WALLY'S BLOG 2015
December 31
END OF YEAR REPORT
Ran out of words again.
(As well as, needless to say, money.)
December 25
ALL I WANT...
is to do what I do best.
One of the few things that makes me happy.
I just want to work on my art.
(Apart from a few people, that's all that matters.)
October 1
GROWING UP IN BERLIN IN THE 90's
Actually I grew up in London, but I didn't enjoy that. I was a shy lad, a late developer. Stupidly introverted. In my 20's I made a break for it and backpacked around Europe. I ending up in Berlin where I could stay with my only mate, or so it seemed, Bob King, who had escaped to Kreuzberg with his girlfriend in '88. He went straight through the Wall when it crumbled to set up in eerily deserted Prenzlauerberg. What stories he told, and I would know more first hand. In essence East Berlin had hardly changed when I arrived in '92. It was grey, quiet like Sunday every day, open to newcomers, relaxed, sensible and politely crazy. No-one had a phone, there were just dirty phone boxes on the occasional street corner, always occupied. People had patience. They had time. Penniless now after my travels and unwilling to go home, to go back in time to real urban solitude, I needed a plan. When Bob went off for a month, leaving me in his funny little ground floor flat (at a cost of a few quid per week) his friends would knock on his door at all hours, and I would invite them in. Birgit, Joe & Jas, Oli, Thomas, Stefan... People with kind eyes. Timid as I still was, I quickly met many more, local and from all corners of the world. They were actually interested in who I was. I opened up in small degrees, and got creative. I smoked my first joints, hung out at the coolest and cheapest bars and maddest underground parties. I was at home already. I fell in love here and there, with girls more beautiful than I ever could get on with in Lambeth North, realising I felt differently about girls with a german accent, added of course to the fact that they were so open and full of life. And they liked my accent, my weightless english voice, imagine! Everyone was making enough money to somehow live a basic but worthy existence by selling things they produced themselves at art and flee markets. (Every day a Sunday.) Anything from jewelry to hats and space cakes, spoon sculptures to boomerangs and hippy things made from rubbish. And toys, music, CDs and pictures. So I set about making marionettes. I had been until recently a model-maker for architects and advertising, but never wanted to slave in one of their chemical stinking studios again. I sold my stuff at stands at the Museums Insel, and became known as Paul the Puppet. It was hard - impossible in fact. I was always near penniless. But what else should I do? I couldn't leave this pretty daydream. We all joked, come on a visit to Berlin; and end up staying ten years. It caught us all like that. In a nutshell, I became an artist. I made ceramic sculptures, produced and even read my own poetry, painted murals and then on canvas. During more lucrative years I decorated countless new bars and restaurants all cashing in on the boom, making quite a name for myself as a deco and wall artist. I exhibited pictures at Tacheles and weird objects in dark, throbbing cellars. I stole all the coal I needed from huge unguarded piles of it behind the school in "LSD Viertel", the neighbourhood I would know like the back of my hand. Everyone else did the same. God! it was cold in Winter, but let's skip that. We climbed through holes in roofs to reach psychedelic parties, and at the same time I was getting invited to posh restaurant and club openings, eating on occasion like a king, and starving again afterwards. I got free tickets worth hundreds of bucks for myself and mates for the Staatsoper in Unter den Linden, through my Eastee friend Enrico, who had started as an electrician and ended up a ballet dancer surrounded by beautiful model girlfriends. I decorated his yuppie apartment with my pigments in the washed-out Berlin "Schwam" style. I rented a whole floor in an old factory for peanuts to paint and exhibit my first canvases; and then, eventually, suffered a burnout through not eating and not sleeping at night. So I returned to live with my parents in the UK, that was in 2002. Eighteen months later I had recovered enough to return to what was still, in my opinion, the most exciting place in the world, where I began a new chapter in my life - just as exciting. I founded a series of off-spaces called Gallery Wallywoods (I still don't know how I managed it financially), working with and presenting international and local artists and performers often involved with all kinds of experimental stuff and the avant-garde. I developed my own ever more ambitious works and exhibition concepts within this self-made framework; and I finally felt useful in the world. My last two years in Berlin (before moving to Zurich to marry Maya Malfatti, whom I had also met in Berlin) were spent occupying my gallery rooms within the Kulturhaus Weissensee, by the "White Lake" in East Berlin. I even hired a lawyer to help me do it. Amazing times indeed. I organized meetings and demos and gave interviews (one is automatically politicized as an "alternative" artist in any city) to save the building from local government incompetence and the bureaucrats who were slowly strangling the