Tuesday 30th January
Started the morning positively and buffed the first layer of wax off the plaster bullet. Applied second layer and then went to the seminar. Not much was said but the group talked about the show and location problems. This spurred me on to get phoning that afternoon, which I did.
Spoke to Simon regards situation Leeds and got the same old story of ums and errs. Left a message for Andy Abbot and he confirmed the generally slow pace and indecision. Still doesn’t sound positive however and it looks like myself and Rona will be showing separately from the Situation Leeds show.
Spleen vented. I returned to the workshop and chatted to a number of people. Had to leave early to clean up the house and car before she arrives tomorrow. Can’t wait to see her.
I explained to Emma I would be in London at the Kiefer show on the Tuesday so probably not able to present, said I would try to put down onto DVD instead, to show in my absence but we will see how much time I will have for this. Need to print off selected work, record a reading, download file and then marry to images as well as produce more images and place in some video footage of the riots in Amsterdam, thieving the Banksy and the war window. I hope I can do all of this in time, as it would be better than just standing in front of the class myself.
Fran took the wooden penis I carved last year for this Thursday’s fundraiser at the Broodenel or some such venue. It will be raffled off at the “get your cock out to rock out” night. I shall have to pass by if I can persuade her to come. Might be a problem.
Home cleaning followed by work cleaning. Lawrence of Zimbabwe and Wellington of South Africa could still not believe that Tracy of Middleton calls her husband "Wanka". They have been laughing about that for two days now. Nothing like experiencing different cultures.
I will not be adding to this blog now for some time. I will be busy having life affirming experiences, grab it while you can...
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
27th & 28th January
I spent Saturday in the library as Jamie was Ill so there was no contact. Got some useful work done on this blog. Spent the evening reading and making more notes at home.
Picked my parents up from the airport at 11.45pm, later than planed, had a good chat and a couple of beers with the old man once I got them home, and then straight to bed.
Woke in the morning had breakfast and then went off to see my grandfather in hospital. We sat and talked for a while. He said he had never experienced so much pain as he was in right now and that the medication was pissing him off making him "bilious".
In 15 years of severe pain caused by having his rectum removed because of cancer my grandfather has not once resorted to using pain killers. But then my grandfather is a bread of man not long for the Western world. 50 years in the pit give or take several out for bad behaviour, meant that even in his 60s he was a man feared and respected by all other men in the village. Now 88, the once raging inferno is now a mere flame. The blue scars still remain however, Tattoos from a harder life.
“The coal dust of which the air underground is full enters every cut and then the skin grows over it and then forms a blue stain like tattooing, which in fact it is.” (31)
We talked a little about the operation and about his recovery and then talked football quickly followed by stories about working underground. I mentioned my plan to capture his memories on tape but I don’t think he understood what I meant. He did however say this.
“I worked in seven pits and there was only ever one man who could fill his packs quicker than me, he was a Pole. (and with genuine respect) the Poles are really tough you know”.
“It is impossible to watch the fillers at work without feeling a pang of envy for their toughness. It is a dreadful job that they do, an almost superhuman job by the standards of an ordinary person. (He continues) They really do look like iron- hammered iron statues- under the smooth coat of coal dust which clings to them from head to foot.” (32)
My parents soon arrived along with my sister Sam her husband Neil and the two boys. Luckily I had some sweets to keep them occupied together with some tall stories. I think if I told them the sun came up everyday they would not believe me anymore. This time I told them a story that involved me working as a clown for the Moscow state circus and the strong man (drunk on vodka) tipping my caravan over as a prank. Whilst this did not happen to me, it did actually happen to an acquaintance working in the orchestra for the Moscow State circus at the time. When we went outside Ben the youngest asked what the thing on the back of my car was, I explained it was for pulling my caravan, now did they believe my story. The two boys 5 and 3 looked at each other back at me and then back at the car but did not answer.
Returned home and went to the library, spent four hours writing and re editing the draft blog only for my computer to crash taking all my work with it, shit!
