Had a wander through the remnants of the Museum of Everywhere exhibition today (Selfridges Hotel). After pointlessly winding our way through Selfridges itself (getting more and more desperate as the time went on, with each obsequious sales assistant continuously pressing pallid hand warmers- eh?- into our already sweaty palms) the peace and quiet of the MoE was bliss. With the aural static of Selfridges food court still pounding in our ears, we eventually ignored all pointless directions ("I bet they do it on purpose so you'll wander around picking up flavoured vodka and iPads and head massagers and forget you ever wanted to see the exhibition," Barbara muttered darkly) we left the building, walking around it until we reached the entrance. Simples.
It has a gloomy magnificence with its exposed walls and cavernous interior.
All that remains of the exhibition are the suspended sculptures by Judith Scott, who wrapped objects with twine, wool etc. embedding shiny objects inside them.
It is the space as much as the objects themselves that command attention.