Hunting for crystals

I found myself acting like a Jones at the weekend, all in the name of art. No, I wasn't chasing a hot man round a gallery à la Bridget Jones. More hunting for art in the shape of crystals, Indiana Jones style. I accidentally commando-rolled off a bus and skidded on ice round a corner such was the freezing temperature in a dark and disorientating Elephant and Castle.

And when most people were Christmas shopping or drinking egg nog round the fire what had I braved the cold for? Seizure, that's what. An installation within a 1960s block of derelict flats by recent Turner-prize nominee Roger Hiorns, Seizure is a fairytale flat built of blue crystals.


Crystallised copper sulphate to be exact. When I finally located 159 Harper Road, off New Kent Road, it wasn't quite the magical grotto I'd envisaged (too brightly lit in places) but spectacular nevertheless. Not least because it's a blue jewel in the middle of a grim and grey old council estate. Even better, you could touch all the glittering crystals which makes a change from most gallery exhibitions. I was in there on my own at one point and it is really eerie, almost like being underwater.


Hiorns changes familiar objects by introducing chemical materials to add an element of chance. With Seizure, 95,000 litres of copper sulphate solution were boiled to 100 degrees and pumped into the bed-sit (which had been made watertight) and left for three weeks to cool down. Once the flat was drained, the crystals began to form on the walls and ceiling. Cool, eh?


The Birmingham born artist was the favourite to win the Turner prize because of the inventiveness of this particular work (the prize is judged on work exhibited by the nominated artists in the past twelve months). Alas he lost out to Richard Wright's gold leaf embossed design currently on show at the Turner Prize exhibition at Tate Britain.

I visited the exhibition before seeing Seizure and I was really impressed with the concepts behind Hiorns' work. As he often experiments he doesn't know what the end results will look like because the materials are unpredictable (he's used fire and detergent foam in previous works).

One untitled work on show at Tate Britain is a heap of grey and black dust which turned out to be an atomised passenger jet engine. Eventually everything turns to dust. Another was a latticed steel frame holding soap-size bars of blackish yellow powder blocks. These turned out to be made of "brain matter". Whose brain (human, pig, gerbil?) I'm not sure but the work isn't displayed in a "look at what I'm made of" type of way (like Marc Quinn's Self made out of blood for instance) but is far more thoughtful and subtle. I like the way he integrates things which were living or are living with man-made structures to form art.

Tate Britain has put up notice boards (great idea) at the exit of the Turner Prize where people have written hundreds of comments. While many of them praise the prize winner Richard Wright (whose work is beautiful and made even more so by its ephemeral nature - everything he paints is destroyed as he believes art is for the present not the future), an equal number were in favour in Hiorns. As one commentator said "Long live brain matter!".

Seizure and the Turner Prize at Tate Britain both run until 3rd January.

Happy Christmas everyone!

Take A View: How to photograph landscapes

Christmas has taken over. Culture has taken a back seat. Mulled wine is the new art. Ahem, or maybe that's just in Poptart's world. So, in between all the festive get-togethers, I squeezed in a landscape photography talk at the National Theatre.

Now in its third year, thousands of people take pictures around the country in the hope of becoming the Landscape Photographer of the Year . The amazing picture above of sunrise over the Old Man of Storr on the Isle of Skye by Emmanuel Coupe is this year's winning entry. This and other stunning pictures can be seen at Take a View: a free exhibition at the National theatre.

The awards which aim to show the UK in its myriad forms from rural, suburban to urban, were started by top landscape photographer Charlie Waite.*

And it was he who shared his secrets and tips from decades in the job as he talked through a slide-show of his iconic images.

First and foremost to be a good landscape photographer you need to engage with your surroundings, absorb them and become one with them, said Charlie. It's also good to have an idea in your mind of what you want. "I create a rough idea of how I'd like the photo to be. If the variables don't come together then it isn't too disappointing because I've enjoyed experiencing and observing the landscape."

Charlie is a man who thinks nothing of hanging around for an hour or two for a few clouds to pass by. Clearly patience is a key trait for a landscape photographer. He waited (no pun on his surname) for hours for the middle horse in this picture to straighten his right ear so that it matched the other two.


As I'm impatient and also a night owl rather than an early bird (those who are, catch the best light), I think I might not be cut out to make a living from this type of photography. So, back to clouds...

Charlie on clouds: they're very friendly things. If they comply with your wishes you can use them to deliver light or to conceal unwanted elements with their shadow. Clouds can also pull a picture together so that different elements interlock and talk to each other.


Charlie on light: Don't be afraid of juxtaposing dark and light fields as it helps convey a sense of depth.



Charlie on bad weather: If the weather is bad, water will give you twice the light so start working with it. Look for reflections in rivers and lakes. Similarly if it's windy, work with it not against it. Use a long shutter speed to try to capture the movement of long grass.