Went for an all you can eat Chinese at Maxis to cheer myself up, read Nietzsche while I ate, fuck it!
Home and the final of celebrity big brother. The nation expunged its racist guilt by voting for the Asian Girl.
Bed.
-------------------------------------------------------
(31) George Orwell “The roar to Wigan Pier” pp32 (32) pp 20-21
I spent Saturday in the library as Jamie was Ill so their was no contact. Got some useful work done on this blog. Spent the evening reading and making more notes at home.
I spent Saturday in the library as Jamie was Ill so there was no contact. Got some useful work done on this blog. Spent the evening reading and making more notes at home.
Picked my parents up from the airport at 11.45pm, later than planed, had a good chat and a couple of beers with the old man once I got them home, and then straight to bed.
Woke in the morning had breakfast and then went off to see my grandfather in hospital. We sat and talked for a while. He said he had never experienced so much pain as he was in right now and that the medication was pissing him off making him "bilious".
In 15 years of severe pain caused by having his rectum removed because of cancer my grandfather has not once resorted to using pain killers. But then my grandfather is a bread of man not long for the Western world. 50 years in the pit give or take several out for bad behaviour, meant that even in his 60s he was a man feared and respected by all other men in the village. Now 88, the once raging inferno is now a mere flame. The blue scars still remain however, Tattoos from a harder life.
“The coal dust of which the air underground is full enters every cut and then the skin grows over it and then forms a blue stain like tattooing, which in fact it is.” (31)
We talked a little about the operation and about his recovery and then talked football quickly followed by stories about working underground. I mentioned my plan to capture his memories on tape but I don’t think he understood what I meant. He did however say this.
“I worked in seven pits and there was only ever one man who could fill his packs quicker than me, he was a Pole. (and with genuine respect) the Poles are really tough you know”.
“It is impossible to watch the fillers at work without feeling a pang of envy for their toughness. It is a dreadful job that they do, an almost superhuman job by the standards of an ordinary person. (He continues) They really do look like iron- hammered iron statues- under the smooth coat of coal dust which clings to them from head to foot.” (32)
My parents soon arrived along with my sister Sam her husband Neil and the two boys. Luckily I had some sweets to keep them occupied together with some tall stories. I think if I told them the sun came up everyday they would not believe me anymore. This time I told them a story that involved me working as a clown for the Moscow state circus and the strong man (drunk on vodka) tipping my caravan over as a prank. Whilst this did not happen to me, it did actually happen to an acquaintance working in the orchestra for the Moscow State circus at the time. When we went outside Ben the youngest asked what the thing on the back of my car was, I explained it was for pulling my caravan, now did they believe my story. The two boys 5 and 3 looked at each other back at me and then back at the car but did not answer.
Returned home and went to the library, spent four hours writing and re editing the draft blog only for my computer to crash taking all my work with it, shit!
Went for an all you can eat Chinese at Maxis to cheer myself up, read Nietzsche while I ate, fuck it!
Home and the final of celebrity big brother. The nation expunged its racist guilt by voting for the Asian Girl.
Bed.
-------------------------------------------------------
(31) George Orwell “The roar to Wigan Pier” pp32 (32) pp 20-21
I spent Saturday in the library as Jamie was Ill so their was no contact. Got some useful work done on this blog. Spent the evening reading and making more notes at home.
Friday, January 26, 2007
26th January
Had a tutorial with Emma about this blog and more precisely the practice in context. She was pleased and had useful suggestions of other artists I might want to look at and also read. We had a friendly chat about both the blog and connected themes. I tend to waffle and deviate from the subject but Emma was positive that I was on the right track and that with some tuning, deeper reading and application I could turn out a half decent work. Probably the most positive thing I’ve ever experienced concerning anything I have written, so the rest of the morning was spent slightly satisfied and a little smug.
Home, shop, car wash and clean followed by work and a call to Jamie who is Ill. Poor baby. Change all my plans for the weekend and decide to see granddad in hospital and pick up my parents from the airport instead.
I will go home and have a drink now I will not get to see my son tomorrow. But I will go to the library and type these very words instead.
