Kasey and I attended a Russian-themed party hosted by Paul Smith this week for the launch of a peculiar series of books featuring Russian tattoos, which had been documented by a guard in one of Russia's prisons. The cataloging was done for the purpose of keeping tabs on some of the more "dangerous" criminals in Russia ("dangerous" being a fairly relative term in the former Soviet Union, I would venture to say). And some criminals even had their crimes or status as a convict inked across their foreheads - so they could pretty much forget about lying on job applications. To cap off the curious evening, as Kasey and were leaving the event, who was making her way inside, but Tracey Emin. Yes, the same Tracey Emin I wrote about on this blog not-too-long-ago. Our timing was impeccable, we were practically forced to share breathing space with her as we each made our respective ways through the jostling crowd.
When we were out the door Kasey gasped excitedly, "Tracey Emin looked at me!"
And so she did - looked at both of us in fact.
My, what a small and strange world it is. It is so incredibly odd to write about someone so seemingly lofty and inaccessible, and then literally rub shoulders with them a week later. I wonder if she could see as much written on my face?
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