Charlie on trees: lonely trees often work because when a tree is isolated you see the true nature and nobility of it.



Charlie on infrared: I took a picture of Beech Avenue in Kingston Lacy in Dorset using a compact with infrared which gave a tonal value to the sky and made the trees look more cavernous.


Charlie on looking for relationships: (no not that sort although you never know who you might meet in a muddy field). It's important to look for relationships between elements. The human eye locks onto reference points and shapes first, then roams around after. This all takes one second. And that's when the viewer decides whether it's a good picture or not. In this picture:


the upturned boat in the foreground is shaking hands with the mountains behind.

I liked Charlie's views on how to "make" rather than "take" pictures. He works in the traditional way (he has a forty year old Hasselblad) and never photoshops skies. "Why sit hunched over your computer salvaging a picture when you could be outside using filters?" is his way of thinking.

If you want to hear more tips from Charlie than I can possibly write down, he is giving two more talks in January. More info here.

You can view some of the Take a View exhibition at the Guardian Online. It runs until 24th January.


* All pictures, apart from the winning entry at the top, are copyright of Charlie Waite.

Ice ice baby

Did you know the very first artificial ice rink was created here near the King's Road, Chelsea in 1876? It was called the Glaciarium. But it is the Finnish and the Dutch who are credited with inventing the sport. Although the oldest known skates in existence were found at the bottom of a lake in Switzerland (dated around 3000 years ago) it is thought people in Southern Finland used to skate across lakes about 4000 years ago. For hundreds of years skates were made from leg bones of animals bound by leather straps until the Dutch invented the metal blade around the 15th Century.

So "dank je" to the Dutch otherwise we could all still be gliding round the rinks of London, in what is now becoming an annual Christmas ritual, wearing animal bones. When I say glide, in my case it's more of jerky slide-stutter movement but I do try. Thus I could be found last night at the Tower of London's rink which is a truly spectacular backdrop and, from what I've experienced in previous years at Somerset House and the Natural History Museum, less busy than other historical venues. All the better for learners like me who have to keep hold of the barrier - granny-style - at least four times round, before letting go.



I had to laugh when I read about the inventive vicar in Chichester who set up an ice rink in his church to get people in. He had 4500 visitors in four days. Seems everyone loves to skate. It reminded me of my surprise last year when I spotted a small ice rink in the local Asda carpark. People had abandoned shopping bags at the side for a glide.

As far as I'm concerned there's no better excuse for a mulled wine than exhausting yourself on the ice. And if you're not very good then take consolation in this hilarious performance from last year's Dancing on Ice.


Todd Carty. Dancing on Ice.

Classic.

A short history of house...Chicago house

I have friends whose eyes glaze over at the very mention of house music. I know what they're thinking. Thumping banging beats, irritating repetitive synthesized euro vocals or cheesy piano filled tat. Yes house has a lot to answer for these days.

Just last week a mate remarked at a gig that she knew she was old because she couldn't bear to listen to house anymore. So, at the risk of sounding like Carrie Bradshaw, later that night I got to thinking. What is it I used to like about house? Of course I woke up the next morning and, as ever, forgot I'd even asked myself a question.

Until yesterday. I've been contributing to a music book this week so I've been typing away in my boudoir listening to all sorts. And when a classic Chicago house track came up:


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I took the opportunity to listen to some old songs. Wow. I'd forgotten just how good these early house tracks still are. Marshall Jefferson's "Move Your Body" from 1986 was the first time anyone had played piano on a house track. And it still gets people moving today. Along with Frankie Knuckles, Jefferson is considered " a Godfather of House".

I have to admit I spent most of the mid-90s while at University in a haze of house. Britpop passed me by entirely because I was dancing my tits off at house all-nighters and warehouse parties (proper ones where you had to go to a dark dodgy boozer to find out the secret location). I just love dancing in places where everyone is there for the music. Still do really. Which is why I like festivals now. Except I'm not as young as I used to be, so I usually suffer the next day.

I could waffle on about all the different sub-genres of house but you'd probably start yawning. So I'd just like to introduce you, if you don't know them already, to a few of my favourite Chicago house tracks.

Chicago house is the earliest form of house. It is funky, edgy-disco, gospel-influenced dance music. The term 'house' comes from Chicago where it meant something cool, hip, fresh or bad. Alternatively some say a Chicago club called The Warehouse gave birth to the genre's label. Either way, my ex-boyfriend first introduced me to it (ten years after it had erupted out of Chicago in the early 1980s). Many a happy time was spent falling in love to these tunes while recovering after days of hard partying.


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"Baby Wants To Ride" is a very naughty song by Frankie Knuckles. I've since realised it's about a dominatrix persuading a guy to let her have her wicked way. Ooh er.

Then there's "You Used To Hold Me" by Ralphi Rosaio.


