no divorce whores
in primrose hill the pale low sun brightens white against dark knuckle trees and crispy winter sky.
the museum of everything is a cavernous sequence of rooms, up stairs and down low-ceilinged hall-ways; a big old house filled with strangeness. these are works by jailed mental patients, racists, homophobes and the common unsettled. nostalgia, sentimentality, darkness, and heavy-handed penmanship aside, there are beautiful tiny drawings: schizophrenic oswald tschirtner’s drawings of squids, intricate watercolours of russian guns. the stories were engrossing, not that i read many; it was the final week of exhibition and the big musty house was packed tightly with people who have blogs.
