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The clever and cultured Badger, one of my favourite bloggers, took these incredible photos of the Tate Modern Street Art exhibition.
God I wish I lived in London. If you could bottle all the me wishing I lived in London, you could make it power a rocket that would take me all the way to the moon. Which would be slightly irritating, because I would rather the bloody bottle rocket could just drop me off as it passed London. For a start, I don't think this exhibition will be showing on the moon.
The other weird think about me wishing I lived in London is that everyone I know who lives in London seems to hate it. For e.g., one of my old school friends I've just got back in facebook with has been living in London for over a decade but now she's coming back to live in Melbourne. Whereas everyone who lives in Melbourne seems to love it. Indeed, paradoxically, I am one of those people who lives in Melbourne and thinks it's absolutely pretty much pretty bloody perfect. I moved halfway cross the country and halfway cross the world to be here. I think it genuinely is the world's most livable city. And I live in what is objectively** the best part of it.
AND, more's to the actual point of the post, Melbourne is is hardly a stranger to the spray can, and in fact may be considered the street art capital of Australia. See Geordie's work in the post below, which was just some bloody anonymous alleyway we happened across in Collingwood.
When I was younger — say 30 — it was very fashionable in my crowd to be tired of London in order to prove you were NOT tired of life. Oh, it was all New York New York then. It was all Bristol and Bangkok. It was Saigon, where I lived for two years myself.
But I was always loyal. I loved London then, and I love London now.
Badger's posts always make me love London. Specially this one.
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Meanwhile, look at the first photo from the Tate again, and then consider JR, a French photographer, and his rendition of Otis from Liberia. There's something neatly symbiotic about the two artworks — as if they're pointing at each other. According to JR, his work "mixes Art and Act, talks about commitment, beauty, freedom, identity and limit. He is an artivist, extract of artist and activist."
You know how most artists are full of shit? JR isn't.
Please watch the video.
OTIS - LIBERIA // LONDON
Uploaded by JR
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Okay. You've all seen it. But it's humungous. And it is beautiful. But I'm poor and haven't got the moolah to pop over yet. Soon, but.
* Or near enough. See here.
** If by "objectively" you mean "subjectively". I'm going to take you some photos of where I live in the next couple of days. I'm going to prove something to you. You're going to be impressed. Prepare.
P.S. For all of youse wondering why I don't just go the fuck to London, it's VISA — you got it? Can't get a GODDAMN visa.
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3 comments:
Since I know this, "Australian citizens intending to visit Britain for less than six months either for a holiday or on business do not normally require a visa- unless you have previously been denied entry to Britain."
How come, it has to be an interesting story? Please feel free to send me where it will never freeze over.
Wow, thanks for that, Miss Schlegel!
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An updated version of Johnson's quotation should probably go along the lines of "when a person is tired of London, he or she is tired of spending hours on overcrowded public transport on the way to jobs that don't pay enough to cover the ridiculously high cost of living in the capital". Hmmm, not quite so catchy though, I admit.
For all its faults - and there are many - after 12 years here I do still love London; I try to hate it, but I just can't bring myself to - it's just too stimulating, too intriguing, too beautiful, and too much fun! Melbourne is high up on my list of places for when the inevitable day comes though.... Anyway, I hope my posts will give you something to look forward to until you get that visa sorted out.
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What a wonderful video, very moving.
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There are plans for an 'Angel of the South', something equally iconic to impress train passengers with when they emerge from the channel tunnel. Incidentally, Antony Gormley, the creator of the Angel of the North, actually designed some of the street furniture (metal bollards) near me in south London.
Godzilla! Wrote long reply. Computer crashed.
Briefly, Dianna, yes, I could get a tourist (non)visa and if I had the money I'd go tomorrow. Hopefully Wilcox and I will get there later this year or early next. But to live there for a couple of years. Earn money. That is what's so hard — impossible in fact. I'd really need a company to sponsor me — but I'm freelance editor/writer/trainer , there are millions of mes, and I've got no contacts.
So, no interesting story, I'm afraid. Although I've got an interestingish story about when I first turned up at Heathrow a decade ago. Because I'd been in Asia for two years they thought I was either:
1. a drug smuggler, or WORSE
2. an English teacher.
I was the latter. They suspected I might work. The put me in a cold, lonely room with a terrified African man. How I wish now I'd talked to him, but I was petrified too. I was petrified I'd have to go back to Australia, which I'd completely forgotten about and had no framework for thinking about.
Meanwhile, they loudspeakered my friend who'd come to pick me up, and interviewed him. We were "um friends" (google it) — we'd shagged a few times, and I was madly in love with him, and he was a teensy bit in love with in me. But despite that disparity, we were without question bestest friends — we had travelled together and had adventures together and adored each other.
So they interviewed him. We weren't allowed to see each other first. He (stupidly) thought it would sound better if he convinced the immigration guy that I was his girlfriend, he knew me intimately and I would be living with him. I (intelligently) thought it would be better if I said, "Who? Oh, him. Yeah, just some guy I met travelling. I mean, I can hardly wait to get back to my REAL boyfriend at home." That is, I was trying to sound like I really was just visiting, not planning to marry my longterm love and take someone's millenry job or whatever English ladies do.
After some convincing and lots of tears and THREE BLOODY HOURS, the interrogation finished. I left the African guy to a fate I do not know, but I like to think he lives somewhere posh in London, with a couple of particularly cute mixed race kids. But the funny part was when the immigration officer walked me to the door.
"Um, there's one thing I think you should know."
"Yes," I said.
"Your friend..." He looked a little awkward. "Um, I think he has feelings for you. You seem to see your relationship a bit differently. You may need to have... a chat."
Sound advice it was too.
Badger, thank YOU my good fellow.
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