Some exhibits from the Museum of the Future. Photograph: Ministry of Stories
Novelists, illustrators and others with overactive imaginations have long concocted visions of future Londons – the dystopias of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World immediately spring to mind – so perhaps it’s not surprising children are now doing the same.
Sci-fi, futurology and fantasy lend themselves well to a city that breaks boundaries in fashion, architecture and the like, and now a “museum of the future” is to be added to the many institutions in the capital displaying objects from the far distant past.
The “museum” is in fact a temporary exhibition at the Hundred Years Gallery in Hoxton, and it will introduce visitors to possible sights, sounds, threats and artefacts from the future.
Curated and created entirely by children, whose naturally overactive imaginations mean they probably needed no encouragement, it is the brainchild of charity Ministry of Stories.
It features space-football and “evil washing machines”, and there will be five zones, each exploring a different theme including “creature attack,” natural disasters and time travel.
All of stories in the exhibition were penned by Hoxton children aged 8-12, who have been working with Ministry of Stories in its Thursday and Saturday out-of-school groups.
Hoxton Museum of the Future will open to the public on Saturday 30 July (11am-5pm) and Sunday 31 July (11am – 3pm).
Imagine what Samuel Pepys might make of Pokemon Go and you will have some idea of how our city in four hundred years’ time might look to us today.
Catch the show soon before it’s a thing of the past.
Abstract: Jeremy Moon’s ‘Out of Nowhere’. Photograph: PEER gallery
Paintings by Jeremy Moon are like brightly-coloured UFOs that have somehow found their way to earth.
Although an influential figure in abstract painting and the 1960s London art scene, exhibitions of Moon’s work are a rare occurence.
But now PEER gallery in Hoxton and Large Glass on Caledonian Road are jointly presenting a selection of paintings and drawings by the artist, who died in a motorbike accident in 1973 at the age of 39.
PEER is also showing a large sculpture by young Glasgow-based artist, Neil Clements, who has selected the works for both shows.
Clements’ large and airy sculpture is very reminiscent of a 1960s sculpture by Anthony Caro, but has now been reimagined it as a structure for a slide show, with each digitally produced slide depicting paintings by Moon between 1964 and 1968.
Moon was one of the first artists in Britain to experiment with shaped canvases, and was known for his non-representational paintings of bright colour and geometrical clarity.
Comedy and seriousness pack this show. The comedy comes from the paintings’ ability to anticipate our encounter with them as the act of viewing unveils layers of lightness and playful intelligence.
The interplay between the depicted and literal form is a significant development in visual language. Out of Nowhere (1965) plays with the perception and optical, our eyes initially reading the circular voids as painted white holes.
In No 3/73 (1973) the shaped canvas leads the eye from the depicted orange strip on the bottom left hand corner to the literal form jutting out into space after crossing a horizontal black band.
Moon would explore all the possibilities of the paintings through a vast outpouring of drawings, only arriving at a pictorial solution when as many possible options converge. This intentional instability creates a tension and an energy pulling in different directions.
“These are paintings that welcome you into their space,” says Neil Clements, artist-curator and PhD Research Student at Glasgow School of Art, adding: “He worked hard to make it look easy.”
Moon famously hated critics, Clements says. One can see how the singularity, simplicity and intuitive nature, the logic and irrationality of the paintings, wilfully resist categories and language.
There’s an extraordinary freshness to the work in Out of Nowhere, which has been specially restored for the occasion.
Moon’s work feels so contemporary because the paintings look to the future, they open up and push into new spaces. By tilting the rigidity of modernist rationalism something very human comes through, like a flower sprouting through the cracks in concrete.
Out of Nowhere Until 17 September PEER 97-99 Hoxton Street N1 6QL
Main attraction: Mushroom broth, vegetable salad, Korean rice and crunchy bean curd skin
You are not always sure of what you are eating in Chriskitch, a new restaurant tucked behind Hoxton Square, but as I learnt, it pays to put your trust in the chef.
