WALLY'S BLOG 2014
December 31
A GOOD YEAR
this one was, in its little way. Productive and encouraging. Nice new directions, ideas, locations, people. Frustrating too. Increasingly challenging, ultimately disappointing. Needless to say, financially rubbish. Break-throughs and swamps, stone-walls and promises. And always that bit missing. That hole others fill with football and gods and food and booze. As many dreams as ever, plans and targets, but little actual work. Muscle turning to jelly. As much TV as eye-balls can appreciate, and tea, and computer time, and beer, and more tea on comfy sofas. Flashes of brilliance squandered or stored away for the future. Weakness, maturity, optimism... up down, up down. Keep on ducking and diving.
A GOOD YEAR
this one was, in its little way. Productive and encouraging. Nice new directions, ideas, locations, people. Frustrating too. Increasingly challenging, ultimately disappointing. Needless to say, financially rubbish. Break-throughs and swamps, stone-walls and promises. And always that bit missing. That hole others fill with football and gods and food and booze. As many dreams as ever, plans and targets, but little actual work. Muscle turning to jelly. As much TV as eye-balls can appreciate, and tea, and computer time, and beer, and more tea on comfy sofas. Flashes of brilliance squandered or stored away for the future. Weakness, maturity, optimism... up down, up down. Keep on ducking and diving.
December 10
UNDERSTANDABLY
Maya didn't want to attend Thursday's opening wearing a costume, two-headed or otherwise. Maybe next year. Meanwhile we need a photographer. But it's a hard one, this. A hefty idea.
December 1
ROYAL ACADEMY APPLICATION
Yes, Maya and I have both applied, R.B. too. We just caught the deadline. Typical. A lot of work that was! Peter Dennis (sorry, Dr Peter Dennis for some time now) wrote my reference, doing a far better job than my hash of an artist's statement. He said that together they work well; the informed academic and the eccentric artist. Let's see. Meanwhile, on Thursday we exhibit three prints at the Depozitory in Ryde. That will be my third exhibition in the UK. Gosh we are coming along. As for the Costume for Two, the message is: man loves wife enough to join her inside her traditionally solitary garment. I've checked and haven't found reference to such a thing anywhere, but I could be wrong.
November 13
FOUND THIS
at high tide today on Shanklin beach. Could be the new prop I've been looking for. We like the last picture. It's still wet, too heavy to drag around, so I hope it dries out. If it doesn't lighten up I could hollow it out. Or sling it away and find a better one. Maya and I were joined by Flo and Maxi, over from Switzerland for a few days. Maxi's been in the Highlands where it rained a lot, just like here, and Flo just made the midnight ferry from Portsmouth last night after driving non-stop from Zurich. Safe to say they are happy to see one another, and we are happy to see them. First guests at our little cliff-top lodge. Not the last I hope. (Come on Liam, get down here. Plenty of room for you all. And the cat. And you Peter Dennis.) Yesterday Rachel dropped in for a cup of tea and a meeting about the shop-windows project. That will be good if it works. All hopes now pinned on Jack and the Ventnor Exchange. She suggested we apply to enroll at the Royal Academy where, amazingly, there aren't any fees. So Maya and I looked at the paperwork. Which is about as far as I usually get. But it's a fine idea, although they only offer 17 places if I understand it correctly, which I probably don't. Either way the chances of all three of us getting in and moving up to London together and having a fine old time living together while becoming famous automatically for even attending the Royal Academy must be ten or twelve million to one. Which doesn't mean we shouldn't try, I suppose. Although I'd rather play with driftwood.
November 10
INTERESTING NEWS
I may build another "Chapel of the Loving Atheist" in the basement of a former chapel, now the Repozitory in Ryde, for the Ryde Arts Festival in Summer 2015. I'm starting already to collect more names to be ""immortalised" in the new wall paintings. Those which got included in the Zurich installation will go up anyway. More on this to follow. A lot more public involvement would be expected than we achieved at our little Zurich studio. Thanks to Chris and Jo for considering it.
November 7
THE COPS EXPLAINED
that two days before Remembrance Sunday they are on high alert, so weirdos like us dressing up for a photo shoot at a war memorial probably would get attention. We couldn't believe how quickly they turned up. They were fine about it, but interested to know what the white sheet was about. I told them it was my prop, a duvet actually, and that sometimes I use a red bucket. We could have carried on, but a sudden shower stopped play. Anyway, the sun had been popping in and out of fast clouds so the shadows were problematic. With still a lot to do, White October has been extended beyond October. But we like the title, which remains the same. The alternative, "Duvet Dude", lacks gravity.
October 30
I USED TO RESENT
explosion of Halloween as imported by the USA, which is massive now in the UK and elsewhere (i.e. commercially massive) but on consideration, why bloody not. People long for dates to celebrate, and any celebration which can rival Christmas, but without the religious nonsense attached to it, involving fun, friends and dressing up, and not solemnly designed to make us feel guilty and small, gets my stamp of approval. Apart from that, I've only just worked out why witches are supposed to ride broomsticks. Roll on the next silly excuse for a party.
October 28
SECOND CLEAR BLUE DAY
today, as warm as Summer. But little activity outside the brain and some lovely coastal walks. Financial worries and still no job. Good to see Mike and the kids though, down on half-term, fishing, running in and out of the cold sea. He's quite down himself actually, but that's nothing new. At least he likes his work.
October 24
BLEAK WEATHER STILL
So no new photos. But some interesting possibilities on the conjure-out-of-nothing gallery front. Could call it Paradox Island. Off to Sandown to meet Simon Avery this afternoon, and Ventnor next week to meet Rachel Berry and someone she suggests is well connected with properties. She likes the idea of "the only conceptual gallery on the Island". I still like the "One Work Gallery". It should be both, plus a shop area for prints etc., which can be tiny. Either way I can't start anything on my own. As for the job front, something will come up. But a more reluctant applicant there never was.
Here's a Facebook post:
"I'm running an unfunded 24-hour-a-day workshop at the moment called "How To Build The Only Conceptual Art Gallery On The Isle Of Wight Quickly From Scratch With No Capital And No Physical Artworks To Start With". It's free to take part, just send me a message explaining your involvement."
