Friday night, end of term July (I think!)
Ou ee,baby ! Don't let your dog bite me! God Bless rock & roll. It's Friday and its cocktail time again !!! The end of a stressful and far too long week. So shake rattle and roll. Two Gin and Tonics have made their way down the throat and it's not seven o'clock yet....
Why is it that there are periods of one's life when anything that could get screwed up does so and with a vengeance? Everything, every organisation that I am involved with in any remote way gones haywire this past year. Also it's that time of year when it's final show time. All my students are going slightly mad and are extremely stressed out but not as much as me. I have to mark their stuff !
I 'm really fed up today. More fed up than usual with all the art management who get awards and lots of praise for promoting the arts, for giving artists a chance etc, etc when all they were doing, beside being paid a good wage, was their job! Yet here I am. An artist, the person who by one's own sacrifice and slog justifies all the art administrators, curators and whatever who make their living off our backs! There is no justification for their work except the likes of me and thousand of other artists the world over who daily struggle and wrestle with insurmountable odds to produce our work. We have no guaranteed income unless we teach or take other work. Odd isn't it. Myself and thousands like me who struggle in a huge industry so that a few can glory. And of those few, fewer still are artists. Such is my cross to bear!!!!
Nearest and dearest has just rolled his eyes heavenward once again as I deliver another diatribe against all arts administrators. What does he care he doesn't have to work with them!!!
next day
Well was I silly last night or not? Em, who is just about to leave us after six weeks here, came home stressed out from her job and we got a bit heavy with the gin & tonics. Considering I really haven't had a drink (before last night!) since New Year's because I have been trying to lose weight, I did okay. But I am a cheap drunk!
Em's ex has continued to harass her so she finally got a restraining order out on him, his sister and all his family. I thought that this was a bit extreme until she pointed out that his sister had verbally threatened her as well as writing nasty letters promising among other delights to gauge her eyes out. As for his father, he just has done time for grievous bodily harm or GBH as it's known in the trade.
Then Near & Dear said "You can sure can pick them. The one before may have had a PHD but he was as nutty as a fruit cake."
Em did not take kindly to this remark and let out some venomous rebuttal. But N & D just grins at her, knowing he had hit a very sore point. Em has about as lousy taste in men as G. The only difference being that she actually gets to live with one and almost get to the altar before disaster strikes. Where as G. has never even managed that. Talking of G., she was supposed to have a farewell party but it got cancelled; along with her departure to the north and the new job. She is now unemployed as well as dateless!
So we decided to go out on our own next week. Em turned down the offer as she had booked people and vans to move her belongings out of storage and into her new flat that day. Coincidence or what??? Personally I believe that Em has never forgiven G. over an incident years ago involving one of them winning a date with a media personality that led on to much better things. But I refuse to get involved and as she was paying for the night out I am not asking any questions about it.
June 27
I have another nephew visiting me !!! So far he has managed to give me the wrong arrival date so that I turned up at Heathrow and no nephew. I was so pissed off I telephoned my brother collect to tell him that his son might have evaporated in mid-Atlantic. He told me not to worry as they were just about to leave for the airport to put him on the 'plane and that the information he had faxed me was wrong. A typo which he had only just noticed that morning and was wondering, just as the 'phone rang, as if I might have been confused over the matter.
Confusion has nothing to do with it! How about rage and the desire to strangle brother and nephew and need to bite the head off an unsuspecting tourist who juggled my tray thus spilling most of my coffee out of my cup. No, I am not annoyed not in the least! So back I went the next day. He did arrive eventually. I just have to admit that, as G. said: "They are country bumpkins." But very nice ones. I think this one is rather sweet so far. But then he sleeps a lot from jet lag.
The really tragic news is that assistant has decided he is of no use to anyone but his granny's garden and I have not seen him since last time we met at the Royal Academy. I feel so helpless that I can't help him in anyway and I still need an assistant!!
Near & Dear and I have a wedding anniversary in two days.TWENTY YEARS!!
Friday
Wedding anniversary is now divorce. No meal out. No Flowers. No card. Just me and nephew who went out and got a bottle of wine. Mind you, he was at the wedding as well in a very fetching blue romper suit! No, what I have to thank is football. We are in the midst of World Cup Football and the testerone is so thick in the air that you could have a sex change just walking into a pub. Wham! Just like that! Suddenly a beer belly and trousers drooping, revealing a bum crack and your head is filled with tacky information about which female neighbour has the best legs and names of players before you could put your second foot forward into the establishment.