I spoke to her today; she now sounds so near, talking about visiting St Andrews to see her old PHD tutor and also a trip to London. I can’t wait to see her, this time I will be on my best behaviour. Nothing but good memories if I can help it.
Had a tutorial with Emma about this blog and more precisely the practice in context. She was pleased and had useful suggestions of other artists I might want to look at and also read. We had a friendly chat about both the blog and connected themes. I tend to waffle and deviate from the subject but Emma was positive that I was on the right track and that with some tuning, deeper reading and application I could turn out a half decent work. Probably the most positive thing I’ve ever experienced concerning anything I have written, so the rest of the morning was spent slightly satisfied and a little smug.
Home, shop, car wash and clean followed by work and a call to Jamie who is Ill. Poor baby. Change all my plans for the weekend and decide to see granddad in hospital and pick up my parents from the airport instead.
I will go home and have a drink now I will not get to see my son tomorrow. But I will go to the library and type these very words instead.
I spoke to her today; she now sounds so near, talking about visiting St Andrews to see her old PHD tutor and also a trip to London. I can’t wait to see her, this time I will be on my best behaviour. Nothing but good memories if I can help it.
25th January
A good day, very well used. Woke early, some nightmares but nothing too sinister, got to school on time and went straight to it. Worked on the baseball bats all day. Stopped to discuss the Quran once more with Hammam. I said I would use a brass plaque instead of the Quran, Hammam said "Why censure yourself".
At lunch I fixed my wing mirror previously kicked off my car by local "Hoodies". Super glued all the pieces I could find back together and left to dry. I finished the first four bats and then cut out and glued the next three. Started to take step by step pictures of the process behind the making as I think it is worth noting and presenting back later in the form of a series of stills or a DVD maybe.
I had set my alarm for 3.30 to let me know when to leave. I finished the gluing and clamping of the last three bats and then cleaned up. I create so much debris and dust making these bats that my very good friendship with Dave the technician is being stretched to breaking point. Everything is left covered in a thick dust and there is little or no ventilation, essentially I am killing Dave slowly and he doesn’t like it.
As I stepped out of the building the alarm went off to tell me I should be leaving the building. The weekends events were now well behind me.
Home, work, home and dipping into "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" a book I had previously read whilst writing my Politics dissertation on the anarchist movement within the Spanish Civil War. So much time had elapsed since then and so much had happened in my life that I came to this work anew and fresh. I should have started earlier.
I put the book down and willed what little power I had left to help me watch the start of some film with Matt Damon in, playing a conjoined twin for laughs. The truth of which is that there were some laughs, although very juvenile.
A good day, very well used. Woke early, some nightmares but nothing too sinister, got to school on time and went straight to it. Worked on the baseball bats all day. Stopped to discuss the Quran once more with Hammam. I said I would use a brass plaque instead of the Quran, Hammam said "Why censure yourself".
At lunch I fixed my wing mirror previously kicked off my car by local "Hoodies". Super glued all the pieces I could find back together and left to dry. I finished the first four bats and then cut out and glued the next three. Started to take step by step pictures of the process behind the making as I think it is worth noting and presenting back later in the form of a series of stills or a DVD maybe.
I had set my alarm for 3.30 to let me know when to leave. I finished the gluing and clamping of the last three bats and then cleaned up. I create so much debris and dust making these bats that my very good friendship with Dave the technician is being stretched to breaking point. Everything is left covered in a thick dust and there is little or no ventilation, essentially I am killing Dave slowly and he doesn’t like it.
As I stepped out of the building the alarm went off to tell me I should be leaving the building. The weekends events were now well behind me.
Home, work, home and dipping into "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" a book I had previously read whilst writing my Politics dissertation on the anarchist movement within the Spanish Civil War. So much time had elapsed since then and so much had happened in my life that I came to this work anew and fresh. I should have started earlier.