October 21
BRITAIN HAS CAUGHT
the tail end of Hurricane Gonzalo. It came across the Atlantic on the jet stream mainly to batter the North and Wales. A woman died in London when a tree fell on her. Though very windy it's still idyllic down here, stupidly mild for October. (Everyone discusses the weather.) We started out for a walk in the afternoon, reached the front gate, and dad's favourite umbrella sprang half its spokes. I hardly know how to tell him. But the sky was blue and the sun was bright (is there another way to say that?) and we managed to find the little church Mum mentioned, St. Blasius, on the way out of Shanklin. It was as pretty as expected, like everything else around here. There were, however, no angels in the graveyard, making it useless for our specific purpose. We shall check out the other graveyards as we discover them. Down on the beach the tide was out at its furthest, which we haven't seen until now. Everything shone and glistened, and all those deteriorating groynes! A perfect day, then, for making pictures. But all was succumbing to the long cliff shadows, which moved in so quickly you could almost see it, about as fast as the tide was charging in from the other direction. So, too late for photos. Early birds we are not. That was a shame as I'm well behind schedule, aiming at twelve pictures by the end of White October. The weather's been grotty and only five are done. We should get down there for 4pm, next time the sun appears. For this project, finding locations is a real pleasure. I'm a born location scout, and should get paid for it. Ha. On the Island we are surrounded by beauty, man-made and natural. The challenging bit is finding something new to do with this silly duvet. The bucket was a lot more suitable for getting things done fast, the way I like it. Once again I'll be glad to be rid of this latest prop, my self-imposed restriction, and replace it with the next Thing. I'm still working out what that might be. It ought to be the 3d-printed head, but I'm still penniless. No encouraging sponsoring replies yet.
October 9
MOVED
into our winter abode this afternoon, at posh cliff-top mansion Luccombe Villa behind Shanklin old village. Or rather, one of the winter-let apartments built onto the side of it. We feel already like game-keeper and house-keeper dwelling in a cheap Victorian novel. This was after a couple of weeks at Mum and Dads', which tops up the batteries like nothing else. We got straight into looking for a flat on the Island, leaving for now London adventures until next year. Anyway, the Smoke is just a couple of hours away and we'll be up for occasional excursions. I'll be contacting London galleries from here, between finding some work and White October shoots; and more of Mum's famous dinners. As it happens Louise and Paul have been staying there too, while moving into the semi-detached they just bought in Newport. Their furniture arrived yesterday. Our move was easier though. Two suitcases and the computer and Dad as chauffeur. We could be here as long a s March, let's see. I just worked out how to put the heating on, as the wind bashes the trees beyond our little balcony.
While Maya headed to the High Street for sponges and olive oil, I checked out the other direction. Two minutes from the cliff, the winding steps going down are the last along this part of the coast. It was wild down there, tide just going out. Signs here and there warn of falling rocks. I'm getting over a cold, but what the hell. The wind blew me about, and looking up from the bottom I realised I was at Luccombe Bay, scene of my never-to-be-finished Cliff Falls painting. Slap in the middle of it, like standing in a distant dream. So different from where we had planned to be. But we are feeling relaxed. At least I was...
Big drama. Maya has begun to hoover. I gotta go buy some cheese.
October 2
SO MUCH FOR WEEBLY
Major bugs have cost me weeks of works, and I still can't get the pages how I want them. So excuse the many things not quite lining up, all looking not quite as lovely as it should. But still on it. What a slog. And what is wrong with these people, don't their programmers use their own software? Who's running this show!
Fantastic summer days. Getting a global warming tan. Hopping up to London again tomorrow at enormous expense for a couple of events and a night at Liam and Cordelias'. Have persuaded Maya meanwhile that we should be looking down here for a winter let apartment. Expanding to six months. We see another two tomorrow and some early next week. Hope that cracks it. We can then take London at ease and not in that terrible panic. Have slowly begun to contact galleries. (THIS FUCKING WESITE!)
September 25
FOR AN ENCOURAGING START
Tom at Gallery 223 answered from under his arch in the Lower Marsh, regarding my proposal to make an Atheist Chapel there. He will discuss it with the other owners. Back in Zurich, BB is being scheduled for a virtual appearance at the Rote Fabrik at the end of October. And here on the Island since yesterday we could cry with joy. Stuff it, let's look for a place here.
And decided on waking this glorious morning on a title for our forthcoming UK project:
"White October"
This involves a clean white sheet (I couldn't find a dirty one if I looked), a series of ugly and pretty locations, and Maya with or without a tripod.
September 22
IMPRESSIONS OF LONDON
Plenty so far, on a crash course A-Z refresher, looking at flats in what feels like just about every borough. Our week is nearly up with Mohammed and his family, which is bad news and wonderful too. They are lovely, but the place is grotty, and we avoid the kitchen as far as we can. The room is basic, minus luxuries like chair or table, but you can open the window to the fire-escape. That works. Amazingly we have wifi. The wardrobe is about to fall over so we don't put anything in it, I just use one of the draws for a table. The guys in two other rooms seem to be Spanish. On the rare occasion they appear, in order to swamp the bathroom usually, stale socks hit you in the face and you have to wonder how they survive.
As for the flat hunting, that's hardly better. Irish George showed us the most promising studio flat this afternoon, on the top edge of our budget, in New Cross Gate, which is surprisingly attractive. But then someone started talking Council Tax, which was not included. And believe it or not there's no wifi. Anyway, we have a meeting tomorrow with the shining knights at Camelot, and I must speak to Dominic again at DEX. They all specialise in guardianship, that's temporary tenancy, which has always been our biggest hope. Sounds desperate.
On Wednesday we'll probably take a breather on the Island - literally - where we'll scrub everything we're still able to carry with carbolic soap. Oh yes, and yesterday we joined half a million very friendly people at Westminster on the end of their very friendly People's Climate March. Good show! Meanwhile, in between all of this, we are rediscovering London pubs. They make everything seem almost worthwhile. The ones that are left, that is. Every other street corner has a pub boarded up and left to rot. Typical of the way London treats so many of its own properties - or what were once its own properties. No pride.