I tell you it is lethal. I am so glad England has not made it to the finals. Otherwise you might as well kiss civilization goodbye on this island because when there's a game on with England playing you can even get a table at the Ivy restaurant. London becomes that empty. No traffic is about. No human being moves for fear of missing something. When a goal is made you can hear the roar shaking the buildings as you quietly try to garden out of earshot of a television. But no hope! Every set in the land is on loud. Very loud. I can not believe that every male in Britain is as deaf as Near and Dear and has to have the volume up that loud ! My man is what I would term rather unemotional. Cool in his temperament. Sanguine. Great disproval is expressed with a slightly raised eyebrow. A light scratch of the nose is high emotion. But with World Cup even he was jumping out of his chair and yelling YES!!! YES!!! .Which is more than I get in bed ! The day after England lost I witness several arguments in public over what would have been better tactics or if so and so was not booked and so forth and so on. You could have been forgiven for thinking perhaps that we had all been told our television licence fee had doubled overnight or air had been rationed. You know something serious.
Now can you with any stretch of the imagination think of an equivalent activity that is dominated entirely by women ? That is solely for women. Which only has women in any position of importance in any media in serious discussion on the matter while occupying all public and mental space on prime time television. Then there's the spin off shows and not to mention the merchandise? Well I can't! Furthermore I can't see it ever happening. Some man would be sure to yell sex discrimination or complain that to much time was being wasted on a minority interest.(Despite the fact that half the world is female.)
Sunday night
I am having one of my more infrequent little blue patches that used to come around in my now forgotten periods. However I have taken Bach's Flower Rescue Remedy and am feeling a bit better. We now can look forward to France being in the finals against Brazil. A bit ironic considering the French aren't at all that keen on the game. No, give them the Tour de France any day. Apparently most chic French people think it a little bit to common. Well, we'll just have to see. Some how I think the French national ego will get the better of them....
July 3
Still no night out with G. AND she has managed to land a job as an Arts Officer for a Suburban Borough of something or other. What an art slut! She has been swanning around all over the place so smug at landing a job after the northern one fell through. (I have yet to know the full story on that!)
Meanwhile I worked out that I am living beneath the official poverty line. Rummaging through the clothes rack at the Buddhist shop (Note: that the Buddhists seem to attract more wealthier and middle class people than any other religion these days for their charity shops) I have got some very lovely second hand designer clothes for myself and the nearest and dearest. His Paul Smith suit came from there. It's a moot point that he is too fat to wear it now but it used to look very nice on him. Which reminds me I must let out his other trousers before our holidays and get the travel insurance !!!
Friday 10
I have not gone to a garden party this evening because once again another social event has fallen foul of the bloody weather. It has done nothing but rain this year! My studio is so damp that I have started using electrical heaters because my paraffin heater is too wet. It produces wet heat. Nothing is drying because it is always too cold and damp. When I'm rich and famous I will have gas central heating!
I am trying to complete a series of prints but it's defeating me because of the dampness. Apparently everyone in all the studio complex is having problems. Non drying oil paint is giving my neighbour above me problems and the sculptor next door is cursing his wood because it has absorbed so much moisture he can't chisel it. Please God one day can I have a central heated studio with dry gas radiator heat.
The snails are so prolific and big in the garden that I have taken to hitting them with a cricket bat. Will people think me a hard cruel woman ? After one has witnessed sunflowers, basil and every flower munched to just small stumps then you too would weep. Snail poison is not really part of the answer because it becomes part of the food chain and hurts the birds. We have tried beer and a bucket of salt and throwing them into the neighbour's gardens but the sheer volume of the little buggers defeats you. So now I just smash them and feel wonderful. Pretty good therapy!
Monday
I was art-slutting at the Royal College of Art graduation exercise on Friday - a strange but true story! My dear friend called Bett, who became an art historian only to give it up for art administration (yes, I am surrounded by them!) has been made a Fellow (surely a Fellow-ette!) of the Royal College. When she phoned me up several months ago to let me know she was in town freelancing as an art administrator trouble-shooter (getting rid of unwanted artists perhaps? I said I'll shoot any of them free but if I could get paid for it all the better! Bett didn't think that sentiment funny but then her sense of humour was always a bit thin, unlike her bottom) Well, I thought great! We used to have wild fun in our student days. Anyway, last week she 'phoned me to ask if I would go as her guest to the RCA Convocation ceremony. Sure why not ? Get to see how the great and the famous live.
