ARTISTS TALKING

# 82 [16 January 2010]

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.

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.

# 81 [12 January 2010]

Kill them All!

Last night my companion and I watched a film of Zizek doing an election speech for the Liberal Democratic Party in Slovenia. He said he wanted to get crosses and garlic and stakes and kill all the vampires. Later in the same film he lay in bed, the covers up to his chest, talking about Lacan. He looked a bit like an excitable, hirsute version of the innocent bed ridden victim from any number of vampire films. My companion tried to explain the battles between the Lacanians and Derridians over the word "truth" but I could only think that the Derridians must be blue all over with antennae sprouting from their heads and the Lacanians completely furry and constantly frothing at the mouth.

# 80 [10 January 2010]

My companion has just sold several paintings to a werewolf called Russell Tovey.
In fact I am beginning to think I am surrounded by supernatural beings. Not least of these is my upstairs neighbour whose nocturnal habits of singing along to unending powerballads late into the night are getting beyond a joke. Her midnight movements are always concluded early the next morning by some sort of ritual which involves dragging a heavy weight across the floor above my head. Tonight, while I listen to a chanteuse who I am reliably informed is called Mariah Carey I am reading segments from Professor Sir Christopher Frayling's "Vampyres". He begins by describing to role of indigestion in the creation of fantastical literature. This is something I have an affinity with as my stomach is habitually somewhat dyspeptic. My own affliction is, however, not caused by eating raw meat but more usually by: travel, irregular dining or Dutch lager. Having avoided all three tonight I am enjoying a bed time snack of peanut butter. My Companion and I have just returned from viewing yet another vampire film at the local picture house. The film did nothing to dispel my idea that vampires are essentially quite boring creatures. Perhaps werewolves are more interesting

# 79 [7 January 2010]

Wednesday, 6 January 2010

Waiting for the snow I dipped into my Peter Cushing companion for the third time. Perversely I decided to read the foreword by Veronica Carlson, a fellow actor and friend. I have already expressed delight at the large number of photographs of Mr Cushing that are to be found in this volume, some of which are published below. However I was more than a little disappointed to note that the most impressive sideburns were reserved for his performances as Dr Frankenstein. Nevertheless it is a lovely present from my companion and Miss Carlson's foreword contains some very moving tales. (transcribed below)

"The filming of one scene in particular is extremely difficult for me to recount. Daphne asks a question to which Doctor Lawrence replies 'my wife is dead...' The tone of utter finality in his voice was absolute. At this point Doctor Lawrence picked up a photograph of his late wife - in actual fact Peter had insisted on using a picture of Helen. This scene was shot about seven times, and each time Peter uttered that awful sentence he became more broken. Finally tears streaking down his face, he swiftly walked off the set. Freddie Francis simply turned and looked at the floor amid the horrible silence."

# 78 [7 January 2010]

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Listening to the countdown at the station made me feel uneasy about uncertainty. "we are sorry to announce the 1230 from Norwich is delayed by 15 minutes", "we are sorry to announce the 1230 from Norwich is delayed by 16 minutes", "we are sorry to announce the 1230 from Norwich is delayed by 17 minutes", "we are sorry to announce the 1230 from Norwich is delayed by 18 minutes", "we are sorry to announce the 1230 from Norwich is delayed by 19 minutes". On and on it went until I realised the collages voice had no idea how long the train was delayed, it was merely marking time.

# 77 [3 January 2010]

Sunday, 3 January 2010

BT Openzone has let me down again. I have been without internet for five days. It is true I have other options. Unfortunately however, the local café that has stood in for my office of late has also been closed and although their WiFi is still working I do not feel comfortable leaning against a wall clutching my laptop in the rain. Burger King was beginning to beckon.

