Duchamp, the father of conceptual art, Broodthaers, Meireles, Michael Craig Martin and his seminal “An Oak Tree”, Richard Long, and the amazing Louise Bourgeois — between them have produced an incredible and enduring body of experimental and boundary-pushing works of art. The argument still rages, of course, regarding our definition of art and whether these pieces should fit within those pre-defined boundaries. To me there is no argument, and the intense feelings of fascination and intrigue, the urge to delve further and deeper, are paramount — when I stand before these works there is no question of their creative integrity.

I was luck enough to be given “This Not That” for Christmas, a DVD of John Baldessari and his conceptual work since the 1960s. I visited his 2009 exhibition at the Tate Modern quite a few times, it kept just pulling me back. His earlier work, in particular the experimental work of the 60s and 70s, stands tall in the conceptual world. Every piece made me want to rush out with my camera and my brushes and play, just to try out a fraction of the ideas he pushes around canvas, film and paper.

The DVD is a fascinating portrait of the man, filmed in 2006, presented as a long interview with the artist and his friends — he takes us around National City to the places where he took the photos which formed the body of work of the same name. We see him in his studio  producing work, teaching his students, and supervising the installation of works. We even get to see archive footage of him destroying his older works in 1970. Relatively humble, Baldessari comes across as a normal everyday man, an artist for the people.

The concept which appeals to me most, the overriding theme which carries his work beyond the crowd, is the elevation of the ordinary to the extraordinary. I identify with this theme on all levels, and it’s something I have developed in my creative, photographic and written work since the 1990s, and it’s what my work has always aspired to. I hope I can do the concept justice.

If you’re passion is documentary and reportage photography then this is an exhibition you should see — Goldberg’s Open See explores the lives of some of Europe, Asia and Africa’s millions of displaced people and migrant communities. From Bangladesh to Ukraine and India, his eclectic mix of large-format photography, video pieces and Polaroid images brings to the fore the daily struggles of the men, women and children of countries who seem to have been forgotten by the western world.

Distressing in places, uplifting in others, the mix of media, words and image plays beautifully with the tempered calm of the Photographer’s Gallery. It’s a disquieting feeling drinking your decaf latté as you ponder the words of 12 year-old girls trafficked into prostitution, of men tortured by the Taliban, and of countless other stories of bodies and minds taken to places beyond our worst nightmares.

Goldberg’s photography and image-making is excellent, and you can’t help but wonder at his composition and timing — the formats chosen are prefect for their subjects, and allow them to speak loudly and colourfully of their hopes and dreams, whatever they have endured. Excellent.

In his first major UK exhibition for 18 years we are taken gently through his body of work since his first piece in 1967. The black and white photographs with beautifully hand-rendered type, the carefully annotated maps detailing geometric journeys crossing contours made real, and the centrepiece stone works set out in the large central space. For the typographical fetishists, of which I include myself here, there is type everywhere, from the minute hand-rendered lettering of the earlier pieces to the giant site-specific wording of the more contemporary pieces. Gill Sans dominates and evokes thoughts of classic information design of the 30s and 40s, of wartime posters and pamphlets — “Heaven and Earth” is a well travelled exhibit, but has a distinctly British flavour to it. New site-specific pieces are sewn throughout, bringing the outside in and involving the very fabric of the Tate.

Long’s work reminds me of a simpler time when I dreamed of art that connected directly to the world around us — you can’t help but feel that fantastic 60’s optimism in almost everything that he produces. It transports me back to those yellowed book pages full of black and white images of work by Smithson and Oppenheim, which I pored over for hours in the art college library. Maybe this is why he comes in for so much criticism — his work sits somewhat uncomfortably in these cynical days of production line pieces and an English art market so dependent on the chequebooks of a few London dealers. His refusal to join the auction-led frenzy cannot have made him many contemporary friends, evidenced by some rather bitter reviews of this show, but his core audience is still with him.

Is his work too comfortable? Possibly. Has he trodden the same literal path for the majority of his career? Undoubtedly. An idealist? Of course, and he’s a better artist for it. Long sees the world around us in a beautifully uncomplicated manner, and in this increasingly volatile world his work will only achieve greater relevance to anyone looking to understand how we can reconnect with it. He might just become a man of our times after all.

Ultimately I find his work just so satisfying, I don’t want him to change for anyone. I can’t imagine for a minute that he wants to either.

From her stuffed toys and inflatable body parts, to her delicately arranged sparrows with their knitted bonnets, there is much to enjoy and intrigue here. My favourite piece from the show, Casino, was a very relaxing diversion — the gently undulating red fabric was mesmerising and I sat in the darkness and happily experienced the show a few times.

