We all met at yesterday at five. I mean, us, the artists. Agreed that this couldn’t go on – but we were invited here to do work, we want to do it, we can if they let us get on with it – and we take footage and edit it and give it to them. Then we can show how making art works – not the tedious footage they’ve been showing.
Much discussion – is it that they don’t know, or just don’t care? I know for certain that I don’t want any more microphones stuck in my face asking me ČWhat do you feel about art?Č We agreed that we were up for doing an event at the studio, invite people, show some films, do some workshops and performances – I had a great one lined up – though a few thought having a party and calling it art was unconvincing. The studio is a wonderful place – and it needs love. It’s an light, airy monastery building that’s about to be given back to the Franciscans.
The TV people had not responded to text messages or phone calls – but they announced a meeting at seven at the studio.
We didn’t know what was going to happen but we knew we didn’t want to be on a game show any more.
Donatus, the director, took the floor. With ČinfoČ, he said.
They’ve done some eliminations. Everyone’s been eliminated, except for Pavel, Tadas and Darius. Pavel’s in Denmark, of course, and Tadas and Darius don’t speak.
The ruse is that we broke our contracts by walking out, the night before. Though everyone had done that. We are each given a short termination of contract paper – with Jonas’ name on it. Jonas is the number three at the TV station – very young, pencil moustache, rolled up jacket sleeves – crashed our dinner weeks ago with the grace of an elephant in a china shop – as they say round these parts.
Our flights have been reserved and – this is absolutely true – there’s a camera set up next door for us to speak, directly to camera, one by one. The Lithuanian artists are expected to leave the dorm immediately. Of course, this doesn’t happen. Kornelya comes over to me to try to discuss a flight on Monday.
Continued next post…