The following post was written earlier in the week the cold has indeed materialised:

Again I have returned safely from another journey. This time I was visiting my parents in the north. Both were struck with a fearful cold, which I am sure they passed on to me. The Christmas season has been good to me, not least because of the large number of no doubt useful books I received as presents. “The Peter Cushing Companion” has given me insight into his ever-changing facial hair, more of which later. Christoper Frayling’s “Dracula” will I’m sure prove vital in the months ahead as will the biography of Christopher Lee. I’m not so sure about the “Ladybird Book of Magic” but we shall see. As I may have mentioned before, my reading is usually split into three parts with a book separately in toilet, bathroom and bedroom. Each progresses slowly and often the plot of one gets confused with another. A biography of Laurel and Hardy (my current toilet book) has lead me to think about double acts in general and Cushing and Lee in particular. I see Cushing as the straight man with Lee looning around in the background biting people. I was also pleased to spot a photograph in my “Companion” of Cushing performing in a Laurel and Hardy film called “A Chump At Oxford”, 1939 but perhaps this is a coincidence too far. Over the Christmas break Dr Bradshaw sent a message, a quote from a dramatisation of Agatha Christie’s “Appointment with Death”

“Nuns… vampires in drag who seek out misery and weakness and gorge on it”

Should this all be adding up to something? I am increasingly unsure.

# 76 [3 January 2010]

Monday, 28 December 2009

After a delightful Christmas break during which time, I'm afraid, I ate and drank far more than was sensible, my companion emailed Mr Bown to confirm some dates for our visit. She recieved an informative and encouraging reply which I have partly quoted and partly paraphrased below. Firstly he was keen to correct a few assumptions I had made that he was "the caller" at the club. To be honest even from our brief meeting, my companion and I had felt he had a presence that suggested he was more than a mere employee at the Hall. On this subject His own words are more eloquent than mine, I hope he will not mind me quoting them below:
"Dear Miss Dover... I feel I need to clarify some details about myself.
I am not The Caller but do at times call bingo sessions and have a good relationship from the stage with the customers.
I sold Whitstable Bingo Club to Stewart Neame some 4 years ago. I have been asked by him to come back to the club
on a consultancy basis to try to improve the business which I have been doing for the past 8 months."
Quite correctly Mr Bown's main concern was that my cameras should not disturb the customers in any way. This has lead me to reassess my original idea of filming the call and response of the players. Now I am thinking of concentrating solely on the caller, and hope Mr Bown will be willing to fill this role (he intimated as much in his letter). Anyway, he has invited us to meet him to discuss the filming in the new year. I must make plans for the journey ahead.

# 75 [3 January 2010]

Wednesday, 23 December 2009

Last night the lady in the attic had a visitor. There was a low rumble of conversation that lulled me to sleep. I did not hear the gentleman leave although as I heard no more this morning I assume he did so in the night. I am lying abed photographing my sideburns. It is not that I am an overly lazy man it is just that in my lodgings one is either in the kitchen, the bath or the bed. There being little room in between I conduct much of my business like an eighteenth century gentleman. Above me my neighbour is dragging something heavy along the floor. On examination of the photographs I note that one sideburn is still much bushier than the other.

# 74 [3 January 2010]

Tuesday, 22 December 2009

A woman lodges in the attic rooms above me. I have never met her, only knowing her name from the post that accumulates in the entrance hall. I know her by sound too: her footsteps, a penchant for moving furniture in the early hours, a loud cackling laugh and slightly flat singing voice. Her recent pleasure in listening to 1990s power ballads has lead me to take long evening walks around the more affluent streets of Ipswich. Tonight my companion joined me and we came across a strange sight.

# 73 [22 December 2009]

Last night my companion and I battled through slush and icy rain to a little gathering at Firstsite in Colchester. There were drinks and and nibbles. What neither of us realised and was that the drinks were a trick to engineer a round table feedback discussion about the Fifteen Artists Fifteen Days mini residencies. Luckily as I had not been involved I was allowed to sit on the sofa and watch as each artist was invited to introduce themselves and praise the format of the event. Comfortably excluded I was able to observe the phenomenon known as "creeping death". This title, previously unknown to me was explained eloquently afterwards by Lawrence Bradby. All started well with even a little enthusiasm and intelligent comment but at the baton was passed from speaker to speaker they seemed to lose heart, proceeded to repeat previous, safe, comments and rely on a sort of consensual blandness and jollity that can be seen in those suffering from drug induced stupor. I munched my mince pie and supped my wine sympathetically, very glad the I was not in the circle of creeping death.