February 2000
I am getting really fed up with teaching my mature evening students. I
am also being dumped on by my line manager who who is under pressure to
cut his budget. As I am one of the longest teaching part timers as well as
one of those on an old, i.e. expensive contract, I think my days are
numbered and the numbers are quickly running out.
G. is getting increasing broody out in the burbs. I keep telling her its
all that bad influence of domesticity and dysfunctional families. She says
it’s her womb clock. It also doesn't help if the Prime Minister's
wife starts playing happy families in her mid-forties. All it does is
encourage others. Beside all that is missing is the appropriate sperm
donor. I did suggest that such small details should be no problem but she
got real sniffy and said that there was more to it all than being just a
donor.
‘Are we talking lurv here or are we talking commitment or even
relationship. Oops! Slap my mouth I 'm speaking real dirty.’
‘Oh, I'm just ....’
‘....Broody?’
‘... It would be nice to go out with somebody for a longer period of
time’
‘Rather than three dates’
‘ It’s never that short ’
‘ Believe me I've timed you. It is.’
And the conversation seemed to dwindle out after that so I changed
subject and asked if she was going to the Tate Britain opening. She gave
me one of those “Looks”. You know the ones that
say ‘How should I answer this? Because if she isn't going, what do I
say???’ I know how her little mind works.o after letting sweat drip
off her brow for a while as the mind churned as well as letting her
cappuccino spill from insistent fidgeting, I let her off the hook and
said.
‘Well, I really don't know what to wear. Is there anything, after I
make up mind, that you may want to borrow ?’
The look of relief on her face was immense.
The tickets are really really hot with people phoning up the Tate
demanding to know why they haven't been invited. I didn't tell her it was
because Bet is “in-between men” and that I got
asked by her. So we ended a potentially fraught conversation with an
in-depth discussion about clothes and what to wear to at a black tie
affair. Much more uplifting than the usual art slutting.
February something
Been trying desperately hard to get the Contemporary Art Society around for a studio visit. They are such elusive and slippery characters. The planning and sorting out of the exhibition carries on with great urgency. Designing the catalogue is proving a minor nightmare with my limited but growing skills on computer design. I am resisting asking my God son who is only 10 for any help. I am still embarrassed over the last frantic phone call I made to him to help me out with my new video recorder. They ought to make it compulsory for it to come with a complementary 10 year old to set and adjust it for the digital illiterate.
Angela Flowers Anniversary party was such a hoot! She sent out these
amazing invites taken by her ex-husband with her majestically seated in a
Zandra Rhodes dress that was to die for. She looked great. There’
s a lot to be said for HRT. The evening was packed with everybody who
every showed with her there as well as celebs. As she purchased my first
big print many years ago from a show I had at her gallery I was invited.
Of course it was a black tie affair. My glam clothes are getting such a
wearing this year. Couldn’
t wear the same outfit that I might go to the Tate in so one had to do
some real thinking. But a few little numbers from the back of the wardrobe
that hadn't seen the light for awhile seemed to fit the occasion.
The champagne flowed. Angela herself did sing some wonderful little Cole
Porter numbers accompanied by the piano which just set the right mood for
the occasion. C and her husband T were there as smarmy as ever. Amazing
that once she met and married him her work went from quasi-Kandinsky to
hard edge imitation Sean Scully; very much like her husband's work. Of
course Sean is a great mate of theirs and they do visit him in New York
and he has been every so helpful in introducing them to the right people.
Hasn't he just!
Had to tell dear C. how great she looked since she lost all the weight.
‘Oh‘ she feigned ‘I haven't lost that much’
‘Are you kidding. You're half the size you were before.’
And walked off smirking to myself thinking ‘Silly Moo.’
Back in the real world of hassle at college with the job which looks very doggy. The head is trying desperately to find ways to cut my evening classes. I know I don't like teaching at night to mature students that much but it is a regular income. However it's the old problem of age and experience costing them more money and I am VERY VERY fed up with not being hired or always being given the push because there is someone younger around who costs less money. They want experience without the pain of paying for it!
Final details for the show get under way and the hanging is set for Saturday morning with the other two artists. The work as a whole should look good.
