Behind closed doors...

The Easton Arts Trail offers a compelling mixture: art by local Bristol artists and a chance to nose around other people's houses. It's a natural human impulse, after all. Just what does go on behind the net curtains? Well, on the evidence of this trail, quite a lot. I saw hugely detailed line drawings of Bristol scenes, Eastern-inspired wood cuts, colourful pottery and characterful photo portraits. Creative could be Bristol's middle name. And there were suprises aplenty beyond the front door. The biggest wasn't the politically-motivated painting in which a cow had its patches turned into a map of the world, with Israel a blood-spattered bulletwound, nor the bleak stories by former drug addicts that accompanied a poignant set of black and white photos exhibited in the community centre. (Isn't Bristol a cheery place?) No, it was a coincidence that stopped me in my tracks. I've only been to Easton once before, for a French conversation evening that bordered on the surreal - anyone for a discussion of the pros and cons of post-capitalism in French?. As we sauntered down a road of terraced houses, I told my trailing friend about the odd evening and the people I'd met there.But even though I'd just been talking about it, I was taken aback to be faced with a larger-than-life portrait of one of the French post-capitalists in the very next front room we entered. It was as if my words had conjured him out of thin air and translated them into bold brush strokes. As if some unknown force had sussed out the fact I was looking in on other people's lives and turned it on its head. A forgotten fragment of my life enlarged and put on display.Not to get too philosophical, this odd little coincidence made me think of that often repeated question. Does art reflect life, or life reflect art?