…THE TENNYSON AVENUE COINCIDENCE…

October 2010

I sold my Mini Cooper a couple of months ago now and I always knew that when we moved house I would be using the train on a daily basis.

“Have a good day dear!” she called out to me as I opened the door to leave.
“I won’t!” I called back as the door closed and I stood on the path that would take me from the house to the main Birmingham Road. The farewell is a joke that Suzanne and I have shared since we watched the entire first series of the original “Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin”. I am not the best planner so although it would have been a good idea to locate the station prior to my first journey from the new house I hadn’t. I roughly knew where Blake Street Station was from where I was standing and throwing my bag over my shoulder I turned left to begin what I believed would be a relatively short walk. Over the next five minutes or so I navigated myself fairly well along, first, a main road and then into a more residential network of smaller roads that would (I hoped) lead to my destination. As I passed various road signs I acknowledged some of the names just in case I got lost and needed to work my way back, some of the names stuck “Shelley Drive” and “Keates Close” the names registered with me momentarily and the vague recollection of roads named after famous writers seemed significant for some reason. As I meandered around the bend in the road towards the station sign that I could now see in the distance something came into my view that stopped me in my tracks. 14 letters and the name that those letters spelled out in front of me seemed to leap from their discoloured oblong backdrop and hypnotise me, calling me forward slowly, somehow familiar, somehow otherworldly…

“T E N N Y S O N A V E N U E”

The sudden and sharp sound of the car horn jolted me from my trance and I realised all too quickly and embarrassingly that I was standing in the middle of the road staring at a road sign. I held my hand up as an apologetic gesture to the driver of the car and moved to the side of the road just a few steps away from the sign.

The original version of “The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin” with Leonard Rossiter contained a sequence that was repeated regularly and represented the catalyst for the routine that Reggie grows so frustrated with. Sparking a rapid series of situations within which he demonstrates progressively erratic behaviour, the visually simple montage of Reggie’s legs striding past a series of road signs as he heads to the train station is a signature sequence for me as it directs us to the constraints and routines with which the main character’s struggles are played out.

Reggie passes “Tennyson Avenue” everyday and I realised that I now had a “Tennyson Avenue” to pass everyday as well…convergence lines and coincidences….



…MOVING ON…

September 2010

We’ve been trying to move house for nearly two and halve years now and finally after an unnecessary and disproportionate level of discomfort it looks like its finally happening.

Suzanne and I have spent the last couple of days boxing up everything in the studio that has to go with us. I have found a surprising level of ruthlessness when it has come down to difficult decisions about those items that could (should) be discarded forever. My GCSE Artwork that I had protected since the day I left Great Barr School in 1989 was one of the first to be placed on the “to skip” pile along with the old portfolio case that housed it. I looked at the battered case for a little while, examining the series of postcards and prints that had been glued to the surface. As was the trend at our school in the late 80’s you wore your colours on your art case The Smiths, Ian Brown and Marilyn Monroe adorned mine and marked me out as one of many who were touched by that, seemingly now defunct, term “Indie”. I shared those days with Suzanne at school and although there was a slight look of extreme pleasure in her eye at the removal of many items she would term as unnecessarily hoarded, a waste of space, I think that we also had moments of remembering our past lives through some of the rediscovered things I’d kept and maybe felt good to have survived.

Symbolically speaking I now think it was a good thing to discard such items, I haven’t got time to explore what I was I’m more interested in what I am now and what I’m going to be…AS IS NOW!



…THEATRE REHEARSALS: DAY THREE…

August 2010

7.45am – “Face To Face” interview today and I am less comfortable prior to this one than I was yesterday. It’s been a while since I put on the Homburg and I wasn’t prepared for the nerves that I felt this morning when I got up. It will be OK, I know the part. We deliberately haven’t done any run throughs, as I want to remain as much on the back foot as possible with this one. Everything is prepared camera-wise and in terms of lighting so it’s just a case of remembering the facial expressions and posture. I’m sure that as soon as I put the hat on…

3.35pm – So it went really well and I genuinely surprised myself with some of the responses I gave to the questions. Sometimes I found myself answering as Tony and sometimes I realised it was Dean Kelland out there in a Homburg hat. I certainly feel that I’ve come on since the last time we performed this interview. The lights were really hot and directed straight into my face and it’s either this or a combination of this and the last two days efforts that are making me feel exhausted. Having packed everything away into the suitcase and rucksack Jon and I are just about to meet my friend Tom Hicks at Jay’s café to talk through what we’ve done. Nat had to get off early as she is heading for Brighton this weekend. They have both contributed so much to the smooth running of the week and have given a lot to the production of a significant amount of material for me to now sift through and edit. I need that cup of tea.



