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As if to make up for the procrastination, today, before writing this blog, I have worked eleven hours. If any employer in my entire history had asked me to work an eleven hour day I would have told them to shove it somewhere dark and damp.

But I have.
I spent three hours writing personal invitation emails. I spent about two hours proof reading my catalogue and uploading to be printed. I am paranoid about spelling errors, so went through it a dozen times before letting go. You can bet your bottom dollar they arrive, I open the box, flip one open and spot a mistake straight away. Sometimes you have to let these things go. I suspect one of the photos that looked ok on screen, when viewing the PDF proofs, looks a bit dodgy… Oh well….

I spent another hour jotting down some notes about a follow-on piece of work. I was so joyful that this turned up out of the blue, that I had to give it some time. I got out my sketch book for the first time in months, and set to… A few drawings and a few words… Enough to prompt when I have time later.

The rest of the time I have been listening to the completed song recordings. I have a confession. There aren’t nine, there are eleven. I couldn’t decide about cutting two, as I loved all these stories. So they are staying. The nine has become more nominal as the project has gone on anyway. I will possibly have eleven bras…. But probably only nine will be installed in the gallery, but one may go downstairs in the window…
Anyway, no cuts. I have spent this afternoon and evening working out the sequence of them. Each song has some sort of lead in, or a tail end, and we have some incidental bits too. I love this bit, it has surprised me, because it is quite a detailed, particular and careful job. The songs should move from one to the other lyrically and conceptually. But they should also link in terms of the music, the mood… There shouldn’t be a jarring. I am keen that the final note or chord of one song is harmonious with the first of the next, especially if there are no other sounds between. There should be some silence, and also a little white noise maybe. I like to merge the street sounds with the domestic. The women talking in the street, the sound of a door shutting… All these details build a story around these women, connect them in unexpected ways. Musically, the song about my premature son drifts gently into the song about domestic violence. It is poignant, but harsh: love in dangerous places.

Having constructed a playlist of them all in order I now can listen to them as a complete piece. It works. I like it. There will be some tweaking to put them together, and the odd stray sound needs editing out… But it’s pretty much done.

I can’t believe how well I know these women, they are real to me. I love them in all their messed up, resentful, horny, snobbish, caring, carefree, beautiful, nurturing femininity. It’s me and my friends I think… And possibly every other woman I’ve ever met. Either that or they are all me. Nine was never enough. Nine was always too many.