May Long week end
R.came down again for a conference on Sensation - not the Saatchi kind - at the Warburg Institute. It was quite interesting - the lectures that I managed to attend. I should have attended more but little things kept getting in the way like Em coming over for lunch and not wanting to cancel. I know hearing an esoteric lecture on the introduction of the Rosary as a revolutionary act in the Medieval church is probably not as important as being there for an old friend who has tried to top herself just six months ago but.... there are times one would really like to listen to very interesting and obscure information just for the sheer beauty of the knowledge.
However I was rewarded with some juicy gossip about my friend Bet who is usually extremely clam-like about her affairs. Well it turns out that she is still seeing in an on /off sort of way an ex-husband !!!! And she is also v.v. serious about a short squat and rather rotund town planner that she has met in her new line of work. He in turn is also married but the said family lives in the North.
At the opening of the last show at the Whitechapel Ron and A. were there trying to tell me that Bet had this new lover and he was standing just behind them. I threw a dead casual glance around the room looking for the usual Bet-type appendage man but didn't see any when N. from the Tate walked by and winked at me. It completely through me off my stride and I completely forgot about the new Bet appendage. Thinking back on it I must have seen her new man but he wasn't what I was looking for as her is apparently completely against her usual type. Not only is he not English and very middle class and in addition not an ex-Public school type but most strange of all not taller than her, not more successful than her, and not more out going and gregarious than her. In other words he seems exactly what she needs. The other news is that she is doing some rather secretive freelance work that even Em with all her inside contacts says is difficult to get to the bottom of.
Anyway, the weekend turned out to be a hell of a lot of fun. R. was orginally supposed to come to visit the Thursday night before. But after waiting up past the last tube I figured he was probably wasted in some Soho drinking den. How right I was. All the provincial curators do this when they hit London. I got a meek telephone call late the next afternoon. My problem is I usually get quite annoyed at men when they fuck up. But at the stage I'm at now, their stupidity just does not bother me. It's sad to say but if R. was wasted in a gutter and landed up at some old mate's house - well it's his life! He's old enough to know what he wants to do with it. The trouble is I can't seem to apply the same logic to near and dearest. I really get all wound up about him and his total lack of concern or interest in me and my wonderful career. He say all artists are totally self-obsessed. How dare he !!!
We went to a great party on the Sunday night. Mark Wallenger's birthday party; you know one of the yBa's, a Turner-prize-short-listed-kid-type person. Well, it was in or shall I say on the 29th floor of Guy's hospital. Getting there was a like something out of a science fiction movie. First off London is deserted on a long weekend, especially on a Sunday night at a hospital. The hallways and atrium were all ablaze with light but no one was about, and there were no signs to point us to the 29th floor. In fact the elevator only went to the 27th. Then we noticed another elevator in the corner that didn't say where it went. Like Alice in Wonderland we had a go and lo and behold we landed on the 29th floor. Following our noses we found ourselves in the hospitality suite - a huge room with a bar on the very top of a tower block that overlooked the West, North West and North East London. The view was magnificent!
The sun was setting, some silly French hip hop music was playing in the background - going "C'est ou, c'est la blah, blah, blah" - and R. and I were drinking Molson's beer. Not quite heaven but near enough for me these days. During the evening we met various young artists who were so obviously struggling to keep body and soul together that I wondered how many of them would still be practising by the time they reached 50. I saw myself im them at that age and it was sad. Before we left, because the music stopped and we were told to go, I bumped into an old friend who said how great it was that I could come to her wedding reception. I just looked at her then at her husband or the man next to her who I presumed was her husband and she blathered on. I congratulated them. Then R. grabbed me and hissed in my ear that it was also several other people's parties in case I had thought it all a bit strange.
"Like the granny dancing with the ten year old and the fact that
the D.J. looked somebody's 15 year old brother and the arguing curators
from Italy who sat in the cornor all night?", I said
"Yeah, something like that."
"Actually not till the very end when I picked up the art critic
Sussie C. from the floor in the ladies. She was very upset and drunk over
somebody getting married and not to her."
