Tuesday, 27 June 2017

The Burning at Grenfell House

Take a minute ... then take action ... some action any action that demonstrates how you feel about the poorer members of this culture of ours that we have helped create by not standing up and saying , praying together for a better ,fairer ,kinder  society that puts people first and by people , I mean all people even the greedy even the mean  for they are at the heart of this tragedy those who could help are very important people but they must be encouraged ,or shamed if necessary to help those  people who can only help themselves up to a point and are ever dependent on those with more power and money .  Anne Russell 2017
Ben Okris' poem  :
It was like a burnt matchbox in the sky.
It was black and long and burnt in the sky.
You saw it through the flowering stump of trees.
You saw it beyond the ochre spire of the church.
You saw it in the tears of those who survived.
You saw it through the rage of those who survived.
You saw it past the posters of those who had burnt to ashes.
You saw it past the posters of those who jumped to their deaths.
You saw it through the TV images of flames through windows
Running up the aluminium cladding
You saw it in print images of flames bursting out from the roof.
You heard it in the voices loud in the streets.
You heard it in the cries in the air howling for justice.
You heard it in the pubs the streets the basements the digs.
You heard it in the wailing of women and the silent scream
Of orphans wandering the streets
You saw it in your baby who couldn’t sleep at night
Spooked by the ghosts that wander the area still trying
To escape the fires that came at them black and choking.
You saw it in your dreams of the dead asking if living
Had no meaning being poor in a land
Where the poor die in flames without warning.
But when you saw it with your eyes it seemed what the eyes
Saw did not make sense cannot make sense will not make sense.
You saw it there in the sky, tall and black and burnt.
You counted the windows and counted the floors
And saw the sickly yellow of the half burnt cladding
And what you saw could only be seen in nightmare.
Like a war-zone come to the depths of a fashionable borough.
Like a war-zone planted here in the city.
To see with the eyes that which one only sees
In nightmares turns the day to night, turns the world upside down.
Those who were living now are dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.
See the tower, and let a world-changing dream flower.
Residents of the area call it the crematorium.
It has revealed the undercurrents of our age.
The poor who thought voting for the rich would save them.
The poor who believed all that the papers said.
The poor who listened with their fears.
The poor who live in their rooms and dream for their kids.
The poor are you and I, you in your garden of flowers,
In your house of books, who gaze from afar
At a destiny that draws near with another name.
Sometimes it takes an image to wake up a nation
From its secret shame. And here it is every name
Of someone burnt to death, on the stairs or in their room,
Who had no idea what they died for, or how they were betrayed.
They did not die when they died; their deaths happened long
Before. It happened in the minds of people who never saw
Them. It happened in the profit margins. It happened
In the laws. They died because money could be saved and made.
Those who are living now are dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower
See the tower, and let a world-changing dream flower.
They called the tower ugly; they named it an eyesore.
All around the beautiful people in their beautiful houses
Didn’t want the ugly tower to ruin their house prices.
Ten million was spent to encase the tower in cladding.
Had it ever been tested before except on this eyesore,
Had it ever been tested for fire, been tried in a blaze?
But it made the tower look pretty, yes it made the tower look pretty.
But in twenty four storeys, not a single sprinkler.
In twenty four storeys not a single alarm that worked.
In twenty four storeys not a single fire escape,
Only a single stairwell designed in hell, waiting
For an inferno. That’s the story of our times.
Make it pretty on the outside, but a death trap
On the inside. Make the hollow sound nice, make
The empty look nice. That’s all they will see,
How it looks, how it sounds, not how it really is, unseen.
But if you really look you can see it, if you really listen
You can hear it. You’ve got to look beneath the cladding.
There’s cladding everywhere. Political cladding,
Economic cladding, intellectual cladding — things that look good
But have no centre, have no heart, only moral padding.
They say the words but the words are hollow.
They make the gestures and the gestures are shallow.
Their bodies come to the burnt tower but their souls don’t follow.
Those who were living are now dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower
See the tower, and let a world-changing deed flower.
The voices here must speak for the dead.
Speak for the dead. Speak for the dead.
See their pictures line the walls. Poverty is its own
Colour, its own race. They were Muslim and Christian,
Black and white and colours in between. They were young
And old and beautiful and middle aged. There were girls
In their best dresses with hearts open to the future.
There was an old man with his grandchildren;
There was Amaya Tuccu, three years old,
Burnt to ashes before she could see the lies of the world.
There are names who were living beings who dreamt
Of fame or contentment or education or love
Who are now ashes in a burnt out shell of cynicism.
There were two Italians, lovely and young,
Who in the inferno were on their mobile phone to friends
While the smoke of profits suffocated their voices.
There was the baby thrown from many storeys high
By a mother who knew otherwise he would die.
There were those who jumped from their windows
And those who died because they were told to stay
In their burning rooms. There was the little girl on fire
Seen diving out from the twentieth floor. Need I say more.
Those who are living are now dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.
See the tower, and let a world-changing deed flower.
Always there’s that discrepancy
Between what happens and what we are told.
The official figures were stuck at thirty.
Truth in the world is rarer than gold.
Bodies brought out in the dark
Bodies still in the dark.
Dark the smoke and dark the head.
Those who were living are now dead.
And while the tower flamed they were tripping
Over bodies at the stairs
Because it was pitch black.
And those that survived
Sleep like refugees on the floor
Of a sports centre.
And like creatures scared of the dark,
A figure from on high flits by,
Speaking to the police and brave firefighters,
But avoiding the victims,
Whose hearts must be brimming with dread.
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
But if you go to Grenfell Tower, if you can pull
Yourselves from your tennis games and your perfect dinners
If you go there while the black skeleton of that living tower
Still stands unreal in the air, a warning for similar towers to fear,
You will breathe the air thick with grief
With women spontaneously weeping
And children wandering around stunned
And men secretly wiping a tear from the eye
And people unbelieving staring at this sinister form in the sky
You will see the trees with their leaves green and clean
And will inhale the incense meant
To cleanse the air of unhappiness
You will see banks of flowers
And white paper walls sobbing with words
And candles burning for the blessing of the dead
You will see the true meaning of community
Food shared and stories told and volunteers everywhere
You will breathe the air of incinerators
Mixed with the essence of flower.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.
Make sense of these figures if you will
For the spirit lives where truth cannot kill.
Ten million spent on the falsely clad
In a fire where hundreds lost all they had.
Five million offered in relief
Ought to make a nation alter its belief.
An image gives life and an image kills.
The heart reveals itself beyond political skills.
In this age of austerity
The poor die for others’ prosperity.
Nurseries and libraries fade from the land.
A strange time is shaping on the strand.
A sword of fate hangs over the deafness of power.
See the tower, and let a new world-changing thought flower.

