Monthly Archives: September 2012

This is a copy of an article I wrote for the Hackney Citizen.

Whenever I see a magpie I start a little tally and a familiar rhyme begins in my head. Finding one for sorrow is always a little unsettling. While I whisper a salutation my grandmother taught me under my breath, I’m always looking into the distance in the hopes of spotting a partner in joy.

I can’t be certain that everyone is as suspicious as I am when it comes to magpies, but they certainly have a special significance in our cultural psyche. The magpie has collected a veritable treasure-box of symbolic statuses, and from this, artists Kate Davis and David Moore, have taken inspiration for their Patio Project at the WW Gallery.

With Kate Davis and David Moore’s Pica Pica, the magpie’s double nature as a harbinger of both joy and sorrow is expressed as a physical metaphor. The plastic signs positioned on either side of the patio might look at first like the ubiquitous signs of an estate agent, but in the September winds they spin wildly from sorrow to joy and all the way back again.

With its magpie-monochromatic palette splashed with red, the installation is carnivalesque. The brightly spinning magpies are reflected in a circular mirror rising from the patio stones. Pica Pica, taking its mysterious name from the Latin word for the European magpie, taunts us as a wheel of life from a game show or some surreal amusement from the fairground.

Kate Davis and David Moore have created a game of fortune which invites each and every passerby to play. It’s not clear what we might catch reflected in that mirror or how many magpies, both real and illusory, we might count as our fortune. Nevertheless, the game seems worth a try.

Pica Pica will finish this weekend on the 30 September at the Patio Project, WW Gallery, 30 Queensdown Road E5.

For more information go to WW Patio Projects.



Susie Hamilton & Inguna Gremzde
Vacant Lots

10 October – 10 November 2012
PV Tues 9 October 2012, 6 – 9pm

Open Weds – Fri 11 – 6pm; Sat 11 – 4pm
WW Gallery, 34/35 Hatton Garden EC1N 8DX

‘Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.’

Preludes, T S Eliot

The WW Gallery is pleased to present Vacant Lots, an exhibition of paintings by Susie Hamilton and Inguna Gremzde. While Hamilton and Gremzde reference the tradition of figurative landscapes and portraits, the psychological charge and setting of their work is a phenomenon of the contemporary world. The vacant lots of their paintings are the metropolitan deserts of Asda, Iceland, Lidl and Tesco, the modern supermarket.

Like the extension of blank concrete airport runways or the multiplication of identikit skyscrapers, office blocks and housing developments, the continual expansion of supermarkets leads to a paradoxical paralysis of choice. Hamilton and Gremzde reflect upon the soulless non-places and waste lands of our consumer super-cities, presenting a bleak vision charged with melancholy.

Susie Hamilton’s Women Shoppers shuffle through the freezer aisles: solitary, obese and elderly. Inguna Gremzde’s paintings on plastic lids are both intimate miniatures and mass-produced portraits of a single figure moving through the non-narrative of a shopping trip. The subjects of both Hamilton and Gremzde become anonymous consumers in a tribe of vacant shoppers as they are processed by supermarkets through a wilderness of discounts, reductions and special offers.

This exploration of supermarket psychology is fuelled by a social paranoia which stretches beyond the depressing monotony of the weekly shop. The chaos and anarchy which is caused by the order of J G Ballard’s forty-storey High Rise packed with a ‘glut of conveniences’, seems to lurk behind the sterile aisles. Barry Schwartz describes this ‘paradox of choice’: “There is vastly too much choice in the modern world and we are paying an enormous price for it. It makes us feel helpless, mentally paralysed and profoundly dissatisfied.”(1)

At odds with the insistent visceral assault of supermarket crowds, bright colours, stark strip-lighting, the relentless pop drone and piped smells, the works in Vacant Lots carry a sense of the dystopia masked by this artificial superstore environment.

Opening during Frieze Week Vacant Lots will offer a counterpoint to the art fair. With its temporary white walls and neatly divided cubicles Frieze offers another type of consumerist waste-land, an art superstore for convenience purchases.