…THEATRE REHEARSALS: DAY TWO…

August 2010

7.20am - Suzanne has offered to give me a lift, she took one look at the amount of stuff I had gathered together and pragmatically worked out my forthcoming struggle on the bus would not end well. Harold Steptoe today and I’ve obviously been working through things in the studio for a couple of months now and despite the fact that I will be performing in front of people for the first time today I am surprisingly relaxed about it all, even looking forward to it. I think that I’ve been desperate to take it onto the stage just to see how it works and today is the day, it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing the studio rehearsals at all, but a change in location at this point should throw up some new ideas and ways of working. Just hope the cleaners haven’t tampered with the marks we made.

11.50pm – The cleaners had tampered with the marks, I say tampered just removed them really. However this initial setback served only to galvanise our approach to the day and we got more than expected done overall. Nat remained a buzzin’ fly and busied herself in front of the stage with lights, tripods and cameras. Jon continued to question everything but in doing so directed proceedings with ease and accuracy. As the takes rolled by I found myself relaxing into the situation and loosening up in terms of the performance. We had time to try a couple of experiments with different scenes and played around with the details of some of the planned scenes. As I sit here I am excited about the footage that we gathered, just not looking forward to the huge edit ahead…



…THEATRE REHEARSALS: DAY ONE…

August 2010

8.05am - I’ve sold my classic Mini Cooper, couldn’t afford to keep her running any longer and she needed someone who could dedicate the time and care to maintaining her. Times are tight and the money was needed. I’m sitting in Jay’s café going over my notes for the day ahead. I travelled by bus today and as always I made sure that I got the earlier service in case of any delays. There were no delays, so I am early. I hadn’t planned to perform at all today, just go through set ups, lighting, camera positions etc. Jon Crump and Nat Poole have kindly agreed to support me for the three days work and I have brought with me the appropriate DVD material to familiarise them with the original source material. Today should just be about discussion, planning and watching.

10.35pm – A good day overall, Nat and Jon were great, worked really hard to engage with what was required and we went through all the necessary set ups marking the floor with gaffer tape as we went so that tomorrow will run smoothly. As I expected Nat was like a buzzin’ fly getting the cameras together, tripods positioned watching the scenes on the laptop to get things as close as possible. I asked her because I knew she’d want it to be the best she could get. Jon had the questions “Why are we doing this?” “Why this location?” “Why this scene?” and “Why are we doing it this way?” I asked him because I knew he’d push me like this. Neither of them has let me down today and I am genuinely looking forward to performing tomorrow. I’m off to pack my suitcase with the costumes I need for tomorrow, public transport requires more planning than just getting in the car.




…AND YOU CAN QUOTE ME ON THAT…

JULY 2010

Anyone who has ever undertaken research in order to develop and resolve his or her art making process will know that the journey is a mixed and varied experience. Some sources of research appear to be absolutely spot on, only to disappoint or throw you off scent with interesting but distracting information. Sometimes you are recommended books, films and artworks that are impenetrable, incomprehensible and/or irrelevant. But there are those occasions when you pick up something that breathes life into your ideas, something that articulates and summarises the issues that you are dealing with to such an extent that you feel inspired to drive your practice on, it’s like having another voice near you that whispers encouragement as you work. “A National Joke” by Andy Medhurst has been one of a number of sources that has sat on my desk and provided just that type of encouragement over the past couple of years that I’ve been working on “The Living Room Series.”

“Ah well! Academics like Beckett you see, but “Steptoe and Son” is better and you can quote me on that!”

It had been a great day in Brighton, the sun had shone, I’d picked up a vintage Aertex knitted shirt from Jump The Gun in the morning and here I was concluding my interview with Andy Medhurst. It had been a joy to talk to him about some of the ideas in his book but also Andy had been happy to discuss my work and how he felt I had been dealing with some of the issues we’d been discussing. I couldn’t help nodding and smiling as he seemed to deliver insights that I knew would look great on a page as quotes and he had been as I had expected, a down to earth guy who was passionate and knowledgeable about his subject. We’d discussed everything from Max Miller to William Gaunt, Samuel Beckett’s “Film” to Peter Collinson’s “Up The Junction” and of course Tony, Harold, Bob and Terry.

