I do love a good collab: Hannah Chloe Adamaszek and Kristin Gaudio Endsley

Have I banged on about this artist I recently came across yet? Her name is Hannah Chloe Adamaszek, and her works are just so stunning.

Well, I just found the blog she runs with a fellow artist, Kristin Gaudio Endsley, and I love her work too! For once, I'm not going top blather on about why; I'll just let you enjoy them for yourselves:

And then - AND THEN - they collab'd, and the outcome is so lush. Someone take my money, I want:

You can see more of their collaborations here, and I'd advise checking out their blog, Well Why Don't You, too.

Jacky Tsai at Scream – or an excuse for me to lament my hungover Friday morning

Why is gin called Mother’s Ruin? After last night’s antics I think it’s time we renamed it Young-Professionals-With-No-Self-Control-Especially-Not-On-Thirsty-Thursday’s Ruin. There we go D1 London Gin, that one’s on the house. My partner in crime and I look forward to trying the cocktail you name after us.
As with most after work activities, our intentions were innocent, pure and good. Lee Lee and I were going to meet at Oxford Circus, make a hop skip and a jump over to Eastcastle Street, soak up the arty output of Alexander McQueen designer Jacky Tsai, and head home for a full night’s sleep before our respective early Friday mornings (mine, this week, involved a 5am start. Ouch. Doesn’t the world know that this homegirl needs her beauty sleep?).

In reality, we swanned in and out of Scream after bumping into someone I HOPED I WOULD NEVER MEET IRL, made swift tracks to the nearest dive, and collectively drowned my sorrows in gin that was sadly inferior to the kind we had been given by the kind folks at Scream and D1. There were some businessmen from Atlanta who kindly replaced the packet of cigarettes I lost, there was much legal advice divulged (Lee Lee is short for Legal Extraordinaire And All Round Fabulous Independent Woman), and there was STOUT bought for us by some media types of the Fitzrovia area. STOUT. Who drinks that? Lee Lee, it emerged.

Anyway, before our evening of refinement and culture turned debauch, we had a super time nosing round Jacky Tsai’s latest skull-happy collection at Scream. You’ll probably know by now that I like my art like I like my men: loud, obnoxious, expensive and decked out in neon. Ok, that was a lie; I would probably be shit-terrified of the man who embodied my artistic tastes but I’m sure he would be at least captivating.
Again, I digress.

This is the kind of art I’m going to hang at the top of my double staircase in my marble entrance hall. Think Cher’s house in Clueless, but with far better taste and a lot more Jacky Tsai (the tartan ensembles can stay). He looks at the cultural exchange between Asia and the West, and in doing so revolutionises contemporary Chinese art by combining it with Western pop imagery, And the neon. Such neon.

The stylishly aware among you might better know Tsai’s contributions to Alexander McQueen, where he designed the now iconic floral skull.

He explores this further in his art, but never fully departs from his designer background. Everything is precise – there’s no freedom here. That’s something I associate with designers, traditionally.

See? All of that cultural fulfilment and then I went and gave myself the kind of hangover that could only be cured by an ice cold innocent smoothie, to try and restore innocence in ANY form after a phenomenal ‘fuck you’ to my self-assigned one-drink-limit.

In short, D1 London Gin: good. Jacky Tsai: good. Do both, and do them both now.

Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens - prettiest gallery ever

I recently found out what a real camera obscura is. When I first listened to the band by the same name, I googled its meaning and thought it was something to do with developing photographs in the dark, which I think is technically correct. But I thought it was a process, and didn't think it was a thing - until I rocked up to Tremenheere Scultpture Gardens.

The park has had lots of positive press. First of all it looks like a bloody paradise - honestly. Take a look:

Hashtag no filter.

It's hella purdy. Which leads me to its second reason for attention: can you believe all of this was built by one GP in his free time?!

Walking around the park, you notice little things like the steps that are made out of recycled train tracks, and rare flora. IspeakasifIknowanythingabouthorticulture. But it's the sculptures that I loved (ok, I guess that would be obvious). This inland just another Barbara Hepworth museum. The definition of 'sculpture' is a lot more fluid as it flows into installation, like this:

This place is just as much about sculpture as it is garden, and it's bloody delightful. On the day of my visit, it was quiet, almost deadly still and sunnier than I've seen in Cornwall this year. The flowers were moving ever so slightly. It's all this that made my first experience of a camera obscura so gobsmackingly gobsmacking. There was a little periscope poking out of what appeared to be the ground, so off we went to check it out. We noticed a doorway almost directly underneath it, and went inside. It seemed to be a small circular room in the total pitch black, with a random white circle-shaped table in the middle; but then we shut the door.

The periscope thing projected the image of the outdoors onto the table and it became the most beautiful, painterly reflection of a park I've ever seen (and I'm a big fan of the Impressionists). Look:

Like many things, it doesn't come across nearly as well in phone photography but imagine this, with the leaves moving in the wind ever so slightly, and every now ns again a fellow visitor walking by, unaware they're being watched. It wasn't as creepy as I'm making it sound, promise. 

Anyway, as much as I like the band, I think I have a new favourite camera obscura.

Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens are open from Wednesday to Saturday, 10am-5pm and on Sunday it closes an hour earlier. Go, go, go (if only to have Cider Pink in the cafe!) 

This is the Turner Prize for the Instagram generation, and I hope it pisses you off

By now, I'm sure you'll have seen the Turner Prize shortlist has been announced. Duncan Campbell, Ciara Phillips, James Richards and Tris Vonna-Michell are all working in collage in some way or another, frequently using images and films they have found on and offline. So once again, film is the medium du jour, with two of the four nominees working with a variant of it.

I'll admit, I wasn't wildly enthused with the winner last year (I was really into the Tino Seghal piece, but that's another chat for another time), but maybe it's because I just couldn't empathise with the piece. But with one of the film artists in this ear's shortlist, I feel a better connection, and I think it's because of my age.

James Richards creates a video collage of YouTube clips, VHS tapes and footage shot by himself or other artists. This mixture of modernity (YouTube) and possibly ironic nostalgia (VHS) is very much a reflection of the Instagram generation, which digitises vintage (or rather vintage-ises digital) and uses Thursday as an excuse to dig out throwbacks.

Maybe this was a deliberate choice - it was once said that the Turner Prize reflects the mood of the country, after all. And in the announcement, it was said that the shortlists suggests "the impact of the internet, cinema, TV and mobile technologies on a new generation of artists". Tres 2014.

Jake and Dinos Chapman, Death

The Turner Prize, with its 'shortlist to annoy everyone', has an impossible job. It aims to glorify a single artist which, for one reason or another (often, but not always, this has gotta be jealousy), really riles everybody else working hard as an artist. And for the rest of the non-arty public who rightfully have a say in the matter, it is pretty much seen as progressive beyond appreciation. But no matter how much it pisses everyone off, it gets people talking about art. What's more, it establishes important names. I first came across the Chapman Brothers upon their Turner Prize nomination and cringed at their attention-seeking vacuous drivel (which is saying something, considering I was an attention-seeking, vacuous and drivelly teen at the time). I wouldn't have been interested in them if they hadn't incensed me years before, but it was just this irritation that drove me through the doors of the Serpentine Sackler Gallery in February. That was one heck of an exhibition. And had the Turner Prize not managed to piss off my teenage self so poignantly, I wouldn't have gone in.
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