The place was called The Museum of Curiosity and I have walked by many times but never even seen it. Much of the art seemed to be by one artist, Giles Walker. But because I was serruptitiously taking pictures I couldn't capture each artist responsible. Apologies to the unnamed relevant artists but if anyone sees this they may be inspired to visit.
First thing one sees, apart from the 10 foot high ostrich in a glass case is Little Red Riding Hood, spotlit and jumping out from the blacks. Nicolas Roeg's 'Don't Look Now' an obvious inspiration but a delicious twist.
It becomes clear one is in a place of dreams and visions. A little shop of nightmares if you will. Small, detailed figures with bird skulls seemed to be a recurring theme, if not a nightmare.
Hitchcock making his presence felt with a nod to Hieronymous Bosch via Tim Burton. The overall feeling was of a Victorian circus freakshow. On one wall a two headed calf, beside it the skull of a deformed beast of no description.
Then suddenly, left like a random magazine on the table - a Braille edition of Playboy. Magnificent in its ability to just make one stop dead in one's tracks. No images inside just page after page after page of the raised dots of what would have to have been doubly colourful editorial.
More Braille erotica with a wonderfully titled cover: 'Tactile Mind' and the raised cuntish contours of a magazine that just had to be picked up.
Further tableaux of skull headed birds in glass cases. This one I managed to catch the title of: Because We Really Love You So Fucking Much. The Pope in the wonky picture frame adding to the menace.
Downstairs it got gloomier. A huge ensemble in the corner made up of open drawers and a plaster cast head demanded attention. A cast iron safe door was left open to reveal shelves filled with more mysterious objects. When I returned to the gallery later that day, the door had been pressed shut.
The feeling was slaughterhouse rich. Saws hung from the ceiling; skulls and Victorian surgical equipment peeked out from the half light. Prosthetic limbs in glass cases sitting among dried grass.
Teeth Grinder grabbed me next. Beautifully punning; it made one smile and wince at once, as did Horse Shoelace.
Leaving the space one is forced to walk by a tryptych of hundreds of religious objects, mainly crucifixes. The overall effect, partly due to the lighting is one of unease.
As I lifted the latch to return to the street I almost expected Keith Richards' grinning dismembered skeletal head to wish me a good day from inside a glass case. This place couldn't have been painted any blacker and it was Magick.