Tuesday, 20 June 2017

The art of dressing my "self"

Gudren  is a "good "  woman who works and creates to "live a good life "  and so am I
Gudren loves nature  so do I 
Gudren says "Beauty to me is adding colours and patterns"  I agree 
Gudren says  "Quality of life is living close to nature in colourful comfortable and practical clothes "
Gudrens' designs are  eco-friendly ,affordable, high quality , modest , suitable unto my  years ,a little folksy (which I favour) and  definitely Bohemian like  Gudren and myself.   She makes clothes for those who are like herself  . She makes the clothes she likes for all women like her of all ages ,in natural organic fibres  .

I choose to wear these clothes because they ad"dress"what I believe in at soul level

What to wear over 70 ?

Since the departure of Tanya Sarne of the  Ghost  fashion label I have felt bereft of what was once the very great pleasure of clothes shopping .Ghost still exists but it is not hers anymore , and there  are none of the great warehouse sales beloved of so many others of my tribe .

I love all the are e wares on sale in the  Anthropology emporium but really, apart from the odd household item in the sale I find it way over my budget and I have heard odd stories re: ethics there which put me off a little although they may not be true  .

Other things are out there that I like the look of .. linen eco cotton  garments etc  I notice them all but none  compare with the value I find at Monmouth Street in  Covent Garden  at the London store of .......