“If you really want to know what is troubling a society at any particular point in time then watch the sit-coms that were produced then. A society often laughs at the thing that is troubling it the most.”

As we parted Andy asked me to keep him up to date with what I was doing and going to do, I gave him one of my cards and asked him to sign my book, a little embarrassing I know but I am just a kid from Great Barr after all, he duly obliged and we said our goodbyes.

Later that afternoon I stood on Brighton Pier with a low fat Very Berry Smoothie for company, I was waiting for Suzanne to arrive so that we could start the long journey home. I reached into my bag and pulled out the book, it was battered, covered in my pencilled notes and highlighted sections; opening the front page I smiled as I read the message.

“Dear Dean – Glad to see you making use of this. Ho Ho. Andy M.”



…THE BRIGHTON COUNTDOWN IS ON…

June 2010

Some cities have a strange way of being your friend, and Brighton is definitely ours.

I’ve loved Brighton for a long time now; Suzanne and I fell in love with the place when we visited friends there in the late 90’s. Such was the extent of our love affair with it we decided to get married opposite the pier and it remains a location that we return to as regularly as possible. The place constantly punctures our consciousness films like “Quadrophenia”, “Carry On Girls” and more recently for us “Up The Junction” offer visual reminders of the streets that we’ve walked and the faces we've seen. Recent publications like Charlie McQuaker’s “Die Hard Mod” conjure up a sense of what it feels like to exist there. These resonant sources offer reminders of some great times…some great moments. It also houses one of my favourite clothing shops “Jump The Gun”.

I had managed to contact Andy Medhurst about his book “A National joke”. It is one of the key texts that I’m using and after a short series of e-mails I plucked up the courage to ask him if I could interview him, imagine my delight when he not only agreed but also revealed that he lived and worked in Brighton. Times arranged and the countdown is on…

It is now only a week before Andy and I meet in Brighton and I am going over and over the questions that I have planned for the interview…reviewing…refining, I’ve re-read the book to make sure that I don’t insult him by missing some vital insight that’s included within the pages and I have borrowed a very professional looking audio recorder so that he doesn’t think I’m a mug. Hotel booked and map sorted…the countdown is on.



...THE 3-STEP PERFORMANCE PROGRAMME AND PLANNING ACCIDENTS...

May 2010

Alongside my selected sit-coms I’ve been doing some parallel research into modes of production and presentation from selected contemporary art practices. Bas Jan Ader’s practice and approach to performance has been really interesting me. The assertion by Ader that the process of performance delivers “…accidental truths.” has been rattling around my head for some time especially because I’m using a methodology that relates to specific period sources. When I think about audience I’m having to acknowledge that specific period sources may not exist within the experience of individual consumers, therefore Ader’s approach has value when considering strategies of performance and display which are nevertheless open to reading and interpretation by viewers unfamiliar with the source.
For some time I’ve been thinking about those “accidental truths” and, perhaps misguidedly, allowed them to be the driving force…I know, how can something be accidental if it’s part of a planned method? How do you plan accidents? Jane said “You really need to get to grips with Brecht’s ideas about the theatre.” So on advice I’d started reading about Bertolt Brecht.

“Alienation occurs when familiar things are made to appear unfamiliar so that they may be analysed critically”

So engaging with Brechtian theories, in particular Brecht’s notion of Alienation I started to see not only similarities…convergences with what I’ve been doing but also a direction to take the work forward and sharpen some of the methods I’ve been using. It was just one of those moments when you suddenly read about something you’ve been doing for a while but haven’t been able to fully articulate.

Performance theoretician Shomit Mitter provides insight into a clear structure that Brecht outlined for his performers: -

(i) Before you assimilate or lose yourself in your character you must first become acquainted with it…
(ii) The second phase is that empathy, the search for the character’s truth in the subjective sense …becoming one with it…
(iii) And then there is the third phase in which you try to see the character from the outside, from the stand point of society.

Upon reading this 3-step guideline, things seemed to focus quite rapidly and I felt both validated in what I have already been doing as well as somehow feeling liberated for future experiments. Having written these ideas down in the sketchbook I glanced over at the hook in the corner of the studio that held Steptoe’s coat and the shirt that I’ve been using, I turned to the camera and got up off my seat to get changed…



…SUNDAY NIGHT WITH POLLY DEAN…

April 2010


Suzanne and I sat down on our grey settee in the front room with our cups of tea placed on the small table in front of us. My arm instinctively dropped on to the rest and I winced as my elbow hit a sharp protrusion, our settee has been broken for sometime on the arm and if you forget it can be quite a sharp pain as the dislocated section of wood connects. I pressed play on the remote control and we settled in to watch a film that I had been aware of, yet never seen. Peter Collinson’s 1968 film adaptation of “Up The Junction”.

