Art, Photography


Once, a very long time ago, I thought it might be quite cool to be an art curator.

In my teenage mind the job involved about three things: being dead pally with artists (sweet), seeing new art before anyone else did (double awesome) and writing up those little cards next to paintings in galleries and thinking of more and more incomprehensible ways of explaining things (between you and me, the main draw). I also figured this job would include – much like Louise Wilson – British fashion chieftain and course director of Central St Martins Fashion MA course – a uniform of black, sculptural ‘pieces’ from Issey Miyake, and a mad daily routine (Lionel Shriver, author of smash literary hit ‘We Need To Talk About Kevin’ apparently does 2,000 star jumps before bed at 3 a.m.).

For reasons largely to do with intellect, the art curator job didn’t happen, which is a bonus. Because say I had to write my little descriptors, I’d have never been able to write truthful stuff like ‘This is a tree. On a hill. It’s one of a series he did. Quite like the colour. Think the frame is arse. Don’t read into it too much – it’s just a conifer pal’. Neither, in the case of the work included below, would I have been permitted to pen: ‘I can’t decide whether this looks like a plume of psychedelic Octopus ink, an underwater atomic bomb or a complicated jellyfish, but these underwater plumes of inky sculptures are freaking awesome. Seriously, how is Mark Mawson achieving this?’.

Little victories, my friends. Little victories.

{More photos here}


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