Exhibition at VI, VII in Oslo

He said, 'Mankind have a strong attachment to the habitations to which they have been accustomed. You see the inhabitants of Norway do not with one consent quit it, and go to  some part of America, where there is a mild climate, and where they may have the same produce from land, with the tenth part of the labour. No, Sir; their affection for their old dwellings, and the terrour of a general change, keep them at home. Thus, we see many of the finest spots in the world thinly inhabited, and many rugged spots well inhabited.' 

I'm travelling with Dr Johnson, tempered by the emollient Boswell.

Nowadays, Americans go to Norway. Esperanza Rosales forsook Brooklyn for Oslo where she set up an art gallery. It's called VI, VII and pronounced 'sixes and sevens' in a sort of reverse Featherstonehaugh.

Another import, Richard Bowers, is a Sinatra-style crooner from Taunton, now settled in Oslo where his Greek girlfriend runs a restaurant.

It's egalitarian here. 'They don't say "please",' Richard confides. 'They don't need to. Vær så snill. I learned it but I never use it.'




'Publick practice of any art, (he observed,) and staring in men's faces, is very indelicate in a female.'

But I've got permission to draw in the Supreme Court of Norway so off I go - see here.

Much enquiry having been made concerning a gentleman, who had quitted a company where Johnson was, and no information being obtained; at last Johnson observed, that "he did not care to speak ill of any man behind his back, but he believed the gentleman was an attorney."

Oh for God's sake.



The exhibition Back to Life shows my drawings of the progress of The Violet Crab, a cabaret-themed exhibition by Than Hussein Clark at the David Roberts Art Foundation in London which I've blogged about here (there's more than one post so please scroll down).

The Oslo gallery VI, VII is at Tordenskiolds gate 12; please check opening times online; closes 17 July.

The dancer in the pictures is Ayumi LaNoire.

More pictures if you scroll down.

My drawing of photographer Josh Redman - not his photos

Oslo shop window

Drawing The Violet Crab, part 6

Weaving past the sunlit drunks of Camden, I arrive at the gallery with an accessory I found, which will enhance someone else's wardrobe: a hat from Oxfam made in the shape of a spermatozoon with twinkly bits on.

Outside, James the photographer is faced with talking to me or a brick wall.

'Man up,' he says. 'Free yourself. And stop using that red paper.'

I peer out from under the weight of the four beds and four armchairs I've just put on Freecycle, the cobwebby garage and shed full of reproach down the A3, the three-ton Kenwood Chef with dough hook, the hat brush with 'HAT.' including the full stop spelt out in brown and white bristles, the eternally flat mother-of-pearl-inlaid iron-frame piano, all of which has to be disappeared next week along with the rest of the family silt and regret. Empty. Dead.

'Have you got some masking tape?' says James. 'You could stick some big sheets of paper on that wall.' 

I'm drawing the progress of The Violet Crab, a cabaret-themed exhibition directed by Than Hussein Clark at the David Roberts Art Foundation in Camden, which ends on 2 May. Subjects here are Jean Capeille, Seiriol Davies, Chiara Fumai, Celia Hempton, Zhana Ivanova, Ayumi LaNoire, Marco Scuri, Tojan Thomas Browne, Taylor Yates.

The Violet Crab at DRAF, part 5

I could do with an eclipse. The lights go down, the spotlight hits me in the face and I have to look away. My drawing paper is in shadow. I'm drawing the cabaret as part of the cabaret - the performance centrepiece of The Violet Crab exhibition at the David Roberts Art Foundation in Camden.

As there are bondage performers around I've been bound with a rope chest harness over my dress.  It leaves me free to move and breathe, but is good for posture and the tightness is consoling. The rope has been oiled and smoked so my dress takes on a barbecue-y smell.


Adam, stunning in shiny black stilettos and Thatcher-blue eye shadow, hurls out pain and power ballads to an accordion he got in a car boot sale. Javier, elegantly simian, tears off his tie and does a funny, abandoned striptease. Celia, in motorcycle leathers, punches a man in a hoodie who remains unconcerned.

Nina ties Ayumi in a mesmerising display of Japanese rope bondage, having already tied the legs of the faithful little sewing table which holds my art kit. Toilet roll, sheep's wool, tip of a white man's dreadlock - what's in yours? Then Ayumi dances on the golden pole, a romantic world away from Spearmint Rhino.

Offstage, Maria is reading Tarot. I pick a card. Judgement. The dead awakening at the last trump. I'm preoccupied with the past and need to make adjustments for the future. I think of my drawings stored in softly collapsing piles of Hunter Wellington boot boxes, smelling faintly of rubber.

Subjects in this post - there were other performers - include Javier Aparicio, Jean Capeille, Adam Christensen, Anja Dietmann, Chiara Fumai, Than Hussein Clark (designer/director of exhibition and cabaret), Ayumi LaNoire, Maria Loboda, Fion Pellacini, Nina Russ, Adrien Schmitt,  Tojan Thomas Brown, Sarah de Winter, Taylor Yates, members of the audience. The photographer in the drawing is Josh Redman; the dim photos are not his fault. The cabaret is over but the exhibition continues until 2 May.

More pictures if you scroll down.

My exhibition of Supreme Court drawings continues at Pinsent Masons' Broadgate office until 17 April.

Shibari rehearsal at The Violet Crab

Shibari stars Nina Russ and Bruce Esinem kindly agree to tie the legs of my gallant little sewing table, a rescue job from Portobello.

I cleared out the rusty pins under its floral lining, and now it holds the art clobber which I need for drawing-the-cabaret-as-part-of-the-cabaret. This isn't strictly speaking bondage - it doesn't change the shape of the table or restrict its movement.



We are at The Violet Crab, the cabaret-themed exhibition at the David Roberts Art Foundation in Camden. Nina is rehearsing with Ayumi LaNoire.

As they are not performing to amplified music, I hear for the first time the sound of bondage rope being played over bamboo. It is like breathing.