Social Space

Encased in a decaying shell is an opulence left over from another time, another place, dusty and slightly tattered, but still beautiful at heart. It is a playground for the creatures of the underworld that are born only in the witching hours. Having shed their inhibiting cocoons, they live a fleeting half life to return to their previous form at the dawning of the day. This transient world is a mishmash of the discarded, the chipped, the cracked, the threadbare, the mismatched, the endurers of time, the worn, the dirty, the hypnotically beautiful, the misfits - and that's not just the décor.

A rosy cheeked, drunken fool plays jester to a haggard flock of plumped and plucked harpies. With a shot of intoxicant clasped in your hand, you see a pride of beautiful young creatures draped languidly on chaise lounges and sofas, revelling in the gaze their lithe figures attract.

Sinking into a waiting armchair your fingers dance along the threadbare fabric, burrowing into the spongy flesh of the tired beast. Here and there carpets dot the floor while a velvet curtain tethered with tassels, masks the crumbling wall behind. In passing you catch your expression in a mirror, joy, hysteria, despair, boredom, delusion, infatuation flicker across your face like a silent movie. The decrepit richness consumes you; the seediness cajoles you until you lose yourself, joining the other bohemian souls, those creatures of the underworld in a beautiful manic dream.

The soft light caresses your smarting eyes. Lanterns hug the wall, throwing up a golden glow, the unevenness of the plaster creating a flowing texture which is lost in shadow... In the heart of the room, an ethereal shaft of light plunges through the dimness, capturing dust particles, trapping them in its golden beams. Unaware of their imprisonment, the weightless motes float and dance, giving life to the surrounding air. The heavenly light bathes you, warming you to your core like the sun on a spring day. In the murky depths of the shadows, shapes untangle to reveal couples romancing, friends intimating and strangers watching the room from the safety of the dark's embrace.

Old movies flicker onto the gauzy curtains - Fay Wray struggling in the grasp of King Kong, Mickey's dancing broomsticks in the Sorcerer's Apprentice scene from the original Fantasia.

All night there has been a background buzz, a feeling of activity and a soundtrack of noises. It is the constant 'glug' of alcohol being poured into cups borne by eager tipplers, and the 'chink' of money changing hands. The crockery is a collection of mismatched cups, saucers and glasses of various shapes, size and colours. It is the luck of draw and the discretion of the barman whether your wine is served in a wine glass or tea cup, though there is something delightfully naughty about drinking a cocktail like your morning Earl Grey.

In the midst of conversation, the doors burst open with fanfare. In march the wait staff, though you are sure they must have a much more regal title, bearing platters of gourmet offerings high above their heads. Single file they part the crowds like the ocean, then as the trays are lowered the masses inch closer. Then they pounce, stunning the bearers of the feast. The feeding frenzy begins!

Video Installations and Vintage Lamps: Jasper Cook and Kat Black
Catering: Fleur Piper and Emily Ross

Performers

Music