ARTISTS TALKING

# 1 [11 July 2009]

Preface
In June I received an email from Sue Jones suggesting that we meet in a café in London to discuss my possible involvement in next year’s Whitstable biennale. I was very excited at the prospect and immediately agreed to meet her in a few weeks time.

As is usual I arrived far too early for our meeting, but not early enough to go somewhere else or do anything useful. Luckily the Pensammon is a delightful Italian run establishment, so undeterred, I filled my time drinking coffee and checking my emails until I realised that most London cafés don't seem to have toilets. After that I moved on to tea. I had texted Sue and, although we had met before, I thought it best to use the blind date technique of telling her I would be wearing a red jumper. The cafe we had arranged our rendezvous was blisteringly hot and by the time she arrived I was sheeting sweat and attracting worried glances from the waiters. I was now suffering from imminent bladder failure coupled with severe dehydration but I don't believe she noticed. My biggest fear (apart from an embarrassing accident) was that Sue would ask me to develop some sort of performance for Whitstable happily she didn't. Our meeting went well and beyond writing an account of my experiences she had no preconceived ideas of what I should do.

Later in the new Whitechapel café I saw Sue again talking to two friends. Feeling embarrassed and not wanting to create a social faux pas, I sidled around the tables pretending not to see her.

# 2 [14 July 2009]

27 June. Whitstable. We left Ipswich just after 10 am on 26th June. I had tried to book in advance but had been unable to find cheaper tickets, so we bought ours from a machine at the station. As usual we saw little of London except that which could be glimpsed through the train windows. We noted the Olympic stadia under construction and the flats where my companion’s sister had once lived. The journey to London was enlivened by a discussion with a professor of art history who regaled us with tales of Walter Benjamin and “The Night of the Long Knives”. The connection should have been simple using the tube to transfer us across London from Liverpool Street to Victoria station. And it was, until we arrived. With only minutes to go we were hunting frantically for the slow train to Whitstable. Its imminent departure was not advertised on any of the many signal boards. My innate shyness was not helping as I consistently avoided asking for assistance. Luckily my companion does not suffer my inhibitions and she soon discovered that Victoria is split into two parts each having its own departure boards, platforms and destinations.  On board the train we had a simple meal of noodles and wasabi peas an interesting dish which was simultaneously tasty, unpleasant and strangely addictive. The onward journey was indeed slow as we stopped at very regular intervals at stations with vaguely familiar names. Our approach was marred only by an embarrassing incident with the automatic toilet and my panic when it was announced that the train, like its mother station, would split in two and should we sit in the wrong seat we would end up in Dover rather than Whitstable.

# 3 [15 July 2009]

Having had some time at my disposal I had made a brief search about Whitstable on the internet. Its history as an Oyster fishery and film set for Dr Who was most prominent on line. I had also discussed the matter of the upcoming Biennale with some of my colleagues and gleaned some interesting information from them. One of them had stated, with some certainty, that Whitstable was the site of Dracula’s first landing in the British Isles. This fact had caused me some excitement as I have long held an interest in the tradition of the Vampire film. I had always been drawn to the certainties in its format: the mysterious aristocrat, the woman in danger, the dangerous woman (often the same woman), the persistent sunset anxiety and the final battle. Unfortunately in soon transpired that the Count had in fact alighted in Whitby a completely different kettle of fish.

I had written to Sue regarding the Whitstable – Whitby confusion and had jokingly suggested I go to Whitby instead; her reply tactfully ignored this suggestion.

Email from Sue Jones, 23rd June 2009

I’m not around on the 26th, or I’d suggest coming over to Whitstable to meet you.  But you probably want to get to know Whitstable on your own anyway. 

Yes, unfortunately Whitstable is not where Dracula landed, but fortunately it is where Peter Cushing lived who played Dracula’s arch-enemy Dr Van Helsing. Clearly Whitby and Whitstable are some weird mirror image of each other.....

I was extremely excited that Whitstable had this, albeit tenuous, Dracula connection and looked forward to finding more evidence of Van Helsing.

# 4 [16 July 2009]

My companion and I passed the rest of our train journey discussing Mr Cushing’s various film roles. I learned that his boots had been so uncomfortable in his part as Grand Moff Tarkin that he had delivered most of his lines wearing slippers. My foremost memory of him had been as Sherlock Holmes in the “Hound of the Baskervilles” he had played a character not far removed from that of Van Helsing. As a boy I had also loved him in a feature length Dr Who film where he had played a character not unlike Sherlock Holmes. I must say my companion’s knowledge of biographical detail is beyond equal I have only to mention a name and she is instantly able to produce an anecdote both pertinent and interesting.

