Photo Pest: East End

Saturday, October 29, 2022

East End

Not every Londoner stood in The Queue. Look no farther than an enormous collage that covers the side of a building off a Brick Lane alley for dissension.

It's a gentrifying neighborhood in Spitalfields, once home to a primarily South Asian population.

Restaurants and sweet shops still cater to residents whom hipsters have begun to displace. I wanted to go as much for the curries as the street art. Thom didn't really have the stomach for either.

Her Majesty a pill popper?

An activist?

A punk? I beg your pardon!

Nor did the creators spare her beloved corgi. Look closely at this one.

Other targets were more justified IMHO.

And I wasn't surprised at all to see this trope. Just watch Steve McQueen's Small Axe to understand why some communities might be skeptical of bobbies.

Vintage clothing vendors occupy the former Truman's Brewery, once one of the world's largest, now a club-kid paradise.

But its origins remain embedded in the cobblestone street.

BTW, clothing from my youth now falls into the "vintage" category. Sigh.

Broccoli as a decorative motif goes too far in my book.

But Marilyn, even with a Medusa perm, never goes out of fashion.

Santander bikes added a line of corporate color to Brick Lane.

A very meta photo, no?

No Bangladeshi sweets in this shop. Egg and dairy free, too. Pretty but blecch.

We met Chris at Banksy's Pink Car, a local landmark.

While he and Thom shopped, I caught a couple of other street artists in the act of creation.

For just a moment, I felt like the Swinging Sixties might have returned to Corbet Place.

At Spitalfields Market, Chris chose Lululemon over perusing the book stalls. Go figure.

We had a 2:30 p.m. reservation to tour a home in Jack the Ripper's old hood. No talking aloud or photos inside. No electricity or plumbing either. The "still life drama" is exactly as Dennis Severs left it when AIDS killed him in 1999. A shrine to the Enlightenment or an over-the-top fire trap? You'll have to see it for yourself to decide. I bought 18 Folgate Street, his very peculiar meditation.

Chris led us to Queer Britain, a new museum which required catching the tube at Liverpool Station. Many of the office towers in London amaze.

If Thom hadn't wanted to get a sandwich at Pret, I would have missed the Kindertransport Memorial just outside. Ten thousand Jewish children escaping Nazi persecution passed through Liverpool Station. I'd call that Britain's finest hour, despite the fact that half a dozen young people obliviously sat on its edges while consuming their McDonald's fast food.

What can I say about Queer Britain? Maybe "meh"--it disappointed. Answers to the burning question "Why is it important for LGBTQ+ people to be seen?" comprise this exhibit.

If a dress worn by Divine is the anemic collection's most compelling item, a bobblehead Dr. Anthony Fauci is perhaps the most unexpected. The bureaucrat's career illustrates the pendulum shift in the "gay perspective" perhaps better than anything: from villain to hero in two pandemics. Not noted, of course. Do your homework, kids.

We said goodbye to Chris just outside the museum along the Regent's Canal. He had a dinner date and we had an early plane to catch the next morning. After Thom shopped some more, of course.