I’ve had a couple of requests for a New York blog post, so I’ll give it a bash, although it feels like a tricky task. I just don’t know which version of the tale to tell. In some respects it was a story of two halves, because for the first 3 days I had my splendid artist friend Rachel Welford with me. So the APT NY talk was great because she helped set out chairs and let latecomers in the (locked) main entrance, the Chelsea gallery visits went well because she can read a map, the preview went well because I could keep having a networking-breather and hang out with her, and everything else went well because we talked about everything and shared the odd glass of something.
But hidden below all this was a residual monster, waiting to get a bit of space to loom up and take residence. It kept tripping me up and scheming to undermine my achievements. Have you guessed it yet? That well known enemy of the artist – anxiety and self doubt – which kept me in a mental loop about whether or not I was doing it (NY) right, or well enough.
Maybe the major influencing factor was the extremely distressed and anguished younger daughter who sobbed for a whole day before I left and most of the time I was away, leaving me in a cloud of guilt and worry? Maybe I was so exhausted and jetlagged that I could have been in Filey for all I could take anything in? Maybe etc. Believe you me I’ve followed this line of thought to the point of no return.
I think I started my solo flight quite well – in my best dress with a glass of champagne in MOMA. Shortly followed by a bout of high velocity nervous diarhoea!
Despite this I still managed to get to PS1 (‘Robert Bergman, Selected Portraits’ penetrated my self obsessed rambling), Brooklyn Museum (loved ‘Reflections on the Electric Mirror:New Feminist Video’), Macy’s store (like being in a big machine and being spat out on a different street wondering what happened – aborted my shopping mission very quickly and took refuge in another encounter with the subway map – aaagh).
I totally failed to get to Williamsburg galleries, which I got very worked up about, and recorded lots of sniffling rambling monologues on my iphone thinking it might provide material for a piece of work about dysgeographica. Believe me – I’ve listened to it at home and it should never see the light of day.
Oh and did I mention that I drank some of the worst ‘tea’ (often not worth the name) I’ve ever experienced. Ask for tea and you get a cup of water and a tea bag on a plate. To say it’s the ‘capital of the world’ they need to get that one sorted.
It was a great adventure, and now I want a rest, and time to assess the new terrain.
