take your fucking sunglasses off you’re on the underground jesus you’re dressed like some kind of middle-aged native-american obsessed tom cruise all twitchy and fidgety like you’re the pimp-daddy all swagger and head nodding to one side where did you get those moccasins? dreams of neil armstrong and buzz aldrin still orbit your brain the cold war never died you’ll kill a few commies but you’re quite into that hippy shit ‘save the planet but only for god-fearing decent white folk’
been very busy of late - working on exhibitions, working for other artists, working in galleries. working working working. i suppose it’s better than not working, which would mean not getting paid.
due to all this work i’ve had no time to blog, relax or prepare for our very imminent departure to st petersburg - the purpose of which is to celebrate my mother’s 60th birthday!
more updates when i recover.
intervention was completed last thursday, and the private view on friday night went really well. it was very busy and i got some great responses.
it has taken me until now to post this as i’ve been working at spruth magers gallery for the past three days helping to install the andreas gursky exhibition - three very large, framed photographs. so big they had to take the front window out to get them in.
it is now the fourth day of installing my work for the essa show. i’m knackered! i was working in the gallery until 9:30pm last night, making it the third 12hr day in a row. the work is benefitting from the extra hours though - it’s looking very good, if i do say so myself.
today should be the final day. there isn’t that much left to do. although whenever you think that there is always something extra - you get that little voice in the back of your mind saying ‘maybe i should just...’ and you end up working until half past nine at night.
i’m off to edinburgh on monday to set up my show at the rsa. the show opens on friday 16th so i’ve got my work cut out.
I walk into the post office. The queue is huge. It snakes around the cordoned route all the way to the entrance.
I can already hear her.
Quite a large lady. Middle-aged? Leisure-wear and bleach-blonde with black roots. Big curls in a top-knot.
She is effing and blinding right in the faces of a pair of women who are quite calm about it.
At first I think that the woman is rather animatedly telling them a story.
It soon becomes evident that she is not as she turns her attention to someone else.
‘Don’t fackin tell me ta calm darn you fackin calm darn I’ll rip ya fackin ead off bout calm darn who dya fink ya talkin to ya cant?’
Her swearing is relentless.
An older man looking at the greetings cards turns around.
‘I don’t think you should talk to people like that.’ He gently suggests.
‘I’ll fackin talk to people how I fackin like. Don’t you fackin tell me wot to do you should see my dad he’ll rip ya fackin ead off!’
She mutters more things under her breath. Tutting and swearing. Rolling her eyes.
She talks to anyone and everyone and has to have the last word. Even with herself.