Arriving from up market Chelsea into broken-down Battersea the classy Polly Dean is searching for an identity as the camera searches across a London skyline in the opening shots providing us with a parallel physical journey to hers. She finds a factory job in next to no time, becomes friends with two working class sisters, acquires a run down flat and a blonde boyfriend in the shape of Dennis Waterman’s “Peter”. Although we only get brief glimpses of her home across the river in wealthy Chelsea we assume that by her keen embrace of her new life with all the eye-opening twists and turns that come with it that she is leaving the constricted, stifling environment of the upper classes behind her in order to not only experience life differently but to be with people that are not shaped by wealth. It could of course be argued that they are shaped by wealth, notably a lack of it; the key thing is that to Polly Dean these people are genuine and unrestricted in their behaviour.

“Everyone’s very sweaty aren’t they?” Suzanne remarked as the camera guided us through the crowds that occupied the pub. I had thought the same myself; there was an overwhelming amount of visible sweat as the camera manouvered its way, and us, through the tightly overpopulated space. I’d been struck with the immediacy and intimacy with which the scene had been filmed and as Maureen Lipman and Adrienne Poster made their way to the stage to perform a rousing version of “I Need Your Love” I sensed an overlap with their actions and the music hall tradition that had grown up from the Victorian period and that had informed so many of the comedies, comedians and actors that I have been researching and working with.

The relationship that Polly forms with Peter is always destined to reach a point of climax as both characters see the other as a way out, Polly of her previous upper class opulent, yet “empty” existence and Peter of his miserable working class surrounding. He sees beauty in up market restaurants, hotels and expensive convertible cars where Polly sees pretension; Polly sees beauty in the derelict houses and streets of Battersea where Peter sees desperation and hopelessness. I loved the film and watched it again shortly after to confirm some of the things that I responded to on first viewing.

“Do you want another cup of tea?” I asked, “Go on then” she said.

Later in the week I made a few quick notes in my sketchbook and again posed the question about the similarity between this type of representation and that apparent in “Steptoe & Son”.



…THE OTHER ENGLAND…

March 2010

I’ve been reading a couple of books by Dominic Sandbrook called “Never Had It So Good” and “White Heat”, they deal with a history of Britain from the post-war period of the 1950’s through to the end of the 1960’s. Not only are the books incredibly insightful and entertaining they deal with the periods in question through a range of diverse reference points that take in political speeches, the monarchy, economics, TV programmes, music and fashion. They are providing me with a rich resource and a number of references when considering the characters of Harold, Tony, Bob and Terry.

When I use books as a reference to support the production of work I always make notes on the pages and highlight areas that I will return to, I know that many find this type of marking as sacrilege, but it’s the way I work and they are my books after all and actually I’d go further and say that I prefer them once I’ve engaged with them in this way. They become a much more explicitly personal object after this process has taken place. Anyway I was looking through a section of “White Heat” where the author was addressing the introduction of social realism into film and television in the early part of the 1960’s, at the top of page 598 I had loosely scribbled a question in pencil…

“Is “Steptoe & Son” an example of social realism?”

I have been wrestling for a while over the comedy/tragedy question and I realised when I re-read the question I had posed at the top of the page that at this point that there were new ways that I could address these comedies, how they function(ed) and also influence the way I’m making work in relation to them. Why have I never laughed at Harold? Why do I despise the old man? I decided that I needed to get to grips with the films and productions that were sited by Sandbrook and so over the last few weeks I have been plundering the online catalogue of Lovefilm.com for a number of titles including “Spring and Port Wine”, “A Kind Of Loving” and “Up The Junction”. I hope that by viewing these films I can establish an understanding of what these productions did, how they worked, why they caused controversy, where parallels could be identified with the comedies I’ve chosen. “Up The Junction” came first…



…THE CHARITY SHOP CLASS SYSTEM…

February 2010

I’ve had some contact with the BBC costume department and they have directed me towards an agency that purchased all of their costumes in the early 1980’s. It is now highly probable that I will be able to get hold of the costume that Harry H. Corbett wore in the “Steptoe and Son” programmes. This is naturally exciting and offers a whole area of possibilities for the work…

