yinka

it was a party for the artist (he certainly has a sense of humour - those fabrics shown in the link are traditional african ones, of course) at his studio in broadway market. he has an illness that has paralyzed one side of his body and therefore finds it difficult to walk. his studio has been outfitted with a lift: a clear lucite box lit from within by neon-ish lights. halfway through the evening it descended from the heavens (the second floor) into the midst of the dancing gallerists and young collectors. it was so obscene i wanted to take a picture, but that might have been equally grotesque.



from the art party a small gift taken from the kitchen. proffered by the staff, i carried them all the three-hour way home. a man in a kilt two rows ahead of me on the bus asked me if i was a bride, after he offered me a pound for my pen.
"no," i replied.
"a bridesmaid then?"
"oh thank god, no." i smiled.