Above all, cheering up dismal nights appropriately, we're into the Peaky Blinders.
September 7
WE DIDN'T IMAGINE
it would be this hard to find a place to stay in central London, flat share, studio flat, b&b, whatever. Shoe boxes for a small fortune. Ridiculous money for crap. Leaving in ten days. Good thing Maya is calmer. And I get more edgy.
Glanced at an article. Population increase should be everyone's biggest worry.
If the human race took the form of one huge human it would be a complete imbecile, drooling and shitting itself, squatting naked in the rubble of a once beautiful home, fat and ceaselessly complaining, picking apart everything that comes into its grasp, waiting to die in terror as it prays for salvation to imagined ghosts while playing tiddlywinks between bouts of masturbation.
September 1
NOT AN EASY
24 hour event that one, not only because I had a bucket on my head the whole time. Major disagreement with the venue boss a couple of days before almost ended it there. Difference of opinion regarding how to invite people; formal and twee in the usual girly style versus my technique of inviting all and sundry to get stuck in. She freaked at one of my Facebook posts. But needless to say all and sundry did not come and the building still stands. Some smaller hiccups, plus my limited enthusiasm by now for this final BB appearance, contributed to a tame weekend, pleasant as it was at times. Uncovered a couple of things, like, I don't wish to be handicapped, like, blind. Also, I found I still love music, though it works best when everything else is blocked out (recreating with a bucket my locked dark listening room of years ago). I also realized again that I'm not a performer and although I like to play at being one, I can't fulfill any expectations of others. The art was good though.
Flo's concert was very short, whereas I was very tall, hovering over him on my perch. I worried it was short because I did just that, but he assured Maya that everything was cool. She got well deserved compliments on the photographs, impressive up on a big screen through a massive projector. Maybe we'll make a book one day. But I just want to move on, make my big 3D head. I wrote around asking for sponsoring, with no luck yet. Anyway, we're off to London. That's the next project, apparently. Liam can't put us up in the first week, and James copped out without a further word. (Why did he offer in the fist place? Typical!) So we're on the Net looking for somewhere to doss. Maya would be happy with a B&B to begin with, but the extravagance already sticks in my craw. Money is extremely tight, as the actress said to the bishop. And I don't feel up to working. Especially since sleeping in the bucket; my neck is as bad as my lower back now (thanks to moving the guillotine into storage a little while ago).
But feeling positive about four months coming up on home turf.
BUCKET BLOKE IS DEAD!
LONG LIVE PARADOX PAUL!
August 31
BREAKFAST
is a bit late, otherwise on track for day two.
Was a rough night in the bucket. Odd dreams. Neck-ache.
But I always have odd dreams. And such a small bed!
We are here until 4pm. I decided (again) to knock BB on the head after that.
Will give the bucket away. Let's see who is here at 4.
(Reporting from the bucket.)
August 29
IT'S BEEN A WHILE
but tomorrow I put the bucket back on - hopefully for the last time. This time for 24 hours non-stop. (Who's silly idea was that?) So we've set up the industrial space, hurting my back moving sofas, as BB's bedroom, lounge, dining area, "creative corner" etc. Points on a compass, things for BB to do while he pretends to live there. Why all this work for a party trick? Interesting question. Why do anything. I should be out there saving Palestinian babies, or at least trying to, like the bucket challenge bloke on You Tube, or at least protesting. I want to halt marching militias everywhere, like a beauty contestant. Assholes, one and all. And save animals' heads too. Maybe that's what I'm doing, come to think of it, in my silly ways. Multi-tasking to save the stupid universe while keeping topped-up a godless, thankless, dwindling existence. And, back to the question, because there's nothing I enjoy more, even with the stress, with the nerves. My mad hobby - moving things around in a great big space. Playing at art, playing at life. Learning and teaching - something or other. Testing and pushing, mainly for myself. Filtering out, and sucking in what I can, before the lights go out.
But I don't like being blind. I hate it. What I see is practically all I need. I live off eye-food.
BB deeply upset two women this week. The "Day 87" photo again (that will haunt us for years) and my Fb posts inviting the scum of the earth (Chaos-Leute) to visit this event. But these are complicated women, putting it politely, and I've calmed down a bit. Not a lot, but a bit. Thank goodness for Maya. Few partners could be more supportive. And tolerant to the point of ridiculous. I'm getting bad tempered in my old age. And fragile. My innards ache and I'm weak as a baby. Hope things improve in London. We've rented our flat out now (to another complicated woman) for four months from mid September. No turning back then. We don't have a place to stay yet. B ecause Maya wants a palace for a penny; which is fair enough really. I work the same way. Anyway, not expecting a ticker-tape arrival, but Peter Dennis at least is glad we're coming. We're both very much looking forward to this. And I'm secretly dreading it.
August 17
STARTED BUILDING
a "shop" page. Let's see what I can sell. What fun. See if it works
(Later abandoned.)
August 5
MAYA FOUND A ONE-LEGGED GRASSHOPPER
on the kitchen floor. Normally I deal with these disasters, but she bravely scooped him up (or her) and put him on the potted mint plant outside the window. He didn't move for ages. The sun was intense, so I dripped some water onto nearby leaves; and worried that grasshoppers may not like mint, which is very strong, that it could even be poisonous to them. An hour later we watched him supping from a big water drop, and soon he was moving around and looking quite well.
We walked later around Friedhof Sihlfeld, the big graveyard at the end of our road. We often do. This time we looked for more angels to photograph for the PP and the Angels page. The sun was shining, the park was pretty (and almost empty, which is the best thing about it) and Maya as sweet and accommodating as ever. Life feels good at times, between mishaps and enormous worries. And all I wanted was to get back to the computer and check out the photos.
August 3
VIDEO CONFERENCE
with some nice people in Newstead, Victoria, from Hauptbahnhof Zurich at our end. "Bucket Bloke meets Mr Bucket"; low-fi, improvised and worst of all early in the morning. But It all worked in the end. Hanjo wheeled me around in a baggage trolley for an hour. I didn't stop talking - I had been most afraid of drying up. Absurd fun.
Post by Paul Woods.
