Works of art

Yesterday I went on the free monthly Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Queer/Questioning (LGBTQ) tour of the V&A. Lasting an hour, the tour incorporated a range of museum objects with a link of sorts to LGBTQ matters - artist, inspiration, depiction, origin. It provided a fascinating insight into works of art that otherwise could've easily passed one by, either through their small scale, individual insignificance or lack of background info. Notable exception was the cast of Michelangelo's David. If you fail to spot that one you're worryingly oblivious to the world around you. My favourite stop on the tour was the Fashion room and the Charles James evening dress, which unbeknown to me was made out of a print designed by Jean Cocteau as an ode to his lover Jean Marais. Flowers and chocolates eat your heart out.

The V&A highlights better than most other museums that works of art come in all guises, shapes, sizes, materials and formats. It's not just about oil paintings and marble sculptures. Tracey Emin will argue, much to the chagrin of parents of teenage children, that an unmade bed is to be revered. Marina Abramovic found beauty in silently staring into strangers' faces for days upon end and Damien Hirst turned packs of E45 and Calpol into high brow. And works of art aren't simply confined to the sterile white walls of a gallery. Take for instance the street art of Shoreditch or this screen print by London based Felix Green:

I came across his work one Sunday afternoon at Brick Lane market and was immediately drawn to this design. Without hesitation I purchased a t shirt for £20, The design is nothing short of stunning, and should be considered a work of art as much as any of the tediously numerous depictions of madonna and child hanging in the Louvre. Bold, intricate, interesting, arresting. The kind of apparel that elevates both look and spirit in one effortless swoop. I've got my eye on a black sweat with a similarly awesome grizzly bear design and will continue to keep abreast of his sardonic offerings

I'm on a roll in the excellent t shirt stakes at the moment. Slightly less gob smackingly good but commendable still is this little number from a vendor at Spitalfields market:

Random animated cityscape, an elongated peacock and a Japanese style moon/sun. Who could resist? It only set me back a tenner too. Joy! The signage reckoned that all the items were hand printed, which I very much doubt. Nevertheless it looks great. Spitalfields is a proper little goldmine for quirky offerings. I shall definitely re-visit at an appropriate frequency. The street food looks pretty mega too.  

Being distinctly low brow by nature, wearable works of art like the above resonates more keenly with me than say the Mona Lisas or Venus de Milos of this world. Although every now and then I feel the urge to raise the brow bar a few notches. Long live the free museum! Or rather long live the statutory arts funding that keeps the museums free. The enemy of the people that is the Tory government hasn't yet managed to squander that one in the name of austerity. But works of art are so much more than museums. The beauty is that there's a place for all, literally something for everyone, and it's not all about the cultural elite. Art is right there on your doorstep. Go explore!

On a right mission

11.05am. Today I'm going on a London mission. Because I can. Life is only as exciting as you make it and when you live in one of the most exciting cities in the world, excitement should be gushing out of every orifice. Otherwise you might as well live somewhere else, somewhere cheaper with chippys serving chips and gravy.

My tentative itinary for the day ahead incorporates a museum or two, the free ones obviously, winter coat shopping, Korean burritos, a matinee screening of Sicario, a free Waitrose coffee, making good use of Transport for London's much welcome daily capping, and lots of walking in between. And the odd overpriced pint for good measure. Of course the overpriced pints may rob me of any ambition. I'm well down with that.

12.52pm The first stop on my journey was the V&A Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. An ode to objects of adolescent stimulus, it was unsurprisingly crammed full of kids' toys and games, ranging from the home made to the cynically and exploitatively expensive. It was also crammed full of screaming and excitable kids. I lasted 20 minutes.

A wander down the length of Bethnal Green Road quite literally provides a London history lesson. At the eastern end there are still remnants of its multicultural modern past, E Pellicci caff and jellied eels. As you head west, witness gentrification take over, culminating in the edifice that is Brick Lane. The transformation divides opinion, as the Cereal Killer cafe knows only full well. Regardless if you're nay or yay, it's at least resulted in some fine street art.

I took in another symbol of the up-trending of East London in the shape of Boxpark. A 2 storey retail and food emporium housed in disused shipping containers. Yes really. Came across this little number in the sale for a measly £13.

My wardrobe wasn't really crying out for another printed sweat in grey melange (wearing one today even) but an iconic line from an iconic alpha male is just too good to resist.

2pm Planned to visit the Sir John Soane museum but there was a sizeable queue so fuck that.

2.25pm The Korean Burrito didn't materialise so opted for a more authentic offering instead. Beef bibimbap from Naru in Bloomsbury. Tried ordering a side of kimchi but it only came in share size which is a bit too much of a good thing, even for me.

3.15pm Digesting the somewhat underwhelming bibimbap with a Negroni in Bar Termini, Soho. Correction, the food was ok but their approach to customer service was a bit too authentic. En route to Soho I did a quick pit stop in Primark and purchased a cheapo mustard jumper for a tenner.

This time my wardrobe was indeed lacking. Not entirely sure why as mustard in colour as well as flavour is a firm favourite. I was trawling the net for mustard apparel earlier in the week and needless to say online items would have dented my wallet a tad deeper. Primark as always to the rescue.

5.10pm Beer o'clock. Rather stupidly strolled onto Regent Street in search of a coat. On a Saturday afternoon Regent St's akin to a mild form of rendition. Luckily I at least identified a coat to buy. I tend to get palpitations when faced with parting with large chunks of cash in one swift move so I hesitated and came away empty handed. A friend once told me that alcohol acts as a beta blocker so chances are I'll make a beer infused purchase later on. And then feel like a twat on the tube, brandishing a bulky shopping bag. Maybe I'll just buy it online. Noone likes a tube twat

5.25pm Apparently it's World Zombie day today. Who'd have known?? That's a zombiefied Ella from Frozen. Coming soon to a kids party near you.

6.40pm A girl on the tube has the best tote bag, apart from the Homogenic one from Bangkok that J has worn out. It said 'I went to the museum and got an erection'. Genius

7pm. Home and knackered, having opted for coat-less non-twat travel. Mission partly achieved.