(1) The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz

Susie Hamilton studied painting at St Martin’s School of Art, and Byam Shaw School of Art and studied English Literature at Birkbeck College, London University. Since 1996 she has shown with Paul Stolper, London, where she has had eight solo exhibitions. Other solo shows include Postmodernism and Spirit, University of Central Lancashire, Preston (2002); Paradise Alone, Ferens Art Gallery, Hull (2002) and St Edmund Hall, Oxford (2003); Paintings and Monoprints, Galleri Trafo, Oslo (2007); World of Light, Triumph Gallery, Moscow (2008); Black Sun, Studio Hugo Opdal, Flo, Norway (2009); Mutilates and A New Heaven and a New Earth, St Giles’, Cripplegate, London (2001, 2011). Group shows include The Mostyn Open, Oriel Mostyn, Llandudno (1993); The Whitechapel Open, Whitechapel Gallery, London (1994, 1998); Ikon Touring, Ikon Gallery, Birmingham (2000); Presence, St Paul’s Cathedral, London (2002); John Moores 23, The Walker, Liverpool (2004); Strictly Painting III, Voges + Partner, Frankfurt (2005); The Summer Exhibition, The Royal Academy, London (2004, 2009); National Open Art Competition, Chichester; In the Flesh, Paul Stolper Gallery, London; Afternoon Tea, WW Gallery at The Venice Biennale (2011); The Threadneedle Prize (Mall Galleries, London), Bite: Artists Making Prints (Mall Galleries), The Jerwood Drawing Prize (Jerwood Space, London) and RE OPEN: The Royal Society of Painter-Printmakers (Bankside Gallery,London) in 2012. Her work is in numerous public and private collections including Murderme UK, Deutsche Bank, The Economist, THS Partners, Bernard Jacobson Collection, The Groucho Club and The Methodist Art Collection. She lives and works in East London.

Inguna Gremzde studied at the Art Academy of Latvia and completed her MA in Fine Art at the Wimbledon College of Art, University of the Arts London, where she was selected by the WW Gallery as an Axis MAstar. She was the recipient of an Honourable Mention at the Turgut Pura Prize and had a recent solo show at the Adirondack Lakes Center for the Arts, NY, USA, 2012 Crossroads. She will be included in the upcoming exhibition for the Threadneedle Prize, Mall Galleries, and showing in What a Wonderful World, Plato Sanat, Istanbul, Turkey. Group shows include 2012 Magnitude 7, Manifest Gallery, Cincinnati; Turgut Pura Prize, Izmir Art and Sculpture Museum, Izmir, Turkey; Upcycle, Athens Institute for Contemporary Art, Athens, USA; 6th International Arte Laguna Prize, Arsenale, Venice, Italy; Postcard Show, Surface Gallery, Nottingham; International Painting NYC, Jeffrey Leder Gallery, NY, USA; CoCA’S 2011 Annual Exhibition, Center on Contemporary Art, Seattle, USA; 2011 Salon Art Prize, Matt Roberts Art, London; Cork Street Open Exhibition, London; Summer Salon, Islington Arts Factory, London; Futura Bold/Futura Oblique, The Nunnery, London; and Politics and Power, LCC, London

Curated by Debra Wilson & Chiara Williams
For more information please contact Francesca Brooks at


I have been spending some of my September days at the WW Gallery with Ayuko Sugiura’s exhibition, Second Skin. In this curio of surreal icons there is a cathedral made from silicon which hangs from the greenhouse windows like a web of light. It’s meditative, as a cathedral should be, but somehow the perspective is slightly skewed.


I recently joined the East London Fawcett to help out with press. I’ve already gone along to lots of brilliant events including an art tour of some commercial galleries in West London led by artist Rose Gibbs.

A highlight was Sarah Lucas’ project space at Sadie Coles, SituationWhite Hole with Rohan Wealleans glittered with hanging light bulbs, tipped-up toilets and vajazzle. It stood out in stark contrast to the rough monuments and phallic giants of Thomas Houseago at Hauser & Wirth in The Mess I’m Looking For.


I have returned to the Tate Tanks as often as possible to make the most of the excitement before the 15 week programme comes to an end. I also enjoy any excuse to head to Bankside, my favourite London ‘tourist’ spot with the dome of St Pauls, Millennium bridge in the light, the gaping rush of the Thames.

The other week I saw Haegue Yang’s performance sculptures, Dress Vehicles limply rattling around the industrial cave. It was the perfect example of when participatory art fails to convince anyone to participate.