"Fancy a night cap?"
"Sure your place or mine? Or shall I say your bottle or mine?"
"I brought down a really good whiskey that I bought on my last trip
to Scotland. A lovely old malt."
"That's exactly what I am. A lovely old malt. I'm sticking with my
own kind."
"I like coming to visit you. You're so understanding and not
bothered by much."
"That's because I'm not married to you."
"Does N & D notice if you get angry at him."
"I have to check if he is alive first."
"Great view wasn't it!"
"Yeah, makes you almost wish you were a council tennent on the 18th
floor of a tower block."
"You're Japanese tenant is weird. She never says anything."
"Yes, even Nearest and dearest has noticed that she avoids him. We
hear her come home at night, but sometimes a week or two goes by and I
don't see her. I know she's there because she goes through all the toilet
paper and leaves her saucepan of rice in the sink."
"I'm glad I saved the bottle for this visit."
I just looked at him sideways and put the key into the front door without
another word.
June 30th
I have been to so many private views for graduating degree students, foundation students, general Art & Design students, GNVQ, BTEC and any other art type design student end of year course that finishes at this time of year that one could possibly invent. I can now safely say - I hate it all. Well, just the crappy stuff.
My students in Brighton graduated with four Firsts which was four more than the painting department. S. was extremly happy and I made her more so with a bottle of cheap champagne. This year with all the extra paper work and other tedious tasks associated with lecturing in art I have managed to have two massive headaches. Both of which landed me in bed dopped up with headache pills. The last one wasn't too bad. I was lying in bed when G. telephoned all excited but trying to act drop dead casual. She is so obvious. First she enquired after my health then ignored anything I had to say by butting just as I began my lament. "Look this is really important. Christies is having their Contemporary Art auction in Clerkenwell next Tuesday. We are going! Try to dress decent. Meet me at the Whitechapel at 1 ,as Bet is also going." - and hung up. Try to dress decent!!! Try to dress decent!!! Bloody cheek!!!
Eight days later
I went in an all grey tres Betty Jackson and tres smart but casual dress. That is I thought it was until I hit the ladies loo and I began to notice that the place was awash with Prada bags, outfits and shoes. Most women looked like walking adverts for Prada or Channel. Neck-craning was also de rigour. In fact most people spent the auction rubber-necking to see who was not bidding or who was.
Money flowed fast and furious. It all seemed so abstract except I had to keep telling myself that it was 55,000 pounds(translate into 90,000 dollars) for this little photo of Cindy Sherman and that bargain painting of ...and so forth and so on unrelentingly so for four hours. One could ever so quickly loose track of reality. No chance of that for me though as I with great clarity remember the outstanding electricity bill for the studio!
G. and I gasped at one point as these two obviously plastic surgery altered American women swanned in, decked out in Prada and with pasmina scarves swathed several layers deep around their necks. It was VERY hot in there. We wondered at one point if the obvious plastic noses, (No.s 2 & 5 respectively from the catalogue of American plastic surgeon's catalogue of nose types) would melt down their flawless and surgically stretched skins. One of them was a black woman whose nose was definitely that of the wrong racial group - she looked like a Michael Jackson clone.
As soon as both of us left we HAD to find a cappucino, quick-like and
dashed down the Clerkenwell Road into the nearest coffee bar. Shaking from
the culture shock, G. spoke first.
"Seems a bit far removed from the reality of suburban art councils
and publicly funded galleries, doesn't it!"
"Just a bit. Did you clock the plastic noses on those two at the
back?"
" The ones out of last year's catalogue of noses. Guaranteed to make
you look like Barbie"
" If it got any hotter their faces would have melted."
" Did you ever consider surgery?"
" All the time "
" How's the diet going ?"
" You mean the exercise program, don't you"
" That as well"
" Want another cappucino?"
" Thought so."
We sat there watching the rain lightly drench everyone walking by; both
lost in our own thoughts of how strange and distant the mega-world of art
can be when the serious money starts flowing.
"What are you doing this summer ?"
"For a holiday or in the studio."
"Well, you never go on holiday with that fish you're married to so
how's the commission going."