Two weeks later
Private view for show went well. The collector turned up on his own looking traumatised. He had never been to the depths of Deptford before and wasn't too sure about the safety or quality of the neighbourhood. At least his wife would never have bothered to come to such a location, thank heavens. But he was quite proud of himself and I could just see him bragging at his next dinner party about how hip he was for actually being at my opening in cutting edge Deptford.
The urban myth that abounds amongst the middle classes, regarding those
who aren't as rich as themselves never ceases to amaze me. As for artists,
well the whole bohemian myth of depravity and debauchery is one they are
just dying to buy into. The collector made, for him , a deep observation
regarding the attire of the hip and the art scene.
‘Everyone here is in black or jeans!’
‘Yes’
‘That's why my daughter dresses just in black.’
‘Yes’
‘I look awful in black’
‘I wouldn’t even try.’
He then purchased a very small digital print costing just £25. I
didn't say a word but later I realised that it was a rather erotic little
number. I was amazed. But the real twist came when I mailed him his
purchase the next week and he was on the phone immediately.
‘I didn't order that one’
‘Yes you did, that was no.14’
‘I ordered the one above it.’
‘Well ,your subconscious ordered that one.’
‘I can’t put that in my hall way.’
‘No. But you could put it in your bedroom and perhaps improve your
rumpty tumpty. You could also purchase the other one as well and help
support a starving artist!’
The other artists sold as well. But the head of my department who I am
now taking to industrial tribunal purchased a piece from the other two and
not me. I thought it was bit too pointed or what? Even the collector
noticed.
‘That man over there is glaring at you.’ he said at one point.
‘I know. I am taking him to an industrial tribunal over not being
shortlisted for a job because he said I didn't fill out the application
properly. Basically it was because he can hire a younger person cheaper.’
The collector beamed at me because that was why he lost his job in the
banking world.
At last we had a common bond.
At the end of the exhibition I went away to a retreat from Friday night to Sunday night. A very old fashioned Church of England retreat in the Kent countryside with no telephone or any modern facility except of course showers and microwaves etc in the kitchen, but no TV or radio. It was rather nice learning to meditate, going for long walks, sleeping and hearing no noise except the birds. Communication between other individuals except during the seminars and meal times was frowned upon. It was actually rather a relief not to have to talk much. I came home feeling rather relaxed and tranquil. I even ignored Nearest and dearest fast asleep on the sofa with the golf tapes blaring away on full blast. I just took myself off to the bathroom, shut the door, filled the tub with wonderful bath salts and got in to soak. I must get myself into the right frame of mind for the Tate Britain opening.
March 26
The paraparazzi was there in full flash. What a night. I got snogged by a Polar bear!!! It was like a film premiere! Well the pre-party nerves were something else. Bet came over after work to get ready. I had the cocktails ready and waiting. We steamed. we facialed. We made up. We drank another cocktail. We got dressed then we got redressed then we got redressed again. Finally we got dressed. Boy did we look great. I had my hair done two days previously then I slapped fake tan on myself the day before so looked like I just might have been abroad for the while and not the terrible fish belly white one usually looks in mid winter. We were rather pleased with ourselves as we were actually a bit ahead of time and had ten minutes to go before the cab came so I made us another cocktail.
Then N & D came home. He just started chatting away as if nothing
happened and its normal for his wife and her best friend to be in formal
dress and drinking cocktails as he came in from a busy days work; as one
always is. Then he began to get his dinner going and started to chop and
fry a horrendous amount of onions. WE stared, shrieking:
‘What the hell are you doing. We’ll smell of onions! Stop!!’
He just grinned and claimed he didn't know why we were worried. Bet was fuming and I had to hold her back. The cab was late so I told her to open the front door and stand outside. Meanwhile I frantically telephoned the cab company and turned the stove off while N & D just turned it back on and I turned it off again while trying to argue with the cab company. I gave up and telephoned another one and turned the frying onions off once more. The first cab company car came and we leapt in and were whizzed away. Bet was really mad. We had all the windows opened and were hanging out of them trying to get the smell of fried onions off of us. The cabbie meanwhile was radioing all his mates and bragging that he was taking his fares to the opening of the Tate Britain. The place was lit up with laser light and a neon art work on the top. Cameras were snapping away as all the guests arrived. Bet told me not to get too excited as they knew who to snap and who not to snap; so there was no chance of me getting a photo opportunity. Vogue will just have to wait!
