Wednesday, 22 October 2014

The Love Machine

I have been challenged to make a longer film. This is something I have always struggled with as my tendency is to whittle things down to almost nothing. Why, I say to myself, (I am talking to myself a lot nowadays) would anyone want to watch this for more than 30 seconds? As yet I have't decided much about the content of the film, nor really how I should go about it, so mostly I have been sitting in my studio talking to myself and the cats. Otherwise I have been tinkering and scratching a new wave of flea bites.

This video, should you be able to see it, is a little love machine I have made. 

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

Flea 3

For some reason the gallery's titular creatures have come back to life. My feet and ankles again resemble those of a late stage plague victim. At the same time I am watching the pre-apocalyptic spread of Ebola across the world. I have always been a bit nervous of this disease. Having watched too many zombie films in my youth I fully expect my insides to liquify and spurt from my eye sockets at any moment. Hopefully this won't happen at the next opening of Flea as Ipswich's artist community could be destroyed in one very messy afternoon. This opening went very well (apart from the re-spawning of the fleas) and a decent number of people turned up, although I singularly failed to photograph any of them and neglected to put a pen with the visitors' book. In fact I could very easily be making this whole thing up. One can see the photos I did take here . Our next adventure is a trip to London to the opening of Annabel's latest show Painting Objects which makes Painting seem a little cross.

Wednesday, 8 October 2014

Flea 2

The work is starting to come in for the Flea's inaugural exhibition. I am quite excited, I think it will look good and a few people may turn up. If only someone would pay me to run a contemporary art gallery in Ipswich then my life would be complete. At least at the moment it doesn't cost very much. My main expense has been buying a little plastic organiser for my screws and some sticky numbers. I need to nip to Lidl for some drink but surely people won't want to get too squiffy on a Saturday afternoon?

It is raining now so I am holed up in one of my offices making a skinny Latte last as long as possible. It is here that one most often sees blind dates limping along painfully. Today the victim was a blind woman whose potential partner filled the space between them with constant jabber. I distinctly got the impression that she wished she were deaf or that her dog might have an uncharacteristic fit of violent temper.

Anyway the reason for this post, one of our artists Jamie Clements has been tempted out of hiding and has started a blog impressively titled "The Most Powerful Man in the Universe". Have a look here.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Tuesday, 30 September 2014


I have been expunged from Axis. This is fair enough, I have been unable to pay my subs. I expected my profile to disappear but was surprised that all mention of my very existence has been scrubbed from the site. This was probably not a deliberate act, rather I think I have been edged out by newer, hungrier artists.

Saturday, 27 September 2014


I am visiting my daughter in Worcester Park she lives in a strange community modelled on, and named after, the Hamptons. It is a little like waking up on the set of Stepford Wives and I hold myself lucky not to have been stopped as I trundled my flat packed apparatuses along its perfectly manicured roads yesterday afternoon. I must repeat the journey this morning as I am heading to set up Enclosures at Canal in Haggerston. As is usual when I transport work to London it is a little worse for wear and I must first perform some repairs. As I entered the underground yesterday I somehow became entangled in a large wooden stand I was carrying. It's leg snapped off just below the joint. In retrospect I think perhaps I cut a strange figure brandishing a pointy stick and swearing, at least I had a lot of space around me. 

Saturday, 20 September 2014

The Thin Letter

Back in the seventies I was in the local Cubs' football team, actually I was the substitute. The first match of the season took place on the day the family Pearl were to set off on holiday. So, the car all packed, my parents dutifully took me to the match in my strip and boots. Standing on the sidelines I was the only sub and, as we were well ahead at half time, I was hoping to be called upon in the second half. Later the score being something like 10-0 with ten minutes to go I told my father I thought we should hang on as I might be needed. I stood hopefully, shivering a little. Then the final whistle came. We had won, of course. I went back to the car where mum and brother had been waiting. It had been raining the whole time. 

Yesterday I received a phone call appertaining to my application for a commission in Bedfordshire. There were eleven artists in the running for eight places, good odds I thought. 

This morning  a letter arrived from Norwich with the results of my interview to become a lecturer (part time, one year, fixed term, hourly). I believe there were four or five of us and two posts. 

It is raining. 

Friday, 12 September 2014

There and back again

I have had an interview in Norwich for a lecturing post. As is usual I have no idea how it went. There were people, it seems quite nice people, and they asked me questions. Throughout I was more worried that they might notice that Annabel had dusted my hands with foot powder in order to make them less clammy. I was concerned I may have left a white handprint on my trousers. It would have shown up well as Annabel had made them blacker than black by running a sticky roller over them outside the building where the interview was to take place. When I remembered this I could only think about the chance that this humiliation had been spotted. 
I did notice that the interviewer that had shaken my hand at the start did not at the end. 

When we got home Annabel made me wear stockings in the back garden. She said it was for art.