Northern Clay

Yesterday whilst heavily leafleting the hamlet of Newcastle I found out that Northern Clay would be opening that night so, being a some what adventurous so and so I went along. I tried to find a budy, a wing man if you will, but other students do things on a Friday night. What. Losers.

I had thought I'd be all chatty and intelligent (whilst stealing ideas for the Dry Run opening) but instead I was a little bundle of terrified nerves. I had a quick chat to Jess Cohen who lectures at Newcastle and is a lovely lady, she's made some mothy-rocky-organic planters with really lush (lush as in vegetative growth rather than 'geet mint like') glazes.

I oggled Simon Griffiths owls.

What's not to oggle? I perused Lisa de Larny's Egon Schiele-like sculptures.

I also ate some mini-brownies and angel cakes and talked to NO ONE. I shuffled round, smiling, occasionally looking around as if I was expecting to be joined by a hip and groovy friend, looking at my phone and rolling my eyes etc. I said 'Hi' a couple of times, but only loud enough for me to hear.

Let the self-loathing commence.