Learning things. It happens. Either by intent, by accident, or by bicycling around the Mexican town of (only-one-s) Progreso in the Yucatán. It’s a place that honours family, the citizens are quick to smile, and really cute children squeal at … Continue reading Just like a Virgin?
These works may hint at improbably good outcomes, but the visual tension still leaves us with just a faint expectation that some may just not survive the journey.
“Now I’m free, I’m free-fallin
Yeah, I’m free, I’m free-fallin'”
Has life gotten you in a twist? Slightly cranky? In need of some navel-gazing, a good scare or perhaps a hard drink? Continue reading Everything OK?
Pensato’s art is an effervescent testament to a highly charged interior life. We will miss you,
so bonne route and thank you. Continue reading Joyce Pensato and her fanciful friends
19 May – 24 June 2017 LISSON GALLERY, 67 Lisson Street, London While making the rounds of London’s art venues last June, skulking down back streets and dark underpasses, cruising through museums, galleries and pop ups, I wondered “Is it possible to exhaust this city’s mammoth store of artwork?” It is a bleak possibility – but then again, if there really are charcoal dust fairies, they will never let that happen. I was so completely beside myself after learning of the appearance of Mickey, Homer, and Batman, my childhood kin, that a pilgrimage to the Lisson Gallery … Continue reading Joyce Pensato “FORGETTABOUT IT”
NÎMES, FRANCE. There is something very soap-opera-ish about travelling – those niggling unknown eventualities; like coincidences and chance meetings, language and barriers, inconveniences and crowds, irritations and line-ups, a winning resourcefulness and . . . ultimately – great art, wonderful food, and air conditioning.
Continue reading L’EXPO DE OUF!!!
What a name. Does anyone remember, in the early days of computing, the number of attempts it took to finally snag an interesting email address? For Daniel John Ryder it took about 25, and as lucky keyboard karma would have … Continue reading There once was… Angry Dan
“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” – Bob Dylan Let’s all just accept that the five fundamental questions of journalism (who, what, when, where and why) rarely, if ever, get fully answered in the street art … Continue reading The Who and What of the When Where Why
Hollywood Horse Head Soup, a ladle full of South Beach’s crunchy Cockroach Soup, or the vague possibility of being force-fed London’s Scrap Metal Soup? Continue reading “Leave the gun, take the cannoli.”
How do people deal with endings, and beginnings, and then endings again? Apparently approaches do vary. Some peoples’ brains implode just thinking about living on a little planet in a spiral arm of the Milky Way, while others prefer … Continue reading Let us Spray . . .
“I find beauty in the grotesque, like most artists.” Alexander McQueen Ever since I spotted Alex Arnell’s neurotics, his screaming ab dabs, it is as though a portal has opened and a bundle of dysfunctional spirit guides have tumbled out. Arnell’s … Continue reading Alex Arnell aka ‘Sell Out’ and his screaming ab dabs!
“. . . you could cut off one of my hands, and then the other one, but I would still continue to paint . . .” HERS I have met artists like ‘HERS’ before. Painters that are compelled to paint, and … Continue reading HERS: “Where do you draw the line?”
London is a city with all of the symptoms of multiple-personality disorder. One minute you are defending yourself from being trampled to death on Camden High Street or the tube, and the next you are staring solemnly at Sir Ian … Continue reading The Last Stand
There seems to be quite a bit of angst-in-need-of-aspirin amongst the street artists of London. As one would expect, the general response to this urban malaise begins with a modicum of empathy and compassion. But that glimmer of empathy quickly … Continue reading Despondancy, Despair and Aspirin
While combing through the neighbourhoods of Lisbon to capture some of the city’s famed street art, I came across three portraits. Their level of sophistication lay somewhere between the glut of quick throw-ups and stencils, and the masterful works of the … Continue reading The missing . . . LENS?