“Pages from a Book:…

and then an amazing thing happened.

I started to get tired. I turned the heaters off and made
myself a cup of weak black coffee and let myself an nearly
two hours to finish the cup.

And somewhere between reading up on an international
research project and a third of the way through a now cold
cuppa, I began to sing.

"senor hijo unico, jesu christo
senor dios dios, hijo del padre"

I am older (though perhaps no wiser) and I remember why I'm
here.

And "Julia, Julia" emerges, a young confused girl completely
in love – with herself mostly. It's amazing what a person
can do when they take a few moments to figure out just
exactly what is going on around them.

The time was flying then.

and all the while I still managed to observe the lovely guests
slamming through the threshold and carefully picking their
way down the steps towards a pile of books (which well,
aren't really for touching, but I guess…well I hope she
stops before she reaches 'the one' that, like a corn cob in
a bin, will send the whole pile flying).

So up to 4p and closing time, when I need to venture seaward
and to the shop to pick up goodies for any further guests at
the opening event this evening…

Enter – man with a silver earring, who I already know:
"It's small isn't it?"
"My crew will fill it right up!"
"are you going to stick around here when you're done then?"
Exit – man with a silver earring, who I already know.

Enter – "Roland" and his accent:
"Just got back from 15 years in the states, as you can tell by my accent, but I've been here before so I know how to deal with the stairs."
"Good luck."
Exit – "Roland" and his accent.

Enter – woman with hair and a long coat:
"Hmmm…it's such a shame when on the days where there is something here I want to see — a painter or something — I always have to be somewhere else."
"I'm going to get my hair done if you can believe it."
"what do you want to do with yourself after this?"
Exit – woman with hair and a long coat.

Enter – wild eyed woman in pink, very chatty:
"Have you had many in?"
"Well you don't want them all to be the same do you?"
"Very creative."
"We'll see what she has this year, I might buy something."
Exit – wild eyed woman in pink, very chatty.

and so I close the door, swing back the sign for another hour, I'll do a bit more 'Julia-ing' and see where the wind takes me. Thus far, a completely unexpected day (but then I don't recall setting any expectations past 11a, so I couldn't lose could I?

To the shop.

Morning came and while the cookies were far to sweet to bring down for the open evening, I had one for breakfast anyway, feeling groggy too (perhaps because I had two for dinner as well…) and because it’s non coffee day. I made the bus up a little later than I’d hoped, and while I busied myself warming up the gallery before opening, only a few minutes early, I thought about who might pop into today (anyone?). Time for tunes, Gwen Stefani’s ridicu-pop kicks things off.

After the second patron, each seeming to find the perfect time to enter the exact moment when I jet upstairs to fix a tag or to place the instructions on the sound pieces, I settled down at the white end table with my laptop and decided to amuse myself with recording the nature of the guests I received throughout the day, perhaps the week:

Enter – man with a beard:

"Do you know who JG Garratt is?"

"I have the original of a print he gave Margaret Thatcher, Provenance."

"First one in and I didn't buy anything."

Exit – man with a beard.

Enter – woman with a double buggy:

"I'm looking for pictures of boats for my nan?"

"I'll have to get this thing out the door now!"

Exit (with assistance) – woman with a double buggy.

Enter – short woman wearing old lady earrings and hair:

"Being an art gallery, I thought you'd have a lot of pictures."

Exit – short woman wearing old lady earrings and hair.

Enter – older, but still sharp and intelligent looking man, and polite:

"Where is the gallery, upstairs?"

"Thanks very much."

Exit – older, but still sharp and intelligent looking man, and polite.

Enter – (struggling though, because I’ve forgotten to unlock the door after a quick breather at lunch) man in a bowler cap with a Northern sailor accent:

“I’ve never been in before, and I live here, how long has this been here?”

“I’ll pop down again, three weeks you say?”

Exit – man in a bowler cap with a Northern sailor accent.

As the bowler cap man is leaving, I’m thinking about all those people who also field the question ‘what is that?’/’that’s not art.’ statement and feeling rather low. I am onto litre three, coming on four and through my tuna salad as well.

I spend a little time searching some up and coming gallery sites, having a read at what else is going on. It’s not as discouraging as it usually is. I often find myself labeling works in local white spaces and those generally across the countryside as ‘non-art’ and ‘crap’ while personally struggling with defying this label in my own work.