When somebody tried to get in the ‘vehicle’ they were promptly told that only the invigilators were allowed to do that, but they were hesitant, giggly and a little shy about the whole thing. In a moment of absolute awkwardness one of them, a Polish woman, took to the microphone to sing a folk song very badly. Luckily she was interrupted by somebody with musical talent taking to the unoccupied drum kit. It was at least, good for a laugh.


On Thursday I interviewed Alex Lewis and Edward Wallace about their exhibition Static Dynamic at Copenhagen Place. The next day, after getting lost in Mile End, I went to see the exhibition. Copenhagen Place is an odd little project space which seems to be hidden at the back of a commune of creatives. There were about 20 toothbrushes in the bathroom and there was a beautiful cat. I don’t want to give too much away because the interview will be up on roves and roams soon.

On Saturday the artist Daniel Kelly will be at the Whitstable Biennale with a new performance work/play looking at computers and the internet. I’ll be sad to miss it as it sounds like another fascinating exploration of the way in which technology has influenced participatory and social works of art. Here are more details of when and where you can hear the installation: Party Invite

Below I have reposted an interview I did with Daniel about his Twitter-inspired play and performance work The Pirates of Carthage.

A picture which is not in fact of Whitstable…

This week, after almost a year of work, Daniel Kelly’s play The Pirates of Carthage will finally make it out of the studio and onto the radio waves before moving to the stage at The Nellie Dean in Soho next week.

I go to meet Daniel Kelly in his Bow Road studio in the East of London. Newly moved in, with a couple of artist friends, the space is still sparse although it has got a newly built mezzanine. Kelly is tall, he’s wearing a fuzzy Russian hat, and a slightly paint bespattered tartan jacket with a silky scarf. He looks appropriately arty, but then it’s also a ploy to keep warm. With jasmine tea, and a heater between us, we begin to chat about The Pirates of Carthage.

This is ‘A play about Tunisia, Twitter and the power of the people’. But to describe it simply as a play is a little misleading, as Kelly explains; he is primarily a visual artist and this hasn’t been about leaving all that behind to become a writer. The Pirates of Carthage would be more accurately described as a multimedia artistic project; an interactive series of performances across media, based on a collage of tweets, quotations from Gustave Flaubert’s Salammbo, Tunisian hip-hop, and a video montage of internet surveillance.  On Thursday 12th January at 8pm a live interactive radio performance will be broadcast on Resonance FM (, on the 14th there will be a live streaming (, 4.30pm), and from the 16th there will be performances at the Nellie Dean in Soho.

Kelly sees his new project as having roots in his earlier practice of collaging in painting. The artistic development involved in The Pirates of Carthage, from painter tomultimedia artist, was necessary in order to respond to Kelly’s inspiration; the powerful utilization of Twitter during the Tunisian uprising which led to the overthrow of the prime minister in January last year. Perhaps like many people, Kelly watched the Tunisian people revolting via Twitter in awe.  Feeling the need to respond he began by taking photographs from the newspapers and working them into paintings, but this seemed too simple. He had to use the tweets at the centre of the story, and it was essential that they were read aloud. Flaubert’s Salammbo, which is included as excerpts from an audio tape, adds historical resonance to our sense of the significance of the recent uprising.

The demands of the project have forced Kelly to become a playwright, a producer, to collaborate with aDirector and actors, with Tunisians and activists, and to become a brilliant self-publicist and galvanizer of willing friends. And what kind of a manager has he been? ‘I’m usually quite a relaxed person but I have found myself getting quite stressed at rehearsals. So now, I don’t have a coffee beforehand, I’m trying to be more calm.’

There is a lot of Kelly in the project. If you go to the Nellie Dean you’ll find in the introductory visuals, the eye of the artist staring back at you. By filming his screen as he used the internet and layering this into a video montage, Kelly sifts through the accessible data of the web; BBC News, newspapers, Youtube videos of Glee asking ‘Who Run the World’?, and soft porn, until we gradually see him focusing in on the Tunisian conflict; images of Sidi Bouzid, news stories, twitter feeds. Kelly says he had to ask himself who ‘was I to be making a political work about the Tunisian conflict?’ But the video demonstrates that we all have access to this public history, and that the internet and Kelly’s play are powerful ways of understanding it.

The whole journey and artistic process has been documented on Twitter. In fact when I check on my way home a new update reads ‘Just done an interview for @flaneurzine buzzzzzzzin’ with the obligatory #pcarthage.