August 1
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWITZERLAND
And ok, I moved it. This is a multi-purpose website and I can't be frightening off potential clients for my mural painting service, or setting up workshops for kids, or building giant ice sculptures in Saudi Arabia, by sticking a swastika on the front page.
July 29
PLANNING A FEW MONTHS IN LONDON
Not easy to find a cheap flat inside a reasonable distance, or to let out our Zurich flat for the same period, but it should be possible. A direct flat exchange would be best. Finding work will be the first thing to do. Looking forward to that - comparatively. No language issue; the fear of looking stupid in front of public or bosses, for the first time in many years. Still can't imagine though, which rat-race occupation could possibly fascinate me enough to get me out of bed. My life-long handicap, overwhelming tiredness until mid afternoon, is not getting better. Mixed with waves of lethargy and disdain for society and most of it's members, I can only hope London nurtures hope and health. Instead of the opposite, which is more likely. But if I make any headway at in the realm of art, the upheaval would have been worth it. I might even forgive myself four wasted years in Switzerland, and regularly return, as is the plan, with refreshed interest.
On Sunday BB meets Mr Bucket in Australia, probably through Skype. We go off this afternoon to find an outdoor location with open wifi. Main train station is first choice, under the clock, otherwise there's a list of other options. Macdonalds, Starbucks... Hard to say how this event is going to look. I should comment on a slideshow of the 100 photos as they watch it. From inside the bucket? As usual, left it very late to figure all this out. Whatever happens, it's been great to catch up with Horse, way over there in the out-back.
Wondering if I should move the swastika page, now finished, further back in the website. Is it a sore thumb? Markus Rabanus' comment when I asked his advice - specifically on that photo of myself at the Art Pub Hitler-saluting - was "the Hakenkreuz belongs in the dustbin", which fostered doubts, I have to admit. But I stick by the thing; like it or lump it. I did remove that photo though. For now.
July 20
TAMING THE SWASTIKA
should be the title, or perhaps PLAYING WITH FIRE, for the next project being fleshed out. The thing I was yapping about in June is grand and I look forward to getting it started. But it will involve some serious sculpting - two big heads - and as usual, more work than I first thought. But the swastika thing, that is a part time affair. Has been for years. And I need a rest... No I don't, I need a job. No I don't, I need something of substance after that silly bloody bucket.
Like money.
July 19
SO, THAT'S THAT
Updated the BB page with this:
"Part one of the Bucket Bloke project covered the 100 days from 10 April to 18 July, 2014. The first photograph was taken by MM on the day PP had the idea - one photo each day for 100 days. This was shortly after receiving the letter from Helmhaus Zurich informing them that their application to take part in the exhibition and competition for the coveted yearly awards of grants and studios by the City of Zurich was utterly unsuccessful. Hence PP's withdrawal into a bucket for the next three months. He simply could not grasp how those judges had judged his unfinished masterpiece, the Flying Guillotine Piano Throne, unworthy of inclusion - it didn't get passed the first round. The shame was crippling. On the evening after the 100th picture was taken (at that very Helmhaus event, as it happens) the photographs were presented for the first time together as a slideshow projection at Rote Fabrik, Zurich. More showings are planned (see below). Bucket Bloke, or BB for short, will continue his adventures, albeit sporadically and without time constraints. Future locations include Berlin and Vienna, and further trips around the UK. Always open to invitations, BB especially enjoys visits to other artists' studios. And posh exhibitions."
Below: Bucket Bloke presents 100 Bucket Bloke photographs by MM & PP at Rote Fabrik, Zurich, in front of a small but sympathetic audience.
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July 18
THE HELMHAUS PEOPLE
were very considerate. I got to see all the rooms of this big Zurich happening. The curator, Daniel Morgenthaler, helped carry me up the ground floor steps and later down them again. The ramp I could have used was occupied by the outside bar, which he was a little embarrassed about. For the two hours of my unannounced visit I was assisted by a kindly guard who couldn't do enough for us. I kept the bucket in the bucket bag under my seat. On a fourth trip in the elevator Mr Morgenthaler asked what I thought of the exhibition. "Very nice," I said. "But not many surprises." He was attentive and, I felt, slightly apologetic. We chatted a bit more and I admired the tattoo on his forearm. It's the word NOTHING about eight inches long. He is indeed a star curator. Outside again I indicated he could get me down the steps alone this time. I got bumped around a bit and he was concerned that I may have been hurt. I assured him I was perfectly fine. All in all he was most considerate and helpful.
July 16
JUST TWO MORE PHOTO SHOOTS
Uetliberg tomorrow (high viewpoint overlooking Zurich) and Helmhaus on Friday. Goodness, what a lot of work this has been. Two positive things come of it so far: inclusion in the Newstead expo in Australia, and the 24 hour event for later this month at Salome's lovely industrial space with the tricky name Halle.li. Still working that out, but so far looks like the 29th of August.
July 9
TEN DAYS TO GO
Can't wait to lose this bucket.
June 19
OFF TO GERMANY
this afternoon for a very short visit and a photo. Then Art Basel. Borrowed a guitar from Martina and a flute from Maya, BB's first musical props. Also in Basel is Divo's Dada festival. Might drop in to that, so to speak.
June 11
BEEN WORKING
working, working so hard. In my mind at least. In my sleep. Beneath and above the depression. All along my life, to this point. Pretty much around about here. Things becoming clearer. It's ok that I'm lazy on the outside. I know, and those closest know, that I'm busy inside. Have always been. It never stops. The next project just came to me, out of many ideas and possibilities, dreams and nightmares. It's all about me this time. (Ha!) But that's ok. Only through exploring myself can I reach the others. I hate being in that bucket. Just want the photos done and move on. But I love working on them when we get home. A real challenge, this simple idea is proving to be. And I must go further. Must replace the bucket with my own head. Literally. Confront myself by confronting the world. I fear the prospect already. PP's next project - horribly exciting.
