We arrived late and made our way down the private spiral staircase behind the bar, the exhibition had long closed, yet there was still a gathering happening. Rob looked every inch the dandy with boater hat and matching ensemble, accessorised by a skinny girl wearing sheer grey lace. My friend Tim, both collaborator and curator talked through some of the work. By now the coffee tequila I’d consumed at the Runaway's after show party hosted by The Beat and the double vodka red bulls from another art launch on Leonard Street had taken there toll. I poised my camera and took aim. The exhibition was random in its offering, Garbage Pale Kids, 70's earthenware, 80's furry monster masks, phallic pottery, soft sculpture and video projection. I browsed leisurely absorbing all, pondering over the heavy Americana, was Rob an americanophile or quite the opposite. Available to purchase were packaged prints for the sum of £35, unsurprisingly these proved quite a hit with a bulk snapped up on the night.
Phallic indeed
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