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Sample lyrics include "What that dorky chic got wouldn't satisfy a cheese stick let alone my baby/She better take her big longhaired butt and move on 'cos he's mine, all mine." Love it.

I end on what is probably my favourite Chicago house track, "Promised Land" by Joe Smooth. It's got it all - funky rhythm, piano and strings, and an optimistic but not cheesy message.


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So don't diss house until you've listened to these classics. All of them are on The Original Chicago House Classics (2002) album (it's on Spotify).

White Lies

If music is my boyfriend, we haven't seen much of each other lately. I've wanted to but lazily I haven't made the effort. And getting him in the diary is a nightmare because you have to book three months ahead. I'm just not organised enough. Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought about, and listened to, him though. So I finally reignited my passion for live music last night. With White Lies at Brixton Academy.

For anyone not familiar with this young quartet who hail from West London, their sound is very Joy Division, though they apparently dislike the comparison "We weren't alive during that period of music and we've never really been into Joy Division...I think we're a lot more euphoric and uplifting," they're quoted as saying. The title of one of their most well-known tracks is Death, sample lyrics "And when I see a new day/Who's driving the same way/I picture my own grave/This fear's got a hold on me/Yes this fear's got a hold on me". However much they deny it, I think it's safe to say their dark undertones lean towards the Mancunian punk-electro melancholy maestros.

Lead singer and guitarist Harry McVeigh is no tortured Ian Curtis but the timbre of his voice is captivating. Its deep richness is, I think, more distinctive than Tom Smith's voice of Editors. They got things off to a riotous start with their biggest chart success Farewell to the Fairground. The loud hypnotic drum snare and edgy synths had the whole place dancing and singing the lyrics back. The jumping around got crazier from then on. The more they played, the more the loyal crowd loved them and lost it. My attempt at recording Unfinished Business:



was thwarted by three 6ft 3 blokes behind who appeared to have lost control of their limbs such was their jittery flailing. At one point I did wonder how many people must have slipped on the pile of sick we'd narrowly avoided on the other side of the room. As soon as we saw it, we headed away to our usual safe spot (left as you look at the stage, on the slope - perfect for those who are vertically challenged like me) and vowed never to go that way again. Shiver.

We did notice that we were surrounded by similarly vertically challenged types. But unusually they were mostly male. Maybe it was because they were still in their teens and not yet fully grown. Which, while we were chuffed at being able to see, then made us feel very old. Gigs are funny like that. If you're not of the overall crowd demographic, you quickly notice. Which is why I like festivals -music lovers of all ages muck in.

White Lies have cited Talking Heads as an influence and one of the highlights last night was their cover of Heaven which was thoughtful and eerie. Of course the band performed all their cult hits from number one album To Lose My Life but it was their final song, Death, which nearly ripped the roof off. They said they were honoured to headline at Brixton [their first time] and it was something they'd remember for the rest of their lives. When they took two bows at the end of their storming gig and lingered on stage to savour the moment before throwing their drum sticks into the crowd (so rock 'n' roll), you believed them.
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White Lies were supported by Post War Years (who we missed) and Wild Beasts who were a revelation. I'd listened to Wild Beasts on Spotify before, but, like White Lies, they're a brilliant band to catch live, full of energy and naughty lyrics (just listen to The Fun Powder Plot - hilarious).

DIY travel photography

Ever wanted to know the trade secrets of that astonishing ethereal landscape or startling wildlife shot in guide books? Well I found out the other night from Lonely Planet travel photojournalist Juliet Coombe at a talk she gave at Intrepid Travel in Islington (who incidentally seemed like a lovely bunch and no, I'm not on commission).*

Of course having the right lenses helps but it's amazing how Juliet has learnt to improvise out on the road saving potentially thousands by not buying fancy equipment. She has photographed an entire country in thirteen days for Lonely Planet from beaches to mountains via caves and jungles so she knows how to think on her feet. I couldn't believe the mundane items from around the house (mainly the kitchen) that Juliet inventively used to take the shots she was showing us.

So if, like me, you have a basic digital SLR camera and don't have heaps of dosh to spare, here are some of the lovely Juliet's top tips (I do hope I'm not ruining her income from talks by revealing her secrets).

Bin bags  - these are absolutely essential apparently. Not only can one be used to waterproof the camera (wrap it round and poke a hole through for the lens), it can also camouflage the camera for wildlife shots or it can be stretched over the lens so that you can cut out a rough shape of the object you're shooting while the bin bag filters the rest of the scene out. Take a roll of them.

Foil - take lots of it. Fills in shadows on faces.

Cling film - stretch it over the lens and smear on brylcreem or soap, or stick lace on it to create patterns. Use coloured cling film as cheap filters.

Tights - can be used as filters.

Clothes pegs - use them to attach silk scarves or card (again with the object's shape cut out) to the camera.