"Fish can be very interesting "
"Only if you're a bored cat!"
"I'm still working on that commission. It's all the bureaucracy of
the church and over-worked vicars with parish councils that have no
imagination"
"Sounds like the rest of humanity to me!"
"So I will just get on with the drawings. That's a job and a half in
itself. I just can't imagine my work ever being in an auction like that."
G. looked at me and opened her mouth but not before before I quickly said
"Don't even think about saying it. Just shut up and lets go, I have
to pick up something for supper."
July 4th
It's Canada Day and I was going to have a few fellow country men and women or more truthfully North Americans, as Cal Pearl is not Canadian, over for some traditional cocktails. But I have no enthusiasm for it at the moment. Things between n. & d. have gotten so frosty that you don't need air conditioning. Also I am so knackered from all the extra teaching I've taken on as well as the stupid artist organization I sit on the board for with their endless extra meetings. The only people I really dislike worse than art administrators are artists. Ironically most of my friends are either one or the other. There is only a bit more admin work to do for the various courses that I have taught on this year and then I shall close the studio door and forget about it all. This month looks to be amusingly boring and quiet. How wonderful!!!!
July 28th
Boredom was something I am really looking forward to for once in my life .No such luck!!! Now, as you know old N & D has been some what of a pain the butt as of late. But not as much as Bet with the new man in her life. Where does she find them!! Why can't she be like EM. and take up serial monogomy. Or even like G. who bless her socks goes through men like a blizzard on the prairies.
I am not even going to begin with all the complications arising. They look so strange together, with him being a foot shorter than her and that when she is around him she is so gobsmacked that she can't speak but looks longingly all the time into his eyes. I just shan't begin.
Meanwhile, back at the house Nearest takes it into his head to strip the
bedroom floors of carpets and put down some wood substitute flooring. Fine
and dandy but after two weeks of living in a building site and no further
progress I decide to take things into my own hands and lay the plywood
myself. Ha! ha! ha! My hands become full of splinters. They get so
infected that when I wake up on the Sunday morning I can't bend them and
start screaming:-
"Take me to the A & E ! I've got blood poisoning !"
Guilt is an amazing motivator. The silent one leaps out of bed and speeds
us down to the Royal London.
Sure enough I landed up with my right arm in a sling, told to put ice packs on it periodically and given a prescription for some medicine which I think are antibiotics but look like horse tranquilizers. The sympathy card is going to be played very strongly.
One nice little adventure did happen in July. I took myself off to Leeds to see my friend R. who has been trying to get me up there for ages. I am not adverse to his pleas especially since he is looking so divine these days (having lost all that weight and his new hair cut, not to mention how he looks in his new leather jacket). It was also a great chance to catch up gossip with my friend D. who is a designer. Yes, I bought a tres tres gorgous little strapless number from her which I shall make good use of with all the glorious weather we have been having.
Well, life is strange. D. and I had a little chat and a few drinks before meeting R. at the City Art Gallery where he works, for a private view. As a matter of fact, there were several private views for various shows. One of which was the gallery's collection of Rembrandt etchings. There lies another little story about the Rembrandt show in London which was so beautiful it made me weak at the knees. If I could have a 'one to one' with anybody in history it would be Rembrandt. Definitely!!!
The person I went with was a collector who I am despartely trying to get to buy some of my work. It was hard work. In the end after several hours of show and a brilliant tour by moi, I gather from the conversation that he thinks my work is not quite to his taste. So as an act of revenge I got him to take me to Chez Bertol for tea and ordered the largest and most expensive piece of gateau on the menu soon followed by a second one.
Well, to get back to the evening, as it wore on and things were coming
to a close I suddenly had a terrible shock as I recognised an old passion
of mine from ten years ago. I hadn't seen him since then and in the
meantime he had lived the drug and drink life in Manchester but recently
has consequently given it up. I was so shocked at his changed appearance
that I grabbed R. and hissed at him
"Did you know that B. is here"
"Oh yeah! He comes to all the openings. He's okay now and we go out
a lot to the pub. He's been trying to catch your attention all evening."
