• Mood: still rather sweaty. Thunder, please.
• Music: BORN TO LOSE

Strange Solstice...

I went from the park to the NPG, to check out the new Porrait Awards show. It was bloody packed, which was a nuisance, with pushy gits, although it was only 11, or so. Fap. Must say that there were a fair number of pieces that were more interesting than usual. (Not the winners, of course...) I especially liked the stuff by Carl Randall, who won last year's Travel Award, and went to Tokyo with it. Vaguely creepy images of Japan and its pepe. They invited long looking-at, but you couldn't really with all the milling about. The thing that really got to me, though, was a little show I'd not even realised was on, of George Catlin's portraits of North American Indians. They're stunningly beautiful, strong and full of soul. I fell in love on the spot with the splendid young warrior 'Rabbit Skinn Leggings', who was an irresistible combination of dignity and hotness. Yow.


This doesn't do the painting justice. The colours are so deep, rich, and vivid. Unfortunately, the exhibit closes on the 23rd. I was lucky to stumble upon it. If you're in the area over the weekend, do yourself a favour, and check it out. There's some big to-do in Trafalgar Square, too. 'West End Live', with the casts of various musicals performing excerpts. It's free.
Outside, I was suddenly accosted by a beautiful Russian girl who introduced herself as Tatiana and admired my trousers. (Actually pj bottoms; black with white lip prints all over them-) I thought for a giddy second that it was Be Kind to Hideous Bi-Curious Old Boilers Day or something, but she proceeded to foist some photocopied excerpts from something called THE KNOWLEDGE BOOK upon me. I haven't really looked at it yet, but it seems to be some very complicated religious cult thing. Oh well...
I popped into Canada House, which has become so scary, with all the heavy security. I wasn't frisked this time, but my trolley was examined with great efficiency. Only the weeny little gallery which was displaying some contemporary Inuit art pieces was open to the public, and you're not allowed to walk through the building any more. You have to go out the way you came in, with button-pressing, under the scrutiny of the security bods.  By that time, I'd actually had my shot of culture for the day, so skipped the ICA's KEEP YOUR TIMBER LIMBER willy-waving 'works on paper.' It's just opened, so there's plenty of time.