Toilet roll holder - pop over the end of the lens to create a longer lens.

Matches - apparently top travel photographers never use flash because it's too bright. The old-fashioned match gives a softer light.

Tissues - tip different quantities of tea or coffee on them, dry and you have filters of various sepia tones.

Rope - for lowering your camera to the ground from a landrover when you're on safari. Perfect for undergrowth shots. Or strapping to the roof of the vehicle.

Small step ladder - for those who are vertically challenged like me this could be the difference between a shot of the back of heads or an engaging picture.

Juliet recommends experimenting with all these devices before you travel, choosing one subject on your doorstep, so you can see which effects you like.

Successful photojournalists are able to create profound pictures by thinking about their message before they take the picture, emphasised Juliet. Apparently practical people can take pretty pictures but they won't necessarily have the longevity of those who've thought it through. And finally...remember: a good photographer will be prepared to do anything to get the picture (within the law presumably).

* All pictures are by Juliet Coombe.

When Perry met Self

* Turner prize winning artist Grayson Perry was in conversation with the inimitable author Will Self last week at the British Library and, as a fan of both, I couldn't wait to hear the informed banter between these two opinionated characters. Neither I nor the packed audience were disappointed.

Self, cloaked in trademark head to toe writer-black, was the perfect foil to Perry's peach and blue graphic print dress, to his curly boots with bells and to Shirley, the doll on his knee.

To some Grayson Perry is still an oddball, that artist who dresses like a woman. Thankfully he's become so acceptable in the UK that even he is unhappy about it. "Now when I'm out in the street I'm not that annoying pervert anymore," he half grumbled. "They say, 'oh it's Grayson Perry, he can do what he likes'. It's quite boring now, unless I go abroad." You have to respect a man who says his definition of a good outfit is taking a deep breath before he leaves the house.




What I also like about Grayson Perry is his refreshing frankness about the meaning of his art and how he goes about it. Not for him a puzzling pretentious riddle hinting at how his work is created. "Well, I started in the left hand corner and worked across," he said of the Walthamstow Tapestry, a major new piece namechecking well-known brands, which is a wry, modern take on the famous Bayeaux tapestry. "I really see a difference when I work. I get better." As Self pointed out, it's rare to hear an artist admit that their technique isn't perfect from the outset.

"I grew up in public," replied Perry. "My first ceramics were incredibly inept. But people thought they were ironic." You have to laugh but there must be some truth in it. In fact, much of what Perry said was a serious point made in jest. When Self highlighted this, Perry was very clear about how and why he uses humour. "My job as an artist is to supply electrodes, not the sparks. I don't necessarily want to kill my art with explanation. The jokes are me dancing around it. When I'm in the studio, I'm deadly serious." He's now put in 10,000 hours of pottery practice to prove it.



Much of Perry's art is inspired by revered classical work. So, while from a distance his vases may look Ming, up close they often portray disturbing images or provide a commentary on modern life. Consumerism, religious iconography and text are all regular features. He'll go round a museum or flick through an art book for ideas and then think how he can make a relevant 21st century version that isn't a horrible parody.

He comes across as extremely eccentric but matter-of-fact. He said he doesn't like art about airy fairy things (themes such as sadomasochism certainly prove that) yet he's created an artistic cult whose leader is Alan Measles, Perry's childhood teddy bear (so called because Alan was his best friend at the time and he had measles -  how cute). But if that isn't airy fairy I don't know what is. Perry, as you might expect of a man whose alter-ego Claire famously collected his Turner Prize in 2003, is full of contradictions.

Picasso spent his whole life trying to draw like a child and in the same way Perry is interested in the psychology of childhood "Everybody has their own Alan Measles", he told Self, which is why he makes shrines to Alan and exhibits them.

Maybe I should reclaim and reshrine my childhood teddy bear, long since abandoned in the spare room back up North. "Karen Chickenpox" doesn't have quite the same ring to it though.
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*  Poptart succumbed to the seasonal lurgy this week and has been sipping Lemsip and popping Beroccas under her duvet while feeling guilty about not writing this blog.

Why Do We Talk?

I was going to blog about a talk I went to last night but actually that can wait. It ain't breaking news (although it featured an interesting conversation between an eccentric artist and a clever writer if that whets your appetite).

Speaking of conversations and talks, I highly recommend watching Why Do We Talk, a Horizon programme which will be on BBC iPlayer until next Tuesday. It looks at how us humans started learning language.

Scientists are gradually piecing together the first map of the complex language functions in the brain. Did you know that babies listen to their mums in the womb? They get to know her tone and cadence which is why, in the programme, a one day old baby's brain responds to her mother's call "hi baby" but not a computer's.

Apparently the origin of language lies in our genes. There's a single gene that controls the tiny movements in our faces that enable us to talk. If we're born without it then we can't talk properly. All vertebrates have this gene but two tiny changes to it mean that we can communicate verbally but other animals can't. And probably around the time these changes happened (like waaaaaay back, thousands of years ago) is when evidence of art and culture started appearing. How cool.

