I’ve been talking about myself for the last week. Jessica Berens: Are you going to sit down? The decoration also includes the artist himself, who is shifting about the place with a stovepipe hat in one hand and an empty mug in the other. The apartment contains the pictures on which he is not working, a shelfful of skulls, and a snub-nosed Colt. He has a lot of suits and gloves and handmade ties, velour fedoras, and an umbrella or nine. He lives in a tiny apartment in Soho, London, opposite his tailor John Pearse, which is useful as he believes if you have a good tailor, you don’t need a psychiatrist. He talks a lot and writes magnificently about his greatest work of art, which is himself. He sometimes paints and sometimes doesn’t he says this doesn’t matter really as he doesn’t have much talent. Sebastian Horsley’s recently published-and justly acclaimed-autobiography, Dandy in the Underworld, is a true story of love and drugs and clothes and marriage and money and gangsters and actually getting crucified to see what it’s like.
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