It was then the polar bear danced up to me and handed us a business
card. How novel I thought. A piece of performance art just for the
opening. Of course as we were so sozzled by now we flirted outrageously
with him. So he gave me a quick kiss and we went on our way up the stairs
into the party. There were a few outstanding little incidents that
happened. For a start the evening was sponsored by BP oil and the place
was awash with suits who were rather snotty nosed about the artists. They
were not too friendly and were not at all pleased at being talked to by
anybody they didn't know. G was there in full force. She gave us a social
kiss - Mawp! Mawp! - at the door then breezed off. ‘Looking for a
sperm bank no doubt.’
Bet intoned droley.
‘Don't be so mean. She's really sincere about doing it.’
She just rolled her eyes and plowed into the affray. I followed in hot
pursuit. We met so many people and at one stage I was pushed aside by a
very burly mountain of a man. I gave him a hard glare and was about to go
after him to spill my drink accidently down his tux when G. grabbed me and
said, ‘No, you don't. That's one of Madonna's minders.’
And sure enough the lady herself swanned in to be greeted by the Director
himself.
Later in the disco Bet was madly dancing away. So much so that one of my
fake diamond earrings she had borrowed fell off and she danced on it,
smashing it to pieces. She never replaces anything of mine she borrows and
messes up!! I was pissed off so I went to the snack bar for some designer
arranged sushi. A young artist, who is one half of a team that just wants
to be famous, stated talking to me thinking I was some important
collector. She was very disappointed when I informed her I was an artist.
Now this little fart and I worked together on a Chisenhale fund raiser
several Xmas’
s ago. She obviously didn't recognise me in my formal attire.
‘Well, have you any shows coming up.’
‘Just a small one at the Freud Museum actually.’
She looked real hard at me. ‘I know you.’
I just grinned and walked off. Smart assed young fart!
I left just after midnight as I didn't have enough money for a cab home
and my travelcard was still valid. Everybody was ready to party all night
but the plug was pulled only twenty minutes after I left so I felt even
more smug about going when I did. It was the last tube and it was filled
with the train drivers and other London Underground staff. The fellows
were most happy with a lovely formally dressed lady travelling with them.
I had a enjoyable time. Near & Dear was fast asleep in front of the
telly when I got home so I turned it off and went up to bed. It had been a
most wonderful evening.
The next day I read with keen interest all the papers coverage of the
event. I was being most smug about it at college when some one asked if
the Green Peace protest spoiled the event. I frowned and queried what
protest. They replied ‘The one with the polar bears handing out
business cards.’
I was stunned. I had been snogged by a Green peace protester in a polar
bear suit and not a performance artist. What was happening to me. I
couldn't tell the difference between art and protest any more !!!
Mid March
Had a another phone line installed for a computer except I can’t afford a computer with a modem but I live in hope. Bet and I met up to see some shows in the West End but they were so dismal, we went shopping at Fenwicks.
Work in studio is progressing but is a bit jumpy. New drawings are a lot of work! Trundled off to outer London, Sydenham to be exact, to an Oxfam shop where one of my students works, to rummage through books for next project. Found some good china to match my fifties kitchen set.
Started interviewing for new Chief Executive at artist’s run
organisation on which I sit as a board member. What a pain in the neck
that is to say the least. I am having great disagreements with the
business rep from Arts & Business as to who to appoint. I favour a
middle aged business man over a young inexperienced woman. In the end he
won because the casting vote was decided by an illustrator who was against
business people. WHAT DO YOU SAY.
I will prove to be right in the end.
Mid April
A country curator phoned to say ‘Check out this exhibition on
Dering St. near Anthony D'Offay.’
Which I promptly did. It was like the Cabinet of Doctor Calagari, that
German expressionist film from the thirties. Cabinets of real medical
artifacts and artist installations of their obsessions of things to do
with the body. In all very, very bizarre and strange but also very, very
highly enjoyable. A real treat. One up for you country curator....
end of April
PSEUDO, STUDIO, STUDIO.