We started off at 10:15 with sherry in the Senior Common room . Pllleeeaaasssee !!! Sherry at 10 A.M.!!! Only my English great aunties did that. But, so did we and very merry for it all we were. Zandra Rhodes was there to get a Honours Doctor with her shocking pink hair, at almost sixty looking like a geriatic punk and the gallery owner. A., looking as wonderful as ever on HRT was also given an Honorary Doctor. She just happened to deal in the work of the ex-head of printmaking (Funny how there are all these connections linking honours and favours!); not to mention Lord M, Princess S's ex. He, like the rest of the royals, is not much taller than a enlarged dwarf! Bett and I started to giggle when we saw him walk into the senior common room and we just couldn't stop. Sherry that early in the day is lethal. I commented that "Do you think the royal family are related to the Munchkins?". And that really did it. We were off into fits of choking giggles; barking with laughter behind the potted plants - trying not to wet ourselves.
The ceremony in the Albert Hall was amazing. Talk about pomp and circumstance complete with trumpet fanfare. Peter Blake was made a Honorary Doctor as was the film maker Ken Loach. Peter look very jolly and rotund and turned to wave to everyone after he was handed his scroll and everybody cheered .
Bett looked a bit daft with her funny little hat and tassel. It's the closest I'll ever get to receiving an award from the Royal College. I used to have real slagging matches with the ex-head of printmaking who retired about ten years ago. He was so pissed most of the time he could never remember that we came to blows and would start all over again the next time I met him at an opening. After a splendid lunch where we met a wonderful couple who were great designers in the fifties. We decided that we couldn't just go home so we went out shopping and then home after a discreet time to watch Wimbledon tennis on TV over a few glasses of Pimms!
The English art scene is still fairly chauvinistic and dominated by men and the old boys club network operate very well in the teaching appointments. Despite the higher profile of young women artists its still very much the "blokes" who get the jobs. Even thought the majority of students are women, the majority of lecturers are men and they're the ones that get tenure.
Just look at what happened at Brighton recently with another ex-head of Painting and Printmaking! He was so uncomfortable with women that he couldn't look them in the eye when talking to them. The external moderator this year took S. aside and asked her if there was anything amiss? Had she done anything wrong because the head just wouldn't look at her during the moderation. S. told her not to worry because any woman made him feel so uncomfortable that he felt as if his balls were about to drop off. I understand, it's one of the benefits of a Jesuit education.
August. Somewhere very far north in Western Canada.
If I see another TREE I'll scream. The so-called shortcut my dear brother suggested added not only an extra hour and a half on to our already tedious journey but the only vehicles we saw were logging trucks and pick up trucks full of loggers. When we did manage to reach civilization in the shape of a gas station and general store the air was filled with smoke from burning trees. A huge forest fire thousands of miles north was blowing smoke everywhere and not on just one province but all the prairie provinces. They were all screened in smoke for days from thousands of fires. We could even smell it in the cabin interior of the aeroplane when we took a short detour to the 'ol home town. They have the nerve to be smug about how polluted London is.
This holiday is soooooo needed!! It's not until you begin to chill out that you realize how fried you can get. I could tell my priorities changed when the all consuming task for the day was remembering to bring the cheezzys for the beach and getting a higher score on Super Mario than my six year old niece. There's a lot to be said for mindless activity. It's just that some art administrators mistake it for civilisation/culture.
August 23
The plane ride back was a lot better than the one going out. For one thing I could actually identify what was presented to me on my plate for dinner. Going out near and dear, along with the pair to my right, got into a very animated conversation on what exactly we were eating. The substance presented as meat had us all foxed. I maintained it was definitely not of a former living being because I could identify the knitting stitch in its texture. Knit one, pearl one first row; pearl one, knit one, second row always produces the seed stitch whether in sweaters or non-organic substances served up in your aeroplane lunch. Who says encouraging women into science has not had its benefits!