MAY 26
CAME ACROSS THIS
a few days ago: Mr Bucket's Amazing Web Emporium
Mr Bucket lives in Australia where he has marketed himself since 2008. His bucket is tin, sometimes with an egg or goggles stuck to it. He's a pretty good graphic designer and the online shop is based mainly around the screen-printed t-shirts, which is how he started off. It was a small shock to see my whole concept tried, tested and done already by someone else. But after a while I didn't mind. On the contrary, it's an interesting development. Firstly it means I really must kill off BB after the 100 days. Of course the images survive, they are what it's all about. Secondly, the idea is (was) sound; Mr Bucket has lived from it for six years, now producing at the scale of a small factory. (Sandra found a Mr Bucket t-shirt at a market in Berlin, and posted it as my work! No, no, we can't have this.) So I must live from something else.
Must get a job.
MAY 16
BACK
from our month in the UK. Seem to be recovered. BB alive and kicking.
MAY 4
GROWING DISGUST
at the sheer amount of ads and ad breaks while trying to watch tv, supposedly a leisure occupation to be enjoyed in your own home, bombardment in the streets - Banksy hits the nail on the head - on public transport, on your personal computer, phones, in the mail, indeed fucking everywhere. Scams, eye-sores, brainwashing; the contamination of a life which that's hard enough to bear without the tons of shit we are expected to passively accept, even welcome into our sad lives.
THERE IS NO ESCAPE!
Thoughts along these lines are marching me towards the next project after Bucket Bloke. If nothing better comes along.
MAY 1
STILL ON THE ISLAND
and still sick. But relaxed.
The bucket project is fun. And it's good. It would launch another artist... But this is me doing it. Still, onwards and onwards!
It's Day 22. Shoot will be at home, BB in bed, surrounded by books, maps, laptop. Looking for some Morris and/or Maypole dancing for Monday's shoot. Could be on the Island or around Mike's, as we're heading up then for a last week in London. Want to do Buck House, the Bank of England and Liam's pub gig. Would love to capture a couple of Bobbies, but don't fancy them capturing me. In many ways I'm too timid to be Bucket Bloke. What I really want to do is place BB in front of that huge mosque in Whitechapel as the swarms of men and boys literally run into it, afraid of missing prayers. Perhaps I should use doubles and simply direct - although I could still get lynched.
Responded on Facebook to this BBC headline:
"The UK's first Hindu secondary school has moved one step closer to being realised after a schools trust says it intends to open one in Harrow."
RELIGION IS BRAINWASHING!
Let's not encourage faith schools in Britain. Separating children into religious schools is the road to religious hatred, violence and WAR. We all know it very well. Of course there are many Christian schools, but leave it at that - the country has been at peace for 70 years, just like it is. What are the local councils thinking of? Spineless fools. This has NOTHING to do with racism. Think of the future and STOP IT!
Down the road, if I live long enough, I will say I TOLD YOU SO, and the country will be damned.
Interestingly, Dad, our own history boffin and walking encyclopaedia, couldn't think of any religious war - solely religious - that Britain has ever been involved in. But we stand to be corrected.
APRIL 29
DAY 20
Later today Bucket Bloke will visit the Model Village upon the Island's magical Godshill. There is also a lovely old church, as you may easily imagine. And our favourite tea shop nearby. We've discovered that the hardest thing is not lack of permission, or the shyness we both suffer from and are constantly battling, or for that matter the bloody uselessness of just about everything I do - but the choice of just one picture, at just one location, after a good day under the bucket.
APRIL 24
I AM COPYING THIS
here and out of the "about" section today, for obvious reasons. It was written a couple of weeks ago, after receiving the latest kick in the face, this time from some wankers at City of Zurich's infamous arts ministry.
"I'm the bloke with the bucket on his head, the lad who hated school and almost everything they forced him to do so much that he broke down clinically depressed at the age of eleven, the shyest of the shy, who was allowed into Camberwell School of Art by lofty professors but dropped out before even starting his BA - little suspecting his most stupid mistake - who earned wealth instead building models and toys for ministries and millionaires, who stuck out his trade, head to that grindstone like everyone else, and then left it for good, to discover with his thumb all the great cities of Europe, until landing in its greatest one (back then) to remake himself as an artist, who hung around and squatted and starved in that place for far too long, whose name doesn't appear on any respectable list, who has never been invited by any mainstream gallery, or off-space, or any other arts project anywhere, to take part in anything at all, who has exhibited at countless locations but only through his own application and always paying for the privilege, who built therefore his own gallery out of sweat and small change, and never made a profit through art, or through any of the thousands (yes thousands) of art and music events he has organised through this vocation, who paid out of his own pocket the costs of a three year stay at the Culture Centre at Weissensee in Berlin where he built an alternative local community project while the government slashed others across that city, and continued to pay those costs, keeping suited hounds at bay, even while he squatted that historic building, which they closed in the hope it will rot to the ground (which it hasn't quite yet), who dreams of saving that building but never will, who continues to produce art no-one wants because it fits into no box, nor is marketed into any box, nor is publicised on any level outside this Website, Facebook and word of good mouths, who continues to design classic and avant-garde art events for the spiritual benefit of himself and thousands (yes thousands) of fellow artists and performers who appreciate those efforts and don't expect a bean in return, who's latest of numerous applications for sponsoring or scholarship, this time to the City of Zurich's Werkstipendien der Stadt Zürich involving months of work on a huge and fabulous book - thanks to his dear wife for all her support - did not make it into the first round...
Thank you Zurich, my impossible home.
But most of all, thank you Berlin, my home of possibilities.
And hallo London, I'm popping home for a visit..."
APRIL 18
GOOD FRIDAY
Bucket Bloke took up position outside Lambeth Palace and St Mary's this afternoon. Only for a quarter of an hour, but my arms still ache. Crucifixion is surely no light matter. Half expected to get arrested, at least moved on. But there was no-one around appart from passing holiday traffic. The Archbishop presumably at Westminster Abby or St. Paul's - my first two choices for today's bucket shoot. I opted in the end for local haunts. (We visited too Holy Trinity School, which is now being done over as artist studios. Very interesting! More eabout that later.) On removal of the bucket, saw that a posh car had drawn up, its driver both curious and extremely sceptical. I thought at first he was connected to the Palace, but he could have been anyone. My bet, a solicitor or a bank bloke.
"Going to make lots of money from this?"
"No. I'm an artist. Just a poor artist."
