Life after Stonehenge included Tycho’s Saturday eve return and a prodigious downloading of photos while our intrepid host made it to the Sunday farmers’ market [no sardines, but calamari for later] then dropped us to explore the desultory sculpture exhibition outside Frieze on our own

…the vintage Oldenburg wasn’t too bad; the wonders within the tents were multitudinous and

initially distinguished by a very fine pop-up incarnation of Caravan restaurant for lunch with not one but two coffees before [wowee!] rocketing out for

plenty plentiful stuff…

like little simple paintings from Japan

virtual reality from who knows where

a post-Tracey Emin emanation…

South American looking work from…South America

Commercial Activities

psycho-delia, way better than Frank Stella…not that he would know or notice the difference;

the DFT [Designer Faux Thriftstore] look…

Etel Adnan, still at it…

Ken Price, no longer…

red coats…

a William Kentridge fan club…

red coats…

Toba Khedoori, always amazing…

Stanley Whitney, about whom I’d been hearing but never seeing, there on the right and living up to his belated hype; good for him!

…mysteries of the loo

…and of the sales floor;

would you buy art [or even a sandwich] from this person?

We wandered, or zig-zagged, until, air circulation not being exactly great,

near-suffocation ensued

so bolted for the exit and went seeking [and finding, at Brora] Scottish cashmere,

running across a last Figaro along the way…while in the Hills of Hampstead, BAD Ferrari…

and, for dinner, calamari.

Last days to come.

M