On the home run I attempted to sleep on what is known as the red eye run; this I learned from the air hostess who also informed me that it was her first overseas flight. Near and dear got rather animated at the sight of the northern lights as we flew over Hudson Bay towards London. One poke in the ribs to wake me was tolerable but the dozen or so that he thought necessary caused me to hiss through my clenched teeth at him with threats of tipping his beer on his lap.
"I've seen Northern Lights before. I want to sleep. Wake me up when they serve the knitted food substances."
I woke as we were landing at Gatwick. N. and D. said he couldn't wake me so he ate my serving not wanting to see it go to waste, despite the fact he somehow managed to do it before many times. So we ended the holiday in the traditional manner of having an argument and I knew we were home again.
All in all it was a tolerable holiday no major trauma this year with any of the relatives except the pet rabbit know as the "Holy Bunny" (because of its cross shaped stigmata on the head) when he decided to take a bite out of me. Next time I will not try to seek him out in the backyard to return him to his cage because the children are panicking at the predatory hawk that is continuously circling the back yard looking for a snack. I will instead give the hawk crackers. The rabbit is possessed not blessed! Hasn't got a blessed bone in his body; at least a few less after I gave him a swift kick for the massive bruise that still adorns my arm two weeks later.
Em had house- and cat-sat for us again and as usual the cats were traumatised. G has settled into her new job out in the outer regions of suburbia and loves all the power her position holds as the one and only Arts Officer in suburbia. Lots of invites for Private views starting next week. Bett has left copious messages on the ansa-phone about how bored she is and did I know any eligible men and could I make sure I invite them to my 50th next month.
AGGGHHHHH! MY 50TH ! I have to start planning it. I have NO MONEY!!!!!
September 6
Have designed my invite /declaration for 50th birthday party. Will send them out this week after I print them up. Making lists of who to invite will prove to be major problem. Will not invite the dreaded FiFi as she didn't invite me to hers. Have ordered all the wine (cheap fizz) and will order the cake this week. I hope to get lots of presents. Took N.and D. out to an Italian for his 48th. Apparently there is a glut of birthdays in March and Sept/Oct because they fall nine months after summer holidays and Christmas.
Bett has new contract at the Whitechapel and phoned to see if I am going to opening next week. Will go and meet her there. I deliberately gave the M.A. opening at Goldsmith a wide miss. I find it too discouraging and pretentious.
Have discovered wild yam cream as a hope for curbing hot flushes! A list of things they do not tell you about the menopause in all those books on the menopause.
1.Your figure turns into the same as your aunties - square,big busted
and overweight. In fact you automatically go up at least one size as soon
as the change starts. Your weight moves around your body redepositing
itself between your shoulders and your hips. So you now have a bigger cup
size and your hips merge into your waist. You get to have thinner thighs
because all the weight goes up to your hips and waist.
Which brings me to point:
2. You can not get rid of your weight. Except with a very ,very big
effort. You may need more gin and tonic's to cope with life but they stay
with you for ever; especially around your waist.
3.You haven't the energy to get rid of the extra fat. Forget it. I could
happily sleep my life away.
4.I do not believe Japanese women do not have hot flushes. Anybody who
does not have them is lying !! Except when your homeopathic remedy finally
kicks in...all the wild yam cream herbal remedies make you constipated.
5. Men ,especially husbands and partners of the same age, go off sex. Just
when you don't have to worry about pregnancy and pre- menstral tension any
more,they go off it. The biggest kept secret of all time is that men over
a certain age can't get interested any more. Why do you think Viagra is in
such high demand ? Why do you think they all get second trophy wives much
younger than themselves, except in an attempt to stimulate that flaccid
muscle into action.
6.You get very fed up with your husbands /partners stupid habits and
boring jokes. Most men still have the humour of a seventeen year old at
the best of times. At this stage in the proceedings I'd rather not have
the body which has the non-functional and flaccid muscle as well as a
sense of humour that has stopped at seventeen. I can't seem to find the
benefit of having it around and life without a sophisticated sense of
humour is not worth knowing.
Thursday September 12
Went to the opening called "Speed". Met Bett. She still had a pink feather duster in her hand from her attempt to give a "Professional Look" to the exhibits. In other words they were looking like they had just come out of storage and with only minutes to go before the punters arrived she started dusting.
Can not say I blame her! One of my last criticisms of "The Open" there was that it looked as if it had been hung by students with the labels all crooked and pictures wonky!
