Interesting Old Faces and Bright Sci-Fi Lights

The past month or so I’ve struggled with my writing. I wouldn’t describe it as a block. More like the creative part of me was grinding to a halt and I couldn’t find inspiration. About a week ago I honestly thought this blog had reached its end. Maybe it was the endless winter or the soul-destroying flat hunt I’m currently involved in. I’ve been reading books at a slower pace, gone into a trance when I’ve picked up my laptop to write, left my camera at home when I should be out taking photos.

Today I decided to give myself an art overdose in the hope of being wowed and excited by something. First The Light Show at The Hayward Gallery. If you happen to be an art loving Sci-Fi fan this is an absolute must. Leo Villareal’s Cylinder II made me feel like I was stood amongst a million stars, Ivan Navarro’s Reality Show was like the bottom of Doctor Who’s Tardis had fallen out spiralling into a vortex and Olafur’s Eliasson’s Model for a timeless garden felt like I had found water on mars (strobing unreal droplets hopping and falling in a pitch black room).

Leo Villareal. Cylinder II

A short stroll across our dirty old river took me from a futuristic experience back to the 1920′s. The National Portrait Gallery is currently showing Man Ray Portraits. I was trying to commit every photo and moment to memory. From the seventeen year-old boy freaking out at the sight of what I can only describe as a healthy bush of pubic hair on Meret Oppenheim (“that’s just weird!!”).  To moments when I found myself welling up at photos of his lovers (Kiki and Lee Miller) and wife Juliet. The one constant thought in my head throughout the whole exhibition was “I think we have less interesting faces now”, which is a testament to Man Ray but perhaps doesn’t say much about my fellow Londoners. I include myself in this of course, especially standing in front of his portrait of Virginia Woolf. I have a terribly dull face in comparison.

I’ll end this post with Man Ray’s words of encouragement to his niece Naomi Savage when she started her own creative journey. It struck the right chord today.

“You don’t need a huge audience. You only need five or six people who care, and there to encourage you… Don’t worry about idealism and practicality… Try to get paid for what you do, and don’t worry if you don’t. Just keep on working. You’ll make up for it time.” 

Sunday Swoon. June 17th

I raced around Torbay on a trawler listening to Azealia Banks on Saturday. What did you do?

1. Thanks to National Theatre Live I got to watch Danny Boyle’s Frankenstein at the beautifully old Gate Picturehouse after missing out on tickets when it was performed last year. I was slightly apprehensive about watching a theatre production as a piece of cinema but concerns were immediately quashed. We attended with Benedict Cumberbatch as the monster, and Danny Boyle’s production gives back the monster his voice, it is told from his perspective. I sobbed, quite a bit, it was utterly moving, challenging and bleak.

2. This  book deserves, and shall have, a blog post of its own but I have to include it in this weeks round-up as it inspired me to the point of scribbling in the margins, underlining passages and bursting into tears on the tube. I shall save my words for when I write that post but for the time being I urge any woman with a creative bone in her body to read A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf.

3. Hot Chip released In Our Heads on Monday and from the opening track (Motion Sickness) I was in love all over again. Hot Chip make music anyone could dance to. White middle class boys slapping out rhythms that Prince would bow down to. People making whatever music they like, irrespective of whether it fits with outward appearances, and damn the consequences. Play it, buy it, improve your life ten fold. At least.

4. Despite growing up in Brixham I have always shied away from the annual Trawler Race as it tends to be fairly rowdy and as a teen I was too painfully introvert to join in. This year the town tradition saw its 50th race. My cousin is a skipper of a boat (star of Sky TV’s Trawler Race don’t you know) so this year I finally clambered clumsily and without grace over three boats to get to his boat with dear friend Lizzie on Saturday. We didn’t puke, the weather was so dire that it was called off halfway round the  race across Torbay, we didn’t fall overboard. A success.

 Also, Brixham appears to really, really, really like Azealia Banks 212. ♥

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