I put the book down and willed what little power I had left to help me watch the start of some film with Matt Damon in, playing a conjoined twin for laughs. The truth of which is that there were some laughs, although very juvenile.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
24th January
Despite all of the staff at work being off, either sick or on holiday and me doing their jobs, coupled with another poor nights sleep, racked with nightmares about dwarfs trying to kill me and some other bizarre stuff, I managed to start the day at full throttle.
Hit the studio at 9 am and full of Americano was straight into the workshop and straight onto the baseball bats. Cutting, plaining and sanding all day. Early doors I caught the I.T guy (Paul) and collared him about my hard drive, by lunch it was fixed and I was back in business. At about 10am Hammam entered the workshop and I asked him what he would think If I covered the Quran in resin (resin came to mind when clearing up a mess left by Helen Kaplinski in the casting room) along with other significant texts that have been used for good and for bad (over simplification I know). He looked at me as he so often does, like I was an idiot. He would not like me to use it, he said. Adding "no one would see it anyway" a jibe at me if their ever was one.
I explained that the shortlist of books that would be put into resin on certain pages would be the following.
Mien Kampf
Das Kapital
The Bible
The Quaran
Sprak Zarathustra
I need to research more and read more thoughrouly before completing the list and so completing the baseball bat rack. I know what I am doing even if others don’t or don’t care.(no this is a crap idea)
Worked on the computer over lunch and then printed off images of my work for Simon Lewandowski. In the afternoon I finished in the workshop before returning home for a sandwich and then off to work.
Despite all of the staff at work being off, either sick or on holiday and me doing their jobs, coupled with another poor nights sleep, racked with nightmares about dwarfs trying to kill me and some other bizarre stuff, I managed to start the day at full throttle.
Hit the studio at 9 am and full of Americano was straight into the workshop and straight onto the baseball bats. Cutting, plaining and sanding all day. Early doors I caught the I.T guy (Paul) and collared him about my hard drive, by lunch it was fixed and I was back in business. At about 10am Hammam entered the workshop and I asked him what he would think If I covered the Quran in resin (resin came to mind when clearing up a mess left by Helen Kaplinski in the casting room) along with other significant texts that have been used for good and for bad (over simplification I know). He looked at me as he so often does, like I was an idiot. He would not like me to use it, he said. Adding "no one would see it anyway" a jibe at me if their ever was one.
I explained that the shortlist of books that would be put into resin on certain pages would be the following.
Mien Kampf
Das Kapital
The Bible
The Quaran
Sprak Zarathustra
I need to research more and read more thoughrouly before completing the list and so completing the baseball bat rack. I know what I am doing even if others don’t or don’t care.(no this is a crap idea)
Worked on the computer over lunch and then printed off images of my work for Simon Lewandowski. In the afternoon I finished in the workshop before returning home for a sandwich and then off to work.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
23rd January
I’ve lost the plot now with this fucking blog. Before Christmas it was all so disciplined but since returning I have found it increasingly difficult to maintain the blog. However, the blog (“Practice in Context”) does now seem to go hand in hand with my actual practice, one influencing the other and vice-versa.
My practice is also taking a hit concerning the level of productivity. The plaster bullet is ready but John the technician is away all week and he needs to take me through the fibre glassing stage. My metal cast bullets are ready to cast but the equipment has failed. My computer work needs doing but my hard drive has given up the ghost, all that’s left for me is to read and to make baseball bats.
I carried out experiments using lazertran yesterday and decided that this was the way forward for now. The seven sins will be represented by seven baseball bats on a rack. What the rack will be constructed of I do not yet know. Books cast in resin or some such thing. The lazertran enables me to intricately decorate the baseball bats. Simon later told me of an artist he had seen over Christmas in Holland or Belgian. w Brian Jungen makes bats and also stencills words into them (more research is required) We also had a conversation about situation Leeds. I told him to check out the plaster bullet in the casting room.
Brian Jungen
I had a meeting this morning with the rest of the year. Just a catch up really. I think everyone is suffering the same winter blues. My blues have been made much worse by my own stupid behaviour.