Berlin we ourselves had built. The one they themselves were officially, but not really, so proud of. At the same time we drew, over a period of two and a half years, half-a-million doodles on the walls inside that doomed culture centre; doodles of empty chairs, one of my pet themes. With my crew, local lads with bottles of Berliner beer, not much experience of the outer world, but great big hearts, I began deconstructing my "Broken Pianos Orchestra" (13 pianos we had collected, decorated by artists), partly in protest, but mainly for my sculptural project, the "Piano Thrones". One of them was to be a functioning guillotine entitled "The Flying Guillotine Piano Throne", and may yet be, if I ever finish it. I could go on, but there is too much. Too many adventures, too many moments. I do write a blog, by the way, which is rich in this period - but I took it off my website recently, for various reasons. One is that my underground past does not aid my hopes in the established art scene of the present. I don't want them looking at it. Another is that a recent costume I made, "Burka for Man and Wife", drew attention from a radical brat in the UK who threatened the group of artists I was with - a group who promptly cancelled my part and dropped me... but that's another story. This would never have happened in Berlin... The point is, I grew up in Berlin - not Germany, as we all agree. Berlin was something else, an Island of freedom and sanity. I became an artist there, and a finally a whole person. This was due in large respect to the sheer quantity as well as the quality of artists I hung out with, and the quality of their hearts. Now, decades later, I'm nearer to "retirement" than the second youth I fondly recall. And I reckon Berlin might just be the place to retreat to before I'm too old to enjoy it - before the world collapses into its own selfishness and arrogance, and all the human love I knew there evaporates forever."
That text released today in Slovakia thanks to friend Barbara Lamoot (who also translated it into Slovak, heroic job!) and her friends at Enter Magazine. Look forward to getting a copy in the post:
END OF YEAR REPORT
Ran out of words again.
(As well as, needless to say, money.)
December 25
ALL I WANT...
is to do what I do best.
One of the few things that makes me happy.
I just want to work on my art.
(Apart from a few people, that's all that matters.)
October 1
GROWING UP IN BERLIN IN THE 90's
Actually I grew up in London, but I didn't enjoy that. I was a shy lad, a late developer. Stupidly introverted. In my 20's I made a break for it and backpacked around Europe. I ending up in Berlin where I could stay with my only mate, or so it seemed, Bob King, who had escaped to Kreuzberg with his girlfriend in '88. He went straight through the Wall when it crumbled to set up in eerily deserted Prenzlauerberg. What stories he told, and I would know more first hand. In essence East Berlin had hardly changed when I arrived in '92. It was grey, quiet like Sunday every day, open to newcomers, relaxed, sensible and politely crazy. No-one had a phone, there were just dirty phone boxes on the occasional street corner, always occupied. People had patience. They had time. Penniless now after my travels and unwilling to go home, to go back in time to real urban solitude, I needed a plan. When Bob went off for a month, leaving me in his funny little ground floor flat (at a cost of a few quid per week) his friends would knock on his door at all hours, and I would invite them in. Birgit, Joe & Jas, Oli, Thomas, Stefan... People with kind eyes. Timid as I still was, I quickly met many more, local and from all corners of the world. They were actually interested in who I was. I opened up in small degrees, and got creative. I smoked my first joints, hung out at the coolest and cheapest bars and maddest underground parties. I was at home already. I fell in love here and there, with girls more beautiful than I ever could get on with in Lambeth North, realising I felt differently about girls with a german accent, added of course to the fact that they were so open and full of life. And they liked my accent, my weightless english voice, imagine! Everyone was making enough money to somehow live a basic but worthy existence by selling things they produced themselves at art and flee markets. (Every day a Sunday.) Anything from jewelry to hats and space cakes, spoon sculptures to boomerangs and hippy things made from rubbish. And toys, music, CDs and pictures. So I set about making marionettes. I had been until recently a model-maker for architects and advertising, but never wanted to slave in one of their chemical stinking studios again. I sold my stuff at stands at the Museums Insel, and became known as Paul the Puppet. It was hard - impossible in fact. I was always near penniless. But what else should I do? I couldn't leave this pretty daydream. We all joked, come on a visit to Berlin; and end up staying ten years. It caught us all like that. In a nutshell, I became an artist. I made ceramic sculptures, produced and even read my own poetry, painted murals and then on canvas. During more lucrative years I decorated countless new bars and restaurants all cashing in on the boom, making quite a name for myself as a deco and wall artist. I exhibited pictures at Tacheles and weird objects in dark, throbbing cellars. I