Artist Keith Haring was everywhere in the 1980s. All over the walls of the New York subway, all over T-shirts, all over posters, all over dresses and all over former supermodel and singer Grace Jones’s body. You could wear him on your lapel. He was there when you needed him and there when you did not. He was in all the galleries and nightclubs and he invaded your house. He was all over MTV and he wanted to be all over the Berlin Wall, a section of which he painted. Haring was joyous, riotous, funny and angry, this gawky skinny kid with the glasses and a Sharpie pen. And then he was gone, dead at 31 from Aids-related illness in 1990. Now he fills the top floor of Tate Liverpool and the gallery shop. His little bouncy figures climb the columns in the cafe.