Kelly’s play has been devised from the archives of the Tunisian conflict’s history on Twitter, and now Kelly’s play in turn has its own digital, trackable, archive. With a kind of essential circularity Kelly pays tribute to his work’s genesis by hashtagging  ‘ #sidibouzid and connecting himself back to the conception of the conflict. Of the original Tweeters; Kacem4, has created and managed the project’s blog, and a Guardian commentator will now be in the performance. This is a homage, above all, to the awe the uprising instilled in people.

If Kelly has an ambition, it is that his work can honour the original sense of collaboration and community, to prove Twitter to be as significant an artistic tool as it is political. He doesn’t believe that artists are particularly engaged with technology; they aren’t exploiting, as Kelly has, the potential of platforms such as Twitter.  ‘We didn’t use the internet when I was at school’ perhaps it is only now ‘that a new generation of technologically-engaged artists is emerging.’  With a glitter in his eye, it’s exciting to think that he might be one of the first.

At the end of the Resonance FM streaming, the audience can interact by tweeting, and Kelly hopes that many of these will come from Tunisia. With any luck #pcarthage will also be trending. He likes the idea that it will be the Twitter archive, and not the book he is producing, which will survive for posterity and represent the legacy of The Pirates of Carthage. The play proves that what we so frequently see as the ‘disposable’ ‘throwaway’ comments on Twitter are actually far more concrete and lasting; ‘perhaps in years to come the internet will seem more real than any of the physical relics of our time and historians will be looking at Twitter.’

Social Media, Twitter in particular, is something which I am in fact very passionate about. It all began in my final year of university when I was putting super-focus into everything and decided to start blogging about art as a productive form of procrastination. I quickly learnt that I could find a much wider audience for my writing through Twitter and could even connect with the galleries I was writing about.

Anyway since then the internet has continued to be my friend and I have found myself interested in watching the rise of internet art too. Philippa Found’s feminist exhibition on the Body in Women’s Art finished with a group show of works which explored the possibilities and virtual realities of the internet. I also did my first ever artist interview with Daniel Kelly about the power of Twitter in affecting social and political change.

My article for the CAN journal was opportunity to think a little more deeply about how far I saw the benefits of the internet stretching.

Helen Carmel Benigson, Twitter Print

While the internet might not sound like the obvious bedfellow of a bohemian artist, writer or photographer, there is a growing crowd of creative professionals who are turning to the internet’s democratising powers to increase their exposure.

It’s no longer enough to be networking at launches and private views while you sip strange brands of free beer, your online presence will also help with massive amounts of kudos and it’s even possible to network-tweet.

The internet is more than just a means of instantly accessing data and information which it might take us hours to source in a library or archive, social media has also made it an invaluable tool for connecting with real people and institutions, whose paths we could never dream of crossing in the real world. Out on the streets Katy Perry might be escorted by a crowd of impenetrable heavies, but on Twitter all you need is the ‘@’ symbol to manufacture an intimate encounter.

The same goes for the art world, while the richest collectors might remain elusive, it’s not hard to suck up to the biggest and best galleries by casually throwing a compliment their way or becoming their biggest retweet sycophant. Conversations and debates initiated through social media can easily be the beginning of a real life affinity when you meet at a private view.

Although it may sound more than a little cheesy, the possibilities available to us in virtual reality begin to seem infinite.  If I have any kind of voice as a writer, I have it because of the internet. It’s where most of my articles are published and it’s also how I reach my audience. This audience would probably consist of just my mother and my grandmother if it wasn’t for social media. This is why so many artists and writers would consider the internet their friend; obscurity isn’t quite so obscure when a casual retweet by a celebrity can send you global.

“Conversations and debates initiated through social media can easily be the beginning of a real life affinity when you meet at a private view.”

Leaving my Twitter obsession aside, there’s one issue I have with the internet and its relationship with a growing cultural apathy. I once knew of a very rich art collector who did most of his art-shopping through online picture galleries and bulk packages shipped over email. If an online gallery was a suitable substitute for real floor space many could save a small fortune on rents, maintenance and staffing. But there is a difference between seeing a work of art in the flesh and browsing for the highest resolution reproduction on Google.

