Thursday, 28 January 2010
Vampyres I am reading Christopher Frayling’s “Vampyres” it has temporarily replaced the biography of Laurel and Hardy as I felt I was becoming sidetracked. Frayling’s book, though far more erudite and reasoned, follows remarkably closely the work of Basil Copper, whose book now resides in a dark corner of my lavatory. I am particularly taken with the idea of the vampire as ‘other’ and the use of it’s relationship with humanity as a political metaphor by Rousseau and Marx. I must admit to feeling a little foolish at not realising that Zizek’s reference to vampires (in a post entitled “Kill Them All”) was probably meant to recall this. It has made me even more excited about filming Mr Bown “calling” but also more worried about how I might shoot the film. Time marches forward and I must decide soon. We (my companion that is) have firmed up a date with Mr Bown and I have booked rooms for us at the Continental Hotel. We are to film on a quiet afternoon session in March.
Snot and Sideburns
It is the third day of my illness. Yesterday my companion also succumbed leaving us to spend the day abed watching DVDs and shuffling to the kitchen for healing poultices. Outside, life continued as normal in St Georges street. Women screamed and swore, men swore and shouted. My immediate neighbour, a young man fresh from a stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure, keeps threatening to have people kidnapped. No doubt his lack of discretion is at least partly responsible for his recent incarceration. While listening to this base opera I have been trying to write a proposal for my forthcoming residency at Islington Mill. Messrs Bracey & Griffiths are writing an application for monies from the Henry Moore Foundation. The deadline approaches I must make haste. The following photographs also taken in my sickbed reveal another problem. My sideburns are completely different shapes. I believe they hark from different eras the 1970s and the 1870s.
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Last night was not a good one. I felt as if a crushing weight was hovering just above me. My breathing was short and sterterous, many times I had to resort to opening my mouth until it grew so dry I had to close it again. Now after counting down the early hours of the day I find myself lying weak limbed in bed. I have done very little constructive and must book my tickets to travel north to Manchester soon. There I am to meet up with messrs Griffiths and Bracey regarding a residency later in the year. In addition to this I have recieved a lovely letter from Anneka French inviting me to be in an exhibition called “Meleager’s Garland” at Sir Joseph Banks Conservatory, Lincoln. The work she wants (a small collage) is either in amongst the packaging for my show in Bath (which is still in Bath) or at the bottom of any one of the piles of boxes that now constitutes my new studio.
I feel I should explain the confused nature of my posts of late. Due to an ongoing battle with BT (mostly going on in my head) I yet again have limited access to the internet. To counter this I am posting regularly to my other blog http;//thepearlfisher.blogspot.com and pasting a weekly digest (indegestif) to this blog in a clandestine manner while at work.
Alex Pearl 25th January 2010
Sunday, 24 January 2010Stephanie Beacham Frustration and more frustration. The tape of the diminishing space man was blank. No amount of rewinding and fast forwarding could make the lost footage reappear. My dear companion put on a very brave face when I told her we would have to watch that particular episode of UFO ahead although she did profess an interest in seeing Stephanie Beacham again. Despite this, she spent the repeat screening on her phone emailing Mr Bown to get confirmation for dates for filming. I have been getting twitchy about getting the work done and juggling the time with another commitment in the north of which I shall write more later. While I was filming, more strange noises emanated from the rooms above including the sound of further heavy objects being dragged across the floor and a persistent hammering. These and other more obscure sounds are now recorded on my video tape. I may use them in the final film.
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Saturday, 23 January 2010Controlled by Radio Waves I have just completed a protracted move into a new studio. The upheaval has meant that I have produced little actual work in the preceding ten or so weeks (bar that which I could complete in my cramped lodgings). I celebrated by making some small collages of crashing aeroplanes which I photographed the wrong way round.
Because of these upheavals, many of my evenings are also currently taken up with work. I have been trawling through episodes of UFO a tv show from the early seventies. I must have watched reruns of it in my childhood and remember not fully understanding the plot. However I did remember the silver costumes, purple hair and fancy vehicles. Today I am impressed chiefly by the sideburns and the Aliens’ Dracula-like use of radio waves to control their, mostly female, victims. I have been looking for a specific scene of a dead man floating into space intending to remake it as an animation. I found it tonight.
Posted by Alex at 21:25 0 comments
Friday, 22 January 2010The Meaner Things I am spending a little time in the museum drawing the meaner things: the rat, the bat, the wolf. Also the giraffe but I fear this is a distraction. Tonight I must write some invoices for the work sold at the London Art Fair.
— posted abroad
Cosmic Mysteries III Upon our return, sweating and shaking we discovered Monika in an excited state. She had sold one of my drawings and another customer seemed very interested. I was pushed into her path by my enthusiastic companion (who was soon to be offered a job touting for the show). Thirty minutes later after I applied my not inconsiderable charm, two further works were sold. Unfortunately, before any more colletcors could pounce, a disembodied voice announced the fair was closing. My companion and I said our goodbyes and wandered arm in arm into the evening sleet.
Sideburn Update I am finding that women are increasingly interested in my sideburns. As I have previously passed through life largely unremarked by the fairer sex I am unused to this new somewhat specific attention.
Cosmic Mysteries
My companion and I arrived at the London Art Fair after a brisk walk across London. The Tube at Monument had been at a standstill due to overcrowding on the platform. My companion’s delicate sensibilities precluded crushing ourselves into the maul of disgruntled Londoners so a thirty minute walk seemed by far the best solution. Waving our complimentary tickets we were ushered through the crowds at the entrance and onto an escalator which took us almost directly to the projects area. “Cosmic Mysteries” was the first stand and upon our approach I must admit more than a little pride at seeing my name in Lettraset. The sympathetic hang of my work, and the rest of the projects area, contrasted with the village fair approach of the rest of the hall. We had two tasks to complete. To thank Monika and to photagraph the stand of a gallery “B” which represents a dear friend of mine, a painter of some repute. B’s stand was to be found below in the more commercial part of the fair. We braced ourselves for a trial.
Cosmic Mysteries II – descent into hell
The lower levels of the London Art Fair were a bear pit of writhing bodies in bespoke suits. Tall and tanned, their faces stretched into grimaces of contentment it’s denizens stalked each other calling out with braying voices. My companion and I, small and scruffy, felt a bit like early mammals scurrying around the feet of the great dinosaurs. In the hothouse atmosphere we scuttled from stall to stall looking for “B” the gallery of our dear friend. Eventually after asking for directions we found it but were horrified to discover they had not one drawing, painting or print of his on their wall! A tall man, tanned and aloof, assured my companion in honeyed tones that not two feet away were stored prints and drawings by my dear friend. He seemed bemused at our sudden lack of interest. Unimpressed and overheated we moved quickly upstairs in search of cooler climes and much needed refreshment.
It was there at the event’s one and only watering hole that we spotted our first, and last, celebrity. We both recognised a woman standing at the bar talking animatedly to an older man. I recalled she was an actress from Holby City, my companion, more usefully, recalled her role as a vampire whore in the film adaptation of Anna Rice’s “An Interview with a Vampire”.
This was an exciting discovery and while I hid behind a pot plant my companion went over to get her autograph. What happened next though was even more exciting.
