I use the arts as a coping mechanism.
Here I am on Twitter.

Update: Damien Hirst is still a cock. Couldn’t decide between the Bauhaus and British Design exhibitions today so I decided to spend some time tutting at things at the Tate. I started off tutting at the price of a student ticket to the Hirst exhibition (£12.20), then moved on to tutting at the stained teeth in the diamond skull. (The guy controlling the queue had an incredible ability to communicate using only his eyebrows though, so that was pretty cool.) Upstairs I tutted at the escalator that missed out two whole floors, then I did my first of many spot painting-related tuts even before I started tutting at the ping pong ball suspended over a hairdryer which IS JUST SCIENCE. Then I tutted at JUST SOME SHELVES followed by tutting at JUST SOME FLIES before moving on to tut at JUST A DEAD SHEEP. I was a passenger when my mum killed a sheep on the road by Loch Eil in 1990 and can confirm that they are just as boring when not in formaldehyde. I had hoped that the butterfly room would stop me from tutting because I quite liked visiting the butterfly farm in France when I was little and that Barbican exhibition by Boursier-Mougenot a couple of years ago (the one with loads of zebra finches nesting in guitars) was INCREDIBLE but it turns out butterflies are actually pretty boring. Not a good choice of pet if you want funny tricks or companionship or owt. Give me a zebra finch any day. That said, the saving grace of the whole thing were the trippy kaleidoscopic collages made from dead butterflies. The one at the top of this post is called Doorways To The Kingdom Of Heaven. There were three of them, arch-shaped. I liked them because they were beautiful but kinda dark. Although pretty forgettable too if I’m totally honest. Like a Tim Burton film. Johnny Depp’s fit and everything, but there’s never any plot in a Tim Burton film. So I had a prowl round the gift shop and found a print of one of the spirally butterfly wing collages. It was EIGHT THOUSAND POUNDS and didn’t even have real dead butterflies on it. For that price I’d want an entire fucking subspecies wiped out. I HATE DAMIEN HIRST SO SO SO MUCH.

Update: Damien Hirst is still a cock. Couldn’t decide between the Bauhaus and British Design exhibitions today so I decided to spend some time tutting at things at the Tate. I started off tutting at the price of a student ticket to the Hirst exhibition (£12.20), then moved on to tutting at the stained teeth in the diamond skull. (The guy controlling the queue had an incredible ability to communicate using only his eyebrows though, so that was pretty cool.)

Upstairs I tutted at the escalator that missed out two whole floors, then I did my first of many spot painting-related tuts even before I started tutting at the ping pong ball suspended over a hairdryer which IS JUST SCIENCE. Then I tutted at JUST SOME SHELVES followed by tutting at JUST SOME FLIES before moving on to tut at JUST A DEAD SHEEP. I was a passenger when my mum killed a sheep on the road by Loch Eil in 1990 and can confirm that they are just as boring when not in formaldehyde.

I had hoped that the butterfly room would stop me from tutting because I quite liked visiting the butterfly farm in France when I was little and that Barbican exhibition by Boursier-Mougenot a couple of years ago (the one with loads of zebra finches nesting in guitars) was INCREDIBLE but it turns out butterflies are actually pretty boring. Not a good choice of pet if you want funny tricks or companionship or owt. Give me a zebra finch any day.

That said, the saving grace of the whole thing were the trippy kaleidoscopic collages made from dead butterflies. The one at the top of this post is called Doorways To The Kingdom Of Heaven. There were three of them, arch-shaped. I liked them because they were beautiful but kinda dark. Although pretty forgettable too if I’m totally honest. Like a Tim Burton film. Johnny Depp’s fit and everything, but there’s never any plot in a Tim Burton film.

So I had a prowl round the gift shop and found a print of one of the spirally butterfly wing collages. It was EIGHT THOUSAND POUNDS and didn’t even have real dead butterflies on it. For that price I’d want an entire fucking subspecies wiped out.

I HATE DAMIEN HIRST SO SO SO MUCH.