The internet’s power to induce hypnotic states of procrastination and periods of utter laziness scares me because I am a prime suspect.  I have retweeted articles I have never read because 140 characters have convinced me that I do in fact agree. I’ll tweet about exhibitions I will never get to and I agree to attend events on Facebook which I have no intention of going to.  Sometimes I like to think of this as a show of solidarity but the truth is that I’m just spoilt – spoilt by the incredible wealth of data that passes rapidly through my Twitter feed every day.

There’s an odd little website called Klout which likes to flatter everyone by analysing their social media reach and declaring them ‘Influential’. According to the site I’m influential on a range of topics including ‘coffee’- in this case I’m definitely not, I’m just an addict.  This is the thing which worries me, while my ever-growing following on Twitter might sound impressive, and my WordPress blog stats suggest a growing engagement, how much of this influence is real? How many people give my articles more than a cursory glance? Or don’t just mindlessly click through the picture galleries of an artist’s work without really looking?

If you’ve paid £10 for a magazine you probably will make sure you read through some of the content properly, equally if you’ve paid to get into an exhibition or have made the trip to a gallery you will be spending some time looking at the work.  My fear is that so much of what we do in the virtual world literally just disappears into the ethernet.  So I guess, the only thing left to say is don’t forget about the real world. The internet is still only supposed to be our ‘Second Life’.

This is a copy of an article about the Hackney Film Festival orginally published on the Hackney Citizen website.

When Iain Sinclair summed up Swandown before its screening on the last night of the Hackney Film Festival he described it as: “part documentation, hard graft, madness and visionary experience […] a pilgrimage.”

There is something about pilgrimage which suggests a martyr-like endurance and sacrifice. At this Hackney Wick Canal Screening, whether it was the unbearably long queues for refreshments in the Carlton, or the bitter-sweet sounds drifting across the canal of Coldplay’s never-ending set at the Paralympic closing ceremony, or the swell of the biting cold winds; there was plenty to be endured and enough to make pilgrims of us all.

The rewards for standing out in the cold were luminescent visions like Larraine’s Worpole’s Hackney Armada and Rebecca E Marshall’s portrait of Hastings’ waterbabies, Glitter and Storm.

Glitter and Storm is filmed just below the shifting surface of the waves. Watching outdoors on a cold night it was possible to feel that you too were “swimming in magic” with the relentless plash of the waters at your skin.

The six films which preceded the screening of Swandown were lyrics and odes to swimming and sailing, the water, the Thames, the Lea, the sea.  They all shared that liquid element, with Andrew Kötting’s idiosyncratic filming uniting all with a sense of joy at British eccentricity.

Swandown is just as insanely romantic as you might imagine. Two grown boys pedalling from the sea at Hastings all the way back to their native Hackney in a swan; it sounds like a future myth already.

Andrew Kötting wears the same suit for the month of the journey and Iain Sinclair pedals dressed as a cross between a Sunday fisherman and an intrepid explorer. It is both absurd and surreal, an English Odyssey for east London cynics and the psychogeography circle.

Swandown was entirely enriched by its chosen setting at the film festival. The artificial lights of the Olympic stadium, the occasional catch of roars from the crowd, the drone of the helicopter monitoring the area, the stale wet smell of the canal waters; these things were all a part of the prophecy of the quiet home county riverbanks and those crisp panoramas which made up the film.

As the swan pedalo nudged empty, abandoned, at the buoys barricading the Olympic development in Swandown, a rain of climatic fireworks lit up the sky behind the audience of the festival.  In this, (a providential coincidence or genius programming?) was a perfectly-pitched Olympic commentary.

Nobody could resist the high-glitter and spectacle of the fireworks. Everybody turned away from Swandown to coo at that temporary spectacle which has captivated the masses, along with many of its disbelievers, this summer.  We were so close to that stadium, but we couldn’t have been further away on Hackney Wick’s Fish Island.

Sometimes artists can be painfully serious about their work, but Aaron Angell is not one of these artists. He was light, flippant and funny but somehow this attitude only seemed to give me a stronger curiosity about his work.

I chose to interview Angell based on the way in which is three artistic processes seemed to fit together, and because he works with ceramics, which seems like a rare medium nowadays. You can read the full interview on roves and roams.

When Aaron Angell tells me that he only likes working for solo shows, as in shows all about him, I know that it isn’t arrogance talking. I know this not just because he says so, but because it is clear that the three elements of his practice (ceramics, acrylics and wall drawings) talk to each other with the casual easiness of a complete oeuvre.

