New Orleans is a magical city. Everything you've heard about it is true. There's voodoo, public nudity and too much water. There's also art, and lots of it. When we went a few weeks ago, there was a late-night festival with all the city's galleries open, free booze flowing and people of all ages in the street, absorbing it all. It reminded me of the Liverpool Biennial - or at least, how it could be around Jamaica Street if the weather was clement.
Sculptor David Buckingham trawls Southern California gathering scrap metal. He uses bits of old buses, oil drums, tractors and cars for his work - which is big, bright and laugh-out-loud funny.
We saw his work at Jonathan Ferrera's gallery. Emboldened by gallons of free wine, we got chatting to him and told him how much we liked his work. I love it when artists talk to strangers - even when it's their opening night - and David talked to us so enthusiastically and openly, introducing us to all his friends. His work is based in typography (I think he worked in advertising before becoming a sculptor) it's brash and immediate and references pop culture. He has a series based on lines from films, song lyrics and Americana. I think it's saved from being obvious and cliched by its 'found' element. David doesn't repaint the metal, so everything has a patina which tells the story of its previous life. I'd happily have taken it all home for my walls. (Aside from the gun stuff, but hey - this is America).
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