Margate beach in a heatwave is a sight to behold. The sands are seething with funmakers right out to the distant waterline, where silhouettes mark the silver waves like dabs from an artist’s brush. It could be an impressionist beach scene, or perhaps a photo by Weegee of Coney Island circa 1940. I wonder what percentage of this joyful summer multitude will make it to the big art shed at the end of the curving promenade?
There is a massive gulf between the raw rambunctious reality of Margate sands and the show inside this gallery, which could have been specifically chosen for its total lack of meaning or connection for anyone from that beach who wanders in here by mistake.
