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Regular readers will know that when I go out, it’s either with middle-aged punk rockers or web standards wierdos, so when I received an invite to a posh art gallery for a private viewing of a new collection by Melissa Mailer-Yates, I was excited to see how the beautiful people live, with their wine and canapés rather than Stella and crisps. I took my daughter Marina with me, to distract people’s attention from my scuzziness.
The exhibition includes nudes of women with multiple sclerosis, and one of the models is my old mate Julie Howell. It’s an odd feeling, looking at a painting of a mate’s nether regions and trying to say sensible things, so I failed dismally and told Julie that she has a nice arse. Oops.
The paintings are quite attractive, although with some of them, I didn’t really understand what they were “trying to say”. There was also the irony that the gallery had hung some on a small mezzanine floor, accessed via a narrow spiral staircase and therefore completely inaccessible to one of the models who was in a wheelchair.
Anyway, if you get the chance, go see the exhibition. It’s raising money for the MS Society.