It was obvious he was still very interested. All I could think was "What
a lucky escape I had."
So we all went out with artists to the pub and then on to Harvey Nicks
(They have a divine new shop in Leeds) for a drinks party on the roof
garden and then out to a Japanese meal which B paid for to impress me. He
had to leave early to get back to the cottage, he rents with his current
girlfriend in a small town outside Leeds. When he left the young artist
and D.both looked at R. and myself and said in one accord
"What was all that about ?"
"What do you mean ?"
I I said dead casual and trying to act like it's normal and not squabble
over the bill for a huge meal because an ex was trying to impress you so
much that he paid for it all. So R. filled them in on the subplot. "And
that calls for some cocktails." he added. Such as sweet man! So off
we went to a new little bar and drank. Then very tipsy-like we caught the
last train back to R.'s place where we all crashed into our separate beds
like the three bears in Goldilocks. Mine was R's little daughter's which
was so small my feet stuck out the end but the stars on the ceiling were
great glowing in the dark as was the Rupert the Bear night light. Kids
have it so easy these days.
September 1st
Another birthday looms and I am on the wrong side of 50. I still feel like twelve. In fact I feel great. I remember someone saying, just after my 30th, that I was on the wrong side of thirty and they turned out to be the best years of my life. I had hoped it would carry through into the forties. But they rather got a bit murky and therapy ridden. One still lives in hope!!! I have also decided to drop my teaching at the local comprehensive. I know it's less money but I can not stand any year of seventeen year old boys with all their immature and sex-orientated humour. It's too much like the men I know who are fifty. That was really one of the most shocking insights I ever had when I realized so many men never got past 17 years of age emotionally.
Thus I stand at the cross roads of poverty and more poverty, if sales don't start coming in soon. I plan to spend my birthday at a conference in Bristol with artists from all over the world. Is this really a good decision? More private views than I can handle!!! I can't even remembered what I see these days. In fact I don't see much because they are always so crowded with people.
September 29th
What A month!!! Camden had a P.V. that was so crowded. I kept bumping into Anish Kapoor who kept trying not to remember that we once shared a studio together many years ago. You know when people who try to blank you give it away by then checking to see if you are noticing that they are not noticing and it is really pathetic. The SLAG opening was also great for sheer party value. I'll go back this week and see the art. Next week Bet and I are doing some serious art-slutting on Friday. She has a new contract at the National so a different but equally poisonous set of gossip will soon be forthcoming.
The conference was great as was Bristol. One unfortunate incident involved my old mate the collector (remember the Rembrandt show) who was in town at the same time to put his daughter in university before he flew off for another holiday. He very sweetly took me out for a meal and we started to chin-wag about this that and everything else. He is renovating a house in the city for his student children to live in while they are at university. Not for them the perils of rented digs!!! In describing the state of affairs going on with the building works he ever so casually describes it as such a state that my house was not as bad as it was but almost! One could get the picture. I just looked at him gobsmacked. This from a man whose wife earns over £ 150,000 a year and has a private income on top of a regular job, a full time house keeper and a cleaner. How dare he criticise the state of my house! Me, who has four part-time jobs and sits as a volunteer on the boards of many artist-run organisations and has a studio practice to run and operate - all at the same time. I do my own housework sometimes at 11 at night or 6:30 in the morning before I start my other jobs. The thing is, he thought he was being witty !
Come the revolution, he will be top of my list for those going "against the wall" - To quote a very appropriate phrase from the sixties. He thinks that by taking me out for meals he is supporting the arts by feeding a starving artist - the sad thing is that he really is.
One rather surreal conversation at the conference involved an old mate
who complained that:-
"I am being dismissed as a wrinkly anti-computer Ludite."
"Well" I said "You will just have to use anti-Ludite
wrinkle cream then."
And thus began a rather bizarre conversation around moisture cream and
anti-intellectualism; two of my favorite topics. I am always amazed at the
high levels of discussion at conferences.
Copyright © : n.paradoxa, October, 1999
N.Paradoxa : Issue No. 11, 1999