Elsewhere There Have Been Protests
Monika has contacted me again for an exciting sounding show somewhere in the heart of the east end. Such “exciting” contacts tend to send me scurrying into my basement studio to look for things I can’t find, to look at things I don’t want and move them around until they look less depressing. In between such scurryings (and cups of tea) I am also being interviewed by Andrew Bryant. This is taking the form of a rally of emails which I am trying to answer as quickly as possible in the interests of freshness. He did suggest a phone call but that would have been far too fresh for my tastes. To the same end I am also trying to end my daughter’s phone contract without recourse to actually talking to anyone. Unfortunately this is proving impossible.
“Vivien Duffield, the philanthropist whose father once owned the Selfridge’s department store, said she is giving 8.2 million pounds ($13.3 million) to 11 U.K. arts institutions including Tate Britain and the National Theatre.” Well woop de do. I don’t wish to change the name of this blog to “The Daily Whinge” BUT I do find this news rather depressing. This sort of philanthropy is lovely (and just what the Tories wanted) but it highlights where philanthropic monies will go. To large prestigious institutions (already generously funded) while the rest of the art world scrabbles around in the dirt. It seems we may return to the sort of grand patronage of the middle ages where the rich ensure their place in heaven by building cathedrals while the rest of us suck each other buboes for nourishment. Hmph! right enough of that. I have been commissioned by the Earl of Wilmore to film his Golden pheasants.
Smiley’s People ends with such a powerful feeling of despair that overwhelms the success of his plans. In fiction, unlike real life, no one is happy once their arch enemy is defeated. Holmes repeatedly mourns Moriaty’s demise at the Reichenbach falls, Jerry feels pity for Tom and Tom for Jerry. I have never seen such a feeling of utter hopelessness portrayed so effectively as when Alec Guinness’s Droopy-like face, virtually immobile, witnesses the capture of Karla. It is the closest thing I have ever seen to that feeling I get when an exhibition is hung and ready for the public.
In two days Annabel and I travel to Southend to talk about our work to the degree students there. We haven’t really planned it yet beyond assembling various images of dead budgies, bingo callers, tumbleweed and tumbling spacemen. It will be like an autopsy.
All is arranged for the first chapter of The Count of Monte Cristo. “Island of True Stories” opens at Exeter Phoenix on 1st April.
http://www.exeterphoenix.org.uk/galleries/?page=2
A van has been organised, I have posted the dvds (Annabel is frantically painting again) Badges are to be made and a special edition of Arty will be produced by Cathy Lomax of Transition Gallery. For this special publication I have written only my second bit of poetry. I once told a group of student that there was enough bad poetry in the world and they should think twice before adding to it. However in a rush of blood I was unable to stick to my sage advice and plowed on regardless. Perhaps Cathy will see sense and excise it from the publication.
In the studio the tunnel is continuing slowly but I have completed (at long last) one of my box films which is intended for Rogue studios for Chapter 2.
Since my last post I have been endeavouring to spend as little as possible. My parents read this blog and I was told that my father (an accountant by profession) “took to his bed” after being told of my profligate ways. So instead, at least for the first half of the week I fell back on old ways, lurking in my basement cobbling things together out of bits of junk. A new series of post apocalyptic sculptures are on the way (see images to right).
EBay called again however and having managed to sell a variety of strange objects including part used nail varnish (£10) I ordered a set of EPNS grapefruit spoons with which I intend to dig an escape tunnel through the concrete floor of my studio. This is a project I must endeavour to keep secret from my landlord. I have taken ideas on this score from “The Great Escape”.
