02/03/08
The journey home did not go exactly as planned. After waiting for an hour for the 305 at Bedford bus station, a cold brutal place, I phoned the National Express emergency number. I wasn’t really sure it was an emergency but I was getting a little cold. A lovely young woman called Kay or Jay or something similar told me the coach had broken down in Birmingham but that a silver replacement bus was on its way and should arrive in another hour. She also told me that, as I would miss my change in Cambridge, she would arrange a free Taxi from Trumpington, park’n’ride to Ipswich. Reassured I went to find a Cornish pasty. For the next hour I attempted a number of keeping warm techniques. I tried: pacing, shivering, waving my arms about, dancing, an abortive moonwalk and even imagining warm places. By the time the coach arrived and the driver asked me my destination I couldn’t remember where I was going. An hour later in a warmish coach we were still circling Cambridge trying to find the way to Parker’s Piece. Unfortunately the driver, from Birmingham, had never been to Cambridge before and was finding the road layout a little troublesome. Eventually after much shouting we made our rendezvous with the second coach, which was to take me and a little old lady to meet the taxi. After waiting 20 minutes at the park & ride we persuaded the man on duty (Bob) to phone the National Express emergency number to find out where our taxi was. Again I’m not sure it was an emergency but the little old lady was quite elderly. Bob announced, proudly, that the taxi had indeed been booked but that it was waiting for us at Park-side not Park’n’ride. An easy mistake. Its times like these you realise how close death can be. I finally reached home after six hours.
02/02/08
Eva’s maiden voyage was a bit of a flop. As I had feared the river was full of rowers rowing. However the weather was ideal so, after a little walk, I went to find a quietish spot to launch her. Once in the water I found myself so embarrassed by the whole debacle that I couldn’t film her and only watched as she immediately got tangled in some twigs and, once freed, slowly floated crabwise down stream sinking at quite an alarming rate. One success was the onboard camera that despite a soaking performed admirably in its little rubber suit.
Time for a redesign,
I’ve added a huge keel, which should make her straighten up, and little fins at the back which just look cool. I’ve also taken out the clockwork propeller as it only propelled backwards and sealed all the holes. Hopefully next week will be more of a success.
In other news I’m afraid I have to report that yet again I am working with a hangover. Yesterday BCA got its Arts Council funding for the next three years so Laura, Sean, James and Christina invited me to a champagne dinner (and beer and wine). There was much talk of: shiny shoes, running for councilor, and Katie’s lucky pants, which were widely thought to be behind the BCA’s recent success.
Failed to launch boat but I wasn't thwarted by the weather rather the batteries for the receiver. They just took all day to charge up. Instead I spent the day wrestling with my magnum opus. It was really beginning to wind me up as different bits niggled and others irked. So much so that I have developed a grinding headache and my eyes are pointing in different directions. I did manage to film a whale surfacing in the sink and sorted out the sounds of mating seals that seem to have accidentally appeared in the aurora sequence (I made them louder). Perhaps it is time to stop.
Another thing I'm having trouble with is a title, nothing snappy is leaping to mind. I've got a quote from Scott's journals: "goodbye to all the day-dreams" but that seems far too romantic. "Impressions of Antarctica" is just naff. "Voyage under my desk"? "Alex Pearl's excellent adventure" it gets worse and worse.
01/01/08
Last night I was filming late in the gallery. It was an important moment as an iceberg was being slowly dragged into position by an electric mule. I was reminded of Scott's boyish faith in the tracked snow machines that he was trialling on his way to the pole. The main failing of these machines, apart from the constant breaking down, was that you couldn't eat them when they did. My mule made it and I retired upstairs for a microwave curry.
31/01/08
Today was windy and cold we were even struck by a sudden hailstorm as the driver wove the coach up the A428. This time I forgot my headphones a mistake I instantly regretted as a young man spent the whole journey into Ipswich explaining loudly how he didn't understand why he and his girlfriend had split up. I think I have a few ideas, probably she couldn't get a word in edgeways. I am hoping to launch my boat this week and spent some time making sure the camera's rubber suit was as watertight as possible before gluing it to the mast. If the wind dies down tomorrow I will rope Eva into giving me a hand launching it up by the railway bridge. I spent most of the rest of the day making little sculptures of accidents at sea. There's a woman trapped under the ice and a group of people caught in an avalanche (not very likely at sea I know). I also began to populate a broken glass ice flow with artists taking photos, drawing or just standing around. A friend sent me an email yesterday suggesting I apply to go to a symposium on space travel and the relationship between cultural practice and science (or something like that) He also sent an ad asking for contributions from artists who make work out of vegetables. I now cannot get images of carrot spaceships and cauliflower planets out of my head. Instead of this I should be thinking more about explaining what I am doing. I am getting interested in the relationship between scientific exploration and imagined narrative. Eva said something the other day while watching me film a ship on a bed sheet which I should have written down. It was something along the lines of the sculpture/film sets up an equivalence which allows the viewer to imagine themselves in that space/situation (I think)