stole all the coal I needed from huge unguarded piles of it behind the school in "LSD Viertel", the neighbourhood I would know like the back of my hand. Everyone else did the same. God! it was cold in Winter, but let's skip that. We climbed through holes in roofs to reach psychedelic parties, and at the same time I was getting invited to posh restaurant and club openings, eating on occasion like a king, and starving again afterwards. I got free tickets worth hundreds of bucks for myself and mates for the Staatsoper in Unter den Linden, through my Eastee friend Enrico, who had started as an electrician and ended up a ballet dancer surrounded by beautiful model girlfriends. I decorated his yuppie apartment with my pigments in the washed-out Berlin "Schwam" style. I rented a whole floor in an old factory for peanuts to paint and exhibit my first canvases; and then, eventually, suffered a burnout through not eating and not sleeping at night. So I returned to live with my parents in the UK, that was in 2002. Eighteen months later I had recovered enough to return to what was still, in my opinion, the most exciting place in the world, where I began a new chapter in my life - just as exciting. I founded a series of off-spaces called Gallery Wallywoods (I still don't know how I managed it financially), working with and presenting international and local artists and performers often involved with all kinds of experimental stuff and the avant-garde. I developed my own ever more ambitious works and exhibition concepts within this self-made framework; and I finally felt useful in the world. My last two years in Berlin (before moving to Zurich to marry Maya Malfatti, whom I had also met in Berlin) were spent occupying my gallery rooms within the Kulturhaus Weissensee, by the "White Lake" in East Berlin. I even hired a lawyer to help me do it. Amazing times indeed. I organized meetings and demos and gave interviews (one is automatically politicized as an "alternative" artist in any city) to save the building from local government incompetence and the bureaucrats who were slowly strangling the Berlin we ourselves had built. The one they themselves were officially, but not really, so proud of. At the same time we drew, over a period of two and a half years, half-a-million doodles on the walls inside that doomed culture centre; doodles of empty chairs, one of my pet themes. With my crew, local lads with bottles of Berliner beer, not much experience of the outer world, but great big hearts, I began deconstructing my "Broken Pianos Orchestra" (13 pianos we had collected, decorated by artists), partly in protest, but mainly for my sculptural project, the "Piano Thrones". One of them was to be a functioning guillotine entitled "The Flying Guillotine Piano Throne", and may yet be, if I ever finish it. I could go on, but there is too much. Too many adventures, too many moments. I do write a blog, by the way, which is rich in this period - but I took it off my website recently, for various reasons. One is that my underground past does not aid my hopes in the established art scene of the present. I don't want them looking at it. Another is that a recent costume I made, "Burka for Man and Wife", drew attention from a radical brat in the UK who threatened the group of artists I was with - a group who promptly cancelled my part and dropped me... but that's another story. This would never have happened in Berlin... The point is, I grew up in Berlin - not Germany, as we all agree. Berlin was something else, an Island of freedom and sanity. I became an artist there, and a finally a whole person. This was due in large respect to the sheer quantity as well as the quality of artists I hung out with, and the quality of their hearts. Now, decades later, I'm nearer to "retirement" than the second youth I fondly recall. And I reckon Berlin might just be the place to retreat to before I'm too old to enjoy it - before the world collapses into its own selfishness and arrogance, and all the human love I knew there evaporates forever."
That text released today in Slovakia thanks to friend Barbara Lamoot (who also translated it into Slovak, heroic job!) and her friends at Enter Magazine. Look forward to getting a copy in the post:
September 29
OFF TO BRISTOL TODAY
Dad's home town. Will stop at Stonehenge for some Faceless Portraits on the way and stand outside Dismaland as they take it down on the way back. Then back on the Island Friday for fish and chips. Will bash on with loads of new works for the increasingly ambitious Elevation project, showing at the West Gallery early in the new year.
September 21
BIT BETTER THANKS
Welcome back. Got very fed up with blogging same old complaints. Things much improved. Seem to be getting somewhere.
Packed up this and the other stuff today from the Quay's Democracy exhibition. Made a bit of a splash with "Game of Thorns" below (now at Russell's "Land").
June 12
ISLAND LIFE
That's what dad calls his diaries. He says he doesn't keep them up much, terminally frustrated that he can't produce great literature. Or so he assumes. I tried to persuade him years ago to forget comparisons and just write a book, now he's retired with heaps of time. But he won't, self-doubting perfectionist that he is. I know very much the feeling. I've little inclination to say much myself anymore. But here's a quick update.
