What a disaster in the studio today. Probably because I had changed the colour so many times, there were so many layers that I no longer could be exactly sure where the tape ended and the paint began. At one point a whole piece of the actual painting got ripped off in the most shocking way.
After practically having hysterics I realised I had to work through this. Thus began the great rescue operation. Gritting my teeth I went back to basics doing it over. Once I got to the stage that I had to let it dry, I went to Rosenthaler Platz to buy my weekly English newspaper, the Week-end Guardian 3.80 euros.
Tom rang while I was there and since he was at Rosa Luxemburg Platz he cycled over and we had borsht at the Gorky Park Café. Later we met up on Zimmerstrasse near Checkpoint Charlie for the Opening of the Thomas Struth exhibition of his large photographs of people in museums looking at works of art. This show was all in the Prado, Madrid, with a lot in the Velasquez rooms. Finally I was able to do what I've wanted to do for a long time, and that is to photograph someone in front of one of these works so then the person would look as if they were there too. In this case Tom at the Prado while being in Berlin. Then he took a photo of me in front of a work, but unfortunately he'd had so little sleep from being out so much, he couldn't keep the camera very stable. These tiny digital cameras with their delayed action are really a problem to keep steady enough to be in focus. What I need is one with anti-camera shake. But not bad all the same.
After that we went on to a later opening on Tor Strasse at a gallery called Milles d'Air, run by an affable tall French man who shows upcoming young artists. In this case the show was very much in the Martin Creed mode with witty one-liner works. There were young art students including two from Chelsea doing their Erasmus in Berlin. One of them, Gareth, with a ginger beard was wearing a shrunken wrinkled bright yellow shirt over a white t-shirt- I couldn't believe it- just what I'd just read Vogue magazine had stated was the hot fashion just now!
The invitations for the opening of my exhibition were printed today and I began sending them out. What with that and the emails, I worked until four am to get the next stage of painting done. Colour nuances again.
A-N magazine, did an article on my Berlin residency on this Projects unedited website. A lot of people read these blogs, and have got in touch with me. Mostly people from the UK about to visit Berlin, or interested in Berlin, or already living in Berlin, but others too, like artists asking me to join their projects, which is great. One artist living in Berlin now has got in touch and today I met her for a coffee. Tall, forthright, loose shoulder-length brown hair, large almond shaped blue eyes she seems clear about her aims to be an artist. Having done an exchange term in Berlin and enjoyed it, on graduating from Chelsea School of Art she had found that she had to spend her time doing a lot of jobs just to pay for her rent, not being able to have a studio nor to spend much time doing her own work. After three years of this, the opportunity came up to come to Berlin so she took it. Rents are much lower here making it a lot easier for artists. What she hadn't realized is how long it would take her to settle in. Not speaking any German, after nine months of being in Berlin she is gradually picking it up. She has finally found a place to live that she really likes, is doing a curatorship of a new small gallery in exchange for a ‘free' studio on the premises, and is picking up from play school a four year old child and taking care of her until the mother comes home at seven pm. This earns her sufficient money to allow her to live and to paint. After a time she will find a separate studio as she finds the situation however convenient still confining on her freedom. A bold confident mover, she gives the impression of being capable and adaptable.
In the evening there was an opening of the third exhibition to be at her gallery, so I arranged to meet Tom there. Green helium filled balloons covered the ceiling and the walls of this tiny brightly lit gallery were covered with photographs of the beautiful forests of an archipelago of islands between Fiji and Australia, called Vanualu. It looked rather like the Bush in New Zealand. In fact the Designer half of the Designer-Photographer duo is a New Zealander. Between the green balloons and the tiny baby on her shoulder we had a natter about living in Berlin. The German Photographer and tiny baby meant I didn't have to ask her about why she stayed on here after a residency.
Tom and I went on to have dinner at the Vietnamese restaurant Saigon at Rosa Luxemburg Platz, which was so fulsome that I took home what I couldn't eat there in a package. Lunch for me tomorrow.
This was the first time I've been to Ackerstrasse which is surprising as it is just one street over parallel to Kastienallee that I go up and down all the time. It is funny how one sticks to the known paths unless one consciously makes an effort not to, or unless there is a reason to go there. Like this evening when I was going to a fashionable Italian restaurant, Locando Pane to have dinner with an architect, partner in an enormously successful German practice. On Ackerstrasse there is also a most formally elegant Schinkel church so that is another reason to go there. And a supermarket that has a large tank of huge fish swimming around. If you don't mind being an executioner, and of course it is hypocrisy otherwise if you eat fish, then you buy really fresh fish just by saying ‘kill that one for me'. However I must confess, hypocritical or not, it would make me squeamish to do it myself. Getting to the restaurant first I was a bit nervous as the buildings done by Sauerbruch and Hutton are so enormously prestigious, but the instant I saw her come in I liked her enormously. First of all she is immensely, openly intelligent and friendly, not at all pretensions which I had feared. Secondly she is English, brought up in Norfolk that I hadn't known. Her husband is German and they met at the AA in London. Their buildings use a lot of colour that interests me a lot. They are so contemporary and vibrant. We chatted away about all sorts of things getting to know each other and our backgrounds. Then we had a good moan, i.e. discussion about how difficult it was to get the exact colour one wants, and how it changes when you do get it. I had said ‘well at least you don't have to mix it as you get samples ready-made'. As was quickly pointed out, yes a six-inch sample is not quite the same as twenty floors of it. Quite right. In fact my difficulties with the colour charts of paints is only a miniaturization of that, and the problems are there for both. Yes the extrapolation of a small sample into a much larger area changes it entirely, but even when you sort that out another colour put next to it, or another building built next to it can throw it off unrecognisably. On top of which the light changes and the same colour looks like four other colours, and so on. You can see how we could get really stuck into this subject. And we enjoy it. These difficulties and joys are what we are involved in. What a delightful evening. Walking back to the Milchhof, see how convenient Berlin is, one can walk home, and safely at midnight, I was gingerly picking my way, trying to avoid going into the slush, cursing my having sent back my boots to London prematurely, concentrating on not falling as it was extremely slippery, when I saw another woman coming towards me also lifting up her feet high as she went along. We spontaneously both burst into laughter at each other and the joy of it all. What a wonderful evening.
I'm already feeling nostalgia for Berlin. When I went into the Kunstler Magazin for yet more paint, I thought ‘oh in a month I'll not be here coming to this convenient art shop with the nice auburn haired girl. I will have vanished from the Berlin life.' I am being reminded of what is going on in the world away from this, the London world, and the very different world that this is. Like a slice of a life, an interesting special life, but encased in a transparent glass large bubble separate from my other world and soon the life in the bubble will stop and the bubble will be stored away somewhere so that I can bring it out and look at the life inside it but I won't be able to get inside that particular glass bubble again. No more than I can get inside the glass bubble with my four-year-old self-running in the cornfield, with the sweet rustling stalks higher than my head and I am enamoured with the feeling of being invisible to my mother who is trying to get me inside the house to go to sleep. I run and run so happily feeling ‘I can do whatever I want.' That is what the bubbles contain, sunlit illusions of being free, liberated from real life.