May 7th
Had a lovely lunch with the collector in trés lovely cafe/bar in Soho. It's nice that he is temporarily unemployed and has the time to hang out. But he is going to serious interviews so our pleasant gallery visit and expensive lunches are to be valued for what they are. He wanted me to check out Saatchi's gallery in north London but I had promised to pick up a friend's little son from school and take him to his audition at Covent Garden. He did get the part as a sprite in Tales of Hoffman and I am so proud of him as his substitute stage mother. Plans are afoot for an Open Studio for the studio complex I work in this September. Lots of work for it to be realised as the Whitechapel has abandoned all co-ordination of the Open Studios porgramme for the near future!
Sarah Lucas P.V. at Freud Museum coming up. Promised to go with Bet...
April 21
Made the P.V at Freud museum. Sarah Lucas' show was one of the better ones of her work ...but still have reservations about how the work will work (if you know what I mean) out of context of this museum. Serious reservations! In fact I predict utter flatness once out of the context of his ambience. But I did have a brilliant time and had a good chat with her. When I shook her hand it was completely frozen like a corpse. Just goes to show you that the great and the good are exactly the same when it comes to the opening nights.
Bet and G were there and G was particularly embarassing. She was flirting outrageously with some man. Bet introduced me to the man from the British Museum who said he had never met me before. So I said I had never met him either and he just looked at me. We both knew he was bullshiting....
When I was upstairs with Bet looking at the work I felt this presence
enter the room and this hatchet-faced woman cruised in, circled and
cruised out again. I looked Bet and mouthed
‘Who was that?’
She mouthed back ‘Her dealer.’
Well what do you say. It was obvious she was an Artist Agent from the West
End of London!!!
But what a profile...
Had volunteered to art-sit for an installation in a local synagogue as part of a program called Art in Sacred Places. Went to a performance of Bobby Baker in St.Lukes in Holloway Road as an opening act; not only very entertaining but theological correct.
Sometime in June
Done in I am. Had it with all my mature students getting anxious with
their impending exams coming up and all the politics of the college. I
also am trying to organise my parents' 60th wedding anniversary/family
reunion this summer against the background of a paranoid and senile parent
and an older brother who refuses to take any responsibility at all. Plus
the weekend before is my high school reunion shortly followed by mum's
80th birthday. When it rains it pours as they say. nearest and I are now
not speaking to each other as I refuse to let him come with me, mainly on
the experience of past trips when all he has done is golf and leaves me
stranded with the ancient ones. I am now saying
‘No, do not come. I need total support to cope with this experience.
You can not or will not give it to me.’
I know I am right and am not even staying with them which has caused great
arguments but I am sticking to my guns. I am staying with an ex-fiance,
the one who n & d has always said only has one ball...
The collector and I spent a wonderful afternoon in the friends room of the Tate Modern drinking wine and just looking at the river and St. Paul's cathedral....Sheer bliss.
More end of years shows... Save me from student work, somebody please!!!
Beginning of July
I have made it through endless bland student shows and openings without a drop of booze to drink.. I don't know whether I deserve a medal or am stark raving mad. It's really difficult to deal with student work and disillusioned artists who have landed up teaching and doing very little work of their own, all in the same room together with out a drop of alcohol...
Have decided to divorce nearest and dearest in a rage of pique at his
non-participation in life. Told Bet my decision and she just rolled her
eyes in her head and asked me if I had thought beyond next week. ‘What
do you mean‘ I said all huffed up.
‘Well you are very dependent on the old boy for basic support.’
‘But all I am is just a glorified house keeper. We haven't had sex
for years. Even the collector is looking good these days.’
‘Let's go shopping. You'll feel better after shopping and a cake at
Maison Berteaux.’
Her answer to everything.
Went to a function at the Groucho Club.Can't remember what it was for even...Lowsy food and cheap wine.
Great invite to ex-student's party. He is now an intern at a London Hospital...Strange people but great Thai food cooked by one of the doctors.
July 12
Off to Canada for high school reunion, mother's 80th, and parent's 60th
wedding anniversary. I am not prepared for any of this at all. HELP!!!
Went to an abysmal opening at the South London Art gallery. So, so weak.
How do people like that get shows. Please tell me. Deliberately badly
drawn ballet dancers! UGH! Save us from Irony!!!
Near and Dear has stopped talking to me. It's hard to tell some times but basically he has stopped grunting or raising his eyebrow when asleep as an acknowledgment of my presence...believe me that is his version of stimulating conversation.
