Mimi Barks’ lair lies in the depths of East London, behind rusted gates and corrugated iron sheets. Glass crunches underfoot as you approach this run-down warehouse. Cautiously wandering into the courtyard, you’re greeted by corroded bike frames and weed-covered abandoned furniture. A half-formed creature made of clay and nestled beside a mound of loose bricks and wood planks completes the last-days-on-Earth vibe.
But look beyond the flaking brickwork, and there’s much more to this apparent hovel. Walls are adorned with neon graffiti, murals inject images of nature into this urban landscape and it’s dotted with sculptures formed from discarded scrap. It’s rough around the edges, sure, but there’s a wild creativity to it. It’s no wonder one of the nu gen scene’s most exciting performers feels at home here.
Mimi shares this place with a group of other creatives. Right now, she’s up on the roof, accessible via a rickety staircase. She’s a vision in leather and chains, gloomy make-up sinking her eyes deep into her skull. Her aura is captivating, if not a little menacing. As we approach, she holds out a black plastic bag and smiles a devilish grin. This is disconcerting., such as the murky jar containing a two-headed embryo or some mutated animal taxidermy. Oh, no, wait. It’s cans of Stella. She just wants a drink.