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.

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.

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.

The first thing that hit us was the fumes. I felt like I was getting high within a couple of minutes of hitting the tunnel — there were only two or three groups working the walls but the pieces were fairly large and we arrived as one of them was being finished. The pieces created for the Cans Festival have pretty much gone now — the turnover looks to be almost non-stop but there is still some excellent work here.

As you know I’m a big fan of stencil work and there’s loads of good pieces here — great to see lots of stencilled copy and a real attention to detail in the more complex work. Shame some of it’s been obscured by the tags already but that’s the nature of this place. It’s be nice to single out and protect the best work but that cuts the open-source nature of it all. Got to take the rough with the smooth I guess.

There’s paint everywhere — on the walls, the ceilings, the floor and the locked doors. It’s painted over the lights and on the railings, the pillars are covered and even the CCTV cameras are not safe. After being there only a few minutes you get the urge to just grab a can and add something of your own.

I’m not sure if Leake Street will continue like this — get down there before Lambeth Council decides to paint over it all and spoil all our fun. Recommended.

I’ve had it in my head to give you my top ten reasons why I love Barcelona:

The coffee — I don’t know what it is about the beans they use here, but the coffee is absolutely world-class. I have mainly decaf coffee and unlike the UK, where they have to ask the other barristas where that old pack of decaf is and blow the dust off it as they retrieve it from the back of the drawer, the cafés in Barcelona actually have proper ground decaf coffee, some of them even give you a choice of bean! It tastes amazing and you have to remind yourself you’re drinking decaf.

The cafés and bars — this city has the coolest bars and cafés in the whole world, without a doubt, and they barely have to even try. The best of the bars have a casual chic and style which are beautifully understated. Round every corner is another gem, maybe a row of tea lights lead you to a cellar bar, or perhaps you glance through a tiny mediaeval window and find another dimly lit bar with couples whispering gently in the corners.

Born — the tiny streets have captivated me on both my visits, and this time I am staying right in the centre of the maelstrom of tiny mediaeval streets, bars and shops. Every day I still get a little lost getting back to my apartment, it still surprises me that I don’t yet run on automatic pilot. With the hot weather the tiny streets are doubly helpful, protecting you from the intense sunlight. You stumble out of a bar and suddenly you’re right in front of the Picasso Museum, next morning you take a walk over to the Santa Caterina Market to have a coffee and watch the fish deliveries.

The cat woman — I love the cat woman. She sits every evening on the c/ d’Argenteria with her cat and watches the world go by. The cat is the star of this particular little show, its wonderful little bow-tie makes me laugh every time I see it.

The galleries — Richard Meier’s MACBA stands out as the epitomy of Barcelona creative chic. It’s grand frontage gives way to a wonderful use of space inside, with gentle walkways taking you right to the top of the building. It’s an oasis of calm, and one of the first places I headed to on this visit.

Raval — it has many of the same tiny streets as Born but the atmosphere is entirely different. Edgier, noisier, darker and a whole lot more culturally interesting. Home of MACBA, FAD, CCCB and a bunch of other galleries and creative enterprises, I spent a lot of time hanging out here. My favourite boccadillo stand is here, and I seem to always gravitate back here eventually. I spent an amazing afternoon sitting on the cool shaded marble wall of MACBA reading Hunter S. Thompson and watching the skateboarders while the sun shone bright and a breeze gently cooled my skin. Lovely.

The summer evenings — have that lovely cool but still warm feel, as the sun sets and the locals get ready to party again after a hot day of doing, well, whatever the locals do here. The sky is still clear and the gentle breeze keeps you fresh and alert. You take a walk down to the harbour to look at the boats and the people, then back into the old city for some tapas and a cerveza or two sitting watching the world go by. Heavenly.

Street art — as you’ll remember from my previous visit I am a little taken by the quality of the street art here. I could spend weeks photographing the work on the walls and doors. Colourful and truly creative, it visually adds to the atmosphere of the city, it would be far duller without it.

Moritz beer — a local deli put me on to these, one of the local Catalan brews. Delicious and with a wonderful after-taste, I’ve had a few good nights on these. I wish I could take a crate home.

The lifestyle — does anyone here actually work? The locals seem to have got the whole work to life balance near perfect. They don’t seem to subscribe to the 9 to 5 ethic, or the 5 day week ethic, or for that matter any of the traditional western work ethics. Things get done here, food is made and sold, coffees are brewed and drunk, people work but they also play hard. This city doesn’t come alive until way into the evening. When many in London are heading for bed the Barcelona crowd are heading for the bar.

An exhibition regarding architecture at the Hayward was always going to be contentious. The Hayward already makes a unique architectural statement — to ask pieces to coexist with this already overtly controversial structure seems a little odd. Wouldn’t a simple structure such as a warehouse be a better environment? Concerns aside, what was the work like?

Those expecting a bold vision of Rachel Whiteread may be a little disappointed — in veering away from her commentaries on space, occupation and containment, she adds a layer of sentimentality which I found a little disconcerting. Her collection of doll’s houses offers a very personal opinion on architecture, but I have to admit it left me a little cold.

Ironically Do Ho Suh, in his beautifully fragile piece “Staircase-V, 2003/04/08″ manages to deal with precisely the themes we’ve come to expect from Whiteread. I found it incredibly difficult not to touch this piece, it has an amazing sense of negative space. I found myself wanting to explore its forms, to move within its spaces even though I knew I couldn’t. Perhaps with this piece Do Ho Suh has outdone Whiteread on her own turf. Powerful stuff, I found it very inspiring.

Ernesto Neto’s delicate piece, “Life Fog Frog… Fog Frog, 2008″, is beautiful but could have been so much more. Like Do Ho Suh’s work, you want to reach out to it — whilst it succeeds in evoking some wonderfully delicate organic structures, it fails to engage fully without that interaction. Architecture is personal interaction with space, made real with use of form and matter. Well, that’s the way I’ve always seen it.

I finished my tour with Mike Nelson’s piece “To the memory of H. P. Lovecraft, 1999, 2008″. Stepping through the doors to the scene of mayhem and destruction beyond, I couldn’t help but laugh. In ripping apart the exhibition space Nelson uses the very fabric of the Hayward to remove us temporarily from the entire experience. I found it liberating and very amusing.

Of course the ultimate winner will always be the Hayward itself — every time I visit this gallery, and I have been a regular for almost 20 years now, I feel the need to touch the beautifully rendered concrete of the stairwells and walls, to feel the gentle wood grained surface which is always at the same cool temperature. It’s an amazing environment, an oasis of peace and tranquillity in the centre of one of the world’s most intense cities.