Saturday, 29 May 2010
Return from the north
From Stoke by train the speedy pan of slate grey and rich blue green reminds me of an El Greco painting of an approaching storm. I am writing the thoughts of an inebriate fearing what realisation the cold morning light will bring. Mr Bethell and friends rounded my presentation with a visit to another local hostelry (actually the same hostelry as we visited on Thursday). The drinks taken there have only served to revivify those imbibed at yesterday’s impromtu beer festival and Thursday’s consolatory meal. Still, the train travels swiftly and smoothly south. Earlier at Airspace I showed part of “Call” to the assembly hoping to allay my fears. It seemed to go down reasonably well though it did seem markedly different to the other works. Mr Bown’s dauntless struggle to engage the ladies of the bingo club came to the fore. To me he again appeared more like a flawed hero than my original conception as vampiric villain. This pleased me and reminded me of something Christopher Lee said about the character of Dracula something to do with his vulnerability and pathos. The exact words have slipped away.
My loss of memory described above is not wholly due to my intoxicated state. Nor an attempt at a sort of romantic narrative fade. But rather the result of constant interruption. My dear companion is sending such frequent messages that she is causing my phone to crash repeatedly and my temple to throb with an embollistic intensity. Even now I am typing through clenched teeth. I believe she was a Bengal cat in another life, but I do love her dearly.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Part 2
Despite my repeated assertions Mr Bethell was not kidding, nor was he joking. Somehow I had got the wrong day. Suddenly my “best practice” badge seemed somewhat tarnished. Both Mr Brascombe (who had by now joined us) and Mr Bethell were extremely sorry for my mistake plying me first with tea and then alcohol. So kind were they, that, despite my rapidly weakening protestations, they even reimbursed my train fare.
While I recovered my wits we discussed the fortunes of the gallery which seem to have ebbed and flowed with the phases of the moon. Generably though they seemed to be doing tolerably well though it was typical they told me they had received a sizeable Arts Council grant to go to this year’s Zoo only to have the organisers cancel the fair.
After a largely liquid lunch we parted in good heart promising to meet again in two days. I had decided to make the most of my error by making a visit to my elderly parents who I had not seen in a fair while. My mother’s first words as I crossed the threshold were “Oh you’ve got a bit of a tummy”.
The man next to me has preternaturally long feet, or at least shoes. I am seated in the genteel and unattended village station of Prestbury waiting for a slow carriage to Stoke on Trent. The Virgin Pendelino has just sped through dragging my stomach with it and I am tired, so tired. The day started well with a brisk ride (on the Phantom) from my lodgings to the station in Ipswich where I was to catch an early train to London and thence onward to Airspace. I had my talk ready and was prepared to give of my wisdom to the no doubt eager audience that awaited me. The journey to London was uneventful and the rush hour crush neither too uncomfortable nor overly erotic. Soon I was seated on the express train to Manchester going over PowerPoint and practising seamless shifting between applications. The high speed journey was over before ennui set in. Upon my arrival, the walk from station was blessed with a pale sunshine which removed the worse of the chill from the air. Admittedly the walk seemed longer than it had last year but I am older (and heavier) than I was then. As I arrived Mr Bethell greeted me on the gallery steps and said. “the talk is on Saturday”.
Continued at http://thepearlfisher.blogspot.com
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Alarums
My phone has just jolted me awake. It says “talk”. At first I thought it was a message from my companion suggesting I rise from my post-work grave. But no! it was a timely reminder that tomorrow I must once again set forth to talk about my work and career. This time I am returning to Stoke-on-Trent where Messrs
Bethell and Branscombe, proprietors of Airspace, have invited me to talk about my work and how I have built relationships with galleries and comissioners. I am speaking at one but hope to arrive earlier. Unfortunately this will entail catching a seven o’clock train which fortunately will give me plenty of time to decide what to say. The press release for the event described me (optimistically I thought) as an example of best practice in this field. I shall endeavor to be as interesting as possible but, failing that, I have put together a DVD of such length that if I leave it playing there will be no time for talk.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Release
I received a press release in this morning’s email. It detailed the work commissioned for Whitstable. “Damnation” I exclaimed (or something similar) “Adam Chodzko’s work has the same title as mine!” (bar the addition of an ‘s’ this is true – and although of little importance I still wish I had called mine something more original). This aside, yet again I must admit to feeling like the poor cousin in the lineup. I think I will always suffer this way, it is inescapable. Not long ago, in a group show in King’s Lynn, I was the only ‘local’ amongst a coven of sharply and darkly dressed, pale and youthful London Arts graduates. I was mesmerised by the influence of their collective self assurance and instantly assumed the role of their brown coated minion. Within minutes I was, at least metaphorically, tugging my forelock and gladly performing any number of obeisant tasks. At one stage I believe I even began to drag a limb. To this day I have failed to discover a suitable phylactery against such power.
My responses in such matter are disorderly to the point of insanity. I must discipline my emotions.
The press release is delightful and I was planning to instantly forward it’s flatteries to all and sundry. Unfortunately my email programme scrambled image and text to such an extent that I will have to spend a little time reconstructing it for general release.
continues on http://thepearlfisher.blogspot.com