August 10
I have managed at last in my life to tell my mother to bugger off. How
my father ever managed to be married to her for 60 years defies belief.
Mind you, it helps that he has two hearing aids which remain more out than
in his ears. Enough of that. Suffice to say, I stayed with the ex and had
a great time. His niece the scientist lives with him as well and between
all my brothers as well as their children dropping into the house, life
became very full and happy for me. Life is strange. I had grown up
regarding myself as a bit of an ugly duckling for whatever reasons. The
high school reunion proved me wrong. It also showed me that other people's
perception of you can be radically different from your own. As I grew up
in a community that was very small and isolated, everybody knew each other
and all their family. So the reunion had elderly mums and dads taking
tickets at the door.
‘Hello there! How are you?’
‘Fine Mrs. Brodie’ I said to the ex-post mistress. I felt like
14 all over again,
‘And how's your mum and dad? Are all your brothers here?’
‘Yes’
‘Well, Don is over there talking to your brother and Glen said to
say hi to you if he can't find you tonight.’
‘Okay, Thanks!’
Even the principal of the Grade school came to the supper. As did the
history teacher who taught the full thirty years the school was open. It
was built for the baby boom - my generation - and when that was over it
was closed as a high school and used as a community college. Society
really didn't know what hit them when they were born. So many of them are
now in middle age!!!!
At the dinner dance an old class mate came up to me and said,
‘I shouldn't tell you this because my brother and his gang made me
promise not to but it’s thirty-five years ago. In grade Nine they all
thought you were the most glamorous girl there and couldn't understand why
you weren't put forward as a Freshy Queen candidate. They almost got it
together to nominate you but it was too late. They are sitting over there
now still talking about it.’
I was gob-smacked. I wondered out loud later to the ex how my life would
have changed if I had been nominated. Who knows I might not have had the
string of duff boyfriends or even married N & D. Who is to know! But
it sure made my night.
Relatives are weird and wonderful at the same time. It was very strange seeing four generations of my family all together at once. But extremely wonderful. My elder brother's family and the ex and I headed up to forest to the ex's cabin in the woods on the big Lake north of the city. Sheer bliss. I even didn't mind fending off the mosquitoes with a baseball bat. They were that big. What I asked myself am I doing in London in an unhappy marriage trying to survive as an aging artist. Should I sell up and come live in the back of beyond again? Would I get fed up of no stimulation and insane friends???
End of August
Back in London the thoughts were still going around in my head especially after the opening at Interim Art's new place, now relocated near the studio. The men behind the bar looked and dressed like undertakers especially after my fourth cranberry juice and vodka drink.....
Work at the studio is getting even more frantic with the Open Studios weekend less than three weeks off. The assistant has come back into my life. He is out of the loony bin and off his tranquilizers and sometimes happier than me. He has helped me so much recently, especially with the latest project involving the making of a plaster wedding dress. He is actually very good at thinking 3 dimensionally. In my madness I have painted the back wall of the studio bright pink.
September 1
Letter came in the post saying my evening course has been dropped. Shortlisted for a half-time lecturing job but did not get it. They appointed an internal candidate who was younger(and cheaper). I am getting really fed up with ageism.
Bet has gone on holiday to a Greek Island. G has gone on holiday to another Greek Island. So has Em and her boyfriend. Thank goodness there are a lot of Greek islands about. They all come back next week.
Near and dearest is 50th next week.
September 12
I sit awaiting the ex to come in from Heathrow. He should have been here
by now. The Open Studio went down a treat but as usual was very
exhausting. As usual I managed not to recognise the star celebrity that
walked into my studio. This well known man runs a string of the most
trendy restaurants in London. He was just standing there emanating power
as his minions scuttled about looking at my work. I offered to help them
but was curtly refused, so I offered him a grape. He looked at me with
large eyes.
‘I'll peel it for you!’ I offered with great irony.
He laughed and took a handful.
I offered his minion one as well but he refused saying he was on a diet
and walked out the door.
‘I removed the fat earlier,’ I yelled at him as he disappeared.
Only later did someone put me right when they also related the tale of
how he bought two CD's off the band and told them to keep the change from
a £100 bill.
See, there are some rich people who do have taste!
Copyright © : n.paradoxa, September 2000
N.Paradoxa : Issue No. 13, 2000