You can’t miss The Turner Contemporary in Margate. It stands on the seafront, distinct from other buildings around it – all angular straight lines and hard concrete.

The work of Mondrian was being shown and although not my favourite artist, who was I to argue with free entrance (donations gratefully received) to appraise some of his earlier pieces in an easy going environment, with the added advantage of sea air when one needed a break.

“Get the headphones, S” E had advised when I told him I was going.  Usually I go for that kind of thing. It’s a bit like following a ranger around Yosemite or the Grand Canyon – lots of interesting info to lap up. But, this time I decided to go it alone.

His early studies in oil surprised me.  I knew the geometric stuff – white canvas with black lines and some red or blue and yellow filling in the boxes.  But, these were all sumptuous naturalism: Landscapes painted in oils of the countryside around Amsterdam, where he was from… another thing I didn’t know.

His ‘Riverscape with row of trees at left, sky with pink and yellow-green bands’  made me feel like jumping in to float on the still, green water and watch the sky changing into a dazzling sunset of orange and pink hues. What sensibility he had with colour!

I began to get more interested.  How on earth did he get from that lush expression to the austere abstraction of primary colours on white?

I put the headphones on and watched the 50 minute documentary.

His aim was to get to the truth – the very essence and pared down beauty of simplicity in communication;  He lived alone in a studio which was like one of his later paintings – bare, white, splashes of primary colours here and there; He loved Jazz, its influence on him resulted in a vibrancy of geometric shapes in his later work – both energising and simultaneously serene to look at.

His story blew me away.

As the film came to an end, the gentleman next to me spoke so that I didn’t hear the last quote from the artist:  “Fascinating, wasn’t he?” he asked.  I scribbled away furiously trying to get the words down but only got half.

Days later, Claire from the Turner Contemporary rang:  “I think this is the quote you wanted” she said and kindly dictated it to me:

“Art today is condemned to a separate existence, for present day life is essentially tragic.  But, in some distant future art and life will be one.”

If Art is creativity – how did he know?  It’s precisely what the digital age has enabled.
Catch it if you can – until 21 September 2014, Turner Contemporary, Margate.

What is it about Scandinavians at the moment?  They seem to be everywhere – or is it just me?

Edward Thomasson appears to have that sort of a name.  But, once inside the blacked out car on the way to the after party of his exhibition, he didn’t have even the faintest accent that suggested he was from Nordic climes.

“I like your video immensely” I said to him.  “I had to look at it a couple of times to work it out – to try and make sense of what it all meant.” “Yes, that’s what I wanted the audience to do” he replied.  “It’s like at the end of the film the policeman says ‘We’re sitting on the fence – we have to piece it together’”.

Video art installations often leave me cold, but I had found myself quite gripped by this one – of course my cousin is in it – a draw in itself.  Nevertheless the often opaque nature of art was rendered less so in this instance by a mystery, an invitation to think and figure out what had happened. It required some sleuth like skills and provoked the intellect.

At Bistroteque in E2 the party was starting.  Everywhere I looked in the outer easterly environs of London things were alive, energy was tangible and the beards something else.  Perhaps this had something to do with my latest thinking that the Nordics are omnipresent?  But, that’s a ridiculous stereotype for a start.

I talked to one of the girls who had played a policewoman in the film.  “How did you get this acting part – is it also your day job? I asked.  “No, no, not at all.  I was in Broadway market one weekend and saw a sign up saying ‘Open Auditions’”.  “Did you know you’d have to sing when you were offered it?”  “No, but I used to sing in a choir and I just felt like doing something different – I didn’t realise Edward would give me a solo!”

I spotted my super talented cousin, Rebecca, across a room full of facial and further fashionable manifestations of hair.  The East to West London journey beckoned. “You can’t go – the dancing’s about to start!” said Laura. Sure enough shapes were being thrown by a solo male as other people started to shake the odd limb nearby.

Nevertheless, we said goodbyes to various cast members, and Soosan – the composer of the film score…

Once home I googled the name: It seems the origins are not Scandinavian, but Persian.  I contemplated the night through my window, then drew the blinds. It would appear we’re looking at a thicker plot.

Wandering down Brick Lane on a warmish autumnal day, I marveled at how little it’s really changed. Although, back in the 80’s there wouldn’t have been an art fair here alongside the curry houses, fabric shops and the Beigel bakery.

