Words
White Pratt From Luton
'White Pratt From Luton' landed on No.34 Toynebee Street on Friday 24th June, the moment Dominic Allan took receipt of keys from East End Homes.
A four–week contract, four walls and a sink. Half decent lighting, peeling paint and raw plugs showing their arses. A space that's given everything of itself to artists Laura White, Robert Pratt and Dominic Allan. A bespoke A3 lightbox sits in the window. 'White Pratt From Luton' is coming. Turned on. 24/7. There really is a light that never goes out. Dominic Allan sits in the back room in his Father's burnt out wheelchair as Margaret 'Milk Snatcher' Thatcher, praying in a public toilet somewhere in Hackney. Very firmly glazed and framed. Laura White's unwearable yet unbearably beautiful Halo floats, looking at Thatcher, Thatcher looking at Halo. The space is sliced (enter) back room. Robert Pratt's empty freestanding triptych. A son of Toynebee. You wouldn't want to stand here. No high–viz in sight. Pack it up and return it to the outside. Take your rubber sole with you. More reclamation, more art mirroring life. Again Pratt prowls. Sunblest white bread baskets sit next to cast screwed up paper. With or Without You. In Pratt's case, With. And then 'Anxious Glory'. Like James Cameron's Titantic on a poundland budget, Laura White wraps all the objects she'd die for then crucifies them over a shower tray. Floor to ceiling. As you enter and as you leave. Bigger than me. An unknown soldier looks down from his Mum's bedroom. A rat and a statement about our postal service.
'White Pratt From Luton' landed on No.34 Toynebee Street on Friday 24th June, the moment Dominic Allan took receipt of keys from East End Homes.
A four–week contract, four walls and a sink. Half decent lighting, peeling paint and raw plugs showing their arses. A space that's given everything of itself to artists Laura White, Robert Pratt and Dominic Allan. A bespoke A3 lightbox sits in the window. 'White Pratt From Luton' is coming. Turned on. 24/7. There really is a light that never goes out. Dominic Allan sits in the back room in his Father's burnt out wheelchair as Margaret 'Milk Snatcher' Thatcher, praying in a public toilet somewhere in Hackney. Very firmly glazed and framed. Laura White's unwearable yet unbearably beautiful Halo floats, looking at Thatcher, Thatcher looking at Halo. The space is sliced (enter) back room. Robert Pratt's empty freestanding triptych. A son of Toynebee. You wouldn't want to stand here. No high–viz in sight. Pack it up and return it to the outside. Take your rubber sole with you. More reclamation, more art mirroring life. Again Pratt prowls. Sunblest white bread baskets sit next to cast screwed up paper. With or Without You. In Pratt's case, With. And then 'Anxious Glory'. Like James Cameron's Titantic on a poundland budget, Laura White wraps all the objects she'd die for then crucifies them over a shower tray. Floor to ceiling. As you enter and as you leave. Bigger than me. An unknown soldier looks down from his Mum's bedroom. A rat and a statement about our postal service.