Damien Hirst – our Damien – the original YBA, bad-boy artist, and art-world money-bags. This substantial show at Tate Modern, amazingly his first major public-institution show in the UK, features all his greatest hits and turns out to be a not un-coherent exhibition.

Because it turns out that no matter how familiar you are with the shark(s), butterflies, medicine, spots, spins, and of course diamonds, they are still powerful enough in the flesh.

It surely also counts as a conversational necessity to see what will inevitably be a much-discussed blockbuster of an exhibition, certainly one likely to generate more controversy than say Leonardo or Hockney.

In addition, whatever his merits (or otherwise), “The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living” remains an all-time great title quite independent of the piece itself, and to re-enjoy other parts of the work (we’re thinking the “In and Out of Love” butterfly room in particular) is a pleasure.

Overview: prepare to be baffled by the skull, shocked by the shark, and knowing about the absence of “No Love Lost” works – and if you thought you knew it all already, you probably did, but it’s worth a visit anyway.

Taking the street style and swagger of Hip Hop, Streetpole is about finding new ways to interact with the environment, bringing colour and life to the mundane street furniture we walk past every day, creating unique moments of performance captured through film and photography.

Follow team NCG in this 10 minute adrenaline fuelled non stop moving film as they invade East London and her streets.

Another great show from Mummery + Schnelle in Great Titchfield Street – Point – Horizon – Structure: Photography and Experience - bringing together three artists for a photography-heavy group show themed around perception.

We particularly liked Jyll Bradley’s installation at the front of the gallery – the lightbox is fantastic and makes for a beguiling start to the show, not least on a dark evening in Nohowhere. Further in, we’ve always been big fans of Paul Caffell’s platinum prints, self-referential, abstract and entirely representational, they have a purity of image and a beautiful tonality. And rounding off the triptych of creators is Terry Smith, who presents a number of works covering his practice in photography, drawing and film, including his great photograph of a Tate intervention.

Get down there before April 28 and enjoy for yourself.

Haunch of Venison in Eastcastle Street 8.3.12

The brand new Haunch of Venison space opened in Eascastle Street on Thursday with Katie Paterson’s stellar show: 100 Billion Suns.

Meanwhile… down the road and round the corner at Paradise Row in Newman Street Shanghai life is plastered over the walls in Birdhead’s exhibition of mainly photographic work with a project space meditation on bird life on the Regent’s Canal by Justin Coombes.

Paradise Row 8.3.12

I journey from Soho to a favourite restaurant not many people know outside the City.  This is an ancient place, sufficiently so to have been referred to in John Buchan’s Greenmantle whence a barrel of oysters was ordered.  Open only at lunchtime, and situated between Bank and St Paul’s Tube stations on Great Victoria Street, you cannot make a reservation and if you want to find a table it is essential to go at 12 or 2.  It is populated in the main by traders up working at 6, so in the main it is a bit laddish.  I saw only one woman today in the front section until two took the seats that Nigel and I were leaving.  It’s all worth it: the lack of booking facility, etc…

Of course, if you didn’t know its past it would not make sense, but it used to be next to Billingsgate, now demolished and moved, and so it is a fish restaurant, but one with a big difference.

There is the back room with a long table, like at school, and a front section with crabs, lobster salad, and smoked salmon in the window. In the front you either stand at the bar and drink Petit Chablis, St Veran or champagne, or alternately Guinness in a polished half or pint tankard.  The ambience is everything, save for the fish, which is also everything.  There is nowhere like it in London, a piece of Edwardian life fully preserved and functioning.  It is a strange layout; perhaps the front was always a bar area or perhaps a fish shop.

I go regularly with Nigel, who also (sometimes) seems to be a piece of Edwardian life fully preserved and functioning.  He drank Sauvignon Blanc in the absence of Chablis, and I drank the Guinness.  For an island race we seem to have little regard for the fruits of the sea and fish restaurants are few and far between.  Sweetings does not aspire to be a Scott’s or a Sheekey but is far above  Geales and The Sea Shell.  Sitting on one of the bar stools, dishes float by and the daily specials on the wall induce regret making you envious of other dishes no matter what you’ve ordered.  The menu is old school: Lobster or Crab Bisque, Oysters and Crab Salad.  I was tempted by the Home Made Gravadlax, Smoked Eel, and Smoked Cod Roe but luxuriated in the Deep Fried Sprats with Tartar Sauce and Nigel scoffed the Potted Shrimps, served properly with toast.