On the Island again for a few months. On the positive side; a group exhibition running now at Quay includes four BB prints (they weren't interested in the new stuff, but what the hell) and two coming up. Will be taking part in "Democracy" starting late July, also at Quay, with two new thrones and photo works, and before that another group show "Belief" at the Depozitory, where we've rented studio space. I'll be building the thrones there, not from pianos, but from whatever I can lay my hands on with Chris's permission. Belief starts in two weeks and I've done little fo it. Hard to get motivated these days. But we know what we want to do, Maya and I, and I'm slowly assembling a costume each within our "Cult" project, as well as rituals etc to go with it. Should fit rather well with what the others are doing, though of course there's a risk we'll upset someone, even if we are trying to keep it jolly this time. (I'm such a wimp.)
NEVER VOLUNTEER
Still not fully recovered from my injuries, though function much better now. Couldn't drive a car for over a month. Elbow and foot still stiff. Physiotherapy helped a lot, or rather the advice he gave me, kindly paid for by Ruth. What didn't help was hearing nothing from Walcheturm, not a how are you or get well soon. No word on my event proposal either. So that's that short flirtation over. Ignorance abounds. I don't get these people.
Found a shop in Shanklin perfect for a little gallery. Have tried to get people here involved, as we can't do the costs alone, but no luck yet. So it probably won't happen. I told Maya via Skype (she arrives in a week or two) that after long and hard thought, setting up and running a project is about the only thing which interests me now in life. Something I can't do it 'cos I'm always broke. Can hardly get a job 'cos I'm always fed up. I get on less and less with life and people in general. Such a stupid place, this world, or rather most of the people in it. (Need to chill out, I know. More than that, need something to finally go right.)
April 20
FRESH LIGHT
It's a cliché but fall four meters off a ladder landing an inch from breaking your neck and you start to see things in a fresh light. On Thursday you're at the hospital in a wheel-chair with a neck-brace getting x-rayed for possible cracked ankle, elbow, wrist, chest and neck. On Friday you're watching tv at home on pain-killers and chocolate thankful for mere sprains; not even a bruise to speak of. In fact the doctor was intrigued that I felt such pain, especially in the foot, when there was apparently little wrong with me. (Sore feet over the last couple of years is something I should get checked, she said. A "tall people problem".) My discomfort was matched by embarrassment. I hate ballsing up professionally. I had been keen to get involved with events at Walcheturm, and this time would have taken part in that evening's performance featuring Veli & Amos spraying small time celebs with paint-filled fire-extinguishers. Maya attended and said it was super. Well, that's super. Maybe next time. Until then I'll be paying off the medical bill. (See March 26 entry, last sentance!)
I also missed the private view at Zurich's design museum, Museum für Gestaltung, for which I had recorded voice-over for two documentary films on pioneers of "Swiss Style" graphic design. (An incredibly dull subject, but then I'm a layman. Others wet their knickers over it.) The work at the sound studio I enjoyed very much, had received high praise for my englishness, and await an equally high pay-off. Really must try to do more of it. The opening do was posh indeed. Maya took Flo Streit, also a graphic designer, but they were puzzled to find no dinner, for which we had reserved places. So they went for pizza. Very curious.
We've decided on dates for another half year or so on the Island and I've reserved studio space at the Depozitory, where I'll also be showing at their part in the Ryde Arts Festival. I'm telling everyone I'm going to start painting, and I hope I do this time. Got it all worked out, what to paint, how, and above all why. And if at all possible I want to get the thrones (or at least one) over there, to store if not to work on. They should go home at last, as it were. No idea how to transport them, though. Broke, as ever. But positive. Glad to be alive.
April 7
SWORD FIGHTS IN VIENNA
Headed back tomorrow after a refreshing week in Vienna. Will have a lot of photos to process, looking forward to that. Fun shoot yesterday at the Museums Quarter with Barbara, Jakub and Marcel, who drove all the way from Bratislava to take part. They brought robes and swords with them and we got all theatrical. Felt like extras in a cheap historical epic. It's challenging to improvise scenes with a larger group, surrounded by tourists too, but definately something I want to take further. Maya left us in a cafe chatting and getting warm, and I ended up driving back with them to Bratislava (which turns out to be not so far at all) for a cup of tea and a sticky. Half an hour later I was on the train back to Vienna, followed by a two-hour wait outside the flat until Maya and Benjamin returned from a pub. Well worth the trip though, with hopes of staying a couple of days next time around. Good people. Artists without egos.
