My Blog

I love The Clapton Hart. It wears it’s decay proudly. It feels no shame. As a guest, the hosts serve and amuse and sparkle. It’s vast lobby does not weigh but lifts up and up and up. The more contained back rooms comfort and surprise. A shelf of old mystery novels would sit so comfortably in a corner. The patios as complicated as the interior. It’s years showing in natural and unnoticed ways, as cupboards fill over time.

Saw Madge Gill work at the William Morris gallery this week. I love her textiles. How were they made? They don’t lay flat. Look worn. Detailed. Magic in their complexity. So tactile. Weight. Cover up the boredom of repetition by tiny changes in the combined whole. I saw a photo of her wearing a dress she made out of her work. It was so personal. So exciting. The personal in clothing is difficult. Too many mirrors, magazines, internet. They crush us personally.