Thirsty Thursday: “what’s a PV if you ain’t dual wielding?”

In recent weeks, Plaster HQ has been heaving at the seams and bustling with activity. After setting up for the first iteration of our new SHOPKEEPER  takeover series, hosted by Best Wishes and curated by Millie Rose Dobree, Billy Parker and Dora DB found time to sneak away from the office and check out what’s happening on the scene.

We began by kidnapping Millie and jostling our way down the ever-hellish Oxford St, dodging tourists and phone thieves, to get to the opening of Oliver Osborne’s solo exhibition at Union Pacific. We collected some TT regulars including writer and Bolding Gallery director Esme Blaire, artist Mia Vallance, and socialite Lucy Carrick-Smith.

We arrived with beers in hand and headed straight to the drinks table – what’s a PV if you ain’t dual wielding, ey? With no servers in sight, Dora decided to help herself to a bottle of champagne just as someone came running over to intervene. “Sorry, I just assumed we could pour ourselves,” Dora blushed, as she finished pouring a fourth glass. Through gritted teeth, the lady replied, “Don’t worry!”; what she really meant was don’t fucking touch that bottle again.

Osborne’s exhibition begins with a confronting portrait that on closer examination looks as though it’s painted on herringbone. The surface seems to be sanded down to the linen in between glazes; tiny particles of colour have collected in the cracks between fibres. As you enter the main exhibition space, more art historically referenced portraits (Billy knows a young boy Botticelli painting when he sees one….) are anchored by an XL graphic screen print, and ‘ooh!’ text painting. Hands up, we didn’t know anything about the exhibition before getting there and were shocked to find out that this was a solo show due to the unusual lack of context and the press release failed to illuminate any further. Instead, it repeatedly declared that the works don’t commit to any singular meaning, and are “open to interpretation”. For an exhibition with such extreme aesthetic variation, a bit of light insight wouldn’t have gone amiss.

After fueling up on champagne we went hunting for steeds (Limes) to get us to the opening of the week, Rene Matić at Arcadia Missa. The collectively agreed ‘tame’ TT was quickly descending into chaos as Millie ran around Tottenham Court Road clutching her laptop-cum-portable charger desperately trying to track down working Limes before her phone ran out, and so we could arrive to Arcadia Missa before the ‘walkers’. Matić was fresh from a Turner Prize nomination and so the gallery was bursting: everyone who was anyone was there. We bumped into a few more TT regulars including our PR queens Lore Alexander and Jen Kibazo, Antonio Stevenson of Cob Gallery, artists Ruby Eve Dickson, Erin Alles and Oda Sønderland. Billy tends to struggle with photography; the medium becomes so inherent to everyone’s daily life that it’s hard to quantify its fine art value. Matić’s photos, however, held such tenderness and awareness that Billy was forced to reconsider his perspective – a feat for someone as stubborn as him.

Everyone eventually departed for The French House. Billy and Jen, being cheeky, snuck off to a bar nearby, and after quite a few raunchy glasses of rosé (with a single ice cube of course), Billy was carted away to the Groucho by **REDACTED**, the creative director of fashion brand **REDACTED**, never to be seen again. After one too many halves at the French, Dora set off for her first ever gallery dinner…**REDACTED**

There you have it, Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s ya granny – a tame-turned-tenacious Thirsty Thurs strikes again. Though light on art, it was heavy in booze, shoes and the odd TT muse. A final parting message: where the fuck have all the parties gone? And where are our invites? Art world… do better. Billy P and Dora DB are gagging for it. And that’s us. Signing off xoxo