                                                                  .......                 Gudrun Sjödén 

Gudren designing
from Gudrens' lovely book "Portfolio"

 above : a design from gudrens' Portfolio
below :textiles in the shop 
towels  :the shop
a design 
some designs on the wall of the shop
the shop in Monmouth Street
the shop in Monmouth street 
designs from Gudrens' portfolio on the wall of the shop

the shop in Monmouth Street  
 the shop in Monmouth Street

 happy here in 4 layers of Gudren 
(petticoat £45  Dress £75 tunic £68 scarf £17  )
(Approximate prices)
so here is the website : a portal to this planet-loving  , life-enhancing ,age-inclusive , spiritually-sound, ethical , reasonably priced (given the quality &durability), bohemian style trip. For folk like us that is to say, Gudren and me 

UK | Gudrun Sjödén Ltd. 65-67 Monmouth Street, London WC2H 9DG | order@gudrunsjoden.co.uk | Phone store (+44)(0)20 72 40 22 11 | Phone mail order 0800 056 9912 .

Monday, 24 April 2017

INDIA part 1 ,2 3 a,b,c

India itself seems to be somewhere between Sanyassin and Bollywood .........
On the edge is(to be)   in the middle
in between is to be on an edge
what does it mean to be "edgy "  It sounds like neither one thing ot the other right ?
I found India to be exactly that .
On the one hand there is a sensuality that is almost overpowering in terms of smell colour and decoration. At the same time , as one floats  or  is propelled unceremoniously along amidst this profusion of  flora and  fauna ,(albeit squirrels crows eagles dogs and cows) in an auto rickshaw, there is the ashram ,its simple food , modest dress code and religious devotion  .

I went to Pondicherry on a pilgrimage and  lived there for two months .

 My father had sailed that coast known as the Coromandel coast, stretching from Calcutta to Ceylon on the Bay of Bengal many times before I was born and for a while thereafter also.  My earliest memories of my father were his homecomings to our  calvinist  family home in Scotland , bearing exotic gifts for my mother.  I fell in  love with  India and  Ceylon ,with  Kandi ,sitting atop a small high mountain ,was  I fanticised, my domain , I felt from that time on , that I really had been to Calcutta  Madras ,Ceylon and everything in between  and that I knew this coast and its Tamil people .
India became  and remained  integral to my sense of identity . Coupled with some stories my father read to me ,that  were not Rudyard Kipling that's for sure , were written in  language that was as exotic as the gifts he brought  and more like something from the bible ,Thus a pathway developed in my brain that led me far far away from Grey Gables in Bonnie Scotland to India where people, gods and goddesses were interchangable
Of course I did not continue to perpetuate the idea of my Royalty but India  went deeper and deeper into the deepest recesses of my imagination and became real.

Part 2
 The second reason is way deeper ..and yet a little shallow too and it may be harder to explain 

I had come accross the artist  Francesco Clemente some time in the 1980/'s  at a time when  conceptual work abounded and painting was considered dead.

                                 Image result for Francesco Clemente Water and Wine (1981)
                                                " seed"1991 by Francesco Clemente

 I was attracted to the freedom ,eccentricity , sensuality and the strong  expressionistic rather  mysterious and very personal  eroticism of Clementes' work ; its   midnight , almost drunken yet very clearly defined psychic quality  . It looked to me  like it could be incredibly meaningful or utterly shallow and meaningless .I can only say I was drawn to these qualities . There was something that I recognised ,something that resonated with my own creative impulse.

It was from this Italian born artist that I learned of Pondicherry . I learned that here the hand-made paper industry of  Pondicherry was reinvigorated . and that Pondicherry was the papermaking capital of India .( Im not sure that this is the case incidently)  I marvelled at this hub of art material was situated  on the coast  my father had plied and positively thrilled at the idea of large scale handmade paper production .
My dream of a place where I would feel as though I belonged took flight . I was there , in my every waking hour , I was there  like Clemente and felt a strong desire to also have his experience ,I felt that paper and saw all the colour and sights that had inspired so much of Clementes’ oeuvre and held within it a voice I recognised as close to my deepest and truest self aka my soul It was my voice also  .
Much more of my relationship with Francesco Clemente later on as this is very complicated and dificult to express well .