Under the Fish List is a note, “all fish can be Fried, Grilled, or Poached, Please ask a member of staff for the best way to order”.  The staff are a mixture of ageing men you would assume had worked there their whole lives and much younger smiling women. They all know their fish.  Nigel had the Home Made Salmon Cake and I had Grilled Brill; we shared a portion of hand cut real chips, some steamed spinach, and, of course in an English restaurant, peas.  We eschewed Smoked Haddock with Poached Eggs, Halibut, Fish Pie, Turbot with Mustard Sauce, Skate, and Sea Bass.  The men beside us had Grilled Bacon and (huge) Prawns.  When I finished I wanted to start over again.

Puddings include Spotted Dick, Baked Jam Roll and Bread and Butter Pudding.  The men on the other side of us had, respectively, Buck and Welsh Rarebit.

There is no pretension here; you will leave happy and with a wistful sense of having enjoyed part of a lost world. You will wonder that there are not more places like it. But, God forbid it should become the cornerstone of a VC funded chain.

Johnny

To Gallery Libby Sellers for the opening of Nicolas Le Moigne’s new show, one of the highlights of which is the “Public Clock” pictured – a fantastic object much like a very modern old-fashioned airport arrivals board – that meant that a lot of the evening was spent unusually trying to avoid conversation as one waited for the fluttering of another passing minute. It should be the trademark piece in some hotel’s stylish lobby.

Have a look at www.libbysellers.com for more information, and look out in particular for Nicolas’ Eternit – a brand of fibre cement – stools.

The evening duly ended with a bunch of us heading to the Experimental Cocktail Club – an unmarked door in Chinatown which leads you to a speakeasy-style bar which last night had decided to celebrate Charles Dickens’ birthday (of course) – a very ‘After Hours’ kind of London night out!

Nicolas Le Moigne is at Gallery Libby Sellers, 41-42 Berners Street, London W1T 3NB, until the 10th of March.

Art Basel Miami Beach: a behemoth of art at the heart of a week-long, Miami-wide cultural happening. Last year we managed to get a couple of days in at the beach before it all kicked-off, this year was straight into it – a sea of serious collectors, celebrities and artists (sometimes all rolled into one person) sweltering in the Miami heat during the day and drinking their way through the Miami bars during the night.

At the Fair itself we liked Lullin and Ferrari; the Taka Ishii Gallery; Alison Jacques (not only because of her great stand design); Thomas Dane; the Artprojx Art Video section; and Lisson, whose fast-sold Haroon Mirza piece was one of our favourites at the Fair.

Next door to the main event, and particularly of interest to my friend Libby Sellers (of the eponymous London design gallery), Design Miami was compact, sober and interesting, including a wonderful show by Murray Moss; some beautiful pieces on Caroline Van Hoek’s stand; and the perhaps unlikely re-creation of a Buckminster Fuller dome in the downtown Miami Design District.

Of the Family Collections, Jennifer Rubell’s regular art-breakfast was a winner, whilst our private tour of the Sender Collection provided a highlight of the whole trip.

Other top moments: long chats with Ron Arad on the plane; dinner at the Dutch, which we’d luckily taken the precaution of booking before they started publicising it; karaoke under the Shelbourne; and a Joe’s Stone Crab lunch on the beach!

Fashion Designer, Philosopher and Artist Philip Colbert’s global style adventures with The Rodnik Band take on an ethical slant after successfully entertaining the crowds at New York and London Fashion Weeks with a sea-inspired collection for SS/2012
Follow the band’s antics as they return to Croatia to promote the new collection, campaign and charity fundraising single in collaboration with The Environmental Justice Foundation.

This time, The Rodnik Band are invited to open Zagreb Fashion Week with a pre-catwalk protest performance, marching models around the streets, museums and art galleries of Zagreb chanting “Cod Save The Sea”.

Several live musical performances on the catwalk and in nightclubs by The Rodnik Band ensured that everyone in Zagreb was left chanting “Save the sea”.

Single out now on Kitsch Palace Records/itunes

Fundraising EJF t-shirts and SS/2012 collection available on www.asos.com, www.therodnikband.com

The Rodnik Band Cod Save The Sea (Music Video) by Charlotte
Boulay-Goldsmith:

Fashion Designer and Artist Mei Hui Liu is an East London Fashion Icon known for her “Secret Rendezvous” Underground Fashion Parties and her label Victim Fashion Street’s handmade vintage-inspired punk lolita style dresses.