D. turned up with the ex-wife of his best friend??? She gushed on about how much she wanted her ex's picture collection especially my pieces. I told her to buy her own and come to my next sale.
Bett was in full steam swanning all over the place. At one time she was talking to the director of the Serpentine who began her vocation as a humble curator of the open studios in Wapping in the early 80's. Believe it or not. She eye-balled me and I her before Bett said questionly,
"Do you know each other? "
We both burst out at the same time .
"I didn't recognize you."
Considering she has more income than me and more access to more expensive beauty products and the services of the make up counters at Harvey Nicks, she has not aged that well. H.was there. He is always good for gossip because he works on so many top art and exhibition catalogues. But things are quiet at the moment. Told me to wait till after the new Bankside Tate's "Topping Out" ceremony. G. promised me her ticket but I'll believe it when I see it. Next week is more openings. Tuesday is the night for all of Cork Street.
Friday 19 September
End of another week! Started back to teaching my classes including the 17 year old's. Thank God I'm not 17 any more and never will be again. It could almost be classified as a disease. The openings on Tuesday night I did with G. She comes up to town quite frequently in order to survive the 'Burbs. The hot gossip with her is that she has met another man. This one seems reasonable and actually human. However I live to be contradicted.
We walked into the Barry Flanagan show and with in the first 5 minutes I
got cold-shouldered by the director of the Camden Arts Centre and chatted
up by M. He was wondering how come he hasn't seen me much at the Delfina
Gallery and smiled charmingly at me. I really wasn't up to it so I said to
save me a seat for the next one just before G. got me into a corner to
hiss at me. She wanted an in-depth discussion on the new work.
Immediately!
"For God sake it's just a women's fanny. Not more of The Sun
erotic school of art
!" , I hissed back at her.
"There's not much you can say about them. Who would want a six foot
fanny in their garden except some perve? "
"Yea, I see what you mean. I just wasn't too sure what they were
supposed to be actually!"
I gave her a strange look. Then we both sighed deeply at the obvious clumsiness of the new work. Unfortunately for us the artist was just behind G.. He turned around and sneered. G.was about to open her mouth again but I grabbed her arm and led her quickly out the door. I thought it best as she was going back there for dinner afterwards. After a few cursory glances at some pretty appalling shows we swanned down and around the corner to Timothy Taylor's new gallery. Taylor being Helen Taylor's husband, Helen Taylor, being the Duchess of Winsor's daughter. Tres chi-chi opening of Latin American painters. I hate to say it once again but I am so fed up of looking at young immature work.
G. and I after a very serious discussion about the work, out of earshot of anybody we recognised, decided to rubber neck and see who the celebs were. We caught sight of Helen and mummy upstairs in the office chatting over drinks with various people. I can definitely say they are not true born blondes. Even from that distance, I could see roots!
We decided to window shop along Bond Street before G. went to her dinner and I trotted back to the East End. What we could do with a few thousand ££'S !!! Sigh. I asked her, in a quiet moment brought on by lust in front of the Donna Karen window, just what she was going to buy me for my 50th. I felt her stiffen, swallow hard and gulp. Not a good sign I would say. Must double check my party list. Can't remember who I invited?
Tuesday
It's the day before my birthday. Nearest and Dearest is out of town inspecting and supervising a project. He has promised to be home for tomorrow. G.and Em and Bett have booked a table at Pont de le Tour on the Thames next to the Design Museum. Em knows it well as she use to work at the D.M. Near & Dear at first wasn't going to come as he is in one of his "I'm too broke after the holiday" moods. Em turned and sneered at this bit of whimpering when he uttered it. Her sneers are like laser beams! He even gave me my present two weeks ago in a cardboard box unceremoniously plunked on the table. It was a Poole china coffee set in a gorgeous shade of steel blue which I wanted but why he couldn't have given it two weeks later and wrapped is beyond me. The air was a bit frosty between us for a while after he revealed it was the birthday present. Yet this is the man whose employers think is one of the most well mannered and charming people they have and constantly send him out to deal with clients. Have I missed something here.
Both Bett and G. went to the new Tate's "Topping Out" ceremony.
G.had a wonderful time and was very glad she didn't give me her ticket.
