Where have all the flowers gone?

Was at Wanstead Tap tonight in Winchelsea Road Leytonstone. I wanted to meet Doreen Fletcher older artist of all east end buildings neglected and dead. I expected a stand-offish kinda woman but experienced a comic lady as warm as a tea-cosy. I expected an audience of the young, gifted and white but instead sat amongst about seventy very mature white adults. I think the only black person who ever went to the Wanstead Tap was Idris Elba but I jest: Benjamin Zephania was there last week. I overheard (as I write there’s a conversation on Radio 3 all about Epping Forest and Wanstead Park. Jabba jabba) a punter ask her partner whether the audience were Forest Gate people and she was chatting about the route to The Tap away from the dangerous roads by The Holly Tree. Well firstly the roads are safe for families, pimps, beggars and working folk. The pub is about to undergo a makeover, a social cleansing if you will.
And the audience was so not the Forest Gate people I know. I never ever see white grey-haired middle-class people on Woodgrange Road E7. Never. I see those gems in the opposite direction, in Wanstead. So yes what I expected was not seen.

At the end of the discourse concerning the painted buildings and Doreen’s reasons for picking her subjects, and after a few questions and answers all managed by the mysterious Gentle Author then we had an auction of soon to be rare prints of Doreen’s work. Well, I was in my element and in the room we reached the dizzy heights. I was on a roll when the Wanstead Tap owner, the actual auctioneer, outbid me and actually stopped any further bidding by gazumping then presenting his bought art work as a donation to Newham Bookshop.

The second print was going high too and someone beat me by a fiver. Not bothered. Next year’s flavour is dusting away the cobwebs from her canvases as I write. Art is a fickle thing.

Art is a money-making thing, a woman laying on a couch counting her golden tresses and wondering whether her eyes should meet on one side of her face or between her treasury vulva. All depends on her moon.

So that was a good evening after having had a tasteless lunch at Yum Yum’s in Stoke Newington. Done that. Tick off.

Doreen Fletcher will talk to the public again for three quid a pop on January 30th at The Nunnery Gallery in Bow. Place to be. ( I paid £8 for tonight’s thrill).