The Wish Bone Rag by Charlotte Blake (1909, Ragtime piano)

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An exhibition of poetry and visual art at Mare Street London.

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 Angel Andrea - charcoal drawing on cartridge, A1, Frances-Ann Norton It is wonderful to be working with instagram@alicemaryjelaska once again in the Pop-up-space Hackney, Mare St, London. for an exhibition of visual art and poetry in February 2024. The theme was Tea and Friendship.  Angel Tea   The pictures on my phone divide into days, events, trips, workshops. Important, in-focus ones are instagrammed, facebooked and tweeted.   What about the in-betweeny photos? The ones that are unchosen, abstract, blurred, accidental handbag shots. These need further study, they are more than they first appear, less than rejects. They represent moments of autoethnographic honesty, unheard dialogue, fear, tears, tech-impatience or pure love. So interesting and to be banked for another day, a future art-investigation-project. When I seek to unravel and analyse these images, make meaning out of them… I see the visitation of the Angel of Communities, in the corners and on the edges ...
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Niagara in the 90’s; After James Richards, Raking Light 2014, Digital Video with stereo sound. Safely seated in a small darkened space In the 1990’s rooms of the Tate Here to see Inventory’s DaDa reflection on social housing. London trains and busses have exhausted me. Onscreen a series of obscure and abstract images Until Niagara appears. And now two films are running, the one on screen and the one in my memory. Niagara Falls in December, the nineties have just begun like a new love affair. Niagara Falls in deep love Of crashing foam. A woman in a yellow trench coat that her mother bought from a shop that doesn’t exist anymore, Headscarf and red lipstick. She waits at the top for her photo to be taken. Pose like Marilyn. But there are no colours Everything is blank faced, locked up Frozen solid, danger zone. The petrified falls and thickly Iced, icey, walk-ways are A hazard Impassable. Like this fake marriage...
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Babel The story goes, once we all had a common language and spoke the same mother tongue and all was harmony. The people said to themselves let us make a tower so we can be as tall as God and maybe we can be as great as he is or greater, and so they built together, gathering materials, and they made it strong and they made it high. Stained glass windows, columns of pure gold, mosaics of turquoise and cobalt, staircases of marble, it was a marvel to behold, nothing compared either before or after the skill and craft that went in to the tower of Babel. They reached as high as the first layer of cumulus and the atmosphere started to get thin and become cold. They were wondering how to continue. But God reached in his basket and pulled out coloured birds by the handful and threw them up free into to air, each one different and varied, each one with a different song. The birds flew down to the builders of the tower, like a rainbow shower. The birds sang so beautifully, so ...
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