Sunday, April 02, 2006

From Navels to Nipples

The tiny bar, Hat on Wall, is on Hatton Wall (geddit?) where we go for the launch of Giorgio Sadotti's book, From Navels to Nipples Henry Moore. I talk to Mari Reijnders and Lisa Penny. Naturally, we talk a bit about Becks and Mari talks about the problems with prizes and how he doesn't agree with them. Lisa asks him if someone wanted to give him 25K for doing artwork whether he would turn it down. He wouldn't. But he's not so happpy. After one particularly lengthy declaration he says, 'I'm really not an idealist'. And of course, I think: how often people most precisely describe themselves when emphatically declaring what they are not. Rachel Tweddell arrives and we talk some more. We are all very impressed with Giorgio's beautiful book, but like most of Giorgio's work it takes a bit of questioning. There are pages from books in the Henry Moore library reproduced with circles cut out of them. I know that the radius of the circle is determined by the distance in the image between navel and nipple. We also notice that the holes get bigger throughout the book. And where the holes are, can we see through to the next page? And what is the view on the other page, with just a circle and no surrounding page? And why these images? In this order? In this way? Then we talk about other stuff: art, shows, beck's (again), collecting, business cards (Mari's one has a drawing of himself done by a ten year old boy they know. It's a lovely little piece of ephemera and I slip it carefully in my wallet), and then, finally, Rachel and I have a very satisfying conversation about...cats. And we exchange theories that we have heard. Mine: that cats look upon us wondering when we will evolve enough to walk on all fours. Rachel's: that cats believe when their owners come home from work at night and feed them that they have spent the day out hunting for this food. Then the brilliant Superqueens start playing and we move to the back to watch. I get a photo of Giorgio (above) and he says, 'I saw a photo of myself on your website thing.' Oh, yes,' I say, not sure if he is about to lamp me one, 'if you're not happy about it, you can just email me and I'll take it down.' 'No,' he says, 'it's fine. I was just surprised, that's all.' I take a couple of photos of the band, then bump in to John Tiney with his Russian Submarine Commander look. Apparently a friend had cut his hair for him. Then John had to go straight to the nearest barber's to have it sorted out. When he got there and took off his hat all three barber's stopped what they were doing and just looked at him.
Luckily, they sorted him out. I leave, thinking about holes and cats, my ears ringing with the Superqueens' 'you're a lap dancer, you're a lap dancer, you're a lap dancer...' following me home.


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