Despite the excitement of the agency contact I took the decision yesterday that I would need to continue searching for a “Steptoe” costume from a charity shop in order to work through and “rehearse” some ideas prior to getting the actual BBC costume. Revisiting the charity shop nearby, where I left a sketch and my number, proved unsuccessful and so too did visits to another two charity shops later on. It was in the final shop that I visited that day that I encountered something that I had not previously considered and also something that would bring me closer to Harold. Repeating my request for a long tweed overcoat and mentioning Harold Steptoe, I was surprised at the rather condescending response that I received, “Oh no we don’t do that sort of thing here, we only retain the higher end goods you see, you need to go to Erdington High Street or West Bromwich, the charity shops there have the lower end items.” I immediately found myself slipping into a defensive position on my request but also for Harry H. Corbett, “He was a Shakespearian actor you know, he was an important figure and his character had nothing to be ashamed of either.” She looked at me, dismissing my retort without compunction “The lower end items your after will be in the lower end shops, if you’re lucky they’ll only cost a pound or so.”

Harold once uttered the words “My money is as good as anyone’s” I mumbled them under my breath as I left the shop.



"AN E-MAIL TO SARAH"

January 2010

Hi Sarah

Good to hear back from you - I have a deadline coming up that my supervisor's set and like you I'm desperately trying to kick myself up the arse to make it happen. I've spent a long time on the practice and got into a good run of producing that has meant I've neglected the written aspect slightly, so I need to have 8000 words by the beginning of February for them?!

Thanks for the feedback on the website and the questions about the process - it helps to go over them as often as possible - I use the Performance/Photography in the title because they are both in mind really - working on Phelan's idea that the performance, once performed, has happened and can't be documented successfully I decided I needed to expand a bit on the "failure" of the photograph to mark the performance and therefore there is an inevitability that the photograph has to become "something other" in order to be included - this I suppose is where the photograph starts to have some resonance and nostalgic referencing.

Interestingly I did a lecture on Deller's "English Civil War / Part II" on Friday and I have found his approach really useful to look at in terms of the relationship between the performance and the body of evidence utilised in the development of the work as well as the outcome and I too am coming to the conclusion that the work I'm making is not necessarily about any one performance or fixed point but about an "archiving" of the process and the results of demonstrating that process on a regular basis - I'm working on bringing together the "Hancock" experiments in a book that basically collates together the whole process from the blog to the sketchbook through to the performances and the exhibitions, the idea is to not necessarily present any one element over the other - we'll see though.

The thing you're saying about the process becoming the work is then quite important for me to think about? I agree with what you say about Deller's practice here and have to try and reconcile this with the process I'm utilising at the moment.

I am using the blog separately at the moment to the sketchbook - occasionally they cross-over - if I feel that there is something interesting in one that makes sense for inclusion in the other then I will work it in - I did think at one stage about having a sketchbook page for the website but decided against it as I'm not too sure how chaotic my website looks already.

See you soon

Dean x



"AN E-MAIL FROM SARAH"

January 2010

Some people are easy to talk to, some people you meet for the first time and know that you will be able to communicate with them before you’ve uttered a word. I met Sarah last year in London and as I’m not the best at meeting new people and sometimes find it difficult to create new conversation it was good to find myself in such a situation. For a variety of reasons we’ve met only briefly during the year and so I thought I’d e-mail Sarah to see how she is, how her work is going and to maybe get her thoughts on some of the work I’ve been producing recently.

Hey!

Super lovely to hear from you. I'm not so bad. The PhD is stalling but I think that's just me - I need to kick myself up the arse and stop being such a scaredy cat now the proper work (ie the actual research and the bit where I find out just how much my ideas might be worth) has got to start... still working and for a little while being the boss-lady, as well, which feels just bizarre!

I like your website - the clean design (all that white space!) and I really like your blog. How does the blog work for you vs. a journal/research diary? I've been filling out a research diary but it's turning into the bare bones rather than a place to store ideas... is the blog a supplement/an impetus?

With 'Hancock', can you explain to me why you title the images - performance/photograph - with the / - are they both in your mind? How do you reconcile the two or has it never been an issue or is it in fact productive - a tension? A way of referencing what you remember (the 'nostalgia' element, I suppose...)?

