I am in the “quiet zone” or the “angry coach” as I like to call it. The man next to me is typing noisily on his laptop and I, usually a very forgiving person, am ready to rend him limb from limb.
Tappity tap tap tap
We are returning, separate seated, on the last off-peak train from London. Hayley, Annabel Cathy and myself have been in a meeting with academics (the second such event in two days). We had gone to Chelsea with high hopes of gaining massive funding to make work in response to the Baring Archive. We encountered another world with another way of thinking.
Tap tap tappity tap tap
This was not the world of banking, rather it was a world where apparently committees and research forae and laboratories are set up because they should be. Those that set them up have salaried employment or large research grants which only demand that they set up committees and research forae and laboratories. This seems vague and I would like to state I am not against the joy of knowledge by any means (The illustrations are great). But for we, unsalaried artists or even FE lecturers (a world where knowledge and research is not only frowned upon but legislated against) this is no practical help. How our dreams were shattered, what a sight of dejection was to be seen in the pub afterwards. So on the plus side the researchers and academics we met all seemed lovely interesting people, they want us to be involved in termly seminars and we shall get access to the Baring Archive. We will meet new people and make interesting contacts. But there will be no piles of gold or bearer’s bonds, no expenses, no gratuitous feasts. Damn damn damn. (tap tap tap)
Last night I was the warm up act at a Market Project event. I was paid, the cheque still rests in the top pocket of my very slimming and now slightly sweaty suit. I don’t usually spend so much time thinking about money but as their title suggests Market Project is concerned with the idea that artists should be financially respected for what they do. Generally I agree but it does lead towards a rather fruitless feeling of entitlement and pointless inflation of self worth in those such as myself.
Why should anyone pay me for what I do? What service or goods do I provide? How many people want them?
After I had scared (and even offended?) a few with my talk of gassing artists. The speakers began to discuss the idea that their are too many artists. Twice I heard the idea that everyone should be an artist, a cosy academic idea sheltered from the realities of trying to make and get art seen. We had art compared to baking bread an activity that is only a joy to those who don’t have to do it and can afford the time to dabble in the petit hameau. But mostly, although many interesting things were said, we had a fine display of macho intellectual jousting which only needed a David Attenborough voiceover to complete its ridiculousness. I fear that in the midst of the rut the other two panelists were a bit subdued which was a shame because they had equally interesting things to say.
Afterwards we realised that online it looked as if something terrible had happened. Because of the design of the lecture theatre no signal could penetrate once the doors had closed. The last thing the outside world read was:
“@rotagavin telling us how he’s about to cull the entire room”
Then silence for two hours.
Tappit tappity tap tap
We saw Grayson Perry’s show, the shop was crazy, full of not very good tourist-style Perry knockoffs.
TAP
Normal service will be resumed soon, tonight is bin night.
Alex Pearl- ranteur (tap tap)
