Shoreditch Town Hall is an example of a space becoming a work of art.
If I have ever been disappointed by an exhibition here, it's because I felt the artworks didn't do justice to, or distracted in some way from these sublime surroundings.
An Irvine Welsh book set in Verona, Shoreditch Town Hall comprises crumbling grandeur and unique desolate beauty. There's an un-settling sense of erstwhile glory, long since given way to decay.
The last thing I went to see there was 'Mind Over Matter', a staggering exhibition about human brain donation.
It was Art Fair week, and I was running between Frieze and Moniker. I was alone and tired (as I always am that week) but figured I had a few minutes to spare. An hour later I re-emerged into the daylight, blinking and dis-orientated and crying like a twat.
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