Oh, our wasted youth!

I went to London this weekend in order to convince myself that somewhere, past the pitchforked yocals on the horizon, culture is out there. But, due to a somewhat ironic turn of events, I missed the last day of a photography exhibition I wanted to see at the Victoria Miro Gallery and ended up in Pret A Manger instead (well, they are on every corner.).

The exhibition was a selection of photographs by American photographer Francesca Woodman. During a short period of time in the 1970's and early 1980's Woodman worked prolifically, producing over 800 black and white photos, primarily of herself or other nude female models in crumbling old buildings, half obscured in darkness or mirrors. After committing suicide at the age of 22 her work has been exhibited posthumously all around the world, receiving much attention and praise. I find it especially interesting the way the nudes are often covering themselves with the peeling wallpaper of the old spaces they inhabit, giving the impression that they are clothing themselves in a greater, older set of skin. There's something unsettlingly natural about it.

Neither you nor I will be able to enjoy these mediative images in the flesh (so to speak) so I thought that we could all enjoy them here. I also went to the Museum of Everything, but that's another story.

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