Stuff and Spitalfields
Nov. 16th, 2006 03:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootSo, before the power of the common cold brought me crashing to this state of snuffling hiatus, reliant on berry overdose to make it through the night, I was doing stuff:
There was work and a strange incident where I found myself face to face with the buffest guy on the planet in his boxer shorts (Yes, I am aware of the grammatical comedy, and no, I am not going to correct it; for all I know, his Calvin Kleins may well contain earth, heaven and hell) I refuse to think too hard about this, because at the same time as I'm looking at the dude's flat stomach thinking, 'Wish mine was like that', he slaps it and says, 'Oh yes and all this needs toning...' There's no way I could ever have a romance with this guy, even iflarians wasn't my perfect hottie boy tottie; I couldn't bear him gazing at my soft tummy and saying, 'Honestly [boot], 80 ab crunches a day for the rest of your life and you'd be fine...well, almost.' His waist is so small it looks like my wristwatch could circumnavigate it. He's a dear chum and I admire his work, but it is imperative that he keeps his clothes on now and forever: otherwise he gives me the fear.
More importantly, there was the Inspired Art Fair, where I got to catch up withhybridartifacts and winggleam, both of whose work I find extraordinary and compelling. winggleam mentioned that she was hoping to have a stall next year, and as I've only seen her beautiful creations via her website, I can't wait. Seeing hybridartifacts work was fantastic; Peter's dreamscapes and almost-stories mesmerise me; I find that canvas makes art 'flesh', gives it a texture the screen can't convey. I hope to catch up with both soon, and perhaps share a more relaxed glass of wine and conversation: our meeting was delightful but all too brief.
Visiting the Art Fair took me into old shadowy country. The exhibition was held in Christchurch, Spitalfields, an area of London I have researched before, back in 1997, nearly 10 years ago.
This was very close to Whitechapel, the Ripper's old territory: The 10 Bells pub, haunt of Long Liz Stride and other gin and biscuit girls with the ill luck to bump into Jack, sits right next to the Church. 10 years ago, the Church was soot-covered and filthy, derelict and looming. 10 years ago, the 10 Bells had girls writhing around on the floor for men who'd put coins in pint glasses for a glimpse of smokey fanny. 10 years ago at night, the girls came out, drunk and rough and poor though not as poor as their predecessors 100 years before that. And you saw them and wanted to say 'Get away from here! Don't you know how bad this place is for girls like you?'
Very bad of course, if event imprints atmosphere, leaves a mark over time. What was it Jack wrote? 'The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.' Juwes was not a mispelling of Jews, as many thought. It referred to Freemasonic tradition. And Christchurch, a very few streets away, was a masonic church.
10 years ago, you could walk into the church and see the symbols, masonic and otherwise, that gave the distinct impression that the church was not sacred, or at least, not sacred to the Christian god. Of course this leaves lots of room for Jah-bu-lon, knights templar and all the theories out of which Alan Moore made such mileage in From Hell. I can't answer for those, but I will say this: I have been in many churches with a genuine sense of sanctity, and Christchurch did not have that at all. That church was downright creepy even in daylight. It had a soup kitchen for the local tramps, but even that could not make it a nice place: One felt relieved to leave it.
10 years on. You approach the church via Spitalfields: All along by Liverpool Street station there are more lights and everything is much brighter, more cosmopolitan. Spitalfields market itself is host to bistros and noodle bars, hair salons and a huge gelateria, no less. Along the other side are still the old streets with wooden boardings,and lots of alleys that wander off and either hit a brick wall...or just get very dark indeed.
But don't go there, stay on the bright side. Bright, bright, bright! See the 10 Bells wallpapered in New Victorian style, a happening place full of students, tourists and yoof! Approach a new clean sparkling de-sooted Christchurch, warm and welcoming...go in and note the mellow yellow and creams of the interior, gloriously decorated; and don't worry about those strange symbols cos they've been completely covered up by paint and plaster; a new altar up there and nothing at all worrying on those walls, just your average beautiful godhouse serving the community, and a nasty story no-one really knows, worth forgetting anyway.
I'm not complaining about the renovation of the area; but there is something odd about covering up those symbols. They were part of the point of the church after all, it seems strange that anyone should take such care to hide them.