Bett meanwhile, had a tap on her shoulder, turned around and was
confronted with a ghost from her past in the form of her ex-fiancee who
she ditched some 10 years ago. I remember it well. I felt really sorry for
the guy. He was lovely. He has since married badly. It is a complete and
utter disaster and he made sure Bett knew for over an hour while all the
art world of Brit Art swirled around her. She was pinned to a wall by a
barrage of woe and pain; not one but two breakdowns and wifey is the woman
from hell. He would leave except for the children. At this point, Bett
apparently yelled out.
"What Children ? You said you never wanted children !"
And a silence suddenly replaced the din of chit-chat that surrounded them
up 'til then. Necks craned.
G. said that she thought it was spectacular.
"Everybody looked at them.Even Nick raised his eyebrow."
I enquired why she didn't rescue Bett and her reply was
"What ! And ruin the fun!"
Anyway Bett survived by feigning faintness at not having a chance to get to the nibbles and bolted. Apparently at that point she caught sight of G. grinning like a Cheshire cat and tried to make a bee line for her. Bett's hands were itching to strangle somebody but G. had slipped away through the crowd. I got both sides of the story and either way I was glad I didn't go after all.
I have got two birthday cards and one present in the post so far. I am having a pedicure at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow. I am not having my hair done as I'm trying to grow it out. I may regret this choice. The day after my birthday I am going all philosophical about being 50. What a relief to have it over and done with. Now it's only the party to get through without any major disasters.
Near and dear managed (just) to get home in time for the birthday meal. At that point in time I was well away as I had already managed to down a bottle of champers with colleagues in the art department. G turned up on time. Partially, I think, it is because she will use any excuse to get into town away from the delights of her new suburban environment and into the arms of her new man. We had a lovely meal at a Cantina on the river. Em didn't manage to make it because of a very late shipment of art that had to go to Sweden. Near and Dear managed to get really pissed in his usual very quiet way. So quiet that G and I hadn't noticed he had fallen asleep and slid under the table. It was only when the bill arrived that we stopped talking and noticed he wasn't there. G perceived a familiar sound of snoring and looked under the table. We managed to wake him by sticking our heads under the table repeatedly (pretending that we had dropped something)and hissing at him. We were eventually successful and he slipped back into his seat without anybody noticing I think. The table next to us filled with trendy young media types who were giggling uncontrollably. It could be they were on illegal substances but on the other hand..... I paid for my meal and his on my card and bolted gracefully out of the restaurant as quickly as I could. If anybody had asked me if I would I care to push him in the Thames before I went home I would have. G thought we should have left him under the table sleeping.
However Near & Dear didn't fare much better at the party on the following Sunday. Having managed not only do nothing what so ever towards its preparation because he had been out of town during the previous week. He insisted on cooking a tradition Sunday lunch then walking out on it while it cooked to go to the pub for two hours. Needless to say the whole mess landed in the rubbish bin and we had a blazing row which only ended as the doorbell rang and the first guest arrived. He stomped up stairs to have his Sunday afternoon nap and slept through the first 3 hours of the party. The really great thing was that nobody asked where he was.
I fear that being fifty is going to very dangerous for my marriage. At this point in time I really don't give a toot about whether it survives or not. I do not care if my parents think of me as a failure for walking out on my husband. I don't care if my husband can not survive without me. Can I survive with him is the point of the matter ? I have become totally intolerant of his behaviour, my three part time jobs and a thousand other things in my life. I think I need to have a new and more exciting life.
October 15
I can not believe what I do for my friends, especially G. Since this new man has come into her life, and he is v.v. important, we have done more shopping for the "Right Clothes" than I can ever remember. No man has ever affected her like this . We live at Fenwicks ! We have bought, then taken back, three suits.We have bought, but not taken back, four pairs of trousers and one drop dead sexy top. We have taken back one pair of gorgeous maroon trousers that split on her, just as she was about to go out on a date. I lied to the sales clerk saying that as a fashion lecturer I think that the fabric was faulty. I did not tell the sales clerk that my dearest and nearest friend in her excitement at going out with "THAT MAN" she had put the trousers on backwards and split them when she sat down to talk on the 'phone. The "brilliant trousers that zip up the front and fit perfectly" in reality zipped up the back. G only worked that one out when I pointed out that the label is always on the back. What, I ask myself, is that man doing to her head ? So we bought another suit only this time it had a very short shirt and we'll probably take it back next Saturday and exchange it for something else. In order to make me go with her she keeps taking me to Maison Bertaux for cake and coffee before the next forage in Fenwicks. I have come out with a big 'orrible spot on my face.
