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I have been in a somewhat difficult relationship with my hometown of Bologna ever since my return in 2021. Much to my surprise and irritation, while I was away the placid city I was born and raised in had turned into a thriving tourist destination. Shock horror. Yes, people now come here in the thousands to visit what UNESCO has defined the best preserved medieval centre in the world and gorge on Bologna's famously rich cuisine.


One of the city's most unique quirks, one that I was not aware of until today, is the 70-metre-high bell tower of the Cathedral of San Pietro contains another, older tower inside it. Whilst the inner structure is believed to date back to the 10th century, when the cathedral underwent renovations in the 17th and 18th centuries, the architects built a new, taller tower around it, enveloping the original structure.


The view from the top is breathtaking. I found myself taking it in just like a tourist would, and the beauty of what I saw rekindled a sense of pride in my bolognesità. A word of warning: the winding staircase is narrow and steep, but the reward is immense and worth every step.


Access to the bell tower is usually available on weekends, with a modest 5 euro entry fee that includes a brief explanation and admission to the cathedral's crypt.









 
 
 

“My work comes out of my life. The people I photograph are not freaks or curiosities to me. I like people who dare.” - Peter Hujar


Whether a person, a dog, a blanket or a turkey, Peter Hujar (1934-1987) photographed his subjects with the same sensitivity and depth, unveiling their humanity and vulnerability. Hujar's currency was honesty, a filter through which he looked at both life and death. Often joyless yet oddly peaceful, his iconic portraits are infused with extraordinary intimacy and tenderness. They are beautiful, brutal, poignant and downright heartbreaking.


Peter Hujar: Eyes Open in the Dark, Raven Row, London, until 6 April (do not miss this!)



Self Portrait (with a string around neck), 1980


Blanket in the Famous Chair, 1983


Face of a Dog (Clarissa Dalrymple's Dog, Kirsten), 1984


Paul Thek, 1975


White Turkey, Pennsylvania, 1985


John Heys in Profile (White Shirt), 1985






 
 
 

The relentless and vomit-inducing (not so) merry-go-round that is the world these days has all but obliterated my desire to engage with art. The way events are unfolding has left me in a numb daze - but as long as Venice exists, so does hope.


Saskia Colwell's Skin on Skin blurs the line between sculpture and drawing. Using charcoal on vellum, her works play with perception, turning pearlescent folds of skin into something both succulently familiar and seductively surreal. Marble-like bodies and voyeuristic close-ups of fragmented forms evoke a breathtaking erotic tension suspended between intimacy and power.


Beyond the pristine technique, I was struck by Colwell's work for its boldness. The unflinching and intensely sensuous depictions of her own body render flesh with a Berninian intensity that strongly resonated with my aesthetic DNA.

Unsurprisingly, all works were sold.


On view at Victoria Miro until March 15th.




Mask Off, 2024


The Throne, 2024


The Cheerleader, 2024



Turning the Other Cheek, 2024


All images © Saskia Colwell


 
 
 

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