10 years on, a place full of bright people and creation and money. I like it I think, though I won't forget the story of those dirty carved stones, however bright the paint.
I hope they still have a soup kitchen.
There was work and a strange incident where I found myself face to face with the buffest guy on the planet in his boxer shorts (Yes, I am aware of the grammatical comedy, and no, I am not going to correct it; for all I know, his Calvin Kleins may well contain earth, heaven and hell) I refuse to think too hard about this, because at the same time as I'm looking at the dude's flat stomach thinking, 'Wish mine was like that', he slaps it and says, 'Oh yes and all this needs toning...' There's no way I could ever have a romance with this guy, even if
larians wasn't my perfect hottie boy tottie; I couldn't bear him gazing at my soft tummy and saying, 'Honestly [boot], 80 ab crunches a day for the rest of your life and you'd be fine...well, almost.' His waist is so small it looks like my wristwatch could circumnavigate it. He's a dear chum and I admire his work, but it is imperative that he keeps his clothes on now and forever: otherwise he gives me the fear. More importantly, there was the Inspired Art Fair, where I got to catch up with
hybridartifacts and winggleam, both of whose work I find extraordinary and compelling. winggleam mentioned that she was hoping to have a stall next year, and as I've only seen her beautiful creations via her website, I can't wait. Seeing hybridartifacts work was fantastic; Peter's dreamscapes and almost-stories mesmerise me; I find that canvas makes art 'flesh', gives it a texture the screen can't convey. I hope to catch up with both soon, and perhaps share a more relaxed glass of wine and conversation: our meeting was delightful but all too brief.Visiting the Art Fair took me into old shadowy country. The exhibition was held in Christchurch, Spitalfields, an area of London I have researched before, back in 1997, nearly 10 years ago.
This was very close to Whitechapel, the Ripper's old territory: The 10 Bells pub, haunt of Long Liz Stride and other gin and biscuit girls with the ill luck to bump into Jack, sits right next to the Church. 10 years ago, the Church was soot-covered and filthy, derelict and looming. 10 years ago, the 10 Bells had girls writhing around on the floor for men who'd put coins in pint glasses for a glimpse of smokey fanny. 10 years ago at night, the girls came out, drunk and rough and poor though not as poor as their predecessors 100 years before that. And you saw them and wanted to say 'Get away from here! Don't you know how bad this place is for girls like you?'
Very bad of course, if event imprints atmosphere, leaves a mark over time. What was it Jack wrote? 'The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.' Juwes was not a mispelling of Jews, as many thought. It referred to Freemasonic tradition. And Christchurch, a very few streets away, was a masonic church.
10 years ago, you could walk into the church and see the symbols, masonic and otherwise, that gave the distinct impression that the church was not sacred, or at least, not sacred to the Christian god. Of course this leaves lots of room for Jah-bu-lon, knights templar and all the theories out of which Alan Moore made such mileage in From Hell. I can't answer for those, but I will say this: I have been in many churches with a genuine sense of sanctity, and Christchurch did not have that at all. That church was downright creepy even in daylight. It had a soup kitchen for the local tramps, but even that could not make it a nice place: One felt relieved to leave it.
10 years on. You approach the church via Spitalfields: All along by Liverpool Street station there are more lights and everything is much brighter, more cosmopolitan. Spitalfields market itself is host to bistros and noodle bars, hair salons and a huge gelateria, no less. Along the other side are still the old streets with wooden boardings,and lots of alleys that wander off and either hit a brick wall...or just get very dark indeed.
But don't go there, stay on the bright side. Bright, bright, bright! See the 10 Bells wallpapered in New Victorian style, a happening place full of students, tourists and yoof! Approach a new clean sparkling de-sooted Christchurch, warm and welcoming...go in and note the mellow yellow and creams of the interior, gloriously decorated; and don't worry about those strange symbols cos they've been completely covered up by paint and plaster; a new altar up there and nothing at all worrying on those walls, just your average beautiful godhouse serving the community, and a nasty story no-one really knows, worth forgetting anyway.
I'm not complaining about the renovation of the area; but there is something odd about covering up those symbols. They were part of the point of the church after all, it seems strange that anyone should take such care to hide them.
10 years on, a place full of bright people and creation and money. I like it I think, though I won't forget the story of those dirty carved stones, however bright the paint.
I hope they still have a soup kitchen.
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