Friday, March 17, 2006


march 17th

Current level of conviction in own genius (out of 10): 9 (creative admin genius)
Hours of creative activity achieved in last 24 hours: 6 (creative admin that is)
Hair day: bit short and un-style-able. Went to Green's in Hoxton, not massively impressed with my 'lesbian/prisoner of war in strange '60s hippie camp' look.


Have had manically busy few days of being Miss Creative Administrator 2006, fired up to the eyeballs with artistic ideas and soundtracked by feverish note-scribbling. If I ignore the trifles of primary school crowd control, the week has been a very positive one: I've been sorting juice's vocals/electronics/visuals extravanganza at Cargo in May (cue mad hand-waving in the face of slightly bemused spnm lass at talk of Bjork covers and throat-singing), plus setting up a funky little gig at the cutesome Redgate Gallery in Brixtonia (a space so naturally echoey you could half-whisper the phonetic 'sk' and half the railway arch would fall down). Yesterday juice did some Meredith Monk-esque improv and recording in the Royal Academy of Music studios plus throwing about of ideas encompassing live vocals and film juxtaposition. Today I charted the National Gallery's horribly tourist-polluted waters in search of paintings with which to get my Junior Trinity kids to compose dance pieces, leading to animated talk of contorted dynamics and pointillist forms. This was swiftly followed by a creative meeting with my visual artist of choice, Harriet Poole, to discuss pinhole photography and Uta Berth-inspired images for Cargo. Creative meetings also include tea, cake and in-depth discourse over boys and shoes, obviously…

All these lunch meetings has entailed a dedicated survey of new places to eat, drink and be creatively merry. This week I have made the acquaintance of MTR Studio 23 on Charlotte Road in Shoreditch, a hilarious couldn't-be-more-Nathan-Barley-if-it-tried cafĂ©/film/space, where I sat in a booth on an old cinema seat, watching a Japanese movie on silent and grimacing into an extremely bad latte. Much cooler was the Photographer's Gallery, an oasis of contemporary coolness amidst the grimy stewpot of Leicester Square. Wholesome rainbows of food and green tea from rolled-up jasmine leaves that uncurled coyly in the cup. We have also now appointed The Camel on Globe Road, E2, as our local (well, Charlie's Bar is our actual local in distance terms, but I'm opting out of bleeding cheeks and being forced to sing Foreigner on karaoke night for the moment). It’s a sedate, baroquely-wallpapered and dark-wooded haven with an ole joanna in the corner and a menu consisting only of pies. Beats your conventional youth-pub with its noise and smoke and new-fangled jukeinthebox or whatever you call it…. London rocks!

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