My neighbour’s music is once again seeping through the brick wall as if it were nothing more than a sheet, but as soon as I started to stir some indignation, I realised that this time it’s a live Peter Gabriel dvd, and I can’t think of any way to complain about Peter Gabriel. Apart from the sound being a bit muffled, and not being able to watch it.
In a way I’ve looked forward to this post and dreaded it at the same time, because of having to admit to what an extraordinarily emotional week I’ve had since the show opened. What on earth was that all about? Fatigue, mostly. After pushing uphill towards the goal of the opening on Friday night, I got to the top and promptly rolled down the other side, and ended up aching all over. All of Saturday was spent in the house, most of it lying flat and near comatose, apart from having to feed Mr. T and the birds. After campaigning for the Saturday opening, I was too knackered to make use of it. When I did get up, I could do nothing but fret about not getting the jobs I’d already applied for, and frantically search for more.
Feeling better on Sunday afternoon, I decided I had to make use of the last two hours of South East Open Studios, as I’d found out there were two on the other side of my village. I dragged myself and the boy out to walk around to the artists’ houses, which coincidentally were side-by-side, semi-detached cottages; the proverbial two birds to my one stone. It seemed like a good thing to do, to see real people making the art they wanted, without a module, crit or brief in sight. I should do the Open Studios next year just to see how the village reacts to my post-Goldsmiths work…
Now I can waffle, but my talent for waffling has been tested to the limit. Mavernie, our course leader, brought some college bigwigs over to my space on the opening night and bade me speak about the work. So I spoke, and I’m not sure, but I think it made some kind of sense. I can’t really remember now, as I was exhausted, running on fumes (and a glass of Private View wine, naturally) and obsessed with trying to stop my labels from falling off the wall. I did stay nearby and chatted with viewers, and I’m sure I managed to appear normal throughout. By the time Monday and the final crit came around, I’d perked up enough to string some more fluff together about the project and the way it had progressed, and all that. We know each other’s work so well now, though, that it turned into quite a good little chat. It also helped immensely that Ellie served up tea, cake and chocolates from her protest tent throughout the entire day. I’ll be disappointed by any performance art that doesn’t involve tea from now on.
We left feeling buoyant, but the next day, the tension returned with the arrival of the external valuator, Deborah Gardner. We tried to come up with ideas to pass the time as we waited in the refectory to be called in individually. I was last. By that time, I’d really had enough of talking about the work. I was also struggling with the fact that I still hadn’t had any success with my job search, and was becoming increasingly depressed about it. Having an unjustifiable amount of pride doesn’t help in that regard. I felt like a week-old party balloon. Still, I did my usual thing – talked and talked and talked.
Since then, mercifully, I haven’t had to say too much. I wobbled my way through the unemployment blues like a kite without a tail, but managed to emerge yesterday. Having a cackle whilst invigilating with Kate Linforth helped, as did hearing lots of praise for my work from some more bigwigs brought my way by Mavernie – from the council this time. Getting a package full of chocolate goodies from Ireland when I got home sealed the deal! Today, the first artist whose studio I visited on Sunday came to the show, which was a lovely surprise. I didn’t mind talking about the work then. But I’m definitely looking forward to a week of shutting up before setting up in Chatham for next Friday’s opening.
