"It could be alcohol poisoning or post exhibition malaise"
I’m feeling a little tired.
I woke up this morning in the King’s Cross Travelodge and stared at the space on the opposite wall where a painting had once hung.
There follows a none hierarchical list of remembered incidents and learned lessons.
I did my usual private view thing of: drinking, moving around a lot to avoid talking to too many people, and then telling everyone that:
‘I don’t like private views’
‘I’ve drunk too much’
I need some better conversational gambits.
Lots of people liked the photograph (not so much mention of the films)
A woman with very cold hands (or at least hand, the other one may have been very hot, I didn’t ask)
Speeches briefly interrupted by the honking of my Opera.
Coolly entering a rococo room and tripping over the carpet.
Lawrence talking very cogently about my practice while wearing a suit and a pen. Unfortunately like waking from a dream I’ve forgotten what he said.
Overhearing that David Kefford is "the man of the moment"
Sitting in the cafe watching Rob Smith’s live feed of the private view explaining that I wasn’t Matt Cook.
Being entertained by Cedric and laughing too much at Arthur Ash
Stumbling last out of the pub with a crack unit of Arts Council drinkers
Reading Townley and Bradbury’s leaflet and going for a walk.