It sounds like a joke, but actually was the surreal climax of a cultural day out that Steve and I had.We started off at the National Portrait Gallery and completed that in a surprisingly short time. The modern photography and painting was more interesting than the earlier dull-but-worthy material. Some of the most admirable material was actually the architecture of the building itself. There was a particularly good picture on display of Mo Mowlam.
White Cube was a disappointment. I hadn’t realised how small a space it was. We wandered back to Liverpool Street station from a very quiet Hoxton Square and where stopped by what I assumed to be a chugger (charity mugger, someone who gets people to sign direct debits for charities on the street. These people are often aggressive as they’re on commission,) or market researcher. Instead she was a photographer’s assistant.
Stephen and myself were models in an art photo shoot for Bernhard Deckert where we sat around in the gallery bar of the Great Eastern Hotel and ignored a ballerina called Geida. Geida is a performance artist who does electro versions of cabaret classics: think Al-Naafiysh meets the Blue Angel.
Anyway midway through the shoot a well-dressed man walks up to Geida without batting an eyelid that she is in a tutu and ballet shoes and asks her where he can get refreshments.
She is able to give him directions as she used to organise the Electric Stew nights there. He then nips to the toilets and comes out a couple of minutes later as if everything was the most natural thing in the world.
I suspect that Steve and I will end up as blurs in the background, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t be milking our ‘male model’ status for all it was worth.