Further facelessness.
In the temple-like vault of a former bank stand, numbered, six-hundred-and-fifty defaced photographs of the artist Sarah Maple and her child: one defacing for every breastfeed given over a three month period. A lot more than I expected. It's called "Labour Of Love". I don't know if it will still be up on Saturday.
I was down there today to scout the marble counting house I'll be in this weekend as part of Gemma Brockis' contribution to The Golden Key, a massive City of London commission from Coney and Friends, which will see the normally dead-at-weekends Square Mile come alive with activity and riff raff like me, and perhaps you!
Specifically we'll be part of The Maze of Adventures: "Choose wisely, friend," insists the blurb – a voice from a simpler time perhaps, before the pound found itself battling gravity like Indiana Jones – "as you will not able to see them all." That isn't much help, sorry. We'll be there somewhere. I'm not sure if I can give away the vault's exact location but when I used to do The Ghost Bus Tours we'd get stuck in traffic outside of it for anything up to half an hour and have to vamp about plague pits. Oh, I hadn't thought about them! The City's full of subterranean material, but I think we'll be sticking to counting.
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