1.1.11.11.11

Fired up and ready to kick some ass in twenty-eleven.

We walk to the Tate Modern to see the Gauguin exhibition before it closes this month. Behind me is Ai Weiwei's "Sunflower Seeds," the 11th in the Unilever Series to fill the Turbine Hall (Weiwei best known for his Bird's Nest Stadium at the Beijing Olympics). Sunflower is an inch-thick carpet made of some one-hundred million intricately handcrafted porcelain sunflower seeds, each with its own unique note, delivered to London by the craftsmen of Jingdezhen. When the exhibition opened in October visitors encouraged to walk on the seeds and marvel at the human effort required to complete Weiwei's vision and contemplate each individual seed in .. a sea.. of .. existential .meaningless. Unfortunately the stones rubbing together created dust and the city's health and safety experts suggested that prolonged exposure to the dust could exacerbate conditions like asthma. And I could get hit by a car walking to the Tate. Yet, two days later, the invitation to touch the art revoked.

Madeleine's shoelace catches in the escalator and she has to yank her foot free, twisting her ankle in process. Sonnet and I take turns sitting with her while the others visit Gauguin.