I went to see my grandparents on Friday for my Grandmas birthday I then stayed with my parents and went out for a few sherbets with my dad. I got him talking about the pit and said I would have to record his memories before they had disappeared. He said I need my mum’s fathers as he worked underground before mechanisation.
“In a way it is even humiliating to watch coal miners working. It raises in you a momentary doubt about your own status as an intellectual and as a superior person generally. For it is brought home to you at least while you are watching, that it is only because miners sweet their guts out that superior persons can remain superior.” (29)
A statement that can be applied to almost all manual labourers.
My Grandfather goes in for an op next week; I do hope we get a chance to do it... I was pissed when we got home and still a little delicate in the morning when driving my parents to the airport in Liverpool. Following the airport trip I drove down the road into Liverpool itself to visit Rob and Linda. Rob was flush with a new job at a big up and coming internet company "Head of mobile communications" and all the money that comes with that sort of title. The Porsche 911 is already booked.
Rob and Linda married several years ago in NYC. I stayed over by myself after the wedding and once I had done most of the museums and galleries as well as going to a game at The Garden, I ended up in a bar drinking with some guy who worked on the set of “The Soprano’s”. The following morning I was trying to walk off my hangover in the Park when it started to rain heavily. I ran out of the park across the street and into the Guggenheim, which I had yet to visit. This was my introduction to the “Chremaster Cycles” by Mathew Barney.
“Barnys visual language is Protean: drawing and film unite to engender photography and sculpture, which in turn produce more drawing and film, in an incestuous intermingling of materials that defies any hierarchy of artistic mediums.” (30)
.
Barny's show had a profound influence over my practice. Whilst not dealing with the same or even similar subject matter, I never the less found his method of working and displaying incredibly interesting. Witnessing the show inside the Guggenheim made me realise the importance of the building or environment in which the work is situated effecting how the viewer approaches and reads the work. I also found the grandly theatrical nature of the show very appetising, placing the viewer inside the work. The disused church (St Marks) is therefore an integral part of my work. The Phenomenological experience of encountering the repeated casts inside the Church and what this means to each individual viewer. The Social/ institutional is about the congregation or the lack of. The local community as part of wider society or individual constituent. The discursive element asks questions about faith, science, hierarchies of power and belief. What is the piece saying? Greenberg would have classed it as “Theatre” and not art. But this does not bother me.
Rob and Linda had guests staying and nagged me to stay also. After several hours I gave in. A quick trip to the pub to watch the Hammers was followed by their guest’s arrival, introductions dinner and then the other. By the time the Ricky Hatton fight had come on I had lost my sight and was only conscious of someone’s breath on my neck throughout the night until 7 in the morning. I woke the following afternoon, confused and somewhat distressed. I placed on my shoes, thanked my hosts and glided back across the Pennines, a nice trip if not a little dangerous at points. I sorted the house out and then went down the pub to watch the Arsenal Man U game. Great game and I needed the drink to quieten my mind. I went home and slept roughly until the following morning.
Fuck me! My mouth was in shreds and blisters and I could hardly open it for the self induced grinding lock jaw. My ears now rang and fizzed making me dizzy and after some thought remembered that breath on my neck all of Saturday night and Sunday morning, realizing it had been produced by the stereo speaker sat directly behind my head, relentlessly pumping out hard house (not my cup of tea really).
The next two days would be spent in some kind of physical and mental turmoil. Not knowing what to eat, when to eat or weather I could eat. Not sleeping but when I did, having nightmares.
Not waking but when I did, doing so too late or far too early. I will spend the next weeks trying to sweet it out a little ready for her arrival from Hong Kong.
“Only the pervasive fantasy can still save us”
---------------------------------------------------
(29) George Orwell “The roar to Wigan Pier” pp31 (30) Mathew Barny’s “Cremaster Cycles” pp1
I’ve lost the plot now with this fucking blog. Before Christmas it was all so disciplined but since returning I have found it increasingly difficult to maintain the blog. However, the blog (“Practice in Context”) does now seem to go hand in hand with my actual practice, one influencing the other and vice-versa.
