I have been in bed with flu since early on Tuesday evening. It is now Friday morning. So don’t expect much originality for the next two days at least.
When short of a blog, my first port of call is usually my old e-diaries.
Below is something which happened on this day in 1999 – sixteen years ago. I have absolutely no memory of anything like this ever happening. Did I mention that I have a shit memory? But this is what is in my e-diary. So it did happen.
The Dalí exhibition itself was worth seeing but, roaming round the rest of the Tate, I realised I had forgotten what a pretentious load of pseudo-intellectual twaddle modern art is.
There was one very nice Barbara Hepworth sculpture – basically a smooth brown sphere opened up to reveal smooth round white shapes. Very nice. Sadly, the note attached said it was “inspired by the landscape of Cornwall”.
Yeah. Sure. Cornwall is a big conker.
There was also a “video presentation” called HORSE IMPRESSIONISTS in which a succession of women did impressions on videotape of horses by whinnying and, in one case, a woman flapping her hands with limp wrists.
There were also four shelves with sea-shells propped up on them which, it was claimed, was a work “by” Damien Hirst.
Yeah. And I’m presenting my collection of dust to the Tate.
One exhibit was a series of tiny rectangular slit mirrors attached to the wall.
One of the museum keepers said to me: “When people look in them, they don’t realise that they’re looking at themselves!”
Yeah. Like they think they have a twin, maybe?
The highlight of my Dalí day was that, as I was looking at a painting, I saw out of the corner of my eye a blind woman with a white stick come into the exhibition….
The idea of a blind woman going to a surrealist painting exhibition was worth the trip to Liverpool in itself.