The programme had many more examples to bring it all to life, like Christopher who "collects languages like butterflies". He's autistic and can speak 20 languages. It also trotted out some well-I-never-type stats - there are more than 6000 languages in the world and 800 of those can be found in Papua New Guinea alone. Worthwhile banking for future pub quizes methinks.

On a separate, but sort of related, note I've just started dipping into The History Of The English Language again, like you do (it's a reference book which has been lying dusty on my bookshelf for yonks). Did you know limousine is so called after the name of a province in France? Tabasco sauce is named after the Mexican river Tabasco, and the Charleston dance after the American city. And we can't forget the good old hungry Earl of Sandwich who first invented our lunchtime staple.

But back to the programme…watch it to find out what the forbidden experiment is.

Boom boom

Not being able to take pictures in galleries sucks. Especially when I've paid good money (a hefty £12) to get in. What is the argument against non-flash photography in galleries anyone? I'd really love to know.

So begins my visit to sculptor Anish Kapoor's show at the Royal Academy. With a rant. Luckily the Turner prize winner's work is captivating enough to distract me.

What I called "that giant red trumpet thingy" (real name Marsyas) in the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern is the only work of his I've ever seen. It's a testament to its impact that I thought the red trumpet showing was a couple of years ago (turns out it was seven).

Part retrospective, part new work, this exhibition is dramatic, subtle, ambiguous and sometimes disorientating (in a good  way).

The mirrored silver balls,  Tall Tree and the Eye (2009), seemingly floating in the RA's courtyard (left) give a flavour of some of Kapoor's central themes: reflections and perception of space.

There are heaps of detailed reviews, The Guardian and The Times for instance, so I give you my highlights.

First up has to be "the pimple" so named by my silver-tongued sidekick, who surreptitiously took indoor pics for me on her iPhone (I thank you Mrs Macro). As "the pimple" looked like a shadow on the wall to her and a mucky wall to me, we were unable to obtain an image. Its real name is When I Am Pregnant (1992) and it was only when we looked at it from the side that we realised it was a protruding oval about as large as a torso. There are no signs or explanations on the wall, just a leaflet to carry round, which makes for a very fluid exhibition.

In another room, a variety of mirrored objects causing our reflections to invert, elongate, quadruple in size or disappear altogether depending on where we stood were fascinating.We were like children in a hall of mirrors. In contrast, a roomful of what can only be described as grey cement intestines (below) rather freaked me out.

What's really refreshing is seeing Kapoor's ultra modern sculptures in such a classical setting. Non more so than the 30-tonne lump of red wax slowly lumbering through five galleries on a mechanized rail track, squeezing its way through the classical doorways. Its movement is almost imperceptible. An assistant informed me that he'd timed it to within the minute - two hours to cover one length of the building and two hours back. It's called Syayambh (2007) which is Sanskrit for "self-generating".

The highlight for me though was Shooting into the Corner (2008) involving a cannon, some blood red wax and a white wall. A loud, messy spectacle infused with anticipation (the two minute silence as we watched the man prepare the cannon was palpable, the unexpectedly loud boom of the cannon (I know, I know, when are cannons ever quiet?) and the splodge of wax on the wall were gloriously satisfying.




If you're reading this during the day head to the Royal Academy's live webcam of the cannon. It fires sporadically - we saw it at 3pm - until the show finishes on 11th December.

Putting the "L" back into play

The irony of the faded "L" in this artwork - Play by Ulrik Weck - was not lost on some of us who attended a charity night at Play, a fringe off-shoot exhibition from last month's Frieze art fair. Especially given the glut of gallery owners and dealers showing round potential buyers. The buyers seemed to avert their eyes from this piece near the entrance. Someone pop out for neon bulbs pronto!

Curated by East London gallery Paradise Row and Prakke Contemporary, Play features 50 works and performances scattered over four storeys in a disused Georgian mansion in Mayfair. And I must say I had the most fun I've had at an exhibition in ages which may explain why its run has been extended.

Billed as "a festival of fun", the exhibition is liberal in its approach to its theme. Rooms of random curiosities included Jake and Dinos Chapman's Fucking With Nature. Stuffed animals hump on either side of a mechanized see-saw as a wee mouse runs between the two. It's overlooked by another Chapman piece:

featuring Ronald McDonald of whom they are so fond and who has subversively featured in previous work. Then there is Conrad Shawcross' Axiom reminiscent of a child's playground:

I enjoyed the frivolous lamps with feet:

 and I reckon my driving instructor would love this one:

Douglas White's Moon Cabinet (using wax and pigment to create a luminous orb) would look amazing in my bedroom:

But it was the fun performances which make this exhibition so inventive. From the Fucked Off Frog standing by a paddling pool giving passers-by the Vs to the Word Orchestra on the stairs, conducted by artist Ian Giles, creating unexpected and sometimes profound sentences.

