Out on the decks again. Tonight the city feels like fumes. Fog-breath over Waterloo Bridge. Swimming against the commuter tide heading south, heading home. I am in Somerset House for the opening of Anthony Burrill’s latest show. Soundtracking the the movement of the invited, the graph geeks in big glasses, the show girls clutching their Chardonnay. Anthony has the top room in this show, he is the top typographical dog, the only one with music, the only one with enough space, the only one with a portrait of the the artist as a young man with a horse.
There’s a prefab photo booth so Wes takes a picture of me and I take a picture of Wes.
And there’s a newspaper called It All Makes Sense. And honestly, it does.