Some days I feel a togetherness with art and this ‘scene’ and others though I am Puccini, Kafka and John Adams, I think and do as Susan Hiller and Proust, Carlos Capelan, others I am just me and my mud rolling, running down hillsides covered in birch trees self, energetic to understand, if not, to just do. And these are never good enough, either by my standards or by those of the schmumpkins who I come across on those off days, who put me off and make me think – perhaps if I want to make money, I should do my treescape drawings. I can paint, draw and probably even sculpt in the traditional manner to a relatively high level of competency, but currently, that ability does nothing for me.

I am at a time, and I feel we’re all at a point where we need to ENGAGE BRAIN a little more often, and if that means that I end up making work, putting pieces in exhibitions where people walk in and say, “where’s the gallery?” then I guess that is where I am today.

Somebody someday might thank me for nothing making pretty-boats-by-the-seaside pictures and I’d like to think I’ll surely thank myself for not forcing the inevitable future to settle in too early (Wayne Zerck whispers ‘sell out’ in my ear).

I like what I do though, and if that means I have to grit my teeth and refrain from giving cold looks to people in an otherwise friendly seaside town then I guess I can do that. As sure as an Minnesotan can make you a Special K bar without a drop of Special K, I can accept that I’m currently trying to show ‘-work’ to people looking for ‘art-‘, though we both end up confused.

Two more hours before a walk on the seafront where I’ll consider why I might want to do a research studentship in London next year, or rather more accurately, why these places might wish to have me as a research student in their name next year in London. Tricky business all this.

I wish I hadn’t lost the first post, this one feels rather less inspired.

Rargh. There is little more annoying than forgetting to write your online document offline and then C/Ping it before posting.

Beautiful things disappear into the abyss.

I'm starting with the time in the space first, the previous efforts collecting information and organizing was scattered and frequently interrupted.

I entered a freshly painted space, very quaint and delightful (if not smelling slightly nauseating) on Monday morning, fresh up from ‘the city’ on a long bus, I’d given myself a treat of a non decaf latte and thus, was really raring to go.

I bought a small 99p bunch of red tulips – red is the colour of this who she-bang – so it seemed fitting despite not particularly enjoying cut flowers generally.

A few people popped their heads in, having been alerted to the show via email from the space’s organizer, they were curious. I was curious at what they thought it might be…many offered to come back later in the week. Kind. A couple I’d helped out with the Big Draw stuck their heads in the door to drop off the newspaper article from the event. I invited them to the open evening, though I was secretly hoping no one would come.

I worked piece by piece, labeling and photographing each as I finished, and by pinching wireless from a nearby business was able to post them in medias res, which I was pleased with.

As well as with the massive extent of tunage I was able to enjoy while the mood swings of putting up pieces I had the evening I had troubled over.

A quick walk towards the seaside at teatime, a few pieces of sugary fruit and I can’t lie, some Smarties…I finished the last few pieces, made mental notes for the morning and cleaned up a bit. I felt pleased. I felt like I was in a different world. I had been everywhere I’d ‘discussed’ during the day, photographs of cows, a bandstand and a waterfall in Norway, I’d been there – often after moving onto a new piece, my mind stuck in the old thoroughly confusing my body as to where it was going when I boarded the number 6 just before 8pm.

I decided to make cookies for my private view and stopped at the shop to grab a few ‘bits’ on the way home.

—

I sat down with my notebook and laptop after sorting out the cookies and Shrek2, and made some comments about the day. 1) concerned about the audience slightly (they want pretty pastel pictures – did she (the organizer) tell them that is what I did?) 2) my entry display and the guest book I was given to use (gallery suggestion) look like a wedding reception at the Legion, or a High School graduation table. 3) Am I going to want to change it? 4) My favourite piece, is shoddily displayed (but it might work). 5) my foot doesn't hurt anymore!

Before finishing the description note to hang by the pretty flowers and after posting the remainder of the work online, I wrote a long email to my friend in Beirut who just started teaching and declared that a large chunk of my recent stress has been due to a continued insistence that nothing is ever good enough where I am (basically) and that though I do want to visit home, I know it isn't going to save me (but I will be able to play in the mud as liberally as I like, something I strangely lack the ability for in H&S land).

To bed, to "dream on the event.