There are 2 more “coincidences” , where my souls’ desire and this bit of coast coincided , it was like I was being enfolded in a warm familial embrace.

some links to Clemente


Friday, 15 April 2016


Needed to get my feet up ,as you do after traipsing around looking for the best value kettle . I mean I have lived in cute little towns where to get everything you need is within a 500 yard walk . That's great ,but I live in London ,that is made up of villages ,so they say . Some of these villages ,however are really big and the borough or "village" of Kensington and Chelsea is big. Very big ,and ,indeed is made up of two villages ,Kensington & Chelsea.. 
Anyhow, just in case you find your self stuck on Kensington High Street and in need of a sit down that wont cost you the inflated price of a cup of coffee , here is my recommendation. and here are my feet up in my recommended spot .

and here are my feet up in my recommended spot .

This is the view from said window ,it is looking up Kensington Church Street towards Nottinghill Gate. I am sitting here ,with my feet up in an ARMCHAIR folks , a comfortable armchair . No-one bothers me . I am not obliged to buy anything. I can eat or drink  if I want to ,right here in this quiet spot looking out on a London that is pretty well iconic .

Did I mention ,the toilets are great and free ?

or that you can buy food here ,organic food ?

great bread

OK so it was Barkers and it was BIBA too ,both landmarks of a time gone by and part of my life that has gone by with both . I used to be a waitress in the divine rainbow room high in the roof garden of BIBA back in the day ,back in the days when gold-rimmed black coffee cups were exciting .Well the staircase remains in its art-deco glory

Anyway my dears, it is now an enormous wholefood store ,it is called Kensington Wholefoods and is situated at the top end  of Kensington High Street which for reasons of economy we call High Street Ken.
I say "top end" as High Street Ken is an incline or hill .

I aught to say , this is quite an obscure spot in this otherwise bustling store . It is situated up the stairs pictured above ,then turn sharp right on the first floor . PS. there is free wi-fi .  

Think of me dear reader, if you do drop in here  as I  think of you whilst lounging in this free comfort zone

Thursday, 4 February 2016

A Painting day

We artists find great fulfilment in pursuing our craft, but we are always dissatisfied with the results, which pushes us toward growth and excellence. (Steve Easterwood)

today is a Wednesday . Wednesday is a painting day . Why do I have a painting day? good question . Why do I do anything ? Because I want to be a better painter .( to self ..Is it all about becoming better ? am I not good enough ? Am I good ? after better will I want to be best ? ..no ,but I would like to be my  best and  someones favourite !I am more than one persons favourite person  already and am loved by one or two also.)
I want to be more skilled  at everything.
There is a great deal of desire it seems in my life in all that wanting. Is there passion ? What is the difference between passion and desire ? between passion and wanting ?
I have a passion for colour ,for design for beauty for nature, for kindness ,for wholeness and integrity and a desire ,a want, to love and be loved  . I want love ?
Am I wanting love ? Do I really feel myself to be without love ? I do not love myself very much these days , so yes I am wanting that love my love for my self .
How can I love myself more ? I cannot be younger ,taller ,smarter,but I could be more "successful" could I not ?
Success has to be evaluated and measured .It is an outcome . I learnt this in my teacher training .
There has to be a goal or rather ,in teaching terms, an aim . I have never been good at setting goals which is ,I suppose  why I am a little hazy about what success or successes  I may have had  over the years.
However, In November 2014 I set myself the goal of becoming a better painter. Have I achieved that goal ? By what criteria should,or could ,I now  measure my level of success ?

here is an oil painting from 2003

and below , an acrylic painted in July 2015

The 2003 image of the mare and foal on the moor ,to my surprise ,shares  certain similarities with the second 2015 image of the swallows . The difference ,other than the medium ,(the first being in oil and the second in acrylic),is that the horses were painted plein air ,out in the open ,on Dartmoor and I was painting what I saw . The swallows on the other hand were purely from my imagination and not at all conceived of when I began the painting.
 The process which brought the swallows into being went thus-wise .
stages 1-9

I am not a better painter than before . I am though a different sort of painter ,braver and my imagination more liberated . So There you are regardless of whether the painting has improved , I have definitely improved as a painter . I am braver and more liberated. I have more to learn about colour and about the dark . 
I also enjoy this process more than painting directly what I see . It is quite different from painting what one sees and going straight for reproducing the object or scene on the flat surface ,which of course has it's pleasure and its value. I find the latter  too easy . Too easy , so not much of an achievement . I now enjoy the exploration of colour for its own sake in fact I am passionate about it whereas previously I was just copying it from the subject. I explore the very edge of failure throughout the process . 
All in all ,painting this way has made this painter,my self ,much better ,I  love this self who is adventurous ,brave ,intuitive , who trusts in the process so wholly. 
If you have any questions about this method I have adopted please subscribe to the blog and ask away
It's cool ...and there is loads more to tell  !!