Also met Sigbang and Gerda Schmidt, who I haven't seen for years, at Cafe Alt Wien in the city centre. Siggy has recovered from a burst artery in his brain which almost killed him a year and a half ago. He's clearly altered, but doing very well. In fact he was in such high spirits he spent most of the time laughing.
March 26
TEA & TALK WITH PAUL
I've started doing some english conversation sessions; "Speak english with an Englishman..." This was Martina's idea, and not a bad one. The last time I did that was in Berlin in the early nineties. So we've put an add in Ronorp and on a university website notice-board and I seem to have three students already.
I've also volunteered to help out at the established off-space Walcheturm, which is not far away from us. Assisting the first time last night for an event involving a contingent of Milan VJs and artists went well. I didn't fall off a ladder. Gosh, what a high ceiling.
March 18
APPLICATION UNSUCCESSFUL
for the annual competition at Helmhaus Zurich for grants and studios (Werk- ind Auslandatelierstipendien der Stadt Zürich 2015).
This time the letter was addressed to Maya as we had applied with our photo projects as a duo. I think she was more upset this time than I was. Not that I was not upset. It took a while to work out how to vent this time without confining myself to a bucket for three months. It involves dressing up for the opening event, although without a wheel-chair. We will probably be in the UK anyway at that time, but I like the idea very much...
March 2
AWFUL
Tidying up half finished project pages I keep coming across awful texts, like this one at the Gallery Wallywoods in Weissensee page. I've killed it now so only the first line remains. What was I on? Plain awful. Reminds me of Bad Words from the Library of Bad Ideas
"I was founder and curator of Gallery Wallywoods at the Weissensee Culture Center in Berlin. It was my idea, my project, and I paid the silly local government to be there. So as well as organising the exhibitions, concerts, workshops and other events, nobody expected that I also document them very much, as much as I would have liked to. I dreamed of making a book, but didn't have the resources, or surplus energy, ever to do it. In the end all those amazing (and yes, occasionally awful) artworks and installations, solo and group shows, and their diversity of contributors, young and old, local and international, had to be experienced on the spot. As indeed they were by many delighted (and yes, horrified) visitors and friends over those crazy three years. But I did manage to collect a computer full of photos. Taken mostly by crew members, usually during the open door events, I proudly present a few of them here for the first time together. I underline that these are predominately party pictures, taken while the beers flowed. The serious business of making art, hanging art and living art went on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week... until, well, until we decided in a courthouse across town, after a final year of loudly demonstrating and politely squatting, to return the keys to that awful local government. The building is still empty and unused to this day."
February 20
IN ZURICH FOR A WHILE
Five months in the UK has changed my perceptions, not only of the UK, but of Europe as a whole. In essence it's a wonderful place, by far the best of evils. But I really must complain less about my unfruitful existence. It's not Europe's fault. We sit on our laurels a lot though. Which is what people do when they are comfortable, at peace. This feeling of bad things closing in - is it just me? Well, a new cold war is dawning, fueled by the Putin monster, the KGB thug, as Dad calls him. No, it's not just me. I am more aware now, more affected, that's what it is. And more annoyed that ever by events close to home.
Stuff it. I have to let things wash over me. I can't change much. I can't even do much. Not in real life, not compared to all the things I want to do. Too many problems, too many brick walls. So I'll carry on with the latest projects, like a preoccupied child in the corner of the playground. I enjoy them beyond words, the photo works. Beyond the activity, beyond the results. They are my therapy and my fuel. The goodies in my secret lucky bag.
Pleased to find very little has changed around Lake Zurich, where I thought I might do a bit of busking. I appreciate its tranquility, and even its tidiness. Striking is, all the building and street works constantly going on around us, starting at the doorstep. They will be redoing our kitchen soon enough, as well as the stairway and whatever else. They never tire. It's not as if the city is falling apart, on the contrary, the worst road surfaces here beat the best pot-hole-ridden ones back on the Island. Clearly there is a surplus of money and it urgently needs spending. Swiss-Italian workers are rebuilding the low wall which surrounds our estate, although it was perfectly fine, nothing wrong with it at all. Just a bit old. More excuses for putting the rents up again? Certainly. Big business money laundering? Isn't that the primary function of all big business, to churn cash fast as possible into bricks and bank bonds? In any way for the good of local citizens? Must be bloody joking! The Swiss are well off, it's true, but there are always enough poor ones around to be dumped upon. Like anywhere.
