Cheese and whine
I don’t like PVs much. Apart from when I was much younger and the objective of a party was to party, I never have relished certain social situations. Compound that with the effects of a life of working almost exclusively on my own, my social skills atrophied to the point where my wife considered it a success if I got through an evening without biting someone. I have been making an effort though, and it is improving. I can leave the house unmuzzled.
I suppose there are PVs and PVs: those where people go mwah; those where people stand around looking (or trying to look) cool and disdainful and more important than everyone else; those where everyone tries far too hard to look arty; the really good PVs; and combinations thereof.
The last PV I got to in London was shortly before I went to France, for the London preview of the Venice Biennale exhibition I was in. There was little doubt that because it preceded Venice it was bound to be well attended, in fact it was as tightly packed as any rush-hour tube train. Not ideal for seeing the work, of course, but I did manage to have a shouted conversation with a couple of people I know.
More recently I was fortunate to be invited to the PV for the 30th Anniversary of the founding of the Centre d’art Contemporaine in Meymac, France. The event was a wonderful opportunity to get face-to-face with a lot of work by some well known and significant artists. This is a large building, over five floors, and again it was crowded. It was also very hot. I exchanged sympathetic glances with a lady as she opened windows before people started fainting.
I returned a few weeks later, to see the work properly, and the same lady happened to recognise me from the PV. It turned out that she is the Director of the gallery, so we chatted and she said that a PV is just a kind of bonjour. We exchanged cards and as we did so I realised that a PV is more than one kind of bonjour. Maybe I should get out more after all.