You'll see different performances, depending on when you go. I ended up playing in a tiny room filled with polystyrene balls (entered through a trap door in what was made to look like a bunk bed in an eerie children's bedroom).

Immersing yourself in tiny balls is a pleasant but odd sensation especially when the trap door shuts out the light. It was the float experience all over again (see earlier post about darkness).

When we came across a room full of feathers - part of a performance piece called Kinder Heaven - there was nothing for it but to dive in. Much fun was had until we could no longer breathe. We also paid for it later (my most expensive coat still looks like a half plucked chicken and my favourite black jeans could be ruined).

That might explain the shocked gaze of Trudie Styler on the arm of Guy Ritchie (random I know) as they caught sight of our haute couture be-feathered look when they swept past us into Ritchie's pub Punchbowl a few streets away. We were attempting to have a one-for-the-road Amaretto but it seemed there was no room at the celebrity inn. Styler looked extremely startled, her eyes as wide as a raver's and her mouth formed into a pouty "o" shape that for some reason made me want to pop in a golf ball sized polystyrene ball (can she blink I wonder?). But I digress. Back to the feather plucking....

Play runs until Friday 13th November.Contact the gallery for a viewing appointment.

Shapes in the sky

They're dramatic, colourful and make people smile. What's not to like about fireworks?

 

Especially when they light up the sky with funny shapes like a palm tree:

Or this flower:

I love them as they bring people together too. Having said that, I had two sets of friends on the common this evening and in true Pop Tart fashion, didn't manage to hook up with either because of the general pandemonium and lack of mobile network coverage.

More gratuitous pix:

Pink and gold are my favourites. I really fancy a mulled wine now...

The darkness

"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light," said the blind and deaf American author Helen Keller and I think she was right...certainly as these autumnal days draw in and it's nearly dark by 4.30pm. Brrrr. I need all the friends I can get. 

So it happened that I trundled off with two such lovely persons to experience the relatively new steel chamber devoid of light in Tate Modern's turbine hall. The three of us held hands as we gingerly walked up the big wide ramp to be wrapped in a silent blanket of blackness with only a vague green hue from a faraway light. Even more scary than the dark unknown were the occasional ghostly figures looming into view and then just as suddenly vanishing again. Shuffling feet, giggles, the odd "where are you?" and yelps of surprise are all part of experiencing the huge 13m high x 30m long installation on stilts How It Is by Polish artist Miroslaw Balka.  

Being inside the black box is disturbing and nerve-jangling for the first couple of minutes. But then a strange thing happens. It's like someone found the dimmer switch and gradually turned the light up. After five minutes your eyes adjust so that you're confident taking big strides from one wall across to the other while circumnavigating everyone else. And when you reach the far material-clad wall and look back to the entrance it's almost sci-fi in a Close Encounters of the Third Kind shadowy way.

The serious message behind How It Is is its reference to the cattle trucks used by the Nazis to transport Jews to death camps. Balka explains this concept in The Times and how he wanted to create "a photographic black hole", the opposite of Olafur Eliasson's popular light sculpture The Weather Project shown in the turbine hall six years ago.

Yet for all that, the dark is fun and makes you briefly think in a different way. And I'll bet a frisky couple will chance their luck before April rolls round and it's dismantled. Whether they're caught and we get to hear about it remains to be seen (no pun intended).

Talking of thinking in a different way in the dark, I experienced my first float a few days ago. Lying in salt  water for an hour in a confined, coal-black room relaxes you, detoxifies you, makes you more creative etc. It was a belated birthday present so I went with an open mind. However, rational thoughts such as drowning in ten inches of water and running out of oxygen with no one to hear my last gasps kept bubbling to the surface.

Death by float seemed like a distinct possibility for at least quarter of an hour. I spent the remaining 45 minutes silently concentrating on the filmy aqueous sheet on which I was buoyed, trying not to succumb to any violent arm flailing that might hinder my chances of survival. So I was indeed reinvigorated by the time I left and grateful for the wondrous world in which I was still alive.

Might try that dine in the dark restaurant next. Unless I choke on an unidentified object, I should be safe.

Let's talk about sex, Victorian sex

"We have a large archive collection of artefacts but we have a very large collection of these," giggles Science Museum worker Sian. What could she be talking about? Why sex toys of course. Those science geeks know how to let their boffin hair down.

The theme at last night's monthly Lates evening at the Science Museum was sex. Cue, snaking queues twice as long as usual around three blocks. Well ok, I've only been to Lates once before but let me tell you, going on numbers, twice as many Londoners are interested in sex than climate change...scandalous.