Surprising combinations are the order of the day here (BBQ duck ravioli and quinoa popsicle anyone?) all of which inspired by the worldly travels of the restaurant’s chef Chris Honor.
The starter of champagne-poached oyster, truffle oil, caviar and scrambled eggs struck me as something a child would dream up, asked what grown-ups eat.
But there is nothing childish about this starter, which bursts with rich truffle and sea flavours. It is beautifully presented – just like everything else on the menu – in an oyster shell propped up by sorbet, on a bed of ornamental seaweed.
Starter’s orders: champagne poached oyster with truffle and chive scrambled eggs
Other weird and wonderful delights pop up around the starters – cheese popsicles, crisped rye bread… even powdered white truffle on a teaspoon to cleanse the palate.
It is the juicy kale rolls that steal the warm-up show, however, which were much more lively than they sound, bursting with south east Asian flavours of basil seeds and fresh herbs. These complimentary bites are welcome in a menu that veers towards the pricey, with mains averaging at around £19.
And with the mains come flavours of the Middle East: the signature blackened lamb dish is enclosed in succulent aubergine strips, topped with salty feta and with the sweet hint of date chutney.
Moving on to Mediterranean climes is the salmon: crispy skin, succulent and flaking apart underneath. Somehow this dish smacks of the sea even more than expected, perhaps due to deep notes of anchovy. Underneath is bone marrow and a bacon and endive tart – though I’m not sure exactly which part is which. What I can vouch for, though, is its deliciousness.
For dessert we forego the recommended chocolate pudding, opting instead for the picture-pretty crème brûlée. It combines all the great things about a crème brûlée – a rich and smooth vanilla flavour with a crispy top – yet is even more delectable thanks to the fresh fruit flavours of thin candied lemon slices and fresh raspberries.
A poached pear poked through a mysterious round pastry crisp, served with a smear of salted caramel sauce, vanilla cream and ‘activated’ walnuts – which, yes, really did taste nuttier than usual.
At Chriskitch you pay more than your usual Hackney joint, but the menu takes you far beyond this borough.
At 15 and a half, having bunked off most of his final year at school, Mick Hugo ‘skinned out to sea’. In other words, he gave in to the nagging urge to ditch his native Hoxton, and joined the merchant navy. It was the early 1960s and he was leaving behind the unlikely prospect of a chance career in the film industry, in favour of ‘horizons’.
Half a century on from leaving the service, Hugo, now a builder by trade, has written 100 or so pages about his time working on the world’s oceans. His thoughts on various aspects of the seaman’s experience, which have remained roughly etched in his memory, represent a kind of challenge to conventional literature.
He writes in a raw, rugged style, untamed by any pretentious notions of a burgeoning literary life. As a result, Skinning Out To Sea is fresh and bracing, delivered in a manner befitting a boozy pub chat. Its sentences are often long and can feel unchecked, which, though occasionally jarring, contributes to a rambling style that’s lifted by Hugo’s clear knack for poetry.
Comprised of 20 short chapters and accompanied by a series of the author’s own evocative, if scruffy, sketches, the book covers myriad subjects. It details raucous exploits in far-flung ports, the day-to-day grind on deck, the social structure of the ships’ crews – which operate almost like allegorical micro-societies – and, of course, the wild exchange of pranks.
Portions of the text that stand out include recollections of when a troubled crew mate, Brummie, threw himself overboard into the black waves, and of a charismatic man-about-town, Lenny, who, it turned out, was in a relationship with a rather more unkempt male steward. The former description, which is accompanied by the original logbook account, offers stark insight into what was at stake for some at sea, while the latter is handled with a confident balance of humour and sensitivity.
Moreover, Hugo’s equating of the initial arrival of British sailors in blissful Tahiti centuries ago with taking acid for the first time is worthy of considerable praise.
