Went to see the Damien Hirst exhibition at the Tate Modern and was so surprised to have been so affected by it. Generally I don’t freak out (even being a vegetarian and all) about provocative pieces involving themes of mortality, decay, etc, but as ‘A Thousand Years’ (1990) and ‘With Dead Head’ (1991) hit home while I walked between the cross-section of the Prodigal Son (Divided) I started to feel really quite ill. I think the show was curated in such a way that regardless of the high ceilings and ample light, the viewer is inundated with constant stimuli which impacted on so many levels it became increasingly claustrophobic – I can see why they limit the number of people in at once. I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen it yet, but I highly recommend it. One of my favourite pieces was ‘Away From The Flock’ (1994), comprised of Glass, painted steel, silicone, acrylic, plastic, lamb and formaldehyde solution. Naturally.
After leaving the Tate, it was surprising that there was actually actual sun happening in London (it’s been pouring with rain in the shape of ANGRY for the last two to three weeks, so it was practically policy that everyone got themselves out into the sunshine), my partner in crème and I headed down to South Bank to get something to eat (we had to convince our stomachs/brains after the Hirst) and wonderfully we came upon the magical London Wonderground, which allowed us to drink prosecco (slumming!) under the stars and ride the carousel beside the Houses of Parliament. Ok, the H.O.P. were not actually beside us but Big Ben was watching and BONNNNNNGed his approval several times. Pretty sure Parliament begins their debate tomorrow morning as to whether I ought to be performing such feats of fabulosity on a weekly or daily basis during the olympics.
More Awesomeness occurred (naturally) over the course of the weekend, when during a shopping expedition was accosted by a Hong Kong magazine to rep London street style (OOH, London just hissssssed!) in their magazine, which I think might be called WEEKEND WEEKLY, which is kind of rad. Moments after, a Korean magazine ran up and begged to do the same. Jeez Louise, sure I’ll rock out for you, Asia. Thanks for noticing.
Dinner at the Hoxton Hotel was charming and delicious, but it wasn’t a patch on the ridiculously amazing cupcake that was violated in Spitalfield’s Market. Poor cupcake. Never stood a chance.