After John and Yoko’s brilliant ‘Double Fantasy’ in the week it’s another holiday for me and I’m having a day out in town looking for Kiara Mohamed and her IndyBiennial18 exhibition ‘Humanscapes.’ Finding Kiara is going to take a little time, so on the way let’s have a look around the Lime Street/St John’s Market end of town. I’m on holiday after all, so I’ve got loads of time.
I am sat on a little purple stool at the John and Yoko ‘Double Fantasy’ Exhibition. I am not quite crying.
I’ve been round the exhibition for the last half hour or so and I think it’s very beautiful. I think so. Though it was quite crowded. I would see it better on a quieter day, so I could come back. I won’t though.
This has been like a memorial service and you don’t go to them twice.
Well done Yoko. This was beautiful. Continue reading “John and Yoko: Double Fantasy”
As you may well have gathered by now I think Kitty’s Launderette is currently one of the best new ideas in a city that’s getting increasingly good at new ideas.
Coming from the streets and communities of Liverpool itself, for the most part, we’re shaping up much of our future from our own ideas and energies. Which is as it should be. We are the people of Liverpool, in all of our joyously argumentative difference, and if we aren’t our own place’s future then who is? Continue reading “Kitty’s Launderette: A Work of Art”
After I wrote about my friend the artist Emma Rushton’s house a couple of weeks ago, some other friends suggested I might like to do a series where I look around some other people’s houses. They thought this could be an interesting development from other writings and work I’ve done on, oh, the meaning of life and home as a human right. They also thought it would be a good nose.
Thanks ‘some other friends!’
So to try out the idea, and because it’s only fair, I’ve decided to follow up the post on Emma’s house with one about where I live. And since I’m writing this and it’s what I do a lot of, here’s ‘The Writer’s House’.
I moved in here with my daughter Clare in September 1991. A three bed terraced house in Wavertree, much like thousands of others in Liverpool. Continue reading “The Writer’s House”
Visiting the home of a friend, who’s also a working artist.
It could reasonably be said that we all love a nose around other people’s houses. To see how they live. Maybe get to get to know them better? Wonder what exactly possessed them to put THAT there? Or, like in the case of artist Emma Rushton’s house, for sheer inspiration.
Let’s have that nose then.
Emma’s lived here for around four years:
‘And in that time I’ve scraped pretty much every inch of the place. It remains a work in progress but it’s definitely a home now.’
A lived in and living home for Emma and her children.
Scraping the place back to see what she’d got and keeping everything she could Emma has carefully created the artist’s house of today. Bringing all her experience as an internationally exhibiting artist into this place of her own. Continue reading “The Artist’s House”
This day didn’t turn out the way I’d roughly intended it to. Though it was clearly going to be grey and at least partially rainy I felt like having one of my walking round Liverpool with a camera days. The sort that sometimes turn into blog posts. Well in the event I didn’t do much walking but here’s the blog post.
I’d always intended to start the day’s walking at the Tate, where I’d been told someone I knew was involved in, well you’ll see what, and then I’d walk on. As it turned out I walked into the gallery shortly after twelve, got involved, and carried on my walking three hours later. Here’s the story.
Those big names from the photos above, together with several more you will probably have heard of are somewhere around the Tate today, but I’m not here for them. I’m here to see some new work and also art being made up in the same gallery. Let’s go. Continue reading “In Liverpool: One Saturday”
Stories of what didn’t work can be as instructive in the long run as things that did. So I’m leaving this here, so others might find it one day…
For some time now I’ve been thinking of writing something on here about Coming Home. For many reasons, some of which I’ll explain, the time’s never seemed quite right. But stories need telling, otherwise how do they become stories? So here goes, the Story of Coming Home:
Whatever kind of maker you are, a maker of things, tools, songs, stories, poems or paintings, the most difficult thing to do is to get going. So many of us are full of the big even beautiful ideas, aren’t we? But how many of them ever amount to something you can show or use or put in a story, let alone live in?
I’ve been thinking about this, this getting going, as some friends and I from The Beautiful Ideas Co have been talking about what Coming Home does next. And as I’ve also been reading a novel by Colm Toíbín called ‘The South.’ I love Colm Toíbín’s writing. He’s a near contemporary and I often find valuable thoughts about life and the living of it from reading his books.
In ‘The South’ I’ve found a particularly relevant gem. It’s in his afterword, where he writes about how hard he’d had to search for the answer to how to get this, his first novel, going.
Being a story he’d wanted to move around Ireland and Catalonia, abstractedly painting their emotional and historical landscapes he talked to an Irish artist, Barrie Cooke, about how he did beginnings:
“You make a mark” he said, as he gestured the making of an almost random mark with an imaginary paint-brush.
Well at Coming Home we made a mark. Continue reading “The Story of Coming Home”
Owned by the local church, just next to their Mission, but not used for some years.
Biscuits, you see, can be art.
In the pub after the second ever showing of ‘Without These Walls’
It’s on Catharine Street, The Caledonia, and has always been there. A good basic pub that went through a few years where it tried out being a launderette too. Not now. These days it’s independently run, does great food, great music and positively encourages the bringing in of dogs. A group of us went there last night.The musicians who gradually assembled around us didn’t have any specific name on the June programme on all the tables. Just ‘Cajun Session.’
You know the sound. Accordion driven, gently compulsive, occasional vocals in a French that’s never been to France. Enthralling. Continue reading “Caledonia: Liverpool”
Due to the nature of the Experiment and the equipment involved we are instructed to turn off our phones and also to take no photographs. I have partial exemption on this, though once we enter the Omphalos Chamber, the core of the Experiment, I will not be allowed to take photographs. Continue reading “At the Invisible Wind Factory”