Wednesday, 10 June 2015


 When I began this blog , I didn't know quite how to put it ,but I wanted to talk about how everything in life can be an art . I was not sure if that was even true as I am aware of the natural tendencies we are all pretty much governed by.

That was quite a while ago now when I had this urge to proclaim "everyone can be an artist ... everyone IS an artist  ...etc" . I still believe this to be so but along the way I have come to realise ,to learn , what a deeply complex relationship this is between art and nature and that I don,t know that much about either ,well not enough to make any grand statement or get involved in lengthy or profound didactical debate on the topic.

The tea drinking ceremony . https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6466671011011517719#editor/target=post;postID=5109086020610002834;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=22;src=postname  stands out to me as an example of what the artist in the article in the link below is emulating

I guess the question , I am trying to answer for myself is  "WHEN  is  something art ?" closely followed by "WHAT is art ? "
reading this article/review http://magazine.good.is/articles/the-taste-of-human-emotions?utm_source=thedailygood&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=dailygood today , I get the feeling stronger than ever that art is just whatsoever we say it is and that ultimately the only people who really should be giving a darn WHAT it is should be the professional critics and the rest of us should just get on with living and doing it to the best of our abilities and bring to it our many differences ,dreams and  aspirations .

I have come down firmly in agreement with Elbert Hubbard who says
                                 "Art is not a thing ,it's a way

Monday, 26 January 2015

out and about: Islington.

One can walk along  the New river

Turn left to Essex road where one can find
 the beautiful little
North Library
guess what , it is not only filled with


One can sit and read the latest vogue!
And I did

Fashion is going my way
It seems

And free
yes the whole darn trip !
Yes Free 
Like me  

Wednesday, 3 September 2014


Strange as it seems to me, I suddenly realise ,that although I have been painting for nigh on 30 years , I have never learnt to paint.
I don't mean to say I have learnt nothing from experience . I have, however,  never been  taught .

At Art College I  hid my copy of the newly published interiors magazine under my table and whilst lusting after the beautiful and interesting rooms and other spaces I saw  , wanting to be either an interior designer or at the very least a painter of images to place in such lovely spaces as those  I was enjoying  in the magazine . Meanwhile , I tried to please my personal tutor by making installations and performance pieces that money could not buy and could definitely not be accommodated anywhere other than in a gallery.

I graduated from an art college in 1986 .I had studied fine art for four long years.  What I learnt there and was actively taught, was that impermanence was the goal of the artist. . I was encouraged ,or perhaps ,indoctrinated would be a better word, to believe  that only pieces that could not be purchased  by the bourgeoisie were worth making.

On graduating I had no idea what I was going to do as I had no longer got the access to the technology or manual assistance that I had  at art school  .... I studied interior design and ceramics but they did not satisfy all that much although I enjoyed both.

 video installation graduation  piece 1986

 I studied interior design and ceramics after my fine art course , and although I enjoyed decorating and designing for their potential to explore my eclectic taste for folk art, ethnography,religion, poetry and everything in between , ultimately I was a (so called) fine artist and  I needed a medium  through which I could   express my experience of being alive .
Did I say , I am shy ? Yes shy of my poetic nature , of my deep love of all sentient beings  shit like that ,you know the kind of thing .. I was an EMO  ,I think that means  ,emotionally overwhelmed, if not,  it does now as far as I'm concerned.so I taught myself HOW TO PAINT

I am in fact  a SELF taught painter.

I started with Rubens . And I started with How Rubens started his paintings ie. under-drawing in red ochre/burnt sienna.

(I drew really well so that bit I had mastered) .

I got a studio and set to work .(see pic left)

I started from the heart (mine) and with the heart above on the left of the studio.. the canvas behind me in the centre is a hand copied lace mantilla and a heart . I was in mourning for  lost love . and I was starting as I meant to continue , that is to say , from real emotional experience .