"What is it, entertainment?"
"It's art."
He asked something else, I don't remember what, but I had to repeat,
"It's art. I'm a conceptual artist." I added, "If I were a performance artist, I would do it naked, but too shy for that."
"What, political then?"
"Well, I am an atheist."
"I liked it. Thought it was very good."
He pulled off again into the traffic.
Reaction! And at Goldsmiths, a young official there questioned Maya for some time while I waited with the bucket at the bus stop. What does all this mean? Most Swiss people would't dare be seen getting involved. But this is England, as they say. And once again Maya and I agree - we really must make the move over.
APRIL 16
THINK I'LL STICK
to the red bucket I got at Jumbo. I really wanted a white one, searched all over, couldn't believe my misfortune. Like plain white buckets are out of fashion. I Photoshopped the red one white the first couple of times. But then I fell for the red one. A little beacon of hope in a swamp of art world poo. Found a way today to carry it around easily by hooking it onto the zipper of my rucksack. This afternoon was Goldsmiths, and for the first time, a little performance. Filmed by Maya. Tomorrow, the Tate Modern...
APRIL 12
DAY 3
of the project, Bucket Bloke. That's 97 days to go until a solo exhibition at Rote Fabrik, whatever that will involve. Buckets, I suppose. So many ideas already, so many things you can do with a bucket. So let's keep it simple. Keep it on my head. Today Maya must photograph Bucket Bloke with her mum, who must stand while I sit. So much fun! Apart from that, still horribly sick. What is it, bronchitis? It's driving Maya crazy that I won't call a doctor. I have a phobia about Swiss telephones.
APRIL 10
BIRTH OF BUCKET BLOKE
Intense night of dreaming, waking, thinking, worrying, dreaming again, waking again, more intense dreaming, fretting, plotting, worrying. Almost completely sober recently, I must add. Bad stomach too, had to keep getting up. Something I ate, that cold sausage just before bed, or a bad beer. And still this really nasty cough. Crazed half-conscious theories about lung cancer, pneumonia, alien infection. My chest won't heal. But the dreams, as I remembered them in the horrible haze before they each dissipated, were exciting and vivid, clever and fun. Anyway, I did finally awaken, quite alive, Spring sunshine lightening the mood. Still feeling shite, but not terminally. And quickly the whole thing hit me. The next project. The next three months. It's all about a deadline, and all about a bucket. A little later the exhibition date, venue, and a short description was up and online.
Went to Jumbo to buy a better white bucket. Could only find a red one. On the way back a Rasta guy got onto the crowded bus and stood in front of me, using his phone loudly in that amazing dialect. He had the longest dreadlocks I've ever seen, in fact the longest hair I've seen on anyone. He was tall and slim, nearly as tall and slim as me, and it went dead straight down his back like a bronze waterfall, to stop one inch from the floor. It was perfectly groomed, as he was. He was a beauty to behold, like a rare stallion in a stuffy old traffic jam. I couldn't stop looking at him, and I wasn't even stoned. But I'm exaggerating, of course I stopped looking at him. And when I did, as I looked around and studied all the other people for a full five minutes before he got off the bus at Albisrieder Platz, no-one else laid an eye on him. Not for a second. Not that I could pinpoint, and I began to study hard. Not one person, not one glance, not one smile, or frown, or remark, or nudge, or shift of position to get a better look, not one raise of an eyebrow among twenty or more people close by. Not the slightest determinable show of interest.
This is where I've been living for nearly four years.
APRIL 7
SUDDEN LITTLE RAY
of good news after that bleak winter. Visited Ueli the clown's studio at Rote Fabrik and fell in love with the idea of spending three months in Summer there, painting on canvas. Not on walls. It's a lovely studio. Maya agrees. She plans to produce more figures. About time! We got the keys already.
APRIL 3
FEEL LIKE SHIT
Old mate depression setting in. Still coughing, mostly at night. And bad skin again these days, the worst in years. Too much programming, too long through the night. Sitting upright for lengthy periods stresses the stomach, which is the root of the problem, even if others don't understand that concept in the least. Should take more breaks. No, should take a holiday. Yes! Off to Blighty in two weeks. Hopefully fit again and hopefully staying at Liam's to begin with, although today he mentioned that he and Cordelia are off to Somerset around that time. Fine organisation. So we may be cat-sitting, which I think we could manage without loss of life. A most generous arrangement. But so much to do in the meantime - I so wish to finish this website before we leave. Enormous work, as the images, my beloved images, are spread all over the place, all different sizes. Not to mention all those texts. I hate writing texts. Gosh, paradox upon paradox.
APRIL 1
WE WALKED DOWN THE ROAD
in the lovely Spring sunshine this afternoon to look at an empty butchers shop we heard was available. It too was lovely, all cleaned up, high ceiling, back rooms; but it wasn't available. Like most places in Zurich, all worked out between longstanding friends and contacts, no need for a To Let sign in the window, probably not even advertised. So we simply continue looking. We have some friends and contacts too: Flo's girlfriend Anna's father is a clown with a studio at the Rote Fabrik, Zurich's once alternative now fully established arts complex. The clown goes away for the Summer. We go to see the space next Monday.
MARCH 31
HANDED BACK THE KEYS
(most of them) and therefore the shop to Mr Haller and his ensemble of officially dodgy looking characters, lawyers, contractors, whoever they were, at around midday. I spontaneously insisted that we wish to continue to rent after renovation. Haller's response was partly disbelief (that we could afford 3,500 instead of 1,100 monthly) and party relief, remarking that they won't have to paint the walls in that case (my main concern), or do very much to the shop at all in fact. He likes things made easy for him, so he may actually go for the idea, if the place isn't already promised away, as usual, under the table, no need to advertise. But if we convince him we should stay on. Meaning I have a couple of months to work out the practically impossible financials. Not a strong point until now, to say the least. One avenue would be finding sponsors for the Chapel project, for instance through the Swiss website We Make It.
Later on it was the Berta Bar's time for a closing party (in their case for three months). So had a beer with Maya and Andrew and Thomas, the usuals, and shared my pizza with a typically offish, apparently arrogant local who's actually kind of alright when the ice melts a tiny bit. But I retired early, to Maya's consternation, still sick, still coughing. Now there is time to recover. Including a smoking break.