Mei Hui collaborated with filmmaker Giada D. on two short fashion films “Seasons of Love” and “Golden Afternoon” which have screened in international art galleries.

The two women metup for tea recently to discuss a new fashion film collaboration at the Victim Popup shop on London’s Redchurch Street. Meihui enthused about her life-long passion for the music and style of Taiwan-born Pop Star Liu Wen Zheng “The Prince or Elvis of China” and a desire to put together a tribute band. Many emails bounced back and forth with Meihui sharing Zheng’s retro youtube videos much to the delight of Giada’s penchant for tongue-in-cheek pop-culture and nationalistic kitsch.

A girl band “The Gothic Lolitas” was formed by calling together Meihui’s model muses and promptly signed to Giada’s Kitsch Palace Record label for a single release in early 2012.

The results of this creative meeting of minds can be seen as a tribute to Liu Wen Zheng, to Chinese meets British pop-culture style and to girls just wanting to have fun.

The Gothic Lolitas photo: David Shih Chen Ta

Victim Fashion Street: Seasons of Love by Giada D.

So another eatery in Soho opens with good word of mouth.  Between Cay-Tre and the Groucho this thin sliver of a bar cum restaurant comes with a pedigree.  Three of the Hix team have jumped ship and set up their own venture: Chef, Julian Biggs; Manager, Rory McCoy; and PR Manager, Clare Lattin.

Unusually, it has a bring-your-own-disc house rule, meaning a turntable sits in the corner, you bring your own vinyl, and you play it for all to enjoy…cooo, that’s certainly original if not remarkable.

I had been told by my reliable friend Razwana that this was a place to eat because Julian is so fit.  The beardy look does not appeal but I was happy to try his “British” grub.  Walking down Dean Street last Thursday the board outside promised foie gras for £8 so I popped in for pre theatre eating before the planned trip to the ENO.

It was not yet busy at 6.15.  A table of four on my left were drinking 330ml bottle of Fucking Hell beer for £4 a go.  There are four tables for two and about 15 bar stools up against the bar.  When I ordered the foie gras the waitress winced, “Sorry, I don’t think we’re serving it”.  I jokily drew her attention to the board outside. “Yes” said her superior, sidling up “but that was a different menu”.  “Really”, I replied, “which one was that?”  “The one we stopped serving two minutes ago” she said, as she put another in front of me, with no foie gras.  This was written on a piece of papery card about two inches square which looked like it had been torn from a school exercise book; but it had green credentials, written on both sides.

“OK”, I said trying hard to understand, “I know it’s not on the menu, the new one that is, but could we have some slices of that delicious looking Jamon Iberico on the bar counter?”.   “Sorry” she replied, in best jobsworth mode by now, “I don’t think we’re serving that.”  I’ll ask the chef”, she said disappearing towards the back.  A few moments later someone male, yet beardless, appeared from the kitchen, and made his way to the Jamon, still tantalisingly perched on its stand.

Imagine my joy at the thought that he would soon be slicing it up for me, then imagine my disappointment and dismay as he simply lifted it up and disappeared back from whence he had come, wordless and silent.

The waitress asked if I had chosen from the menu, the current one I supposed.  I asked what had happened to the Jamon.  “Oh”, she replied, “we decided it was not of good enough quality to serve to customers.  “Oh” I replied.  V and I both quietly chose slow cooked lamb and considered the wine list.

This was written on a square of white tiles to the left of the bar, about twenty wines but without distinguishing red or white.  You could buy by the glass or the bottle. We chose two glasses, not wanting to fall asleep at the opera.  At a rough calculation they were on average £6 per glass and £35 per bottle.  I was irritated by these prices but not as irritated as I was to be served 125ml measures, even though they were in attractive glassware.

The astonishing thing is the lamb was served with no delay and was delicious; it was soft, and tasty, but inexplicably served in a sort of Spanish high sided black bowl. Having been thrown into confusion, then anger at the service, wine prices, and ambience, I wondered if the bowl was merely another portion controlling device.  No bread was served and so I consulted the “menu”.  For a further two pounds I could buy a portion of bread.  This too was good.  Cover charges do grate and two pounds for two slices of good sourdough, although more expensive than a trip to the bakers, is not expensive by restaurant standards,  But it rankled to have to order it with a dish with no carbohydrates.

Overall I felt I had stumbled into a pre-New Labour public service environment where the consumers were there for the benefit of the workers.  No return visit is on the cards.

Johnny