My practice is also taking a hit concerning the level of productivity. The plaster bullet is ready but John the technician is away all week and he needs to take me through the fibre glassing stage. My metal cast bullets are ready to cast but the equipment has failed. My computer work needs doing but my hard drive has given up the ghost, all that’s left for me is to read and to make baseball bats.
I carried out experiments using lazertran yesterday and decided that this was the way forward for now. The seven sins will be represented by seven baseball bats on a rack. What the rack will be constructed of I do not yet know. Books cast in resin or some such thing. The lazertran enables me to intricately decorate the baseball bats. Simon later told me of an artist he had seen over Christmas in Holland or Belgian. w Brian Jungen makes bats and also stencills words into them (more research is required) We also had a conversation about situation Leeds. I told him to check out the plaster bullet in the casting room.
Brian Jungen
I had a meeting this morning with the rest of the year. Just a catch up really. I think everyone is suffering the same winter blues. My blues have been made much worse by my own stupid behaviour.
I went to see my grandparents on Friday for my Grandmas birthday I then stayed with my parents and went out for a few sherbets with my dad. I got him talking about the pit and said I would have to record his memories before they had disappeared. He said I need my mum’s fathers as he worked underground before mechanisation.
“In a way it is even humiliating to watch coal miners working. It raises in you a momentary doubt about your own status as an intellectual and as a superior person generally. For it is brought home to you at least while you are watching, that it is only because miners sweet their guts out that superior persons can remain superior.” (29)
A statement that can be applied to almost all manual labourers.
My Grandfather goes in for an op next week; I do hope we get a chance to do it... I was pissed when we got home and still a little delicate in the morning when driving my parents to the airport in Liverpool. Following the airport trip I drove down the road into Liverpool itself to visit Rob and Linda. Rob was flush with a new job at a big up and coming internet company "Head of mobile communications" and all the money that comes with that sort of title. The Porsche 911 is already booked.
Rob and Linda married several years ago in NYC. I stayed over by myself after the wedding and once I had done most of the museums and galleries as well as going to a game at The Garden, I ended up in a bar drinking with some guy who worked on the set of “The Soprano’s”. The following morning I was trying to walk off my hangover in the Park when it started to rain heavily. I ran out of the park across the street and into the Guggenheim, which I had yet to visit. This was my introduction to the “Chremaster Cycles” by Mathew Barney.
“Barnys visual language is Protean: drawing and film unite to engender photography and sculpture, which in turn produce more drawing and film, in an incestuous intermingling of materials that defies any hierarchy of artistic mediums.” (30)
.
Barny's show had a profound influence over my practice. Whilst not dealing with the same or even similar subject matter, I never the less found his method of working and displaying incredibly interesting. Witnessing the show inside the Guggenheim made me realise the importance of the building or environment in which the work is situated effecting how the viewer approaches and reads the work. I also found the grandly theatrical nature of the show very appetising, placing the viewer inside the work. The disused church (St Marks) is therefore an integral part of my work. The Phenomenological experience of encountering the repeated casts inside the Church and what this means to each individual viewer. The Social/ institutional is about the congregation or the lack of. The local community as part of wider society or individual constituent. The discursive element asks questions about faith, science, hierarchies of power and belief. What is the piece saying? Greenberg would have classed it as “Theatre” and not art. But this does not bother me.
Rob and Linda had guests staying and nagged me to stay also. After several hours I gave in. A quick trip to the pub to watch the Hammers was followed by their guest’s arrival, introductions dinner and then the other. By the time the Ricky Hatton fight had come on I had lost my sight and was only conscious of someone’s breath on my neck throughout the night until 7 in the morning. I woke the following afternoon, confused and somewhat distressed. I placed on my shoes, thanked my hosts and glided back across the Pennines, a nice trip if not a little dangerous at points. I sorted the house out and then went down the pub to watch the Arsenal Man U game. Great game and I needed the drink to quieten my mind. I went home and slept roughly until the following morning.
