WARNING : no pubs, but Damian Hirst.
This was the day that Mrs RM was going to drive me round some tricky ticks (is there an artist called Tricky Ticks ?) in Lancashire.
We never made it past Wakefield.
Yes, a horse on the motorway meant 3 flashing red crosses just before Junction 39 and a last second decision to head home before we joined a 7 hour lockdown. #luck
“Any good pubs round here” said Mrs RM.
“Yes, but none open before 4” I replied.
And then we saw the sign to Yorkshire Sculpture Park, noted it wasn’t raining, and went for it.
Looks quite dull, right ?
A low key start,
with a piece celebrating the role of charity boxes in Barnsley pubs,
and some bucolic countryside around Bretton’s lake,
leads to some of Damien Hirst’s most challenging pieces.
“Mummy. What’s that ?” ask a dozen Tabithas and Timothys. Or whatever pashmina children are called in Barnsley.
I’m ashamed I’ve never been. It’s wonderful, whatever you think of modern art,
Isn’t this piece nicked from St Helens /
Two hours, and about two hundred pieces of weirdness.
One complaint; the toilets leave a bit to be desired.