The other day I was lucky enough to be invited to a pop-up gallery displaying contemporary art from black artists. There are plenty of highly talented yet massively underrepresented minority artists. So I was intrigued to see what was on show.
I walk alone towards Marylebone. I am early to meet my boss there so I take my time. My luck- the heavens open and I quickly take refuge under the over-hang of a building and wait for it to dry up.
It’s Thursday evening and the muted greys of the city streets and the broody sky above merge into one. I get to the pop-up gallery as it starts to fill.
I slowly shuffle around the town house as I wait to acclimatise to my surroundings. Lots of light and colour: just what the doctor ordered. I have a glass of champagne to relax and enjoy the various pieces of art. The ground floor paintings are well put together, but lacking in meaning to me… apart from the quotes on one of the pieces that encourage one to enjoy the present….I take heed.
The venue is filling up, smiles and drink flow freely. People are chatting away, analysing and getting to know each other. Well that was pleasant, time to go home? An American lady exclaims with her sophisticated yet distinct US twang: “There are four floors have you been up yet?”
On the way up to the second level I see the chair installation… not bad. Oh wait the light is turning the chairs a deep shade of blue, well now I like it. Ummm…are those lights hanging from the ceiling, moving? I’ve only had a glass. No, phew it’s intentional. The pieces in the gallery are certainly enhanced by various forms of light.
In fact one of my favourite pieces is transformed by a spot light cast specifically on the canvas, juxtaposing itself against the dark paint and purposeful brush strokes of the female form. I am not alone in presence and in thought. Clara, next to me says she likes it too. We talk, network, the usual. What a lovely way to meet a lovely stranger.
My boss redirects my attention, (as all good bosses do). The glass sculptures by Chris Day are really something. Chained and restricted blown glass in rope. The colours of the glass are that of Afro-Caribbean’s national flags: yellows, black, reds and greens. The glass bulges through the wood and metal cages. Ah, I get it now: it represents black slavery, how these nation’s peoples suffered in suppression and abuse for hundred of years, how they were shackled and brought on ships against their will.
I speak with Chris a very warm and talented man. He just got back from Seattle’s Refract exhibit, a celebration of glass art. He reconfirms our observations about his work. In fact we really get on and he opens up about how the pieces of glass sculpture have a secret. I lean in. “So I use an African wood as a base for the pieces. It has my makers mark scorched onto them. Many don’t know as the bases aren’t visible unless the pieces are turned upside down.” How cool.
The crisp wintery air. The glass. The message. How cool indeed.
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