When arriving somewhere, as always, the first thing to do is get a drink.  I purloined a tea from the outside cafe at Moniker and got started.  A signpost informed me that a ‘Taxidermy Workshop’ was £70.  I made my way towards it passing all the various art stands en route. The atmosphere was friendly and relaxed and anywhere I so much as paused, I was invariably drawn into conversation.

I took in some drawings.  Still in vogue, I thought, and then noticed some rather sinister looking witch-like sculptures standing on plinths. ‘Hello’ said an eager youthful chap standing beside his work. ‘Hi’ I said. ‘There seems to be a rather macabre element to this show; I’ve noticed quite a lot of darkness to the art – is it fashionable now?‘  ‘Well, art isn’t really about fashion’ he explained.  ‘You may find that galleries imitate each other – but artists don’t’. I guess it’s a reaction to the recession for all us poor young things!’

A few metres down, Lorenzo leant towards me grinning: ‘Do you like my work?’  ‘How do you do them?’ I asked in response.  ‘I take a magazine cover and remove all the colour and imagery around the model, that is why you just see the lines of her face here.  Basically I bring the human back – I rescue her!’

‘What about these?’ I said pointing to a reproduction Constable landscape with what looked like little brown wooden fences stuck onto it. ‘I put things on a very famous painting to distract the viewer from the focus of the picture.  With Constable it was all about infinity which represented hope, so you notice I place this (pointing to a latticed piece of wood) on the background – therefore I eliminate that sentiment.  ‘That’s nice’ I said, moving on and thanking him for the explanation.

Walking around a corner, I came face to face with a lengthy table of people stuffing things.  Butterflies lay pinned to boards, suspended in glass frames.  I looked more closely and noticed a lady holding a small white furry thing in her hand.  A man with a large camera turned to me, chuckling: ‘Fancy stuffing a mouse?’ he said.  ‘It doesn’t really appeal’ I answered as I looked for the exit.

I sauntered down Marylebone High Street around 8pm, glad to be going home after a long day, but willing to be swayed to stay out.

I glanced to my right and noticed a lot of razzamatazz outside a small neon blue lit building.  What is it? I thought. A new club? Somewhere I need to know about? Perhaps a place I could go for my imminent birthday..

I crossed the street to join the throng of people outside and noticed the flashing lights, indicating serious cameras at work. Two girls manned the door. ‘I don’t think you’ll have me down’ I said, pointing to the guest list. ‘Well, let’s see’ the tall blonde girl said as she thumbed through the pages. ‘Oh, really I’m sure I’m not on there’.  ‘It’s fine’ she said, waving me though.

Squeezing through the masses at this opening of ‘Submerged’ by Tyler Shields, another glamorous girl with dark hair and a red tutu smiled at me. ‘Like a drink?’ she said, thrusting a tall glass of pinkness into my hand. ‘Thank you’ I said, taking off a couple of layers and dropping my bag by the bar.

Trays of sushi were temptingly laid out.  I popped a piece of raw tuna into my mouth and surveyed the scene.

Photographers were everywhere. ‘Is Kate Moss due here?’ I asked one of them; usually at an art view or somesuch event in London that’s the reason there’s such a proliferation of big lenses.  ‘I think she was invited, but not sure she’s coming’ he replied.

I complimented the DJ on the tunes he was playing, ‘My name is Gregory – what’s yours?’ he said.  ‘Oh! Are you French?’ I asked. ‘No, Italian, but I live in France that’s why I speak like I do’.  We chatted about the art. ‘I like the large photographs, but I think £18,000 is a bit expensive for one’ he said smiling.

Tytti (from Finland) took my name for the gallery’s list.  Did I know Tyler’s work, she asked. I confessed that I didn’t.  ‘He photographs a lot of celebrities – Lindsay Lohan is one of the more famous’.  I pointed out my favourite picture and she told me that it was Lydia Hearst – the next ‘big star’ and that: ‘All the models had to learn to hold their breath for four minutes to go underwater where he took the photos’.

I left the by now hot and steamed up gallery for some air and got chatting to Gemma – an intern at the gallery. ‘I’d love a cigarette‘ I said. ‘Yes, I would too – I’ll go find us some’ she said, disappearing inside.

Tyler walked past in a dinner suit and black bow tie looking every inch the dapper photographer.  He posed for a picture with a bright blue haired young lady.  As she vanished another took her place; this time a Marilyn Monroe lookalike.

Gemma appeared back with two cigarettes. ‘I’ll give you a couple of invitations for the Moniker Art Fair tomorrow, and you must have a goody bag before you go’ she said.  I thanked her and a little while later left the party thinking about the art world and the domino effect.