Escapology

In the basement I can still hear the sound of humming. I spent this morning carefully (at first) packing my sculptures for their journey to Aid & Abet. Each was individually wrapped, placed in its own little box and each in turn packed in a larger box. These boxes were then squeezed into a granny trolley which, because of its broken clasp was then bound with string and masking tape.



It was only when this final touch was added and I was about to hoist the whole lot over a tank of shark infested sulphuric acid that one of the sculptures sprang to life with a frantic banging and buzzing. Wires had crossed and the thing, whichever it was, was struggling to escape. I stayed in the basement for as long as I could stand it and then retired upstairs where I can still hear it's final death throes.

I am, or rather we are, not looking forward to tomorrow. At twelve there will be a meeting of all art and design staff at our place of work. We are to be told that the end is nigh. We must apply for our jobs and a number of us are to be culled. The question for some of us is: do we stay until our energy deserts us or take our chances and go?