I've got a bit side-tracked by the Dellers of this world lately - I've been to a couple of lectures, one with Deller and one with Cornford & Cross - and have started wondering about the artist-as-storyteller - as the work is project-based/site/time-specific it becomes an illustration to the story of the process... the process becomes the meaning, as much, maybe more so than the work was... does this make sense? It's a very early thought and not fully worked through in my head, but I'd be interested in what you think.

Oh - have you had the email about 'Translated Acts'? I think I'm going to go to the Saturday seminar - maybe it would be interesting to you?

Hope all is well

Sarah x

It took me a couple of days to go over Sarah’s questions…



…WHO AM I TODAY AND WHO WILL I BE ON WEDNESDAY?…

December 2009

It dawned on me over Christmas that part of my routine, especially with the recent decision to begin the “Steptoe” work proper, is to establish a timetable for who I am going to be at certain points of the week ahead. I can honestly say that it had always been my full intention to resolve “The Man Who Never Was” and at least put a full stop to the performances, even if subsidiary work continued, before instigating anything concrete for the “Steptoe” experiments. This has not been the case however and I am planning more public performances as Hancock whilst getting used to, and inhabiting, the role of Harold Steptoe in the studio.

Somewhere in-between I am of course required to be myself and retain some distance in order to function as part of my family unit. Perhaps as Christmas often becomes about family this is the point at which these things can come into sharper focus. As a gift I was given a Laurel and Hardy DVD box set and it instigated a conversation that perhaps just got me thinking and went something like this…

“Oh no, that’s not the next piece of work is it? I’m not going to come home to see you in a bowler hat practicing confused expressions in the mirror?”

“No, no, I haven’t really got any ideas about these guys, they didn’t really feature for me when I was growing up, although Steve and I used to watch some of the films at his and laugh a bit. There’s too many of them anyway I couldn’t decide which one and I don’t really connect with them, it would be too confusing I think.”

“Yeah…’cos you’re not confused at the moment are you? Who am I going to wake up with tomorrow and which hat will you be wearing?”

The next morning I thought about when I would next get into the studio to work. As I had decided to take a break over the holiday it had been a couple of weeks since I had played around with some practical ideas, couple this with the period of time spent prior to Christmas writing and it had seemed like ages since I’d put on the clothes and performed. The words from the night before resonated somewhat as I considered my options. Today is Monday, who shall I be today? Wednesday is free, I thought, I could get into the studio then…Harold or Tony though…?



…WRITING…

November 2009

I have been toiling over some written work that has to be presented in December for a number of weeks now. Many attempts have been made on my part to just get to grips with the content and not worry too much about the layout, that can always be reworked later I guess, it has been an uphill struggle that I haven’t really encountered in the past and so I am naturally showing signs of anxiety towards it…as I write this entry all of tomorrow is scheduled to concentrate upon the completion of the document and I can only hope that the usual diversions, some of them out of my control some of them within my control, do not get in my way.

It’s not writers block, see I can type and type once I’m in front of a screen, it’s the value and currency of what I am writing that is the issue I think, every time I read it back it seems to appear less and less associated with sense.

The kettle has just boiled.



…THE BRIGHT LIGHTS, THE STARSKY AND HUTCH CAR AND THE PROSPECT OF A MUCH BIGGER STAGE…

October 2009

“We’ll book you into the Cochrane Theatre then?”

I nodded in agreement, having not really taken in the depth of the suggestion or the implications associated with it, my instinct had been to simply agree.

“It’s a big stage.”
“That’s fine, I can do it.”

Having responded positively I immediately began to think through the proposed performance, something that continued on through the journey home and then onto the next morning as I mentally went back over the video footage that had prompted this discussion and subsequent resolution to the work. It had been only seven days since I positioned the chair in front of the spotlights and sat uncomfortably whilst fellow artist Jon Crump sat opposite and fired rapid questions as part of the re-enacted “Face to Face” interview. Those spotlights were so intense and grew ever more punishing as the interview progressed. The three video cameras surrounded us with silent imposition, each question fired with more pace and more purpose as in turn each of my responses became more fractured as any fleeting thought of defence was lost to the interrogation. In the moment directly after the event I considered just how hard it had been to retain any privacy within the interview and, although I cannot say I knew what Hancock was thinking during the original, I at least could take away the uncomfortable feelings of exposure and insecurity for myself.

Many of the questions drifted through my mind over the next few hours, yet I became more concerned with the way in which I may have answered them. How did I respond to the one about religion? What about the “sleeping pill” question? Which books did I say that I read? On and on throughout the day I queried my responses, satisfied with some and disappointed with so many others. I wonder how different it will be as a live performance with an audience?

