Being a property journalist takes me to some interesting places. Yesterday I unchained myself from my city centre desk and spent the afternoon looking around the Whitworth Art Gallery, which has been closed since 2013 in order to build an extension and refurb the older gallery spaces.
With a whole marketing campaign centred around the 14 February opening date using a tagline “fall in love again”, the cynic in me wondered if the gallery was going to be as over-hyped and underwhelming as Valentine’s Day itself. However, the new Whitworth is no Clinton’s card and bunch of wilting roses; it’s a three-course banquet and a blooming bouquet. Needless to say, I really did love it.
You’ll be relieved to hear that I’m going to save you from any more of my tenuous metaphors, and save myself from repetition, by linking you to the review that I wrote after my ever-supportive editor let me inflict my arty-fartiness on his nice business website.
Pieces on a couple of the exhibitions that I saw when exploring the gallery will follow shortly. Stay tuned for Sarah Lucas’s phallic stuffed tights, a gnome made from cigarettes, and wallpaper covered in boobs. You’re welcome.