While you might expect an abundance of tales of ill health and strife from a book of this sort, Skinning Out, for the most part, provides the opposite. Other than a period spent locked up in New Zealand – for reasons that remain unclear – Hugo’s personal experience comes across as largely positive and full of wonder. It was a chance to see the world, which for a working-class lad from the East End in those days was otherwise rare, and he relished it.
He describes the pleasure of jobs that entailed weeks at sea without respite: ‘If it were a longish passage, work would settle down to a relaxing pattern of day work, watch keeping and sobriety. No TV, no radio, no newspapers, regular meal times, sufficient sleep… and predominantly tropical weather with constantly changing astronomical night skies, no family responsibilities, no bills to pay… Aye, ‘twas hard!’
There is, however, a political undercurrent tracking the decline of the merchant fleet, touching on events like the seamen’s strike of 1966, which arrived in tandem with Hugo’s own political coming of age. This episode pretty much marked the end of his nautical career; but for a brief comeback with the highly desirable Australian merchant navy, he resigned himself to a life on land.
At home, Hugo would “slip back into the fold” and take his place “among the huddle on the corner”. He applied some of the skills he acquired as a seafarer to decorating for his money, but he always harboured creative ambitions, painting and sculpting away in his parents’ council flat. Now, at 70, he’s produced something special: Skinning Out To Sea is a modest triumph.
Mick Hugo will be in conversation with the writer Ken Worpole, and will also read from his book, on Thursday 10th March 2016 at 7pm.
The event will be held at Brick Lane Bookshop, and is free (including a glass of wine) but booking is essential – click here for more information and to book a place.
Skinning Out to Sea is published by Bowline Books. RRP: £10. ISBN: 9780993429507
Unlike the reputation of its politicised proprietor, Trew Era café is inconspicuous. Nestled between a barber and a printing shop, it’s easy to miss. Russell Brand’s venture – a potentially awkward coalition of coffee and community action – is located just metres away from the New Era Estate in Hackney, whose residents recently fought off eviction, arm in arm with Mr Brand himself.
This particular arm of Brand’s ‘Revolution’ is a non-profit social enterprise, funded by proceeds from his book and run by people in abstinence-based recovery from addiction. At its opening, Brand announced: “Politics is dead, this is the end of politics. What we are discussing now is what comes after… and it will start with small enterprises such as this, which put the power where it belongs – with people.” Cue eye-rolling from those who don’t believe Russell Brand to be the arbiter of societal sea change.
And yet call me an undiscerning apologist, but I think it’s nice. It feels sincere, warm even; a far cry from popular complaints about Brand’s apparently shaky integrity and narcissism. Granted, the seating is coolly uncomfortable and the décor ‘stripped down’ chic, but it is certainly the only coffee shop I’ve been to in Hackney that isn’t almost exclusively frequented by MacBook-toting white people.
Indeed, New Era resident Ann Taylor proclaimed at the opening: “This will be our meeting place.” And she wasn’t lying. Every time I have been to Trew Era, something remarkable happens – strangers talk to each other. During my last visit, I ended up abandoning my emails in favour of a rather heart-warming conversation with an 80-something woman waiting for a Dial-A-Ride taxi and a couple of long-serving primary school teachers. Amongst all the talking and activist posters, it actually feels like there’s such thing as community.
The coffee and sandwiches are arguably secondary in the midst of revolutionary ambitions. Nevertheless, as they say, the revolution will be fuelled by flat whites and toasted sandwiches. There is breakfast food aplenty and cakes made by locals. The main menu changes often, depending on who’s working and is locally-sourced, organic and vegetarian. Recently there has been a vegan chilli and various vegetable soups. There are also appropriately healthy juices, including one called Chai Coff Ski. The prices are reasonable (as they should be). As a benchmark, a latte is £1.80.
Everything that I’ve tried is tasty, though you get the feeling that if you wanted something completely different, that’d be fine too. If this café is to be the headquarters of a post-politics, people’s revolution, you’d better show your face. If not, it’s definitely worth a visit anyway. You don’t even have to meet Russell Brand. But you might; I did, and he bought me a coffee.
