ARTISTS TALKING

# 41 [23 October 2009]

A confused post

I arrived early at BCA gallery. This was mainly because in order to save money I had had to catch a train, which would arrive in London Liverpool street no later than four twenty nine. Bedford was much as I had remembered it, little seemed to have changed. At the gallery however things were afoot. Both Laura Pottinger and Katie Walton were on maternity leave, Sarah was moving on to a new job and Dawn Giles was the new power in the office. The office itself had been rearranged seeming, as in fact it always did, in a state of flux. It wasn't long before I found myself helping Mira to fit spotlights and angle them in order to illuminate Dawn's desk. Then I was carrying a coffee machine down into the gallery slopping the contents of the overflow tray onto my trousers. Next I was arranging chairs and trying unsuccessfully to connect the laptop to a projector. I took on all these tasks willingly and largely unbidden. By seven the guests had arrived, taken their chairs and turned their faces expectantly towards the three speakers of which, unfortunately, I was one.

I had met Simon Munnery (our chair) before this 'in conversation' but I hadn't recognised who he was. He had seemed familiar and jocular but it was only as we seated ourselves to begin the 'in conversation' that realisation came upon me. I was on Simon's right hand and the extremely tall Chris Dobrowolski on his left. Both began by talking fluently, telling jokes, funny stories and looking extremely interested and interesting, while I, feeling my strength ebbing away, began to think about easing myself out of the audience's field of vision. I began to rehearse lines in my head while Chris embarked on a hilarious soliloquy about a very serious Russian researcher and a toy penguin. I noticed that Chris' work was very like mine, that we had similar experiences and responses to the Antarctic and that we both felt nervous, undermined even, about each others position. I was thinking that perhaps I should have travelled to those frozen wastes, he was thinking that maybe he shouldn't have. Then Mr Munnery swivelled his whole body around to face me, moved to speak and I remember no more.

The Antarctic is now a distant and rather romantic dream for me as is that evening's conversation.

# 42 [26 October 2009]

It has been a month of sudden invitations and travelling. I have spoken in Bedford, Cardiff and Bath (facts altered for narrative convenience) I have been invited to show work in Basel, Kansas, Southend, the Hague and Valencia. I have also met some very interesting people (especially in Cardiff). But recently it was at the private view of another artist that I met the most interesting person of all. Mariele Neudecker has just completed a residency at the nearby Snape Maltings in Suffolk. Last Saturday her video installation 'Stay Forever and Never Come Back' was unveiled in a small building that, apparently, had been lowered by helicopter into the ruined shell of an old dovecote. While trying not to drink the private view wine my companion and I were engaged in a conversation by a retired scientist who had specialised in the workings of the brain. Apparently he was able to show that experience changed the efficiency of synapses to transmit information suggesting that this change was a possible explanation of how memory was stored. He also described very clearly, though I fear I have failed to grasp it fully, how synapses responding to electrical stimuli fire chemical packets to each other across tiny gaps.

# 43 [27 October 2009]

I am all packed for my journey to Bath tomorrow. Well to be truthful I have packed and repacked the work for my show no less than 3 times. My own bag, which will contain my essentials for a two-day journey as yet, remains untroubled. I have also, and inevitably I feel been struck down by a foul infection of the respiratory passages. I am sneezing so violently that I am more than a little concerned that much of my show may be spattered with snot.  In an attempt to rid myself of this contagion I ventured out this morning to obtain orange juice and chicken soup. I am travelling everywhere on what my companion calls "The Phantom" a 'fixie' which, although common in the capital is a little anomalous in the provinces. Because the rear wheel is fixed it is necessary to keep pedalling at all costs otherwise the unfortunate rider can be flung out of the saddle by the still rotating pedals. This and the lack of brakes can make it a little like being aboard a runaway horse. I have found that riding it into a wall stops it. I have also been wrestling with another machine, an old cabinet gramophone and a rather eclectic selection of 78s. There is great pleasure to be found in the changing of needles and the winding of handles. One record has especially attracted my attention 'The Haunted Ballroom' seems ideal for some purpose or other. However, I have not quite settled on how to use it so I have made several recordings of it onto my iPhone.

My companion has gone to some sort of retreat in a farmhouse in Cambridgeshire. Last night I received a message from her complaining that it was haunted by the phantom of a butler. One of her greatest fears is ghosts but she cannot leave until Thursday as she is without transport.

That message arrived several hours ago I have heard nothing since

While waiting, I have been darning my threadbare pockets and writing invoices for my recent exploits though as yet I have been too shy to send them. I must get over my feelings of guilt in requesting money for my services.

It is three o'clock

# 44 [31 October 2009]

Hi Sue
How's things? This month is very busy with shows and travelling. I am on the plague train to Bath at the moment to set up said show. The train is packed I'm praying no one will sit on my bag which contains the whole show. If they do all may be in pieces. Not looking forward to the underground. As I travel I am listening to Dracula, the ship has just crashed into the harbour at Whitby. I've been thinking about things for the biennale and I'd like to make some films in the bingo hall there, do you think that would be possible? (I should ring them). Anyway that's one of the ideas at the moment, the other is to do with shadows in the Whitstable streets and another to do with secret performances by a lovely assistant and another using magic tricks and others too numerous to mention. I will start tapering soon.

