of the emerging hip hop scene, and seeing how I could transfer this to my own teenage stylings.

I still have no regrets about wearing the ski goggles for a Wear Your Own Clothes day at school.

And that really should have been it for Lee and I. Hip hop burnt out for me when I stopped breakin'. I confess that I haven’t followed his career since.

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Can I help you?”

Erm, I’ve come to view the gallery.

“Are you a collector?”

I hesitated in saying YES! I specialise in cheapo Ebay CD’s and knock off Forest kits.

I somehow managed to blag myself into Woodbury House. Actually, it wasn’t that difficult.

The host was an absolute charmer. She knew her art, and genuinely seemed interested in to what had led me over to Mayfair.

There was little misunderstanding as I tried to explain that it was a Big Issue article sent over to me by Wifey.

The host mentioned that Wifey had been in the gallery only last week. I explained that this most definitely wasn’t the case, unless the gallery was hosting a chepo golf clothes sale.

I was given a brief introduction to the work of Lee, starting with Wild Style. This was, until now, my start and end point.

I was given the freedom of the gallery to explore, with no other viewers - or collectors - around.

This is something of a back to front exhibition. You enter the gallery with Lee’s more contemporary work, and then make your way over to Wild Style at the back of the space.

You can see how his work has progressed over the years, taking in various cultural reference points for each period, and then adding his own interpretation.

The overall message of the exhibition title - Outside is America - runs throughout. The work documents an outsider view of the States, and in particular, one viewed through the prism of race.

Sadly it’s a theme that has given him plenty of scope over the decades.

The only thing missing from the exhibition is some form of soundtrack. But then that might have been a little annoying with the same tracks played over again on loop.

Woodbury House is a most welcoming space. The work of Lee Quiñones was worth making the trip over to Mayfair to view.

I might even start collecting, if I can find the spare £25k or so floating around down the back of the settee.

Sometimes the best recommendations to satisfy your cultural thirst come from right on your own local doorstep.

OH HAI Brixton Buzz.

And so with a spare half hour in Clap’ham, I swerved the brunching Wankerville hordes and headed to the local library to look at the work of Brixton street photographer Christopher iCha.

The X-Factor exhibition is low key, but lovely all the same, It features many recognisable Brixton faces. The enthusiasm for the subject matter comes across clearly.

A mixture of black & white and colour snaps are on display as you make your way down the spiralling - and bloody awful - structure of Clapham Library.

There’s no great fanfare telling you about the exhibition. The photos blend in with what is already quite a busy interior landscape.

Framed behind glass in a very bright building, they’re also impossible to snap yourself, with endless lens glare.

That’s no bad thing. It’s a little cheeky to take photos of photos, often leading to a poor secondhand reproduction.

It’s clear from the first frame on show that iCha has the complete trust of his subject matter. He’s not capturing Brixton scenes - he is PART of the Brixton street life.

If you can manage this then you’re halfway there to capturing some decent portrait photography.

It’s an incredibly positive, and very playful exhibition. It will serve as a wonderamful historical archive of the Brixton scene in ten, twenty years time.

Clapham Library itself is very odd. It was built on the back of a developer, wanting to flog on luxury apartments up above. The library looks and feels like an afterthought.

The spiralling nature of the building means that you make your way down to the basement on basically a giant helter skelter walking ramp. It has aged badly over the past fifteen years or so.

Never trust round buildings - and yep, I’ve worked in one.

I can’t remember where I first got the hat tip for the excellent Brown Collection over in Marylebone. Maybe it was from Londonist?

And so I found myself on a miserable, wet Soho afternoon, kicking about with an hour or so to spare.

The record shop circuit (and budget) had been exhausted. I couldn’t be arsed to hit the BOOZE.

Hey! How about that freebie gallery that I have a vague recollection of a recommendation?

It’s a ten minute cut through from the West End and around the back streets of Marylebone. Look out for the Mews, and then WOH! Won’t you look at that.

What a BEAUT.

The building itself is a work of art. Beautifully restored as a town house period piece of architecture, yet still effortlessly blending in with burgeoning wine and dine scene around these parts.

I was wet, wearing a pair of stomping red cherry DM’s and looking a little distressed tbh. I wasn’t your typical Art Gallery Circuit Wanker.

I was welcomed in my the most polite of young fellas. I visibly made an effort of stamping my size 8’s on the matting, not wanting to drag half of the wet Soho shit into the space.

Erm, what next?

My host knew exactly what the score was.

“Have you visited before?”

Nope.

“Do you know anything about Glenn Brown?”

I made my apologies.

“How much time do you have?”

I think my answer of half an hour or so wasn’t too cheeky, or too imposing either.

