onionbagblog

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.

Light and cheerful, with an almost rural feel throughout. As ever with foreign language albums, it helps that I haven’t got a chuffing clue what they’re banging on about. It’s probably something as mundane as the price of a pint of milk.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

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.

“I am committed to getting around the silos of the owners of social media, and making it possible for developers and users to build their own networks with their own rules, and not have to wait for corporate programmers to give them the tools, we need to be able to make them for ourselves.”

Dave Winer on big tech and silos. Wise words.

“Cities, by contrast, are messy places: places of fluidity and freedom and possibility, places of chaos and collaboration and conflict. And sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t, but we embrace them nonetheless because in their forced intimacy, in their inexorable flow of ideas and influences and cuisines, they are the fullest expression of what it is to be human”

Wonderful words from Jonathan Liew.

Bike lanes crucial to preventing cycling near misses, major new study suggests

🐻 💩

Zack Polanski Has Pledged to Legalise Drugs. So Should All Leftwing Leaders

Thoughts on the David Bowie Centre over at V&E East.

tl;dr Where’s Dave? I struggled to find him in spirt amongst the sterile setting of the vast storehouse out east.

Actually, that’s a little unfair.

The DB Collection itself is a right faff to find. Once I had dragged my arse all the way over from Stratford tube, past the Copper Box and then a bit further to the V&E, all would be fine, I thought.

Wrong.

There was zero signage for the DB Collection. Or nothing visible that leaps out at you.

I had a tight deadline as I was booked in at a specific time slot. I had to find the Collection or lose my spot.

I asked a staff member - who was looking cool as fuck, in the oh so urban V&E livery.

“Up two flights of stairs and turn left by aisle 27.”

OK…

And so I headed up two flights, turned left, and then nothing except more racks hoarding the world’s largest jumble sale of tat, aka the new V&E Storehouse.

I asked another staff member. This time I was given more detailed instructions.

Ah - so there’s the entrance. But yeah, what a bloody faff.

The V&E has been keen to hype up the DB Centre with limited drops for ticket availability. If something is so hot, then I would want to make a splash about it at the actual Storehouse.

What awaits inside is a curated selection of the 90,000 items from the Bowie archive, all entrusted to the V&A for a public show and tell.

That’s obviously a lot of floor space needed, which isn’t there. And so the items are rotated every few months or so.

It’s a clever marketing ploy for repeat visits, even if tickets are free.

Exit through the gift shop, etc.

I made my way into what I thought was the first room. It turned out to be the only room.

Oh. So is that it?

It’s not that the DB Centre is dull, but it is lacking in any sense of the artist being amongst you. One large video screen doesn’t cut it.

For such a visual artist, it’s a little odd that some of his costumes are packaged up in suit bags, and then hung up on high.

Dave? DAVE?

Anyone home?

The QR thing was also a right pain. Little context is given in the display cabinets themselves. You need to access pdfs on your phone via the QR code to get a basic item description.

I found myself blue screening at my bloody phone, rather than actually engaging with some major artefacts of cultural significance that were right in front of my eyes.

When I did look up, there were some lovely moments. The TOTP Starman jacket, the Ziggy bodysuit knitwear, and even the Steve McQueen designed Earthling Union jacket are on display.

Bowie was at his best when he had the best hairstyle - which has to be 1975 and Young Americans, right? The display covering the plastic soul period is great.

Not so thrilling was the Yahoo! Internet Life Online Music Award.

I had a genuine wtf moment in seeing a Gail Ann Dorsey stage outfit with a retro Forest patch sewn in.

It was quite relaxed in the small space. My one memory from the paid for David Bowie Is at the V&E back in 2013 was the bunfight to view anything.

And so despite the schlep out East, despite the difficulty in finding the front door, and despite the Where’s Dave? angle, the DB Centre is probably worth a visit.

I hope that more can be made of the great man during future visits, given the vastness of the archive available.

I love the oddball story behind this. Writing an urban concept album based around losing £1k [SPOILER] down the back of a telly, shows that we have moved on from the days of 70’s prog.

This was so fresh when it was first released. There wasn’t anything like it around at the time. It does sound a little dated now, but only with the song references, and not the style. C-Mone steals the show.

I rinsed this to death back in the day. I wouldn’t have hesitated then in giving it five stars. I paused a little this morning. But yep - it still stacks up.

So ambitious, so cocky, so bloody young.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

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.