Saturday, 14 December 2013

The aesthetics of joy : Marie Laurencin

If you have never heard of her, I am delighted to introduce you to Marie Laurencin , a contemporary of Picasso and member of  Picasso's inner circle of artists . 
Her work can be and was intentionally, some say , made in direct feminine  response to the masculinity  of Picasso  .

this is one of her cubist works

compare and contrast with Picasso at the same time 

Les damoiselles d' Avignon : Picasso 

Wednesday, 25 September 2013



I would like to say more about tea and ritual but below is  pretty well everything I might have said  If only I had more time ..... for tea and other pleasing , pleasant rituals . I will definitely fit an occasional tea ritual in to my now   over-extended project list. 
I should add that the above image is called "invitation to tea with grandma " and  that my own grandma  ritually baked a laden table of heavenly cakes ,pies and more  ,  for all the family , the fare was served from ancient matching  bone- china on a huge lace cloth ( lovingly laundered)  . She would have baked for an entire day yet would appear fresh and beautiful .
I will be looking for a venue for tea  to share with you all or I may even try it in my studio. (a work of art ? ) grandma's was  a work of art   "an act and art of LOVE"  

Tea time with friends can be turned into ceremony simply by the intention in which you prepare your tea.

"Coffee may be the power beverage that gets us revved up in the morning and fuels us when we’re burning the midnight oil, but tea is the drink we turn to when we want to relax and be refreshed at the same time. Black, green, white, herbal, hot, or ice cold, tea is more than a soothing beverage. It can be a ritual, a cultural experience, and even a spiritual practice. 

The reverence for tea has inspired ceremony in many cultures. From the spirituality of Chanoyu, the Japanese way of preparing and serving tea, to the sharing of Maté in Latin America, tea rituals are for celebration, ceremony, and relationship bonding. In China, tea rituals are part of many wedding ceremonies with the bride and groom serving their elder relatives in a show of respect and gratitude. The Chinese art of drinking and serving tea has been a source of inspiration for poetry and song. The Russian custom of chaepitie has inspired a unique style of teapots, caddies, teacups, and cozies. The samovar, a special brewing device, has become the symbol of the Russian tea ceremony and an object of art in its own right. Iced tea, popular in the U.S., as well as other parts of the world, is a modern ritual bringing cool relief on a sweltering summer day. 

You can turn your own tea time with a friend into a simple ceremony by preparing your tea with the intention of offering nourishment and good wishes to the other person. When you are seated together, rather than drinking your tea right away, look at one another and express your gratitude and appreciation for your friendship. When you pour the tea, again intend it as an offering. Drink your tea slowly, savoring its flavor and aroma. Let its warmth or its coolness soothe your body. When you are finished drinking your tea, thank your friend for taking part in this nourishing ritual with you. Whether savored in the presence of another or tasted alone, the custom of drinking tea provides a soothing pause in our hectic world. Drinking tea can be a daily ritual that brings inner calm and clarity to the body, mind, and soul"
by Madisyn Taylor

Saturday, 27 October 2012


One building has just gone up to the right of my view and another to the left has been demolished .
The one that has gone up is an art college, Kensington &Chelsea Art college. I like very much the fact that it resembles (in outline) the old Chelsea College of art that is no more here in Chelsea . It has the same vents (or whatever they are ) on its flat roof .

 I always thought the Art School building in Manresa Road to be very modern and stylish 
back in the day when Chelsea was very traditional and had very few if any modern buildings .There were of course a few squeezed in here and there between whitepainted and illustrious  semi-detatched houses .

The building that has been demolished is the Penguin Book Building ,to my immediate left. This was a landmark until it became a white elephant and has lain empty for the las ten years . Anyway that's gone now (and very quickly too ) all seven floors of it . It is to be rebuilt as social housing .
The building I live in was built originally as social housing . Local residents kicked up a right old fuss about it  as they felt it would lower the tone of the neighbourhood !
Residents here,some of  my neighbours, who csme here as social housing tennants but have since bought thier leases are not at all happy about the building next door becoming social housing , amazing really when you think that fifty years ago the entire block was a brewery ........You've got to laugh !Or you might weep at mans foolishness , greed vanity and selective memory .
Yes I have developed the art of just shaking my head and having a little laugh .
meanwhile here is the building I would like to see next door
( the Ashkalon Centre : Israel )