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Seer of ghosts & weaver of stories

(You are very much not forgotten)

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London Diary
SpeechMotion attendance on Tuesday evening was primarily restricted to a small handful of locals, lifegivingsword, snowballjane, and my Flipped Eye colleague Camilla Reeve. Add an over-boisterous, constantly scampering-about dog to the event starting late and...yes. I think everybody does that gig once in their life. Also, we had a devil of a time finding the Horse & Groom; in the process, we ended up walking from Whitechapel to Shoreditch via Brick Lane in the rain.

Yesterday: the Tate Modern. James and I had never gone before, so we decided to give it a try. About the only wing I really enjoyed was the one thematically titled Poetry & Dream. Otherwise, I came away somewhat unimpressed. Dammit, where are they hiding the Chagall paintings that their website claims they have?

MESSAGE TO THOSE WHO REQUESTED HOLIDAY CARDS: I picked up a bunch of blank sketchbook postcards at the Tate gift shop and decided I'm going to draw or stamp designs onto them myself. I beg pardon for any artistic lameness that may result!

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I don't remember any paintings whatsoever, but it HAS been five years since I was there last. But most of it seemed to be more ... sculpture. The only thing that I liked was a full-room installation of a bunch of stuff from a shed that the British army had blown up, and it had been suspended like a mobile. Not that I would have wanted it in my house, but the effort of it, and the fact that no part of it touched was cool.

But yeah, modern art usually makes my hair fall out of my head in dismay.

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