Although it was a very slow train, the delightful conversation, Wasabi peas and the beauty of the scene as we travelled along, made the journey pass quickly. Before us lay a green sloping land full of fields and woods, with here and there farmhouses and new housing estates. Eventually we caught sight of the sea between gaily painted buildings and Whitstable grew close.

# 5 [18 July 2009]

Arrival at the Pearl Fisher
Some weeks earlier, after much to-ing and fro-ing, I had managed to secure a booking
At “The Pearl Fisher” a bed and breakfast I had chosen entirely for its name, and perhaps hoping for a discount. We arrived to find a semidetached house divided into a number of themed rooms. Judging the “Awabi Suite” a little too exotic for my tastes I had opted for “Old Saybrook”, named after Katherine Hepburn’s home town. The door was opened by Jan, a cheery, tall and powerful looking woman with a gravelly voice who guided us to our room. It was decorated in the ‘New England’ style that seemed to consist of lighthouses and doyleys.  After a brief tour of the facilities, she disappeared leaving us standing awkwardly among the knickknacks but soon returned holding a hand made map of Whitstable. She handed it to me urging that we visit one or more of the local restaurants that night. With our earnest promises ringing in her ears she left us to unpack.

# 6 [19 July 2009]

Minutes later, clutching the map, we snuck out of the front door noting a display of liqueur bottles with a sign imploring us to take a night cap upon our return. We headed for the Sea front, not an altogether simple task especially with my sore knee. On the way in my companion noted a whole roof covered with Magpies, being especially superstitious, this proved to be of no little interest. After a few wrong turns but nothing too alarming we reached the sea front. I’m not sure what I was expecting, perhaps something a little grander but instead we came across a stretch of shingle divided into booths by large wooden groynes. These booths were each in turn occupied by couples, a couple to each booth. We passed five before finding one to ourselves and spent some time watching the sea and discussing my plans for the trip. The purpose had been two fold, inspiration and location, i.e. the hope that I would find a place to show the results of the commission. We tried to see the Sea Forts but soon found, on our phones, that they were nine miles out to sea and would require boat trip to reach them.

# 7 [20 July 2009]

Deciding to use the following day to work we went in search of a quiet bar to discuss things further and eventually ended up in a small restaurant. As we had not booked we settled, rather happily, for a table in the window. Seated side by side we found ourselves facing what appeared to be Whitstable’s main off-licence. A theatrical event unfolded before us.  Groups of young men and women formed and reformed as plans were made, some danced, others sang. We wondered if the house opposite was some sort of opium den, until a woman emerged adjusting her nurse’s uniform and we adjusted our thoughts. A man rode his motorised sleigh up to the off-licence and got out leaving his dog seated in the foot well. A woman in a bright azure shift dress and high heels attracted the attention of the craning young men. On the top floor of the tenement a girl was leaning out of her attic window smoking. After a while a large man with pink hair walked past somehow, I’m still not sure why, he seemed out of place. On the way back it rained the light but persistent rain of summer. My companion and I were soaked by the time we reached the comfort of our bed.

# 8 [21 July 2009]

The next day was marked by a few fascinating discoveries. Jan and Gary (Jan’s partner) met us over breakfast and told us of a time when Gary had walked into “Awabi” to turn down the bed only to discover one of its occupants naked on the bed in the lotus position with her partner approaching (also naked) clutching a selection of oils and a very large candle. Gary had been unable to show himself at breakfast the next morning. I was slightly perplexed why Jan and Gary had felt it necessary to tell us this story. As we left to explore Whitstable with more purpose I noticed that “Old Saybrook” was located directly above Jan and Gary’s private quarters. The day was full of many delights and discoveries, but for the purpose of brevity I shall concentrate on those I deem most interesting.

read  the full post at

www.thepearlfisher.blogspot.com

# 9 [22 July 2009]

The return to my Ipswich lodgings was largely uneventful. My companion felt unwell probably due to too much excitement. As she slept for most of the journey back I was left with my own thoughts as I mulled over our trip. At least that is what I would have liked to have done. I have to admit that very little mulling was done; instead I played Risk on my phone. I’m addicted to it, constantly weighing up the distribution of my armies and the merits of capturing South America or Australia. I did also order Mr Cushing’s “Dracula” a Hammer Horror spectacular from 1958. We stopped for a meal not far from Ipswich station in a little restaurant with unpleasant waitresses. We sat outside but under the shelter of one of the large umbrellas as my companion can barely tolerate the sun.

# 10 [24 July 2009]

Wednesday, 15 July, 2009, 5:37 PM

My dearest Annabel

I have made very little progress writing my blog and have not even gotten close to writing about watching Dracula with you last night. I was wondering if you would help me by emailing me your response to the film, the evening, and indeed anything else that strikes you as pertinent.

Yours forever

Alex Pearl