This is a sequel to Carry On Culture
The end of the short month didn’t bring any let up in activity as March started with me being out every night of the week. And what a week of contrasts. In brief: Monday Kyoto at Sohoplace after visiting the Goya to Impressionism exhibition at the Courtauld. Exhibition brilliant with paintings never seen outside Switzerland and collector parallels between Oskar Reinhart and Samuel Courtauld – good to have been a fly-on-the-wall at their meeting.
The play Kyoto was scarily excellent showing the lies and horse-trading of the climate change summit brilliantly performed by a large ensemble cast in which we the audience were very much involved with some actually sitting at the huge debating chamber table.
Tuesday couldn’t be more different but equally poignant and dramatic. At The Royal Court A Knock on the Roof was a nearly ninety-minute monologue by writer Khawla Ibraheem in which she portrayed the horror of a mother in Gaza with a young child and an ageing mother rehearsing how she would react when the ‘knock’ of a non-explosive or small bomb hit the apartment block as a five-minute warning before the real bombs drop.
What do you take, how far can you run, what if you’re on the loo or in the shower? It depicted the horror so much more effectively than all the photographs of the rubble by giving this intensely personal version of life as a Palestinian. A phenomenal piece of work all round.
Wednesday saw my second visit to Sadler’s Wells East, this time to see Jasmin Vardimon’s Now a 25-year retrospective of her contemporary choreography. I had planned to go with friends Rosa and Hattie and was pleasantly surprised to be joined in the bar by Pete and Julie, friends from the Watford FC family.
The auditorium proved a wonderful venue, the dance was superb mixing humour, drama and sophistication in the most brilliant amalgam of on stage and projected performances. Stunningly brilliant – a great first show at the new venue followed by a fascinating and insightful Q&A. And we made it back to the station without getting lost or having to go through the horror that is Westfield.
Thursday saw me head for the Almeida in Islington to see Otherland a play about transitions – one gender, one pregnancy by Chris Bush. While there were moments that moved me, I found the songs intrusive and not musically interesting and the whole structure a bit of a mess but then maybe that was the point – trans life is not easy or straightforward.
The highest quality artistic experience was restored on Friday with a lunch time recital of their album Battle Cry – She Speaks by Helen Charlston – what a treat twice in a week – and Toby Carr with his lute. The ease with which they jump from seventeenth century Strozzi and Purcell to the new song cycle written for them by Owain Park was mesmeric. The concert was given to a full one o’clock Wigmore Hall audience and was ecstatically recieved as was the Barbara Strozzi encore.
I then went for a light Spanish lunch with my friend Jadwiga and then strolled down Bond Street to the Halcyon Gallery which was showing stunning photorealistic oils by Mitch Griffiths, highly stylised photographs by David LaChapelle and across the street a surprisingly impressive (God you’re a snob Raggett!) exhibition of paintings and drawings by Bob Dylan – Grammys. Nobel, Turner next? Then I went for a fine dinner at the Union Club with our niece Kate to round off a fortnight of conversations, culture and fun.
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