For Angell, although “chemical reactions” can be forced during the curation of group exhibitions, it is the “alchemical” reactions which occur between his works which he takes the most pleasure from: “It’s the perverse logic of curation, the alchemical bond between pieces which makes some pieces stronger for being next to one thing, or stronger for being obscured.” The decisions involved in curation may seem arbitrary to Angell but he can’t deny the tricksy way in which it seems to fit everything together.

Although Angell claims that he is not a ceramicist, and would never define himself as one, I think the process has affected him in deeper ways than he might imagine, all of his talk of “alchemy” strikes a chord with the “crazy glazes which can suddenly atrophy in the kiln” transforming black to yellow.  Even with his methodical acrylic paintings, which are, “totally in contrast to ceramics” and “not sexy at all”, Angell uses a processes of flicking thousands of layers of paint with a toothbrush onto a surface which means that the outcome is always unexpected. There is an element of experimentation in everything.

When I ask Angell whether there is any intentional humour in his work he is very dismissive, he isn’t interested in the kind of ‘artist’s joke’ which only requires the smug acknowledgement of an ‘in-joke’; “If you look at medieval woodcuts, they are so shonky, they aren’t supposed to be funny but they are- everyone in them looks so daft and silly- if I’m trying to channel any kind of humour it’s that accidental humour.”

I couldn’t have found a better metaphor for the root of the laughter stirred by Angell’s work if I tried.  Load up the CV page on Angell’s website and a folksy little jig will begin playing, accidentally do this in public and you won’t be able to restrain a little giggle. It is a bit silly. The spirit of daftness works its way into everything Angell does, whether it’s the “piece of piss” sculptural process of ceramics he plays with or the inspiration he takes from 80s war games; amused by the nerdy guys in games workshops, he admits that his ceramics “get increasingly like old models I used to make”.

The really interesting thing about the harmony and ‘alchemy’ of Angell’s work is that his three processes have such crazily diverse roots.  Angell is influenced by a whole phantasmagoria of cultural curiosities. While the wall drawings are inspired by dilapidated religious paintings from the 11th and 12th century, Angell also cites West German pottery, folk music, British Psychadelia of the 60s and 70s, Albion and the idea of a sentient British landscape, as influences. He’s joyfully indiscriminate, but no single strand is necessarily identifiable in the final creation. They are all thrown into the kiln in a melee of personal kooks and obsessions.

Angell has only been working with ceramics for a year so the process is developing very quickly, but I can tell that he is enjoying the opportunity for experimentation:  “Ceramics look cool.  You can have anything you want and turn it into stone over-night. I really felt that it was a fundamentally nice sculptural process.”  Without any facilities at the Slade, Angell snuck back into his secondary school for a little training from the ceramics technician and has been playing with the medium ever since.  Making around 15-20 pieces during every period in the studio, Angell admits that aspects often transfer between ceramics when they are still wet; the process is always expressive.

Behind all of the flippancy of his experimentation in the ceramics studio, Angell is passionately polemical about the process: “I’m very opinionated about what ceramics should be. I think ceramics should be treated democratically as a sculptural material rather than as a craft. I think it’s such a basic ancient technique, like drawing or something like that, that it shouldn’t be restricted to the artisan.”

Next year he hopes to set up a studio in South London where other artists will also be able to benefit from the facilities, “Basically there is no provision for artists in London working with ceramics any more, there’s a few people with small private kilns who will let you use their space, but it’s awkward to work in somebody else’s space. Or you’re working back in that craft world, among people making teapots.  It’s going to be a resource for artists.”

With the casual beauty of his acrylics recalling pre-historic works of art and his dystopian glazed ceramics, Angell seems to transform the reverent gallery space into a quasi-religious shrine to a surreal mix of untraceable influences. There is no better maxim for an artist to live by than pleasure, and Angell knows how to inject all his work with a healthy dose of fun:  “I realised that if I was making what I wanted, and definitely knew it was what I wanted to be doing at that moment, then that didn’t need an explanation.”

Aaron Angell will be included in 20/12 London Art Now at National Trust property Lodge Park, Sherborne Park Estate (26 September  – 7 October  2012 and also has a forthcoming solo show at Rob Tufnell