GOOD NEWS
Delighted to find today that much of our Chapel of Atheism is still intact and being looked after by some decent new tenants. They stopped the old bugger Herr Haller just in time from having everything painted over. I will be repairing a very small but irksome patch on the ceiling, and we've been invited to show some documentation of the rooms and project. How lovely to be appreciated.
February 14
VALENTINE'S DAY
Spoke too soon.
Je suis Copenhagen.
February 13
FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH
Nothing bad happened yet.
(7.30pm)
February 12
MOTIVATION
"We are a married couple, both artists, who work increasingly together on surrealistic photo-montages. The process and results have been shown to small audiences in Zurich and the UK. Subversion within the obvious is our stimulus and incentive. We work within strict self-defined constraints, yet on-site spontaneity is a fundamental factor. The depths and enigmas of human existence featured throughout the works are treated often with humor, and always with aspects of ambiguity.
Support from Stat Zurich would mean a springboard for more ambitious projects we have in mind, involving more actors, more elaborate costumes, studio space and professional photographic equipment. Assistance with printing costs is also key, as the pictures are made to be displayed in large format. Existential burdens would be relieved, allowing freedom to realise and present new artworks. Competition success would also enable us to reach a broader audience, within a reputable, stable platform."
Thank you very much in advance for giving us a lot of money and a studio!
Kisses,
PP & MM
(From our latest funding application, this time to City of Zurich, through their prestigious yearly Helmhaus bonanza.)
February 11
WHAT TO DO
with all the odds and ends like this:
Best if they become part of a series. But if not? There is one more of these, legless and surreal, and I might make more. So that's already a series I suppose. Perhaps call it LEGLESS & SURREAL. But what to do with them, what are they for?
Paint them one day! Yes, that's always been the plan. I've so much material for when I finally start painting again it's quite exciting. And daunting.
February 9
COSTUME FOR TWO
As well as receiving some flattering comments, there were two people who didn't like the Costume for Two before I temporarily removed it from social media. In response to a post in an online forum for artists, in which I asked what people might think of the costume before it appeared at an exhibition, the first threatened "censor your lesbian art or it will be done for you" and that in his opinion "times are changing". The second, a nice lady in our art group who works for the council, freaked out at this. She expressed anger (at me) and shock in general, questioned my integrity, and the upshot was I withdrew myself and the work from the collective. I complied and left like a scolded schoolboy. After all I was new on the scene and felt it best all round. Peace in our time, and all that.
I received half a dozen "Je suis Paul Woods" messages of support before deleting them, and everything connected with them, for the peace of mind of the group. The artwork had almost gone viral, but I squashed, and along with it my right to freedom of expression in this country. I will show it again, but it needs another platform. Meanwhile my website stats are back to normal and the world did not implode due to my frivolous actions. I had pulled out for only one good reason, consideration for fellow artists and their approaching exhibition (on the subject of love, funnily enough). My feelings on leaving them so abruptly, having been so pleased to find them, are beside the point. But I still can't work out which of the two who didn't like my artwork did more harm.
February 2/3
MIDNIGHT MOON HALO
above Shanklin Old Village. Also known as a 22° halo, a moon ring or a winter halo. Amazed by it on the way back from the pub. (Hic!) Never seen one as huge or as bright. The four of us stood gaping like extras in Close Encounters. Maya ran upstairs to grab the camera. The three smaller stars weren't visible to the naked eye, just the one to the left. It was almost mystical. UFOs? Spirits? An omen from some outraged misery-inflicting god? No, light passing through hexagonal ice crystals suspended in the atmosphere. Mother Nature showing off her petticoats. We were overwhelmed. How much more glory do you want!
February 1
SPENT THE NIGHT
redesigning this website. And I should spend the rest of the year rewriting these diaries. What a bunch of drivel. Forget recent years, go back about ten, to Berlin, where everything was leading somewhere and the present was packed. Never a dull moment, and never a doubt.
Came across this, from closer to twenty years ago, around the time I thought I was a poet. It's from the Library of Bad Ideas and I fish it out now for my friends at the Love exhibition which opens next week. It got published in German, but before that I remember pasting it up anonymously on the streets of Berlin. Can't remember why. Typically rough, smotheringly romantic and brilliantly horrible, it reminds me of more recent work. I still like the pictures it conjures up:
FISH FUCK
"If my vision is true and I am doomed to be reincarnated as a fish in my next life, I shall journey to the nudist beach where you take your holidays and swim up into you, to live in your womb. When you sleep, while you dream, I will slip down to nibble and splash in the threshold cave that is your cunt. When, in the silent hours you stir to waking, as you often will, I shall thrust once more deep to your womb, leaving you wretched and groping for the partner who is never and always there.