There was salsa dancing, speed dating and a "lurve" pub quiz. I didn't see any of that. Instead I queued (for an hour, after queuing for an hour to get in - I was obviously determined) to hear a talk on the history of sex aids. Hundreds were turned away. It was a tiny room when I finally got in there - madness given its popularity.

Hosted by two Ann Summers' representatives (Ann Summers in the Science Museum? Apparently the company has just donated some of its more popular gadgets over the years to the museum's collection), the talk was unfortunately less informative than I anticipated. That might have had something to do with the - by now inebriated - blokes at the back who couldn't resist guffawing, interrupting and hollering like naughty schoolboys while I took notes diligently near the front...it really was like school all over again.

I learnt, however, that there is evidence of the existence of sex aids from the prehistoric ages, through the Roman and Egyptian periods, to China's invention of the cock ring in the 1600s. The French had a penchant for exquisitely carved ivory, like the 18th century object d'art above.

While those outwardly reserved but secretly frisky Victorians preferred their bedroom toys to be rather more clinical in appearance.

This one, as Sian explained to me after the talk, was a serious implement which worked like an egg beater to be pressed against the body. It was used by doctors on female patients to cure hysteria. I imagine doctors must have been working eighteen hour days in Victorian times then. If these instruments weren't available doctors would, we were told, use manual methods of relieving hysterical women. Blimey.

And then by the time the roaring twenties rolled round, sex toys were a little more sexualised. Not much though if this hairdryer-like contraption is anything to go by.

Such objects went underground until Playboy brought sex out into the open again in the fifties. Very gradually, sex toys became more acceptable. Once the Rampant Rabbit made an appearance on Sex and the City, it gained Jimmy Choo-like must-have status and the rest is history.

Love fashion hate shopping?

Love fashion but hate shopping? I know I do. Especially in London when throngs of sweaty, clumsy bodies wrestle with their latest hauls while talking loudly on mobiles and shouting at their kids. Why can't there be space and light in changing rooms (without fluff balls on the floor) to see what I'm trying on? Why does my friend never bag the cubicle next to me but always four away when I don't want to walk the length of the fitting rooms to get her opinion? And why does everyone look the same give or take an accessory here or a customised T-shirt there? Why isn't the queue moving?…Yes, I detest shopping in London.

Help is at hand in the form of SchuBubble where you can make an appointment to try on gorgeous vintage clothes (which are tailored to you if they don't quite fit) in your own private boudoir. Founder Tanaz Banda has converted her lovely spare room into a treasure trove bulging with unique bags, hats, belts and clothes sourced by her and, where necessary, repaired by dressmaker Bitti Santos. I went along to SchuBubbles' West London HQ for afternoon tea.

"Whether you go into Primark or Prada you're essentially buying what everyone else is wearing," says Tanaz. "I want SchuBubble to be a place where you can relax and find something original you love. Or we'll make it for you. But we're not a pretentious boutique". From a red (very soft) leather skirt to a vintage black strapless Norman Hartnell cocktail number or a flowery fifties style dress, all tastes are catered for.

 

SchuBubble also has its own simple classic designs - versatile staples which are both comfortable and glamorous (music to my ears). Tanaz sources a limited amount of  material for SchuBubble's own lines from India so once a particular fabric has run out, that's it.

I like the ethos behind SchuBubble because it's a network of creative women set up by Tanaz to foster a sense of community and support. Times are tough ladies and we need to pull together. So you'll also spot complementary and quirky jewellery by An Alleweireldt, a highly sought-after Royal College Of Art graduate (2003) who was commissioned to create a special collection by Tate Modern recently and sells some of her work through its shop.

An often uses recycled materials to create very different beautiful objects, like lollipop sticks to make this striking brooch:

Or old vinyl records - gasp, yes I know, sacrilege. But I now have these two vinyl bracelets:

which I absolutely adore, plus they're a real talking point. All of An's work including some unique pieces can be bought online at OXx jewellery. But I found it's much more fun to mix and match her pieces while trying on new outfits.

And you'll be made a fuss of by the SchuBubble girls which is very nice. I ambled away with a devine black velvet hoodie with a furry collar and adorned with tiny coloured stars.

My favourite philosopher (after red wine) the ancient Greek thinker Epicurus believed that we often substitute our true desires (friends, freedom and a thoughtful life) with manic material desires. So I feel fully justified in having spent a couple of hours in lovely company buying something unusual I'll love and look after, than a whole day buying cheap tat that won't last. Epicurus…you would be proud.

Capitalism: A Love Story

I do like a nice surprise. I don't like not-nice surprises, or shocks to be more exact. I got both last night. When I arrived at the BFI Southbank I was told that their surprise film screening that evening, as part of the BFI Film Festival, was showing uptown in Leicester Square. I was at the wrong venue with a minute to go before the start. Gulp. So I hot-footed it there in high heels and missed the start of the film which was...drum roll...Michael Moore's Capitalism: A Love Story.