“PERFECT!”

…said my host.

It was explained how Glenn Brown founded the gallery with his husband Edgar Laguinia. The aim is to showcase Brown’s work (and why not?) alongside other artists of a similar style and perspective.

I then heard a little more about how Brown’s own work concentrates on the finer details and brush strokes, often to reveal secondary images within the overall canvas.

This technique has a specific name in the art world. I’ve forgotten it, as I was a little concerned that my wet DM’s were now leaving a slight puddle on the immaculate wooden flooring.

Apologies, Mr B.

Magnifying glasses are available across all four floors of the gallery. Visitors are encourage to focus in on the finer detail - a nice touch.

I was then let loose to do my thing. Immediately I was drawn, so to speak, to the Austin Osman Spare artworks. He has a specific place in contemporary Transpontine architecture.

Elsewhere and the work was as stunning as the surrounds. I think I might have just found my Nu Fave Art Gallery.

The lush, bright colours of Brown contrasted well with the under-stated decors of each gallery. Each floor had sufficient space to maintain my interest without getting bored.

The current Hoi Polloi exhibition displays work of the “great unwashed masses.” It was nowhere near as insulting as the title might suggest.

The cellar containing sculptures was a particular fave. The space itself is remarkable. You can hear and feel the vibrations of the Victoria Line running underneath.

Next time it rains in Soho, I’ll know exactly where to wander.

The new V&A Storehouse East - aka the World’s Largest Jumble Sale.

Harsh.

Sure, it’s not tat. It’s high end value items - apart from the West Ham 1980’s kids kit.

The Moulton F-Frame was to be admired, as was some of the social history from the Robin Hood Gardens estate.

But there was little context or explanation, unless you wanted to have your face stuck in your phone via the QR code.

I get the idea that it’s a lofty space. Build high, etc. It’s tricky to display items without stacking them up.

Voyeurism is quite a fetish, Comrades.

To Newport Street Gallery!

Which is possibly the best free art gallery in London. Quite a claim.

Making the short visit over to Vauxhall never disappoints. NPG is the perfect size for an afternoon of art. Four main spaces, lofty and fun.

Art should always be fun. That’s not something I can say after a visit to The National Gallery.

The current NPG has a collab exhibition between three of my FAVE artists: Shepard Fairey, Invader, and yep, NPG owner Damien Hirst.

What’s the point in owning and investing in a central London gallery space if you can’t show off your own talents?

Triple Trouble (hat tip to the Beasties) is curated by Connor Hirst. Nepotism ahoy? Who gives a shit. This is bloody ACE exhibition that is well thought out and presented.

As you would hope for three anarchic artists, there’s no real order or flow to the galleries. You just wander around, and pick and mix what you will.

The photo of Sid was a favourite of mine; also the giant ashtray that was full of thousands of fag ends. You can still smell the tobacco; I still had the urge, 35 years after quitting.

The real fun at Triple Trouble is the collabs. Invader has 3D models of his signature pixel look suspended in formaldehyde. Hirst’s polka dots takeover some Andre prints produced by Shepard Fairey.

The pixels work really well in this vast space. Up close and it’s difficult to pick out the detail. You need to take a few steps back for them all to make sense.

My only moan was that I seemed to be stalked by an old fella throughout the gallery. Whenever I wanted to retreat to take in the wider picture, he was standing behind me.

Whatever.

Triple Trouble is the best exhibition yet at NPG. I always seem to say that, but I think I genuinely mean it this time. Repeated visits are needed.

To Gasworks Gallery!

Marie-Claire Messouma Manlanbien: Mémoires des corps is the current exhibition. Quite a mouthful, for such a small gallery space.

Also long in length was the handout given to me by the charming front of house person.

I like to approach exhibitions blind. Understanding the concept and original ideas from the artist often ruins it for me. I prefer to approach with a fresh set of eyes.

The lengthy handout can be my toilet reading homework for later.

Ahh! So THAT was the whole point. And I thought it was all about pretty colours.

The pretty colours on show at Gasworks were aplenty. I was particularly taken aback by the charming peach shade that was painted on the walls for this exhibition.

But what about the art?

It was all a little mystic. The centrepiece is three handwoven fabrics hanging from the ceiling. They are surrounded by shells, also suspended in the space.

And beanbags.

There’s always beanbags at these exhibitions. I’m not the type of extrovert who takes up the position on the floor to add an extra layer of pretension to all the art noodling.

It’s a pleasant exhibition, but one that I haven’t got a clue what it’s all about. Maybe I should have taken a seat at the gallery and read the handout.

And not that type of seat, either.

Gasworks is a great little South London gallery tucked away behind The Oval. There’s always something worth exploring.