Sitting mid art installation in a mirrored, dimly lit room surrounded by metallic meteor-like, nebulous forms, the art curator next to me whispers, “The artists are here, there’s a chance we may…” She trails off as two men in matching black turtlenecks and jackets slink past panther-like, and clutches my elbow with excitement saying: “Look, it’s THEM!”
And it is ‘them’ – world-renowned sculptors Patrik Fredrikson and Ian Stallard. What are the odds of the avant garde artists appearing fortuitously on cue