After Messager you should head upstairs the excellent The Russian Linesman — this show has been curated by Mark Wallinger and it’s another feast for your eyes. There’s some pretty diverse content here, and you’ll have great fun playing around with the different forms and media. Wallinger’s giant TARDIS dominates the main room, but there are videos and books, and strange little pieces of rock, and even a series of stereoscopic images set into the wall. Video of the famous tighrope walk between the World Trade Center Towers sits opposite Albrecht Dürer’s illustrations, and around the corner a series of Ronald Searle ink drawings from the Death Railway.

Aernout Mik’s footage from the former Yugoslavia is disturbing in its banality. Using extensive filmed sequences which were never used by the news channels, he reduces the actions of conflict to everyday moments as common as shopping or taking the rubbish out. Houses burn as soldiers sleep in the shade, bullet-riddled bodies are retrieved from the river, and snipers smoke cigarettes in between the occasional shot at some distant enemy. Everything is just so calm, so normal, so dull, so everyday, you have to keep reminding yourself that you’re watching footage of a brutal conflict — it makes it all the more morbidly fascinating.

Two excellent shows to get those little grey cells working again.

A brutally early start to the day was followed by an excellent journey from Marrakech to Tangier, with a stop in Casablanca. The first-class compartment was extremely cosy and I dozed my way through the Moroccan countryside to Tangier.

Not so impressive was our Straits crossing which left half-an-hour late and ran an hour and a half late, leaving us stuck in the bay outside Algeciras waiting for a berth to dock. We arrived at out hotel two hours late — too late to get any food from their kitchens. Luckily the fantastic hotel barman was able to give us the number for pizza and we had one delivered to the hotel. The hotel Reina Christina is bizarre, straight out of The Shining. It has a very odd feel to it — as though we’ve missed the party sometime in the 1930s — but it has a lot of charm and I’ll sleep well tonight in my art-deco room.

30.03.09 — Leaving Madrid 7:00pm

After so many days of travelling I have been surprised at my alertness and pleasantly pleased that I’ve not hit the wall — well, until a couple of hours ago. I finally succumbed to the strains of the trip home and needed a restorative café con leche to bring me back to life.

Our day started well with a nice journey from Algeciras to Madrid through some of the most beautiful countryside southern Spain has to offer. The train weaved its way between lush green hills and deep valleys, presenting us with some amazing views. As we passed into central Spain and neared Madrid the landscape became noticeably more arid, the greens replaced by browns and yellows. The major drought Spain is suffering from was much in evidence. We arrived in Madrid with five hours to kill before the overnight train to Paris, which we filled with a visit to a museum focussed on Goya’s work, and then a final visit to Sol for an excellent café con leche before catching the Francisco de Goya back to Paris.

We’re weaving our way through the northern suburbs of Madrid now, the sun setting over the distant hills. I feel I know Spain a lot better than I did a couple of years ago — with two visits to Barcelona, two to Madrid and even the dubious delights of Algeciras, I’ve got to know a whole lot more than I did. This is a lovely country, filled with genuinely lovely people. They understand the need to balance life, to find that happy medium between working hard and kicking back. This country has a beautiful heart and their reputation for hospitality is much deserved. I dare say another trip to Barcelona, or even perhaps Bilbao, where the Guggenheim beckons, is looking likely later in the year.

After 14 hours on the Francisco de Goya, literally flying through the southern French and northern Spanish countryside, we arrived in a dry and bright Madrid. This leg of the journey took us through some stunning countryside, with snow capped mountains and grand retreats in the distance. I’ve not had much time to appreciate Madrid as yet, but the coffee and pastries are delicious.

23.03.09 — Madrid 6:30pm

Madrid is a slightly odd city — it seems on first impressions to be very small. It just doesn’t feel big like other cities. I don’t have enough time here to prove this either way, so it’ll have to wait for another visit. Visit of the day was the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, a glorious example of the architectural old and new coming together in harmony — why can we never get this right in the UK?

This was primarily an excuse for me to finally see Guernica, but the centre houses many other excellent works and a few temporary exhibitions. The Paul Thek exhibit was at first disappointing and thereafter intriguing — I’ve never heard of him and yet his importance to 60s and 70s art is obvious. Another show, Dependencias by Eulalia Valldosera, was great fun with some interesting audience participation. Everyone had a play and we left the Museo, after a visit to their ultra cool café, happy people.

23.03.09 — Madrid 11:30pm

Narrow streets, cool bars, tasty tapas, beers, rude waitresses, lovely hotel, rose sellers everywhere. We hit a nice tapas joint for some tasty Galacian treats in the evening, delightful food but the moodiest of service, the locals seemed to love it and we were lucky to get a table. From there we settled in to Bar Populart for some Cuban jazz, nice crisp beers, and enough smoke to make me feel as though I’d gone back to twenty a day! It all made for an awesome atmosphere. Great music, and I got some nice photos as well. A great end to our short stay in Madrid.

