Spring into Summer

Saw the Summer Exhibition at the RA, a bit pedestrian except for young Tracy's room.
She at least did have some contemporary stuff, and most had attitude - so as a viewer I had a reaction beyond the irritated puzzlement most modern art engenders in moi.
The pile of pink willies which shadowed a 2 faced man on the wall was clever, the black balustrades were a poor copy of Louise Bourgeois' "people" [however her own saggy lump was not exciting]. The rampant zebra was trying too hard, in all senses, as was the triangle of pubic hair. Tracy's own painting was bold and delicate at the same time, and unsettling.
One huge painting in the other rooms that I did like was a painted mass of white ovals, which reminded me to try and do something with the honesty which is raining seeds all about me, even now, as it dries. It's clear whiteness reminded me of being in Anthony Gormley's Cloud Room, but the painting was more peaceful {I got the frightened giggles in the Cloud Room]
Lots of RAs had put in lots of big works, much like last years, presumably they sell, there can be no other excuse for boring sexy collages and spiky cactus's repeated ad nauseam. Lucian Freud had a nice low key portrait, pointing up the pomposity of many of the RAs even more.
Most of the other stuff was crowded in at the end, squashed in irregular tiers reaching the ceiling. You couldn't concentrate on one piece, without all the jostling crowd teeming round it, capturing your attention too.
The Anthony Caro in the courtyard is now boring - it might have had more oomph possibly in the 70s, however it made excellent seating for the weary.
We didn't buy anything, the white ovals were on a canvas bigger than my room I should think, and I have enough pubic hair to deal with already.
Having lunch on the South Bank was perfect in the hot sun, and made me envy all those MPs who can have a second house in London courtesy of the tax payer.
The rest of the week has been teeming rain and grey skies.
Unusually I was out stitching in various locations almost every day last week. June and July are frenetic in Sewing Circles, workshops, exhibitions, Open Studios.
I suppose it is all part of the spring ritual, sap rising, birds nesting, England beating New Zealand at cricket, [beating anyone at cricket is a surprise].
Just half listened to Nadal beating Federer, seems all wrong. I tend to favour the oldie in these situations these days.
I took myself to see Sex in the City on Tuesday, it was quite good/naughty fun, but I came away a bit depressed.
In the series the women seemed livelier, more open to choices, in the film it all centred on getting your man, even tho 3 of them are supposed to have careers no import was attached to them except making Miranda too tired to have sex with her man.
Samantha had her 50th birthday at the end and freed herself to go hunting, but I was left with the feeling that from J Austen till today the story seems to stop when the woman marries.
At my age I need more encouragement than that.
Am I am forgetting that men still control Hollywood, or do women still buy that storyline - as Carrie might ask .