Anne Kyyrö Quinn wool felt sculpture exhibition, 12 Star Gallery, London

“Is that a ah . . . a foot?!” Your meat-free scribe was still under the gustatory evil spell of mistaking chorizo for a grilled baby tomato, when a fur stole fell from a guest’s shoulder at the opening of the Anne Kyyrö Quinn exhibition last night. Swooping, your scribe...

“Is that a ah . . . a foot?!” Your meat-free scribe was still under the gustatory evil spell of mistaking chorizo for a grilled baby tomato, when a fur stole fell from a guest’s shoulder at the opening of the Anne Kyyrö Quinn exhibition last night. Swooping, your scribe caught it mid-fall. In her hand were paws and claws. Confirming these were mink feet, its eccentric owner turned to reveal two tiny mink heads locked at the nape of her neck. Fortunately, meat and minks only momentarily distracted your scribe from an evening celebrating Kyyrö Quinn’s gloriously sculptural wool felt acoustic walls, cushions and ottomans.

Hosted by the Embassy of Finland and Europe House, the exhibition continues until January 2013 at 12 Star Gallery on Smith Square (former Conservative Party HQ and near the Houses of Parliament). Gracing the interiors of corporate board rooms, private homes and the film sets of Prometheus and Sex and the City, Kyyrö Quinn’s 3-D patterned engineered acoustic wall panels are handmade of sustainable 100% wool felt. The panels achieve International Standards (ISO 354 and 11654), which make them perfect sound absorbers for hotels, lobbies, home cinemas, public lounges – anywhere really where too much overlapped sound hampers leisure or business activities. But don’t be misled, the beautiful and hypnotically haptic panels are desirable whether you need sound control or not. (More text after image break.)

Chorizo forgotten in a rubbish bin and minks no more, it was time to walk through fog and admire the architectural anchor of Smith Square, St John’s church (1728). On her way out your scribe interpreted the design of this Kyyrö Quinn cushion as a giant green stuffed olive. No more rogue chorizo, next time it’s a dry martini only for your scribe. DJ