SLUICE
I have very wide feet.
In order to order some new shoes from an online company based in Derby I took a pre prandial trip to Clarks for measuring.
Incidentally I have just heard that all the art spaces in Derby are under threat of closure due to lack of funding.
I was a little embarrassed as I had no intention of buying shoes from their shop but Annabel assured me it would be alright. Indeed the lovely assistant was most accommodating. After explaining, at length, that no one measures adult feet anymore and that, no I couldn’t use the exciting children’s laser measurer, she disappeared into the storeroom in search of a set of antique foot calipers. I have to admit at this stage I felt like a bit of a pervert. Then as she grew more excited I was instantly converted from pervert to freak. Apparently my feet are shaped much like those of a duck. It is possible that with a little more adaptive evolution I could return to the sea much like Bobby Ewing.
This is all by the bye as, having given up on Internet shoes in favour of two plastic bags secured at the ankle, I am working on tying up a few loose ends for SLUICE (please excuse the capitals). I have created an edited compilation of some films, an instruction sheet for sowing cress in toy cars and a list of titles which may, or may not, be correct. I am hoping the cress David and Annie took away with them will still be in it’s prime when SLUICE opens, but if it is not I am taking a leaf out of the Chelsea Flower Show gardeners’ handbook and have several replacements on the go in varying states of advancement.
Alex Pearl – SLUICER
Eternal present.
It is Monday morning, I am tired and handing out tea and chocolate biscuits to Annie and David. I took the precaution of buying three packets of biscuits yesterday so that one might remain, packet not biscuit. They are here to select work for Aid & Abet’s stand at the SLUICE Art Fair. It rained last night the lingering clouds making Ipswich seem greyer than usual but inside, due to my final capitulation in the matter of the central heating, it is pleasantly warm. I’ve tidied the basement and laid out a number of pieces for their delectation. I don’t know what they will pick. Previously for art fairs (both of them) I have had half an eye on what might be commercial but this time much of my work seems very transient. Will somebody want to buy a caravan planted with cress or moss? They will have to water it daily and, in the case of the cress, harvest and reseed regularly. Additionally, with time, the caravan will rust and decay. Conversely and perversely the jelly pieces seem indestructible, what are we feeding our children?
This fair though is not really about the commercial. It seems smaller scale, more ephemeral and (apart from the title) nicer.
It is Sunday, I have just eaten a small roast dinner with Annabel. I have retired to the toilet to write and inspect Achilles the damp mould. A white fuzz continues to expand from his heart of darkness. A spider, pale, almost translucent, has strung it’s web across the corner. It reaches from Achilles’ downy surface to a series of brown lumpy craters on the adjacent wall.
I am in the bath reading about vegetable spiders stringing their webs from the earth to the moon. It is too hot. I fear dizziness when I get out and read on waiting for cooler times.
Alex Pearl
Slaughter House 1
Late last night I was pleased to hear my neighbours putting their bins out. It was purely a feeling of self satisfaction as I, following the counsel of my phone, had already put mine out at a far more civilised hour. This piece of petty schadenfreude helped my drift happily off to sleep. The previous day, to that point, had not been my most successful. I had intended to attend my residency at the local gallery but unfortunately I was unable to gain residence. As show is being set up by a taciturn, some might say rude, artist who shall remain nameless. Because of this (event, not humour) the gallery door is often locked and more than once I have been seen (or not) pressing my nose up against the crack in the door gazing at the better (and safer?) world inside. Not 16 years earlier a much younger me was doing the exact same thing up to my knees in snow. I had battled my way into Ipswich from Melton in order to deliver my lectures to eager students. Little did I know that Suffolk tends to close down at the slightest hint of the white stuff and I was surprised to find no one at the art school. By the time of my arrival the weather was already worsening and, were I not writing this, you might think dear reader, that I was about to become another tragic Evening Star headline. In the absence of residential employment I gave up, returned home and continued work on my new project. This is not art but a 1965 RSW 16 it is very cute and somewhat arcane in its design. How I wish I had taken note of the internal cable routing before stripping it down. I am trying to sell my other shopper so that I might fund this project. I have made a fine poster to be hung at the New (most recent) Ipswich Art School which is part of Suffolk New College.
From which I have been made redundant.
I received an email from Andrew Bryant at artists talking. He wants me to come and talk at an event about blogging at Peckham Space on Thursday 17th Nov for a small fee + expenses
“The plan is that I will do a short introduction of you and your blogs, plus a little bit of background on Artists talking, and then you will talk for 15- 20 minutes each. There will then be, I hope, a lively debate on blogging, social network media and all that gubbins.”
I haven’t been blogging regularly on Artists Talking for a little while now due solely to the fact that I can’t seem to do it from my phone, writing in those in between times. I hope this won’t matter. I may copy and paste a few posts from this blog in a cynical move to ingratiate myself with the AN public.
“The working tittle and blurb of the event is:
Artists talking at Peckham Space: to blog or not to blog? Ever thought of blogging but not sure where to start, how to make time or how it might benefit you? Three artists discus how blogging enhances their work and careers, with advice on what makes a good blog and how to make your blog work for you.”
I have been thinking of late that blogging is becoming a bit passé having heard from a number of more trendy mouths a certain disdain for the blogging artist. Perhaps this will become an interesting talking point.