MARCH 28
LATEST DISAPPOINTMENT
Received the letter from the City of Zurich informing us that my application - thanks to much work by Maya - for an art grant or studio abroad this year has fallen on deaf ears, blind eyes, ignorant manners, questionable neutrality, Out of 166 persons and projects competing for the next round at the grand old Helmhaus later in Summer, 33 golden boys and girls were chosen. All with diplomas, I must imagine, highly recommended by shady professors, displaying easy to swallow personalities and extremely well connected elsewhere in this lifeless, snotty little hobby town. Oh yes, we can apply again next year. Sure. Do you know how much work went into that huge book we made? Full-time fucking occupation, applying for funding scams.
Last party at our Idaplatz studio tomorrow before we move out, and last chance to see my Chapel of the Loving Atheist. Let's see if anyone turns up.
MARCH 25
STILL SICK
Both at home coughing. But I must at least get to the shop later as Bernie, fully recovered from his major heart operation, is coming to pick up his lamps, which are all packed up, and furniture, which is still down in the dreaded cellar, half buried by piano parts. And that's just the kick-start I need to get into this daunting week.
MARCH 23
MAYA AND I
are shaking off a week of flu. Hope to be fit enough to get busy again tomorrow. It hit us at an unfortunate time as we've just a week more at our lovely shop. We finally got our marching orders from Mr Haller, the devil in poor disguise, who tells everyone the house renovation will indeed start on 1 April. Well, let's see. I suspect nothing major will happen at the building, perhaps for years to come. He was allowing it to literally fall to pieces, until they slapped "listed building" on it about seven years ago and now, finally, forced him to put it to rights. He's played the game brilliantly, sly old bugger. Does't give a damn what people think of him. Those in the flats above have been duly vacating with little sign of protest. Guess they feel like we do. We all knew it was coming some day, and here it is. Luka and his Berta Bar are a different story as they have a long-term contract. He told me, very discreetly, by how much Haller wants to raise their rent after renovation. Mad. But just as I had suspected (to the dollar). Lawyers for each party will be haggling it out for months. We certainly won't be applying to return.
Among things to do, finish the Chapel for photos and a bit of filming. Clear the cellar of Piano Throne pieces, with Wolfgang's help, into our tiny cellar for now (what a nightmare). Find a better place for the Guillotine Throne (tricky). Give away or dump the black piano. Sell or clear out the contents of the shop, paintings and objects mostly, for which we put out a sign last week, CLOSING SALE, EVERYTHING MUST GO! which the locals look at sleepily as they walk right passed, almost afraid to enter, so dangerously alternative we clearly are. If any of them show interest, it's in the property of course, not in our adventures. Though of course we do have our loyal supporters. So on Saturday we hold our little leaving party, with a bit of music, beer and wine (no peanuts); commemorating three years in a studio come shop we will miss heartily. Something else to do: find another space. I don't care how or where.
MARCH 22
BRIEFLY SURVEYED
free website builders yesterday with the vague and desperate aim of replacing Wallywoods.com (latterly known as ParadoxBerlin.com) which I've been chiseling away at in HTML since the Stone Age. Something I should have looked into yonks ago! My system was so stupidly complicated, combining various programs, source codes, widgets and whatnots, ftps, shifting files around, always hoping to revive the old Red Monster gathering dust for years now under the office table; that progress on any level higher than Facebook ground pretty much to a halt. But today, already, I've everything at my fingertips to make a modern new site. Changes made are instantaneous, as it all happens direct through a browser, and although Maya says it already looks old fashioned, I don't care. I can get on now with (re)presenting the projects. So, here is the site - the one you are looking at - skeletal today, but let's see how it is in a few weeks. All thanks to the brilliant Weebly. (That's all the promo you get from me, guys.)
MARCH 21
THERE ARE 11 MILLION EMPTY HOMES
across Western Europe. That's enough to house all Europe's homeless people, and still leave millions of properties empty. What a marvelous system we exist within. One can't help feeling proud. And all that money floating around! Gosh, gosh and gosh. (And perhaps revolution...)
MARCH 2
AN INSTALLATION
Chapel of the Loving Atheist opened its doors yesterday. My great project this year. My finest accomplishment, in planning since early last year.
A few friends dropped in. But there are beers left over, always a bonus. And some peanuts on the floor. And a big plate of humus in the fridge.
I remember writing in these diaries two or three years ago of my biggest disappointment yet as a struggling artist, after the supposedly grand opening of the Thrones project, here at the same studio. In fact more people came to that particular booze-up. I'm such a blockhead. To imagine that anything I will ever independently launch will one day hit a career-defining mark.
FEBRUARY 7
LILIYA SHEVTSOVA
senior associate at the Moscow Carnegie Centre, says:
"The Russian Olympics is already a scandal. It is the embodiment of corruption, inefficiency, irrationality, extreme vanity and megalomania. It is a waste of money in a country that cannot afford a decent life for ordinary people. It reminds me of Mussolini and Ceausescu. They also built glamorous projects that are now monuments to absurdity."
JANUARY 21
COMES AND GOES
in waves. Her pain, my worries. But both in better spirits by bedtime. Latest vampire nonsense at the flicks cheered us up, or maybe it was just the going out. "I feel like them", Maya whispered near the climax. We're equally sick of all that silliness normally. Back in fashion big time, those endless rubbish american TV episodes churned out like cherry aid for brain-drain teenies and goths. No-one brave enough to break the clichés it seems, not even Master Jarmusch. For Heaven's sake, use Kinski's teeth at least, now they were scary as shit. (I know, they don't want scary any more, they want cool. Cool serial killers, cool corrupt cops, cool evil politicians, cool wife batterers... you pay for it, it's gonna be cool.) But the acting was fine and we loved the sets. "I could do that", I said outside, limply.
