Bookshop tour video / The concept of non-study in Art / Noo York Noo York! / Mister Andrew Hairitorium

 A quick tour around Black Gull Books, Camden Market.

A woman from New York was in the shop the other day - bought a book on Patrick Heron. I said I liked the look of what was inside and we got into an Art chat. Turned out she was an academic studying in London. Stupidly, knowing the answer even before I'd finished the question, I asked if she made Art. Of course not. There are studiers and doers, right?

I knew I wasn't cut out for studying anything, right from an early age and despite being Pupil of the Year at junior school. After that it was all uphill into the land of clothes, music and discos where, if I was lucky, I got to snog a girl outside the hall. Oh the good ol' days, when girls tasted of crisps, chewing gum and Pernod...well, one did anyway...and I didn't mind!).

Even though I liked Art classes I still couldn't be arsed with studying anything...like...techniques, you know, skills. I suppose that shows, 45 years later. I'm not saying that's a good thing. Well, painting or drawing a bowl of fruit or country scene just wasn't for me, you know? I was ahead of my time. 45 years later you don't need old-fashioned skills to get into Art school, do you? No, just turn up for the interview with a head full of ideas - no bloody portfolio! And for your degree show, present those ideas written out (or printed, if you insist). It's conceptual, see? Take that! 

We chatted (well she did) about MOMA, its collections and how they hung them. I haven't been to a gallery since they started insisting on wearing masks. I didn't tell her that for fear she would mark me as an anti-vaxxer. She said she preferred London to New York, partly because it was greener. I told her New York would probably overwhelm me. It's only ever appealed if I could travel back in time to...1950? Yes, when all men wore suits and hats and the Jazz scene was hot - Be-Bop!

Finally, some ephemera, found in a book this week. Love the name of this salon...a Hairitorium no less!

Huxley trouble / Ephemera from books

 

You can judge a book by its cover, sometimes. A young lad and his girlfriend appear in front of the booth in the bookshop. He wants help with which is the first in a series so I follow them...outside, thinking 'There is no series out here'. He leads me to the table and points to the old Penguins which I've placed together. Along with the two Huxleys there's Sartre's The Reprieve and this:

 

The layout pictured above is from the day before I slightly altered it to include the book about Lane.

"Um. These aren't a series," I say. Although style-wise, the Huxleys are. Do they mean the Huxley books? I don't think so. 

"My dad says I should read..." her sentence tapers off with a smile. I look into eyes under long, false lashes. 

"Well - ". I'm counting Sartre out for starters, then looking at the Huxleys, neither of which I'd read. "You could try one of these." This is absurd. Huxley? For her? Really? I can't go with a hard sell so I leave them to it, saying "Have a look, see what you think."

Five minutes later they come back in and she puts the Huxleys on the counter. Meanwhile, as I log them, I'm having mixed thoughts, even conflicting emotions...I felt a bit guilty...then ashamed that I was categorising a working class girl from up North with her false eyelashes and thick make-up as someone who wouldn't 'get' Huxley in a million years...then thinking it could be the start of a wonderful literary trip during which she'll discover a whole new world!

Was I judging her? Not really, as in condemning her or passing sentence...because I'm working class and didn't read anything substantial until I was about 17, starting with Kerouac, as I recall, just because he was...fashionable? Amongst a certain crowd, anyway, of which I was only a member in my fantasies. I'd probably read about him in the NME? Who knows. Anyway, I'd never claim to be widely-read, particularly. No serious bookworm, although that is a relative term, of course. If we'd had a copy of On The Road in the shop perhaps it would have been a good recommendation...apart from the fact that the prose style isn't ideal for absolute literary beginners, although I like the thought of her, six months later, wearing no make-up, a black jumper and beret, insisting that her boyfriend listens to Charlie Parker - ha-ha! 

Huxley cropped up again the following day. It started when a young Canadian man pointed to the Nineteen Eighty-Four displayed on the counter, saying how much he hated Orwell. His reason was a little vague; something to do with the book's popularity over Brave New World, as far as I could tell. I told him I thought BNW wasn't great writing by any stretch, just a great idea, like so much sci-fi. And Orwell was so much more relevant, unfortunately, what with online censorship by big tech and the drive, by some, to either rewrite or erase the past. By this time he was looking at me quizzically. "Hmm," he said. "I'm trying to work out where you're coming from, politically."

I laughed.

"I'm a socialist," he said, proudly.

I owed him £6.50 change. Instead of giving him the money, I swiped his tenner off the counter and said. "Well, I'm a capitalist and I'm keeping your change!"

My how we laughed. Well, I did. He tried to, but was struggling with an encounter with a bookseller like me, who didn't raise a clenched fist in response to his political declaration. I gave him the change. He departed, smiling as he gave me his middle finger.

Here are things I found in books this week. The call to prayer was in a dusty box on the floor containing various 'spiritual' books. The Miami bar/restaurant card is my favourite, only because of the graphic content and it sparks me to imagine being in the Miami circa 1950 sipping cocktails with Rita Hayworth to the sound of a band playing Mambo tunes...well, I can dream, can't I?