As Franny said, we had a good time.
(do pop over and look at the lovely photos we took of each other)
She was just as I had imagined. We laughed, chatted, discussed and pondered… there were no awkward pauses or anything. I suppose we had had enough online correspondence to know stuff about each other’s lives and work to talk about. It was wonderful to see pieces of her work in the flesh too!
We have had very different lives, but there were enough points of accord to make the conversation easy. I think this may be an artist thing. I have seen a poster somewhere that says artists are dangerous because they mix with all classes of society. Isn’t that a marvellous thing? The thing that holds us together, whatever we make and however we make it, wherever we are from, there is a commonality in the most basic part of us – our brains – the most human thing, our thoughts and dreams and aspirations.
The trappings and accessories are really immaterial. Franny and I could have been sat at any table, in any surroundings and the conversation would quite probably have been the same.
The table thing fascinates me. I might do some drawings…
Whenever my friends and I get together, there is nearly always a table between us, and mugs. There’s the possibility that art could break out at any moment, some spark of creativity could leap at us and we would be prepared. We lean forward earnestly, conspiratorially, cheekily, flirtatiously, confessionally, comforting, teasing, sympathising and taking the piss. We lean back, ponder, relax, yawn and sigh, cry or laugh and snort sometimes to the point of hysteria, we consider, remember, and grasp at straws.
The table provides a platform, a safety net, a barrier, something to put our elbows on when our chin is in our hands, our fingers raking through our hair. The stuff on it a distraction, diversion or focus, something to play with, or throw in exasperation.
But I will tell you this… if I have someone here, and I put the kettle on… we don’t head for “the comfy seats”, without fail, we head for the table.
I expect Franny had “comfy seats” too. But her table was better.
However, the state of her crayon box was bloody shocking.
I expect she is grateful that I put them all in the right order before I left.
