Nearly Over

*sung to the tune of the old Blue Riband ad*
"I've got those, can't get enough of those,
Residency blues.
An openendedresidency is what I always choose.
When..."
O Christ alive shut up Alex.

It's all over. Yesterday we had a lovely time cycling through the incredibly crowded streets of Cambridge. Annabel took to ringing her bell constantly such that she sounded like a Trumpton fire engine. But all was to no avail, none moved aside, our progress was very very slow. We visited Kettles Yard and saw there a strange piece of fiction about von Ribbentrop and Wallace Simpson. Next door in the Folk Museum Annabel was delighted to find a boot belonging to the Giant of Histon, unfortunately it had shrunk over the years and was less impressive than I had hoped. She was less impressed with the cordial served in the museum's shop as it had been mixed to a homeopathic formula.







(the giant's pipe?)

Later, while waiting for the evening event to begin we lazed in the weakening sun by the banks of the Cam. There in clumps were other dilatorians. A group of shaven headed youths with their dogs and womenfolk threw bottles, swore and urinated. Closer to us, for we had chosen our spot carefully, were two women sharing a bottle of wine and a rather subdued birthday party consisting of a group of eighteensomething women and a token male who would not sit down for fear of dirtying his jeans. All were on their phones.

Back at Aid & Abet the musicians had arrived and begun their set up. Part of the ritual seemed to involve sitting at Annabel's table cutting up her things (using scissors bought to cut my hair) and using some of her work for roaches. Both too scared to say anything we rushed off to find help.

Later still. The event seemed to be going well, though a little tardily. I was talking to C and D about how much I had enjoyed my time. One man poked his head into the room in which we sat, took one look at my film, said "oh no I'll get a headache" and left.






(my stuff)

Meanwhile one of Annabel's moths began to break free from it's pupa. Annabel was seen wandering from group to group with the twitching thing in the palm of her hand.





(Annabel at work)

We left soon after. The moths are in our basement. I have only to plan how to get everything home again.





(Annabel drew this on the way home.)

Now in our back garden I am about to get a haircut, it may hurt.

Plug

I have taken to reading and commenting on the Market Project website. It's a good place for a little rant about things. There is humour too and not too much despair which is something I definitely approve of.

We are on the train again. Eta Aid & Abet 1245 where we will transform our residency spaces into subtly nuanced exhibitions. This will consist mainly of shoving everything closer to the wall so as to protect the work from drunken revellers (and visa versa).

Across from us a heavily made up business woman talks rapidly into her phone.

"it's not good enough, it's not good enough, it's not good enough..."

Thursday's Child

Homeward bound eating a thermonuclear pasty with dirty hands. It has been a good day though I missed the company of Annabel.

I've just passed a field of overweight men desperately trying to lift their guts out of the grass while a very upright individual stalks between them shouting (I assume).

Pause for a drink.

She has gone to London to meet an old friend of whom she seems particularly nervous. He is an extremely intense Yorkshire man who mumbles. I am imagining a cross between Geoffrey Boycott and Marlon Brando.

The girls to my left are swapping phones and giggling.

At Aid & Abet, my space hovers between installation and studio, a state I think is ok and even interesting. My attitude towards visitors is not good though. I tend to curl up and find something to stare at. Gareth is much better, he even does conversation. Tomorrow I must tidy up and condense for the closing event.









Annabel's moths and butterflies have all pupified (chrysalised?) we can only hope they will hatch for the closing event and flutter around our heads. It all hangs in the balance. An understated crescendo that may not even begin.



Amazingly I have also managed to make a couple of things of which I am reasonably happy. All my stuff has been very boysy. A plays with intricate living things, flowers and butterflies, I with machines, helicopters and adventure.

127 minutes

Last night I managed to darn most of the holes in my jumper while watching a silly boy hack his hand off. I thought the split screen fantasy guff a bit much and couldn't help thinking he was a bit of a twonk. Preparation is everything. The train to Cambridge is packed this morning yet I have a double seat to myself. I smiled snaggle toothed at every on I see, I am unshaven, hair unkempt, slacks unwashed and jumper unfinished. Undoubtably this is the way to go.

Useful Form

Waiting for God

Well that just takes the biscuit. I have chipped a tooth. Now, before me lies the long slow slide into the abyss of decrepitude. In a matter of days I shall be bothering young folk on buses with tales of my youth. "I used to have all my teeth you know."

I looked at my list this morning. It still contains entries such as, 'fix the curtains' and 'fill the brown bin' but other things have moved on, or disappeared. In fact there is nothing left. Or at least nothing art related. I now have: "find dentist","get ears syringed","research varicose veins".

I'm just waiting now, not for "the end" but rather responses from my various applications. I am not overly hopeful as I always find it difficult to come up with a good idea, especially for residencies. I get lots of ideas but they never seem good or appropriate or legal.

I am back to Aid and Abet on Thursday where I will be mostly tidying up. There will be a need for space and I have taken most of it. Annabel (in full phd frenzy) will wait another day.

Alex and Annabel's "Remember the picture game"