Amid the flow of journalists wandering in and out of the show today came a woman who was clearly neither a journalist nor in the wrong place, she clearly wasn’t one of our volunteers, it turned out she was Deborah Feingold.
Despite loving photography, I’m samefully ignorent of who actually takes any of those pictures I love. Man Ray, Weegee, Robert Maplethorpe, William Wegman, Edward Dimsdale, beyond that and I start to struggle. I had however heard that Deborah Feingold was due to open an exhibition just across the road from us at the St.Paul’s Gallery and I had heard that a fair number of people are excited by this fact. So it was great to meet her.
She was delightful, full of energy and enthusiasm and joy. A great refreshing blast of that transatlantic vivacity which makes being in the States such a thrill. Anyway, she zoomed in, was super enthusiastic about the show, had an anguished glance at her watch and zoomed off to preparations for her opening.
It was so nice of her to find time to come over and see what we were up to that it redoubled my determination to get to the St.Paul’s opening tomorrow. Back home thinking about writing this entry I track down her photographs and it turns out I’ve got one of them beside my bed. Amongst the beautiful portraits she takes of the rich and famous are a series of book covers and amongst these is Barak Obahma’s audacity of hope, a book which I was reading fairly assiduously before this whole show thing cranked up.
As we were leaving the exhibition she did stop beside one particularly enormous pile of rice and enthuse about its quality as an object and the great light in that room and so on…….. how much does Feingold commission set you back? Shouldn’t a C.E.O. have a prestige photograph of himself behind his desk, even if it a secondhand melamine desk at Unit 108b The Big Peg.