Glad you are enjoying the blog, me too

All the best

Alex

# 45 [31 October 2009]

Thursday, 29 October 2009

Hanging a show at ICIA University of Bath, Artspace 1 is an odd experience. Postgraduate students and lecturers are constantly passing through, avidly looking at half hung work and passing comment. One woman (jokingly?) accused me of cheating as I traced a large image of the Antarctic on one wall. I liked that. I also met another man who had not been to the South Pole. His department had done some work there looking for meteorites but like Moses (sort of) he had stayed home. The show is progressing satisfactorily mainly due to the inestimable qualities of my technician Charles.

# 46 [31 October 2009]

Friday, 30 October 2009

There is a new film in my show at ICIA. It is a cut out of an old sailing ship it barely moves and appears "as idle as a painted ship on a painted sea". This is Stoker's description of the blighted vessel that transported Dracula to Whitby. The show is up now and all I have to fear is a visit from the university rowing club (a rambunctious lot) and my impending meeting with Mr Charlesworth. I am now travelling towards London. I spoke to my beloved before I left. She was intending to rise from her bed but I have just heard she is feeling languid and tired and slept on after.

# 47 [31 October 2009]

Excerpt from diary found a few days later

28^th October 2009

This morning I set off from Ipswich my whole show packed into large case on wheels. I in turned crammed this (and myself) into a packed train to London. There was only one scary moment when a, I have to say heavyset, man decided to lean on my case. I imagined my work breaking and bending within but could do little about it. My journey to Bath went surprisingly well. I caught early connections and chose polite and helpful taxi drivers. Happily I arrived just as the ICIA Bath staff was about to go to lunch and was able to join them for a convivial orange juice (the "all day breakfast bap I had eaten on he train put paid to any thoughts of food). I sat back and relaxed as conversation flowed from relative office sizes to the narrative merits of Ben Elton's "We will rock you".

After a busy afternoon setting up my show in Space 1 I paid a visit to Space 2 to see Lucy Harrison's new show "Remains". This exhibition is a work in progress displaying documents from Harrison's previous visits to East London and East Berlin and some new work from her ongoing residency investigating the pending demolition of Bath University's Arts Barn. The former are introduced in highly personal ways as Harrison subtitles her photographs with memories of her childhood and mother's death. The work on the Arts Barn includes photographs scans of documents and a highly involving set of interviews with some of the staff that work there. By the time I had finished watching I was feeling a definite attachment for what seemed to be an unloved building. Soon it will be knocked down and replaced by a new Arts Centre, which will host another show bringing together more memories and documents from Harrison's investigations. I hope she will find people with more tender feelings towards the place.

I Finished the evening by watching Terence Davies' "Of Time and The City" which was gripping and monumental although I have to say he does things with voice over and popular music that would make me blush.

# 48 [3 November 2009]

Some sort of shadowy pall seems to hang over my happiness. Tomorrow I travel to Bath to converse with JJ Charlesworth. I sent him a grovelling email communicating fear and excitement, mainly fear. He in turn replied graciously telling me not to worry. So I am endeavouring to follow his advice and act, at least, with coolness. Another communication came from Bath expressing concern that no one seems willing to look through my carefully placed telescopes. I am now considering a form of words to encourage the viewers' curiosity. I am considering bastardising a rather poetic section from Coline Milliard's essay on the Bedford incarnation of the show: "In Roussel's proto-surrealist book, the narrator (allegedly) first encounters the African coast through his telescope. This circular viewpoint provides a leitmotiv for Pearl's 'Goodbye to most of the daydreams' series, encapsulating distance and otherness, what is both feared and craved for..."

The above has all been via electronic communication. My relationship with real post has been a little more strained as my postman seems unwilling to knock on the door and merely pops his little pre-prepared red cards through the letter box. This invariably involves a rain soaked ride to the collecting office the next day to pick up my packet, letter etc. I have been playing with one such 'delivery' today a little circular brass mirror compact. I have been photographing my reflection to prove I am not a vampire.

# 49 [3 November 2009]

As a sort of performative work I have been trying to grow my sideburns similar to those sported by Peter Cushing in his roles as Van Helsing. They also hark back to my father's facial hairstyling in the seventies. Back then I wondered how they were produced and half believed that they would appear like the facial growths on a dominant male orangutan. My companion has become rather attached to them.

# 50 [6 November 2009]

Joy, joy, joy but not all joy. It is all over. The show is hung, the conversation had, the drink drunk and the invoice almost ready to go. I say almost because I don't have a printer at the moment, an absence that causes me no end of slight logistical nonsense. The management at my place of work is currently striving towards a paperless office. An ideological standpoint that has only served to push my colleagues photocopying habit underground. Pale and shaking we huddle in corners printing and copying papers for our students. Some of us have taken to stockpiling handouts for future use. Now on top of this I find myself sneaking prints of personal documents snatching them away from sight as they appear.

Looking back, many things were discussed and said before during and after the opening at ICIA University of Bath. One thing I was asked (by Doctor Hinchcliffe) not to write about, so I won't. Another topic, this time during my conversation with Mr Charlesworth, is likely to be edited from the video recording. Later, in the student bar, drinking with my dear companion, JJ and the Crayola Girls a further conversation will remain unreported for other reasons.

I did tell JJ about my (so far secret) plans to apply for an Arts Council grant to cull a large number of Artists in the fashion of Ian Fleming's Goldfinger. I have always been taken by the efforts Auric went to gather the mob bosses to his home, explain his plans to them with elaborate model and audio visual presentation and then kill them whether they were in favour of his plan or not. Perhaps I should not have mentioned this.