“Can you recall a moment in your life that your religion failed you?”

“Yes it was when I was a child attending Sunday school and the contrived deception of the church to con me out of a model of a Starsky and Hutch car…”



…FROM LITTLE ACORNS…

August 2009

I’m on the search for key items of clothing to help me in developing the “Steptoe” work that I am now getting to grips with. I walked the short distance to my local charity shop at the Scott Arms shopping centre in Great Barr, I carried with me a bag of shoes that I had decided to part with yesterday and in some way I felt that the people in the charity shop maybe more accommodating in responding to my request if I offered them something first. In my pocket I had a folded piece of notepaper with a loose sketch of Harold Steptoe upon it and a list of clothing items required. The sketch had been sitting next to my bed since I had drawn it during a late night viewing of series seven of the show sometime last month.

Entering my local Acorns Charity shop I immediately surveyed the scene, two elderly women discussing a pair of jeans that they were scrutinising in relation to the £3.99 price tag that hung visibly from the left leg just below the pocket, I jumped to the conclusion that a grandchild or daughter maybe the intended recipient and glanced towards the counter where a young girl stood motionless and an older woman, spotting the bag of items slung over my shoulder, was looking with raised eyebrows and expectation in my direction. A man in a cap stood with his back to her as he handled the men’s shoes at the rear of the shop behind the counter to the right. I moved forward and accepted the greeting from the woman.

“Thank you for those, I’ll put them in the back now” she turned to walk away, I spoke quickly to halt her departure. “Actually it maybe a strange request but I need your help, you see I want to look like Harold Steptoe and I have a list of clothes that I need to get hold of, do you think you’d be able to have a look for me?” Surprisingly there was no look of confusion or surprise and this eased any potential embarrassment on my part. “Now then, is he the old one?”
“No, the younger one”
“I can’t remember what he looked like, I’m not sure I can help”
“Well I have this sketch and a list if that’s any good?’
I pulled the folded paper from my pocket and opened it out on the counter, as I turned it to face the woman the younger girl broke out of her daze and glanced at the sketch. The woman responded positively. “Oh yes, I remember now, well what I can do for you is just check in the back with our manager she is sorting out a pile of gents clothes at the moment. It was a long coat wasn’t it?” I responded positively and mentioned that grey tweed would be the thing if possible, “Can I take the sketch? It would be helpful while we’re looking.”

In truth I didn’t want to part with the sketch but I found myself agreeing anyway, how else would they identify anything even approximating the items I need?

“Write your phone number down for me love and I’ll give you a call if we find anything for you. How soon did you need this stuff?”



…METHOD ACTING CLASSES, AUSTRALIAN HOTEL ROOMS AND THE STUFFED BEAR…

July 2009

“Harry H.Corbett was a method actor wasn’t he?” said Jane.
“Yes” I replied “I have some research on it here actually.” I turned the sketchbook around to face me and leafed through some of the earlier pages, the opening line from the text that I had copied and pasted into the book proclaimed with assurance that “Harry H.Corbett was one of the first to employ the technique of method acting in Britain.” I turned the book back to allow it to be read by the three people in front of me. Susan read the line; “Well then, it makes sense for you to attend some method acting classes doesn’t it?” Roger agreed, “That would be good actually.” Susan continued, “Everything here that you’ve tested out is good but it’s intuitive isn’t it? I think you’d get a lot with this particular work from gaining those acting skills.”

“Have you considered showing this work in another country?” asked Susan. I knew where this question was coming from I had considered this option a number of times myself and had wondered how the work would translate to a different cultural environment. “What would a Japanese audience think about this, or American, or even Australian?” The mention of Australia allowed me a point to interject and I referred back to the Hancock piece, “Well of course Australia has particular resonance with Tony Hancock and that could work well particular considering his final moments took place in an Australian hotel room, American audiences could be really interesting if we think about the remakes of shows like “Steptoe & Son” but also Hancock might sit differently with an American audience, so there’s lots of scope there perhaps.”

“Just going back to these initial Steptoe tests you’ve done, I think it might be about the background you know. What would happen if you were able to recreate the living room or the yard?” More and more dialogue took place and more and more suggestions were put forward. A healthy discussion like this can always focus you as much as anything else and as I journeyed back to Birmingham on the Train I smiled to myself as I remembered Susan’s closing words, “I know a place where you can hire a stuffed bear!”



