I was walking along Millbank, on my way to Tate Britain when a group of office types walk by me. One guy was talking to the other four people, and he said “If you break the wrong door down…“. That’s all I heard because they were beyond hearing range before the end of the sentence. I don’t think it’s a pity that I’ll never know the context or the result because it’s a fragment of someone else’s life. Which pretty much sums up Women in Revolt!
Works by and about women from 1970 to 1990 exploring their experiences of being marginalized and ignored simply because they were women in a man’s cultural world.
It was at Tate Britain and was excellent, as you’d expect.
Before going on, could I just say that I found Three Minute Scream (1977) became rather annoying after a while. It did get rather funny when a small child started screaming as well. I don’t think it was in harmony with Gina Birch who was making a “…powerful statement of defiance, which can be read as a comment on what so many young women were inarticulately feeling in the late 1970’s.” [from the catalogue] I think the kid just wanted a lollipop.
While I get Birch’s point, and it certainly was powerful, it could have had ten minutes of peace as well as the screaming. If for nothing else than for people to view other works in a silent isolation.
I really loved a lot of the pieces but, my favourite, was Between Parades (1985) by Caroline Coon (b 1945).
The painting documents the experience of sex workers waiting for clients in a brothel. I think it’s very powerful and a glimpse of a sisterhood rarely seen. As if the viewer broke the wrong door down, at the wrong time.
It was an excellent and thought-provoking exhibition, and I’m really glad I took the time to see it today. I also wandered around various other galleries in the Tate, but I think I’ll write about that tomorrow given I’ll be at home with the girls and unlikely to be doing anything too exciting.
Of course, given I was in London, I had to make my way back on the train. In stark contrast to my journey into London yesterday, my train back was excellent. It left on time, hardly stopped anywhere and delivered me at Winchester on time.
I met Mirinda, and we drove over to Lower Woodford, just outside Salisbury, where we were meeting Sophie and Tom for dinner. The Wheatsheaf is the pub that Mirinda and Sophie have been meeting of a Sunday, but it’s the first time that Tom and I have been.
Funnily enough, I sent a WhatsApp message to the Weasels with the photograph below and John almost immediately asked where the pub was. When I told him, he said he thought so, he used to have a drink there when he was at Boscombe Down.
It was our final meal with Sophie and Tom before we head back to Trosa, and it was a marvellous one. The pub was an absolute delight. And we didn’t have to break any doors down.