I returned to the shop at midnight to fill a hole I made in the ceiling during daylight, removing a perfectly good, and probably listed, iron chandelier fitting which has been bugging me for three years. What a mess it made; the screws were eight inches long and the ceiling is made of match-wood and air. Great fun. Between clearing up and staring up, I changed my mind about NOTHING UP HERE, MATE. Instead it needs a pinkish sky in a stretched oval, to fit better with the blue sky circle in the other room. Perhaps later put some text on it, as will be added around the circle. For that, NO GOD, NO GHOSTS, NO ANGELS, NO ZOMBIES etc will go up nicely, reflecting what's printed now on the ochre wall next door. I'm enjoying all this, my favourite unpaid work for a long time. I felt grand up the ladder all afternoon, exercising my withered calves, and glad of a little time with myself (Sundays and Mondays Jo Brauers is closed and we get our place back). Me, Don Quixote, slave to very nearly pointless dreams. Herr Haller could still not tell us how things stand with the lease, suggesting we ask again in February. Says he doesn't have a contract with a building firm yet. (What about contracting us!) If they do renovate, i.e. yuppify that wonderful, protected building, this two year atheist hobby of mine will culminate in drinks with a few well meaning, suitably supportive friends in secluded celebration, followed by the immediate destruction of my most fantastical permanent installation to date. Some mildly perplexed Italian workers won't have a clue what they are whiting over. My ungodly rants on the ochre wall will go first, as that wall itself is set to be torn down. But I'm a paint-wasting veteran of the like, and I shall leave well satisfied. As long, that is, as I get plenty of photos out of it, this time with Maya's wonderful new camera. Documentation is once again the primary aim. As Christo says, only slightly fibbing, "I think it takes much greater courage to create things to be gone than to create things that will remain." And he wasn't talking about a bit of stenciling near some dog poo.
On Thursday I'm booked for a general check-up. Should be interesting. Excluding that thoughtful, useless shrink I saw on the Island a decade ago, I've hardly seen a doctor in twenty years.
JANUARY 20
OVER A WEEK
without a beer or smoke. Including my birthday! I can't recall such an oddity. Even at the Ark in France that beautiful Summer in the early nineties, that haven of health and spirituality and meditation and Gregorian song around the fire before homemade jam and bread (which I grew addicted to), one or other of us visitors would smuggle in the occasional bottle of wine, to consume in whispers around the kitchen stove while the hamlet dreamt its wholesome dreams. Only then might we mull over disconcerting rumours of child and animal abuse, intrigues kept far removed from the daily farm work and adventure and brotherly communion. The trigger was not just the obvious one. There are many factors, things I've been pondering for years, and increasingly over the last six months. This Summer I worked in Sebastian's huge garden at his lovely big house near the zoo. (Until we fell out.) Most rewarding, and quite exhausting. And then almost no work at all. In fact, very little this last year and a half, outside my own lazy, fanatical projects, which I may as well call hobbies now. Everything slowed down here, as I've moaned about before, except it got even slower. Though I've learned to think of it not so much my terrible lot surrounded by stiffs, but accept it as a peaceful model of world Almost-Eutopia; merely one I do not enjoy. That is, outside our home and shop, the sanctuaries we love. We receive next to no guests, have next to no true friends, but we don't seem to mind. So a beer or two or sometimes three every single night has not been through socialising, but rather boredom, which I've worked out by now was always the reason. So it's TV and cooking and crabbles and more TV each night with my very own angel. What in the world is that to complain of! But I suddenly, urgently and soberly need to get up a ladder again. Which is why I'm going to paint this week NOTHING UP HERE, MATE on the ceiling of the small room in the Chapel of Atheism.
On the other hand it looks like I will postpone or cancel the BE NICE TO BUILDINGS exhibition. Big shame, but if it's such a good idea, it can wait.
On February 1st we travel to Vienna for a few days, compliments of Radu and Doris. Maya has a pressing and understandable urge to see them. Though he was never a father when she needed one, he has become one by now, if aloof, thanks mainly to Skype.
She wanted to go up this weekend to the Uetliberg, and into the woods behind it. For a little ceremony. It's too soon, so I put it off a week.
JANUARY 14
FIFTY YEARS
since that snowy day in Beckenham. My birthday. A very quiet one, but lovely in little ways. Notwithstanding more sadness than I've ever witnessed. I am oddly resilient. Detached as usual, I supposed. I buried most of my feelings back in various school yards. But I remember what suffering is. Anyway, keep busy and stay practical. Yesterday we told friends invited to the party that it's postponed for a week or two. For vague scheduling reasons. It probably won't take place. That boat has gone.
JANUARY 12
BLOODY SUNDAY
My poor dears.
No wonder superstition wins down the ages. Mother Nature is as much Devil as Creator.
JANUARY 11
OVER HALF
of all members of Congress are millionaires.
JANUARY 7
SHAKA'S EXHIBITION
opening last night at Karussell, which is a kind of Zurich Wallywoods but for hipsters, run by sober young designers and students, and therefore nothing like Wallywoods. Shaka is showing six pictures, a meter-square each, after months of patient masking in that gorgeous little hut he rents next door. Looks like stencil art, hugely popular thanks to Banksy, but isn't, but what the heck. Showing too, poppish pictures by Änka, which also look like stencils, but appear hand painted. Tidy street art on canvas. But the harmless iconery, including cuddly monsters, halt further interest. Hope he or she with a tag as a name sells enough not to get depressed - and it looks as if he or she does, glancing at the website. Which is more than I do, glancing at my bank account.
That gorgeous little hut Shaka rents next door is up for grabs in February and March as he is moving out. I suddenly decided we really really must rent the place. Partly because it would make a super painting studio, since I recently have the desire to produce this year as many paintings on canvasses as I can manage, partly because of the exhibition I will have myself at Karussell in March (more about that later), partly because it's so darned gorgeous, but mostly because I had a smoke with Wolfgang, after a month of partly forced abstinence. Wolfgang by the way also had a show at Karussell, last year, displaying most of his wonderful sandy furniture we never sold through our shop. That made him quite probably the oldest person that orderly little in-crowd have ever met. So anyway, I discussed with Maya today for ten seconds, through the hangover I'm still enjoying, and we dumped the renting idea. After all it's not my money I dream about splashing out. Not since a long while. Yes, I really must get a job. And anyway, we do still have our gorgeous little shop.