Fuck me! My mouth was in shreds and blisters and I could hardly open it for the self induced grinding lock jaw. My ears now rang and fizzed making me dizzy and after some thought remembered that breath on my neck all of Saturday night and Sunday morning, realizing it had been produced by the stereo speaker sat directly behind my head, relentlessly pumping out hard house (not my cup of tea really).
The next two days would be spent in some kind of physical and mental turmoil. Not knowing what to eat, when to eat or weather I could eat. Not sleeping but when I did, having nightmares.
Not waking but when I did, doing so too late or far too early. I will spend the next weeks trying to sweet it out a little ready for her arrival from Hong Kong.
“Only the pervasive fantasy can still save us”
---------------------------------------------------
(29) George Orwell “The roar to Wigan Pier” pp31 (30) Mathew Barny’s “Cremaster Cycles” pp1
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Wednesday 17 January
Shit! has it been that long since I last signed in to the blog? Anyway here’s a summery of the events of my life and work since the last post. The two weeks before Christmas were a non stop blur of working three jobs. Van driver by day toilet cleaner by evening and parcel thrower by night (stop if you've heard this before). The guys at parcel force were a friendly bunch. I have since had contact with a Zimbabwean called Admore, sound chap.
Went out with Jake and joy on the Friday before Christmas after finishing work. Good night out, I woke to find Nathan and Hung (his new Vietnamese wife) sat downstairs fresh from the airport. She was here to see Nathan’s step dad as he was now not long for this world. Top bloke in his late forties dieing of bowl cancer.
Myself and Nathan had fallen out a number of times over the two things that men fall out over, but each time we forgave and forget. Now we just prod each other with light verbal barbs.
Christmas Eve, went for a drink with the old man, he’s getting old, and 3 pints is now his limit. Christmas day was nice but stressful. So many family members so many problem cases including myself. We all gathered around at my sister’s house. The most normal person in the family. She has a lovely old farm house in a quite part of Cheshire so there is room for everyone to stay out of each others way.
My cousin arrived with her Pakistani husband (who is already married) whom she had left once this year and told us all how terrible he was. Still it was all a vast improvement on the previous year (two houses got torched - long storey) My grandfather continued to tell everyone about all the people who had died before him. He won’t be happy until he’s beaten us all. My grandmother continued to make faces behind his back and no one spoke of my third aunt who will not come up at Christmas due to the argument I have caused. Still, a fun day. I got to speak to Jamie and wish him all the best and that was all that mattered to me.
Mooched, and worked occasionally between Christmas and New Year. Had Jamie for three days up to New Years Eve. We had a great time. Opened Christmas presents spent time playing with my sisters boys went to the cinema had Chinese, watched DVDs and just chilled.
New Year’s eve I returned home at 9.30 got changed and headed to Mark and Tracy’s where everyone was already, mashed. I started to tan the lagers and vodka and Red Bulls. Not a bad night and not to expensive for New Years Eve. The following morning I got up and walked the 6 miles to Marks house to retrieve the car only to return and get a call from Alex asking for a lift back there to retrieve his wallet. My teeth still hurt from all the Red Bull.
I returned to the studio on the 2nd and started to potter. I found it immensely difficult to get back into the flow and in fact it was not until half way through last week that I started to make any impact on my practice.
I managed to get the plaster bullet cut on the wheel that I had constructed in the casting room. I spoke with Mat Ward, the university Chaplin who paid a flying visit and also spoke to David Calder and then Peter Mojsa of the Diocese. I have since sent emails to the development firm who will be making the purchase of St Marks and hopefully will get a response shortly.
Yesterday was the half year review and Emma and Richard seemed very positive especially about the large plaster bullets. Richard had some great ideas and we talked about how the bullets would be situated. Emma also made some positive comments about my practice in context work. I was very pleased by the end of the day. Lots more work to do though.
Work last night and a good chat with the new porter Lawrence. A Zimbabwean starting a Business masters in September. We talked politics and about his experiences in the UK. I think I was the first person in over two weeks of him working in the building to ask where he was from and show an interest. I am sure the other staff just see a black man and then shut off. After all, Africans are Africans, right?
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