Fragmented reports from the field
Bags so heavy I was forced to beg for a lift to the station. The train will be one minute late. I anticipate it should take just twenty minutes to cross London with this load. I will arrive at Euston with another twenty minutes to spare.
There are moments of great luxury in the life of an artist. There are assignments on which he is required to act the part of a very rich man. The reservation tickets haven’t been put out in coach F. My space has been occupied by a tattooed family. Mum, Dad, pugilistic son and multiply pierced baby.
Arrived safe and well in Manchester. Met off the train by Mr Bracey and Juhana who bundled me into a taxi to Islington Mill where I was given keys and passwords and invited out for drinks at the Cornerhouse. I wanted to start work straight away as nothing calms the nerves more than having something “in the can”. But as Miss Goodyear (whom I met upon arrival) said: “It is Sunday”. Nevertheless I am edgy and eager to get on.
B and I made a brief visit to Miss Goodyear’s studio before heading into Manchester with Mr Moisander for a meeting. Her studio is a luxurious space with a large sofa for reclining, a cabinet filled with many curious souvenirs (including a perfectly preserved pair of feet) and an enviable view over the Salford projects. The meeting, like so many on residencies of this kind, turned into a drinking session the like of which I have not experienced for a long time. Indeed as I type this report my hands are still shaking a little. Finding time to make work is always a problem, so I take my chances where I find them. Upon returning to my room last night I made my first film. I haven’t looked at it yet for fear of what I might find.