Work in the studio is now a production line. I have started on some new sculpture that is a multiple. It is v.v. fiddlely and involves lots of stapling and tiny little sheep. I may abandon it. But I need to find some industrial wheels - like two dozen.
October 18
G. has told me she is in LURV! Very definitely absolutely in LURV! Have I heard this before ? But she seems v.determined about it. I fear the worst. Have not met him yet. Near and dear is still in disgrace about his behaviour on my b.day. He claims he doesn't feel very well. I claim he won't get any better if he keeps this behaviour up. G says to ignore him as she finds his talking about golf more offensive. Bett just rolls her eyes backwards into her head when ever I try to talk about near and dear. Most disconcerting! But then she has had so many serious relationships that I had lost count. After husband no.3 I suggested she ran an Evening Adult Education class on marriage and what not to do. She stopped talking to me for several years after that.
Thursday
We have taken the suit with the skirt back ! Afterwards I took G. to the
nearest cappuccino bar and told her outright that I was not going shopping
with her again. At least not until I got to meet this man who is turning
my friend into a blathering idiot. G.looked at me in total panic and said
it was v.v.important to her to get it right.
"Right for what?"
I asked.
"This man is driving you insane."
She just sat there with this look of perplexity welded on her face. I
might as well of spoken to her in a Martian sub-dialect. I fear we are
going to have one hell of a broken heart, or worse, a marriage situation.
I am dreading the future!
Saturday
Bet has just 'phoned with her news. She has been asked to be a jury member on next year's Turner Prize panel. I replied that I wouldn't be compromising her by being nominated now that I am 50 ! She didn't think that was funny.
This year's list is bad enough. What with Sam Taylor Wood being married to a prominent gallery owner, Chris being ethnic, Cathy De Monchaux appealing to every unrepressed fetish freak and the whole thing gets more boring every year!! I am now forced to listen to Bett drop names and look for her photo in December Vogue in the pages at the beginning with hundreds of miniature pictures of people at arty parties supposedly caught unawares in their designer frocks and their capped grins glittering in the flashlight. I have yet to see a bad photo of anybody. Everyone always seems to have their photogenic side to the cameras. Come the night, I shall plunk my cat Fat Mabel down in front of the television so she can whether her relative's owner, Cathy De Monchaux loses ! (Her cat is related to mine).
With both Bett and G. going to the same affair there is a slight air of guarded rivalry over what the other is wearing. Bett will be not too much of a problem as she will just throw money at it but with G. if this present man situation is not cleared up by January, I may land up being on intimate terms with the sales staff at Fenwicks. That is if she isn't barred from the shop by then.
Saturday
With G. being so far out of town in suburbia I have curtailed my Art-slutting a bit. As I keep bumping into M., the fellow I got a bit drunk with at the Delfina, I need a built in excuse like G. He always shoves a drink into my empty hand before I can object and raise one eyebrow. However that was only a minor hitch as Bett now keeps ringing me to see if I can accompany her to various openings. She invited me to a special evening at the Whitechapel where the style guru Stephen Bailey was giving a talk. It was like listening to a record being played too fast. Odd that, as the Exhibition is called "Speed". At last the Whitechapel has a decent exhibition and the labels don't fall off. I suspect that Bett has gone around super gluing them to the wall. The munchies were brilliant!
The studio work is eating up so much money. I am haemorrhaging money. Which is in rather short supply of late as I have lost my one day-a-week teaching at art schools. What a story of bullying and out right male chauvinism that was! I am so fed up with it. When will it stop. Why do so many men think that if a woman has power, like an university education and teaches on the same staff as them,that she is crazed with the desire to dominate them, gain control and make them impotent. Talk about transference! I am fed up of the explanation that candidates picked were the best that applied when you see a man, usually younger than you without half the teaching experience,research or exhibition record land the position. I graduated from art school in 1971 and now in 1998 I see that most art departments do still not have more than 5 or 10% women on staff and those that are there usually don't have tenure. Yet the art departments in the UK are more than half women in their student body. The revolution is a very long one indeed!
Copyright © : N.Paradoxa, November, 1998
N.Paradoxa : Issue No. 8, 1998