Saturday, 23 January 2010

The Wunderkammer in the Cellar

They make a virtue out of serving gin to visitors at Viktor Wynd Fine Art, and you can see why. There is something strangely illicit about the sight of a stuffed swan, especially in private possession – the foyer, entrance and backrooms all suggest that there isn’t a Victorian parlour or private museum that has escaped their attentions unscathed. After the performance of Welcome To Mars, I took a stiff jolt of mother’s ruin and descended to the wunderkammer in the basement to explore further.

Some great pornographic material was to be found at the back of some of the display cabinets as well as the usual selection of pickled punks, two-headed skeletons and pig foetuses in jars that have made modern culture what it is today, mostly by trying to drive it all out from the common weal. To encounter such a ripe mix of human anatomy, genetic atrocities and sexual hygiene tips for men and women is always a real pleasure: the only thing missing was a stretch of blustery English seafront outside.

Pictured above: illustrious corpses, exotica, non-stop emetic cabaret and some quaint examples of what the butler didn’t manage to see.

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