On my death bed I will choose upon your merits as I count them, whether to return as an electric eel, a stickleback or a darting silver fish, adept at exploring secret routes among the labyrinth passages within the flesh and bones of your torpefied body. Random ways will lead me to the spirals of your ears, where I will whisper maddening words, and to the tubes behind your eyes, where I will gesture in rude silhouette. Through the bitter-sweet pools behind your tongue, I shall dive, into the bleakness of your burgled brain, which I will feverishly fertilise. Into crystal coral networks beneath your breasts, I shall break, and reach the cramped and vacant chapel of your heart, which I will desecrate. Down the arcing yellow cables of your spine, I shall swim, and on from there to the extremities of your restless, hopeless limbs. I shall wade amongst kidney and gut, your most intimate bowel, and arrive, spent and spluttering, at the wine filled chamber of your stomach, from which I will drink.
Should you, before me, dare to venture away from this place, and leave yourself, all stranded upon some sunless beach of souls, I shall have you return forthwith to your place among my bed sheets, as a gold-green slug, with glittered lips and tendrils; and more slow time for journeying than there ever was. You will leave a pungent gluey trail upon the white flesh of my body, a river in the starving dunes, to glisten in the quiet morning light; and cause me to half remember sticky dreams."
January 31
THE SIMPLE IDEA
of wearing a model of my own head approximately three times actual size for a series of photographs occurred to me somewhere between the Bucket Bloke and White October projects, and is a natural progression of those and other considerations. After contacting a number of 3D specialists, Big Head can now be realised thanks to Robert at Island 3D Printing and their generous sponsorship of a costly and time-consuming technique. The object in question, a hollow, lightweight, ultra-realistic mask, will be too large for most 3D printers to produce - but not to worry, Robert is building his own big new printer. MM and I are quite excited. I'll post more as things develop.
ART CENTRE
I've moved this here from the intro page for the time being, as we plan a couple of months in Zurich. Will return to it later:
"Representing a small but dynamic group of artists, I am searching for premises in the UK in which to set up a new centre for contemporary arts. It should be self-supporting, made up of artists studios, exhibition / showroom space, and perhaps a cafe. Interaction with the public is essential. The larger the building the better. Happy at this stage to consider various options for securing the right location, especially funding and guardianship. All input welcome!"
January 30
VERY NICE GUESTS
Ben, Maya's half-brother, and partner Angie have arrived from Vienna. Looking forward to showing them our beautiful Island, starting with a local tour down to our rugged bit of beach. When we get there I shall put on my new glasses, which I'm very pleased with. I am quite sure that would be allowed in the current climate. They are for reading, actually, but I'll put them on because I don't wish to see what's on the horizon. It's not good. Not good.
Regarding the competition, I didn't enter it. Couldn't afford the fee.
January 29
I DON'T HAVE AN ARTIST'S STATEMENT
I find communicating on social and official levels difficult. I am neither eloquent nor politically correct. I make art. I should mention that my latest work (...) I have occasionally dabbled in activism - always on a legal basis. In Berlin my two-and-a-half year struggle against the closure by local government of the Weissensee Culture Centre (Kulturhaus Weissensee) within which I ran an independent arts project (to the annoyance of local nazis) was considered by friends and foe alike as tilting at windmills. Perhaps my artist's statement should be "Paradox Paul tilts at windmills". Yet I managed through art, reason and demonstration to keep our doors open those two-and-a-half-years, presenting a busy and varied range of exhibitions and performances. The time was also used to establish the 12 piece Broken Pianos Orchestra and complete the massive and unique project Half a Million Little Chairs (...) The integrity of my work is paramount, even if a work is irreverent. With the all-covering Costume for Two artwork I believe I have made a tiny dent in standardised perceptions - without harming any group or individual's peaceful right to practice a faith. I will add that everything I do is ambiguous, whilst humor, often dark, is always present. Politics and religion are only two fronts on which to question and challenge. My interests, mediums and catalogue of works are broad ranging.
(For a competition entry, closing date tomorrow. Notes for accompanying images: Scarecrows / Big Head / Costume / Buckets / Smurfs / Guillotine)
January 28
I USED TO WRITE
project descriptions and these diaries freely, pouring out thoughts as if talking among mates, among peers. A writer friend in the Wallywoods years said the blog was the most entertaining local news online. I wrote how I lived, from a stable, tolerant, humour-loving part of the world. It would take rather a lot of effort editing all that into politically correct pulp. But I've made some adjustments. If anyone's upset by something, do let me know. Politely please.
