Portrait by Saied Dai.
Portrait by Saied Dai.
Synaesthete would like to meet
Other synaesthetes describe their experiences as pleasant whilst for me it is a constant sensory overload…. pick up any cheap paperback that uses too many mixed metaphors and that is my day to day, with all attempts at clarity squandered by confusing, muddled leaps of imagery. I see fireflies when a tyre screeches, smell fried onions when I step on an upturned plug…
Online dating marked a huge step. At first I found the profile I created absolutely disgusting. Reading through it, the paragraph smelt of tar and vinegar and was full of sticky, tooth-chewing words. I had no hope of response to such a squalid, acrid thing, and imagined that anyone to whom it might in any way appeal must have some kind of perversion I did not want to share. You must understand that it was not just that I did not have high hopes, I actively dreaded who would be interested in such a thing. I gave it to my doctor to edit, and he gave me two thumbs up, but I could tell by his tweedy, neoprenaged vowels, he was just being kind.
Your email back, however, smelt like a sea breeze: that was all it took. I didn’t have to read about the interests you listed, your hobbies or your star sign. It was that sea breeze smell, cutting through the snow and mown grass, that convinced me this was a chance I had to take. I organised a meeting.
You chose a spot at Piccadilly, within sight of Eros and the Criterion. I like Piccadilly Circus; the exhaust fumes and the chatter present me with a fresh inky blue, it’s almost precisely the colour of the line on the Tube map. To me the flashing neon adverts are a barbershop quartet suffering the giggles, which pleases me, and the tourists’ interbraiding accents cause a firework display of neurological responses. The taxi drivers’ swearing is accompanied by different shades of silver, squeaky and lickable.
As I waited, the rain made a pink overture against my jacket. And your colour, when you introduced yourself? You must not be insulted, but you were blank. A soundless, tasteless, brilliant blank.
From “Attrib. and other stories by Eley Williams”, a book I’m rushing to buy after hearing this extract read aloud on the Backlisted podcast.
I was pretty sceptical when I heard that Somerset House was putting on a show about perfume, and even more so that it would be done in the manner of a contemporary art installation. Well that’ll show me – it was actually great fun, very well thought out, would be perfect to do either on a date or with friends, and is actually both non-intimidating and witty, a real achievement for a craft that is second only to wine-making for jargon, history and insiders’ snobbism.
As the notes to the show said, self-taught perfumiers are now breaking the mould, getting away both from the stuffiness of some schools, and the idea of scent as a marketing product. I won’t tell you too much about the perfumes in this exhibition as the whole point of the showing is to have a guessing game / voyage of discovery of your own, but you can see from the pictures above how inventive the sets were. In other rooms you smelt white cotton scarves or brilliant liberty-style print pouches, whilst the room with “paint pots” inspired this response from some other visitors:
I didn’t get so creative myself, but enjoyed the game of hide and seek, and the weekend I went there was also an interesting series of presentations from perfumiers at the end in the testing lab.
PS in the first room you smelt the bowling balls…it felt quite James Bond, actually.
I saw this late work by Alma-Tadema (better known for his massive classical set pieces) over at Leighton House on a pouring wet day earlier this month. Leighton House itself is pretty stunning, with an “Arab Hall” inspired by Syria and Sicily and an entrance of deep peacock blue tiles, so the perfect setting for Alma-Tadema’s equally lush art.
Rather nicely, the two artists actually knew each other and Leighton recommended his architect to Alms Tadema, when he bought Tissot’s house in St John’s Wood and decided to remodel it to include extra studios for his wife and each of his daughters. This exhibition’s well worth a trip, especially for the films showing how Alma Tadema’s art has influenced film depictions of Ancient Rome, and for a reconstruction of the “panel room”, where artistic visitors were asked to paint a contribution before leaving.
photos of Leighton House from my visit.
Toulouse has two main art museums which are converted monasteries, now with peaceful cloisters, deck chairs for tourists and collections of religious art. The Musee des Augustins is the bigger – and if I were to guess, the wealthier, a huge red brick building that reminded me of London’s V&A.
The cloisters and gothic architecture are certainly great, while the main staircase is totally throwing out the Harry Potter vibes, but for me the absolute coup was this downstairs hall which paired sci-fi-Essie lights with a great display of earthy and funny Romanesque capitols taken from the basilica of St Sernin.
It was witty and striking without denigrating either the old or new, and done with a sense of humour that sadly most modern art galleries (Tate, I’m looking at you) lack entirely.
Probably my favourite place to see in Toulouse?
Sorry/not sorry for the shouty capitals, but if you are in or visiting London then YOU MUST GO to Coin Street, one of the backroads between Waterloo and the Southbank, and the restaurant Sticky Mango.
I’m still having dreams about the Singapore-style crab with creamy tomato sauce, the pin-sharp taste of the oysters, and of course the eponymous sticky mango dessert, made up to look like a fried egg. All photos from Sticky Mango’s website and Twitter feed.
Jesuit church, Mannheim 2017.
Outside cool and rational alcoves, statues, terraces. Inside, this world of flamboyant, excessive femininity.
And a gold organ…
Not very seasonal, but absolutely stunning. I like how the frozen lighthouse looks like a chess piece. Picture via @historylvrsclub on Twitter.
Their churches in Vienna…(obviously. The holiday snaps are nearly done.)
Karlskirche is like an icing-sugar white version of St Peter’s outside, with a lake built before it to reflect it
It’s a church of St Charles Borromeo, who can be seen on the frescoes of the dome, along with other saints and angels, a cabbage and a stream of gold coins.
The light in this window reminded me of the Rad Cam in Oxford, as did St Peter’s dome, which appears down a side street,
Inside was lots more carving and gold, along with some bizarre (symbolic?) flouorescdnt pink rocks and tennis balls on a stick.
Much nicer than the rather dull cathedral though…
Wrapping up the church crawl was Liverpool’s Catholic cathedral
The Lutyens crypt was shut when we visited, so I only saw the post-war upper half.
I suspect it’s the glory anyway. A space-ship like round congregation allows everyone access to the altar, excluding no-one
and round the edges, a series of deep-set chapels each private and each home to a different colour and mood.
The chapels give a moment of privacy and reflection within the wider celebration and I can’t choose a favourite.
Photos May 2017.