I thought I’d wait a while before I shared this
I am still finding it difficult to clearly describe the Cerbyd experience without something going off in my head and entirely loosing my grip on reality. Each morning as I drive to work my mind takes me on a detour North, preparing food is no longer the delightful collaborative experience it once was and at lights out I dream of my time under canvas… WHY THE HELL CAN’T EVERYDAY BE LIKE CERBYD?
It is clear to me that although my plans for the 8 days were rigorous to the point of being obsessional and possibly bordering on anally retentive. I was not prepared however, in any way for the massive hole that would appear in my life after we got off the bus. I am disappointed with myself for not being able to forsee this. I should have devised an aftercare plan that would have kicked in as soon as we all arrived home. The exhilaration of such an all consuming and intensive experience could leave the artists drained requiring emotional support and if this was not administered could lead to trauma! Well, this is certainly the experience I have been through post-Cerbyd. Thinking and questioning everything that once made me comfortable has knocked me for six. Was Cerbyd akin to doing my MA?
Everyone involved in Cerbyd made the last 18 months of administration worth it. Eight days solid with 11 artists is, I’m sure/i know, many artists idea of hell. Without sounding sentimental we were blessed with a fantastic gang that made the whole experience. The gang galvinised one another in every action – from putting up tents (which wildly varied in size), inventing and playing Creative frisbee and the simple enjoyment you can have when packed in like sardines between bags, tents, kettles, pots, pans, lentils and strangers in a bus that sometimes wound its way through small roads with a few choice U turns thrown in for good measure but always accompanied by a backing track of laughter, singing and smiles.
