Went to see an exhibition of portraits by the artist Sarah Moon in Brick Lane a couple of weeks ago, including 2 portraits of A4’s PhD friend T.
This made me laugh. Sometimes the Ex says very similar things. I can totally sympathise with this view – I feel the same way about academia:
So dry. So flavorless. Like eating an entire carton of the driest crackers; Why can’t they just add a little masala, a nice duck liver pate? Anything to spice it up a bit.
So badly written: Why can’t they fucking using punctuation like normal people? Is there any need for such gratuitous use of run-on sentences? (No, there really isn’t).
Why can’t academics just write some nice sci-fi-fantasy-erotica about a English Lit. professor having a variety of saucy affairs with creatures of various genders on an intergalactic adventure trip?
I don’t want to read about how “The epistemology of post-capitalist hegemony is always already participating in the historicization of the gendered body.”
Who the fuck does?
Some of Sarah’s Portraits below.
Some Brick Lane Graffiti:
After the show, Sarah, the Ex & I went on a quest to find some food.
The Brick Lane restaurant peddlers were out in force, trying to wrangle us into their various restaurants. (None of which inspired us with any confidence.)
This naturally made the Ex’s hackles rise almost immediately. (The Ex does not care to be wrangled! How very dare you!)
Right away the Ex was glaring and uttering blatant hostilities at the restaurant men urging us to enter into their lairs of lame food.
Holy Diana Dodi!
Before the Ex went to war with the wranglers, we picked one of the restaurants. The artwork on the walls was what swayed me.
The food was dire, the service shocking, but not for the world would I have missed these gems.
All of them (I haven’t captured the magic of them all here, sadly) were of saucy angel girls and demons.
Except one, rather randomly, of Lady Diana smiling benightedly down at the diners.
All the lurid colours, the boobies, the hint of erotica…the giant Diana beaming down. Someone tried to scratch out her left eye but it just looks like a single tear, which I think only adds to the appeal.
Diana is watching over us all, even when we are doing dirty things in the sky.
I should have taken more photos, but the Ex already grilled one of the waiters so angrily about the artist and why didn’t he know more about him, that I’m pretty sure that was why it took them 45 mins to serve us. My prancing about photographing the artwork couldn’t have helped.
These were my favs.
On the way home, at the Ex’s prompting, another Brick Lane wrangler pulled me over,
looked deep into my eyes,
paused as he judged me
and then pronounced with the voice of a seer that I wasn’t an Indian.
I’ve lived here so long he may even be right. 😦
Instead of Durga, may Diana smile down on me forever from now on.