Friends Cafe and the Quotidian

Sitting in the Friends Cafe in Piccadilly, I cannot help but look around me and observe the milieu. The eclectic mix of people here have caught my eye! I am a voyeur, a watcher of the fascinating specimens filling this artistic community.

In the window seat sits a colourful gentleman engaged in conversation with a female companion. They lean in close to capture each others' words. His long straggly, dyed red hair catches the sunlight and merges into the palette of his graffitied jacket. I can see he is a tall gentleman as he stands up to leave the table. His steps are aided by crutches and I can't help admiring his bright red 16-holed Dr Marten boots with tucked in peacock blue, checked drainpipe trews! He is a veritable cockerel parading his colourful adornments to the artists in the room. 

Opposite me sits a petite woman, gracefully sipping tea and writing notes in her book. Between sips she looks up and assesses the room. At present she is alone, nobody disturbs her. I am pleased she can have a quiet undisturbed moment which I imagine is a rarity in her busy life as a well-known actress. This is the third year she has entered works to the summer exhibition. I hope whatever she has entered gets through the final round of judging because I enjoy her expressive portraits of her actor friends. 

There are many groups of people here having business type meetings. Laptops, mobile phones, coffee cups are resources for the busy and the connected. Eavesdropping I can discern two smart casually dressed men discussing artists and their work, together with gallery business. I suspect these curatorial artists are negotiating a deal for their next project, their next show. I wonder if the man sat on the leather bench to my right is the 'artist'? As I cast a surreptitious peek from over my glasses I can see he is of the hipster type. A well trimmed beard, creased linen shirt, brown laced brogues and a folded up scooter suggests he lives in town. Perhaps he has a studio nearby? They discuss their business with confident male voices which occasionally spar to gain the verbal advantage. 

The window seat has been vacated and now is occupied by an older lady who is engrossed in reading a newspaper. Her mannish attire of a striped shirt and maroon slacks expresses a comfortable and contented air. She is self absorbed in her reading. She has an intelligent, kindly face. 

No one is concerned that I sit at the table tapping away on the Ipad. They do not care with what I am writing and I sit undisturbed. The BBC are here today to talk to the 'interesting types' that stream into the courtyard burdened with their packages on way to deliver these to the art handlers. More people are coming into the cafe with portfolios and bags of bubble wrap now they have dispensed with their gifts to the gallery. 

Two middle aged women talk nervously of their entered works. I overhear one state in crisp crystal tones that she has heard there are many more works through to this round than ever before so there will now be many more rejections! They become more anxious and declare that they will  not post on social media they are through this time in case they jinx their chances. As i sit here a while longer I can feel the nervous excitement radiate from one side of the room. The hopeful sip their beverages and pray to the Fates

An art critic and broadcaster now takes his place in the far corner. His slim athletic physique is dressed casually in dark chinos and a rumpled, striped T-shirt. He reads his scripts, amends the texts and then taps rapidly the keys on his phone, deeply concentrating on his communications. He exudes an energy like a highly coiled mechanism. His long legs man-spreading and his arms mirror this stance. Spiked elbows tell visitors he's busy and not to be disturbed. His intelligent brow is furled with concentration. I'd like to know which academic text he is working on. 

Another man sits down to my right. He recognises the artist on the bench next to him and asks him if he has put a work in. They converse briefly and wish each other luck. We now strike up a conversation and I find this is his first time entering and we talk about our artworks. He is an abstract artist, his work conveys a tight controlled-ness, of large overlapping geometric shapes. His works hang in the corporate world. I present him with a crow postcard, this unsettles him. He is even more perturbed by the Mammets. This reaction amuses me. He says his daughter is currently undertaking GCSE Art and has to draw bird each week. I present him with another postcard, the colourful 'Hugin'. He likes this one better because of the bright colours and he will give this one to his daughter! We exchange more words and share images. He says he will look at my social media pages once he has found a better internet connection. We swap business cards and wish each other luck. 

The cafe crowd has thinned a little now. The excited hubbub has subsided and now a quiet civilised murmuring flows. The clatter of coffee cups being serviced by the gallery staff cuts across the hushed tones. Another man has taken up residence to my right. He is engrossed in his laptop. A working lunch for the busy. Three ladies who lunch have taken up the window seat and natter convivially. A mobile phone rings shrilly. A neatly dressed elderly woman scans each print hanging on the cafe walls. Her interest in each piece is intent. She emits a small gasp when she spies the Grayson Perry print above my head; they are deities for cultural worship of course. Yes we esteem these works and poetically see them as gifts from the Gods, but consider the human story in the works. You'll find they are much like you and me!

'Blue Mother', 2018
Sara Jayne Harris




'Crow', 2017
Sara Jayne Harris
'Hugin', 2017
Sara Jayne Harris

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