#1 'Pull up a memory,' as Dan used to say
On starting this newsletter and how much I hope you'll stick around
If I’d had you with me in recent months, I’d have told you about a bunch of treasures I’ve come across, in no particular order:
• The Benin pavillion, curated by Azu Nwagbogu, at the 2024 Venice Biennale, titled Everything Precious Is Fragile, featuring most especially Romuald Hazoumè’s central domed structure of halved plastic containers turned masks: a haven in the confusion of the Arsenale. I could have just stayed in there, listening, for hours.
• Being at a truly awesome Arthur Russell tribute show at the Barbican and, because I’d not been paying attention to press releases, experiencing Christine and the Queens appear out of nowhere, alone on stage, to dance and sing for this most beloved of out-there cellists. We had chats in the queue for those magnificent yet embattled loos afterwards about whether that really happened. None of us could quite believe it.
• The wonder that is Pakistani-American painter Salman Toor. When I sent these pics to my friend Laetitia in Marseille, she replied incredulously, “On croit que tout a été fait et puis non.” For real. The hope this fills me with.
• London-based Chinese photographer Sirui Ma at Hackney Gallery, just around the corner from my house. Ma recently said she feels like a “professional noticer”. “Even if I’m just walking with friends, I’m constantly scanning my surroundings and finding small bits of beauty and intrigue. It’s in the quiet moments where we finally see the minutiae that gets overlooked. Those are the vignettes of real life I want to share.”
• Firelei Báez, at South London Gallery (still on until September 8), which I wrote about here and haven’t stopped thinking about since. The tiny paintings, the most excellent neon-on-sand floor piece, the literary references (Ben Okri), the room-wrapping mural (Jordan, a gallery assistant, told me he'd spent hours just looking at this chiguapa’s eyes, which surprise you when you finally see them looking directly at you from between the gorgeous petals.)
So starting now, and once a week (for the moment at least), I’m just going to send you a piece about something that’s wonderful — maybe a show, maybe an artwork, maybe a theme — and the artists behind it all.
Then I’ll add a few more bits: a old song, something I love on TV, a thing I’ve read, a walk I’ve gone on — or a pair of white horses I’ve met in a glade beside a river …
I’ve added you here, because you’re one of the people I always want to go for a walk with. And I do hope you’ll stay. But of course please unsubscribe if you’re feeling overwhelmed. Next week I’ll tell you about some objects of resistance and about people making work in the face of oncoming storms, even people being storms. I leave with my friend, the art historian Alayo Akinkugbe:
Notes
The title of this stack references a photograph by William Eggleston — Untitled, 1974 (Karen Chatham, left, with the artist's cousin Lesa Aldridge, in Memphis, Tennessee), 1974 — that I’ve had tacked to the wall above every desk I’ve worked at for longer than I can remember. It features one girl, in a blue dress with white ruffles, lying on a floral sofa with downcast eyes, and her friend, in a batik print red and white dress, leaning in with a gentle gesture and a direct gaze, as if to simply say, I’m here. I’m right here. (As it turns out, that’s exactly what she was saying.)
World of Echo
This week I’ve had, on steady rotation:
Low, Belarus (always)
Rema, Calm Down (just won’t fade)
Yamê, Bécane (What a video. Definitely into bike posses right now, see Daniel Kaluuya’s The Kitchen. Last year when the secondary school across the road from my kid’s primary school had a prom, one couple arrived in a cream-coloured four-wheel drive and a proper crowd gathered, blocking the road entirely, phones out all over the place. then a few bikers arrived and started revving, making their tires smoke and leaving skidmarks on the tarmac I kept looking at for days after. I stood next to two kids, all of us in awe at the spectacle, and one said to the other, “it’s the revolution bruh”.)
Zach Bryan, Pink Skies (man this guy’s way with an almost nothing story...
“So clean the house, clear the drawers
Mop the floors, stand tall
Like no one's ever been here
Before or at all
And don't you mention all the inches
That are scraped on the doorframe
We all know you tiptoed
Up to 4'1" back in '08”)
Anna Meredith’s soundtrack for The End We Start From
Pull up a memory
When I was at the Slade, this is how my friend Dan would greet you, so you’d sit down and have a chat. I’d love to know what all this makes you think of — a bit like going for a walk with a friend.
Walking as a state of mind
Because it’s what keeps me sane: this week’s maps
A walk with you to see things through your eyes, why would I not make time for that! Looking forward to our next walk/post x
I like the maps of the walks you’ve done. I remember the scenery from when we visited, the drive down into the valley from the escarpment above, through forest canopy, the twists and turns, the pines, the beech trees and oaks, shading out the blue bright sky above. The road surface has been relaid, so it was super smooth…ready for the descent of the TdF! Then we arrived at the river…you were there!