One entry, north of the river, and a page written entirely in the future tense because I have not been.
Written as a plan. Nothing above has happened yet.
This page carries one entry and no experience behind it. I have not walked this city, so I will not tell you which way the light falls or how long the rooms take — that is the sort of thing one invents, and the directory does not.
What I do know is why it is kept: a working studio lifted out of London and rebuilt here, dust and all, catalogued rather than tidied. Anyone who has read a museum's conservation notes will understand why that sits at the top of a list.
The plan, when I make it, is winter, midweek, at opening, with the rest of the afternoon left deliberately empty. Until then this is an intention with a plate number, and it is marked hollow for a reason.