Listening to Tom Waits singing “Somewhere”, the suburbs of south west London a blur to my left, beside me the Marrakech and Madrid guides which will keep me entertained on the journey. I feel wonderfully calm, looking forward with excitement, and a small but healthy touch of anxiety, to the long journey ahead. This is a trip I have meant to do for some time now — I’m finally on the first leg of the longest train journey I’ve ever embarked upon. Tom’s “Blue Valentine” is the perfect accompaniment.

22.03.09 — Paris 11:00am

The dull light of an overcast Parisian morning still hurts my eyes. Memories of sangria and cognac slowly filter through. We returned to an old haunt of mine, L’Ecurie, for steak and sangria in the claustrophobic cellar, then on to the 10 Bar in Odéon to continue the sangria. The same grinning and winking barman served us, we watched as he gleefully emptied litre after litre of red wine into a barrel, followed by a bottle of anonymous clear alcohol, for which I’m blaming my hangover. Squeezed onto a tiny table in the cramped wine cellar, we shared the evening with a young student crowd. The atmosphere was refreshingly clear compared to previous visits, as the locals now venture outside for their Gauloises Blondes. Parisian bars without clouds of smoke is a new experience, it’ll take a little getting used to. I’m going to head to the Pompidou today for some much needed culture, hangover permitting.

22.03.09 — Paris 4:00pm

Some good exhibitions today — a visit to the Pompidou led to a surprise show, a retrospective of Alexander Calder. Split into two parts, the curation was excellent and the sense of childish wonder came across entirely. I particularly liked the use of spotlights on his wire sculptures, adding, literally, another dimension for the viewer. Wonderful and incredibly serene. Also at the Pompidou, the Voids exhibit left me cold — I might have enjoyed it under other circumstances but my fuzzy hung-over brain could not happily process the existential content. Shame. Later in the day we visited the Maison Européenne de la Photographie which had five concurrent exhibits. One or two were not really worth the effort, but some quality black and white work, in particular some modern ethnographical work which was fascinating. By this time I was relatively clear headed and able to appreciate the subtlety of the work. A successful day of culture.

I’m loving the black and white modes and most of my shots have involved playing around with them. Here are a couple of shots of my friends Pete and Chris taken at lunch yesterday — the camera has picked up a wonderful range of textures and tones. The colour modes are great too and there’s a wealth of settings and customisations, I’ll be experimenting with this for long time, it’s such a pleasure to use. It even shoots in RAW.

I’ve been really enjoying getting back into photography — it’s been very inspiring and I’m starting to get a real kick out of it. I love working with my Nikon D80 but I can’t take it everywhere as it’s just too bulky and heavy. That’s where my LX3 comes in — I can take it everywhere with me and I hardly even notice it’s there.

It’ll be perfect for my upcoming rail trip to Marrakech in March.

But plot takes a back seat here to the minimalist characterisation and beautifully subtle cinematography — the art direction owes a lot to the style of Jarmusch and Wenders’ Paris, Texas, with long deliberate pauses in the editing and a pace that is some way beyond leisurely. This is a really “slow” film, it just doesn’t feel the need to get anywhere in a hurry. Static camera and extended sound-only black screens, together with an absence of incidental music give the scenes enormous aural detail — you can literally hear a pin drop. At the post-premiere Q&A session Eimbcke suggested that the black screens were more of an economic decision than an art directional one, but they suit the treatment very well.

This is the beauty of the movie, it’s just dripping with understated atmosphere — the handful of characters sit delicately within the arid surroundings, never feeling the need to move or talk at any pace. Favourites include the Bruce Lee obsessed mechanic and the punk shop assistant who discovers Juan’s talent for babysitting. This film won’t be to everyone’s tastes — its minimal take on plot and pace will leave many cold, but if you can stick with it you’ll discover a film with an awful lot to say about dealing with loss.

The brainchild of film-maker and curator Aaron Rose, the Beautiful Losers show revolves around the work of a group of artists, musicians and film-makers brought together by the love of making it themselves. What started as a place to hang out with each other and drink became an increasingly important gallery for emerging talent in 90s New York.

After interviewing over 70 creatives involved in the project, Aaron and his co-director had the unenviable task of sifting through the footage and telling the stories of just 12 of those people. The result of that effort is a tightly edited documentary in which each artist is given time to bring their work and thoughts to life.

Was it worth the wait? Absolutely. The film is far from perfect — others have noted that it skirts the issue of commercialism in their work and their attitudes towards it, as many were picked up by large corporations as their fame developed. There’s also a distinct lack of sculpture on show which was explained by Aaron in the post-movie Q&A being down to the fact that “we don’t like sculpture.”

But ultimately this is an incredibly uplifting, colourful and inspiring romp around the streets of New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco with a very likeable bunch of characters. There are many genuinely funny moments throughout and you’ll find yourself wanting to walk out of the cinema and pick up a paintbrush almost immediately, their enthusiasm is just superbly infectious.