Moore sometimes has a tendency to labour his point but not here. This is an engaging, insightful film which explores how capitalism has taken over from democracy in the US and the historical corruption which lies behind the recently engineered crash (yes, I said engineered-the film explains all). I mean, we all know banks have been pulling sheep loads of wool over our eyes but I never realised just how much American banks have been pulling the strings of Presidential puppets. It's really scary.

CAPITALISM: A LOVE STORY: Film trailer

Of course Moore has touched on capitalism in previous films but never in-depth, with a global recession as his reference point. He has some great scoops. He talks to a guy who used to be known as the "VIP man" at a big bank. This meant he sorted out special deals for friends of the boss (congress members, captains of industry etc) often saving them millions in fees and interest on loans while ordinary people were losing their homes.

He also talks to distressed people affected by the downturn. Including families who found out that the death of their late husband or wife had earned their former employer (eg Bank of America, Wal-Mart) thousands from secret life insurance policies. A corporate practice known as "Dead Peasant" insurance. As ever he uses humour and inventive use of archive footage to demonise Bush or remark on Reagan's ridiculousness.

I'm not spoiling it by telling you any of this because they're just a fraction of what Moore unearths. And his door stepping pranks are (as you'd expect) brilliant. But I was surprised that the big man himself didn't make an appearance given the surprise film's billing as "the hottest ticket in the entire festival". I think I was slightly short changed - Micky Rourke and director Darren Aronofsky gave a talk after The Wrestler last year - but maybe the budget has been cut.... 

The film had a limited release in the US a month ago and is released here in February. It's an eye-popping must-see. Especially if you're a banker as you'll need to have a defence at the ready for your next dinner party.

Affordable Art Fair

Stacks of hula hoops outside, huge cerise bean bags inside, Pieminister pies in the cafe and an ice cream van made out of cardboard.

The Affordable Art Fair in Battersea Park this weekend is far from pretentious. Set up ten years ago, its aim is to be "approachable, affordable, interesting and fun and to show that you don't need a doctorate in fine art to buy it," according to its founder Will Ramsay.

But don't do as I did yesterday and spend three hours in one third of the place (there's so much to see and everyone is so friendly), leaving half an hour to scoot round the rest.

The stands inside a marquee, running from A-L, are occupied by galleries showing a healthy array of mixed media. While the gallery workers were informative (apart from one woman who couldn't tell me what type of music an artist listened to after making a beeline to tell me that was what made this artist so special - do your research love), what I found most interesting was talking to some of the artists who explained the concepts behind their work and their techniques.

I met the adorable Parisienne Aline Hercberg at Arlev Art gallery for instance who has been exhibiting at the AAF since it started. Her bright, colourful quartet of oil and metallic paintings "Planets" (above) caught my eye reminding me of giant smarties, some of them half eaten. "My inspiration was how we're damaging our world so while some of the planets are whole and beautiful, others are falling apart." So they're sad smarties after all.

Then there was Blackheath based sculptor Michael Speller  whose work I was drawn to when I saw this called "Squeeze".

Michael engagingly explained how most of his work contains very small text of say a poem which gives his elongated bronze figures their rough texture (check out his website above to see some of his stunning pieces.  "Squeeze" is different in that it's more conceptual. The sharks circling a UK composed of British coins are made out of Euros (my Northern Irish friend was miffed there was no sign of Ireland or the Channel Islands but let's not go there). Michael also kindly offered to give me a demo to show the difference between cold cast and foundry bronze. Bless! If only I'd had the time.

There were all sorts of other work that caught my eye, much of it witty and fun. Like these copper shoes by Triss Norman at the Interior Angle stand

Not to mention really punchy and strong screen prints at the Jealous stand (they were the ones who made the ice cream van, their stand had matching ice cream cones) and painter Alan Macdonald's imaginative take on the Old Masters, updating them with subversive humour.

 

Here's a colourful shot (I do like my bright colours) of pictures by Columbian photographer Willy Rojas (Villa del Arte galleries in Barcelona).

He photographs miniature figures next to every day objects creating funny and colourful pictures (like figures diving into an eye yolk or skating on a bowl of soup).

I also saw a few things I liked at the Rebecca Hossack gallery stand but it was so busy I could hardly get in. Managed this half shot of one of Phil Shaw's book prints (if you're fond of books you'll love his stuff).

And finally

I may not have bought any work but I did come home with my very own piece of art - a print of my favourite London bridge (Albert Bridge) which I made at one of Artichoke Print's ace workshops at the fair. Result! I think I have a long way to go before I'm exhibiting at the AAF though.

The blurb says that more than 22,000 people will visit the fair over the four days and the average cost of work sold is £700 (though I noticed some works going for a few thousand were available to buy on a 10 month interest free loan, hooray). The AAF is open until Sunday.