LONDON DISPATCH
by Laura K. Jones



What’s the point, I often say, and where to start? It’s hard to sift through the ever-greater profusion of shows and to work out quite why I’m doing this. January at one point almost felt like Frieze Week, so full was it with art, and I had to race about mad and often lonesome on public transport, from one opening to the other, then watch the tail-lights of the taxi cabs going to the art dinners. (More on that exaggerated nonsense later, perhaps. I shall soon remember if there was any glamour, hot food and wine for me this month, as this text takes shape.)

...more