January 26
PROUD NEW OWNER
today of my first pair of glasses since boyhood.
January 24
HAVE DECIDED TO ABANDON
the "Coffin for Two" piece, at least for now. What's the point. Just tons more work for bloody nothing.
(Revision: postponed, of course, not abandoned!)
January 23
"DEAR PAUL WOODS
Thank you for your recent application for admission to the RA Schools.
After careful consideration, we have decided we don't like the cut of your jib and are unable to offer you an interview on this occasion, or probably any other. This year we had an overwhelming response to our call for applications and the standard was very much higher than yours. Or your wife's.
Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your application. Please note that we do not offer feedback due to the high volume of applications we receive and, to be honest, because we can't possibly defend our motives or frightfully predictable choice of the usual candidates.
Yours hilariously,
Eileen Cooper
Keeper of the Royal Academy and Unimaginative Expletive
Burlington House, Piccadilly, London, W1J 0BD"
January 20
CATHARSIS MINUTES
I knew it was a good photo-shoot, freezing in the sunlight out on Compton Beach. Posting the first pictures on the Costume for Two page, I leaned back in that moment when everything is right. Great art in a nutshell. Well, great art in a duvet cover. Yes, it still happens. Reassured and on the right track. Heedless in that other knowledge that few will ever see this work, that I won't make the big breakthrough even with this little masterpiece, that I can't succeed in what I want because I can't communicate in the correct manner, with the correct people, because I dislike pushing at doors, when pushing is exactly all I should be doing, peddling if you like, as others peddle so well, regardless of what, putting of endlessly the things which drive me, the things I need to do. Instead fixed in the Net, greedy for clicks, chatting up art gurus who wouldn't know a good thing if it sawed their legs off, writing brilliant yet groveling e-mails and useless CVs, filling in forms and more forms, entering competitions in which I don't stand a chance, constantly making excuses for my lack of a diploma, seeking to impress businessmen, bureaucrats and bastards... Blah blap blah.
Nope, can't do all that. Just want to make some art. Die poor and unfulfilled, but at least happy in my catharsis minutes.
January 16
FINISHED
the Costume for Two, as it's now called. It's lovely. First response was good. I was concerned it wouldn't fit, so to speak. Too political. Too sexy. As for the Lover's Coffin, haven't even started that yet. Can't afford the materials.
January 14
FOR MY BIRTHDAY
Maya ordered a huge carrot cake from the cake shop in the High Street. It's covered in red icing. I mean the cake is covered in red icing, not the High Street. It's in the shape of a bucket. Brilliant.
January 8
VIVE LA RESISTANCE!
Je suis Charlie.
Keeper of the Royal Academy and Unimaginative Expletive
Burlington House, Piccadilly, London, W1J 0BD"
January 20
CATHARSIS MINUTES
I knew it was a good photo-shoot, freezing in the sunlight out on Compton Beach. Posting the first pictures on the Costume for Two page, I leaned back in that moment when everything is right. Great art in a nutshell. Well, great art in a duvet cover. Yes, it still happens. Reassured and on the right track. Heedless in that other knowledge that few will ever see this work, that I won't make the big breakthrough even with this little masterpiece, that I can't succeed in what I want because I can't communicate in the correct manner, with the correct people, because I dislike pushing at doors, when pushing is exactly all I should be doing, peddling if you like, as others peddle so well, regardless of what, putting of endlessly the things which drive me, the things I need to do. Instead fixed in the Net, greedy for clicks, chatting up art gurus who wouldn't know a good thing if it sawed their legs off, writing brilliant yet groveling e-mails and useless CVs, filling in forms and more forms, entering competitions in which I don't stand a chance, constantly making excuses for my lack of a diploma, seeking to impress businessmen, bureaucrats and bastards... Blah blap blah.
Nope, can't do all that. Just want to make some art. Die poor and unfulfilled, but at least happy in my catharsis minutes.
January 16
FINISHED
the Costume for Two, as it's now called. It's lovely. First response was good. I was concerned it wouldn't fit, so to speak. Too political. Too sexy. As for the Lover's Coffin, haven't even started that yet. Can't afford the materials.
January 14
FOR MY BIRTHDAY
Maya ordered a huge carrot cake from the cake shop in the High Street. It's covered in red icing. I mean the cake is covered in red icing, not the High Street. It's in the shape of a bucket. Brilliant.
January 8
VIVE LA RESISTANCE!
Je suis Charlie.