…HE HAS HIS DREAMS ALL DAY AND SO DO WE…

June 2009

The garage seemed to be the most appropriate place to continue with the early “Steptoe” experiments, I needed to just distance myself slightly from the studio to make sure that there was not too much repetition in the process I am now undertaking and the previous Hancock work. Amongst the general collection of boxes and domestic detritus housed within the garage I made myself a space and set the camera up.

During the next couple of hours I went over a number of different ways of presentation, exploring gesture has become significant as well as playing out a range of rehearsed incidents drawn from recently viewing the episodes. I painted words on the wall, I scrubbed them off, I shouted, pleaded and begged my way through the time I had to work in front of the ever-present gaze of the camera before me.

On viewing the contact sheets and surveying the results I had those mixed emotions that you get when starting a project…something’s working but it’s not there yet…I started to fix the contacts into the journal and make notes on what had come out of the results so far. My eye was drawn to the corner of the desk, there lay a small pile of Steptoe related items, the box set of DVD’s, the Galton, Simpson & Ross book about the programme and the CD of radio recordings I picked up from Asda for £1.50 earlier in the week. Underneath all of these items there sat some printed pages and I reached for them immediately to reaquant myself with the content. It was a transcription of an interview with Harry H. Corbett that I’d found online some time ago. There were a number of key points in there and certainly things to work with, when asked about his relationship with Harold Steptoe and his perceived understanding of the characters popularity he simply said “He has his dreams all day and so do we.” I started to stick the transcript into the journal.



…WHEREVER I GO IN THE ROOM, HE’S LOOKING BACK AT ME…

June 2009

I decided to change the wallpaper on my Mac desktop and after a short search I found Hancock, the iconic image, hunched over the cup of tea, directing his piercing gaze outwards.

Over on the opposite side of the room at the kettle I noticed peripherally that there was something new in the space, I glanced over my right shoulder and realised that he was staring back, I stirred, squeezed the teabag and then deposited it into the bin. Returning to the desk I felt every step was being observed by his searching gaze, every movement scrutinised. Sitting to type some e-mails I became aware of a reciprocal assessment, we eyed one another across the shortest of spaces, like a mirror distorting the image that feedbacks to the sitter, I thought I might have finished with him…but now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe he hadn’t finished with me yet?

Wherever I go in the room, I feel he is watching me. It is the easiest thing in the world to just change the desktop wallpaper and not get tied up with all this. In the studio Leonard Rossiter leers at me from my notice board as Rigsby and offers desperate contempt as Reggie in the adjacent image, Harry H. Corbett watches over me from above my desk and Rodney Bewes smiles naively to me as Bob Ferris from the cover of one of my sketchbooks but none of these intimidate me in quite the same way as the image on the Mac.

>System Preferences>Desktop & Screensaver>Choose Folder…



…THE MADNESS OF NORTON FOLGATE AND THE CONTINUING SEARCH FOR OIL DRUM LANE…

May 2009

The way things collide sometimes astonishes me, seemingly unrelated instances that can combine to define the experiences that you have and the contribution that you make…

I’ve been a fan of the band Madness since I was 8 years old, I sat with my sisters to watch Top of the Pops and although I knew nothing of what lay behind the song I became entranced by the video to “The House of Fun”. No band could touch The Jam for me at that stage and as they were splitting up I had a space to fill in my young life. After the traumatic dissipation of The Jam for anyone to get close to arousing my interest was significant. A whole 27 years later and today I purchased the new Madness album “The Liberty of Norton Folgate” and here is where the collision occurs…bear with me.

The Steptoe and Son work is starting to take shape, albeit early days, as with the works I have made as part of this series before I want to address location as part of the process and have been toying over the setting for Steptoe’s yard. Oil Drum Lane, Shepherd’s Bush, London is a fictional place…but the question is does it exist? I have been working through various scenarios and ideas to tackle this part of the work and in truth resolved nothing as yet.

Suggs has written an interesting introduction within the sleeve notes to the new album, referencing a book called “This Bright Field” by William Taylor. He talks about the way in which a person’s experience of a place can shape their identity, notions of psycho-geography, layering within a location and the disappearing site that lay hidden rather than erased. As I listened to the album the sense of where these seven figures from my past could inform my present formed, their methods in constructing this album and their assertions related to why and what could by concluded from it were not a million miles distant from my own intentions and I realised that here lay fourteen songs that aimed to understand and locate their authors as well as provide a catalyst for their consumers to consider what it is to be defined nationally.

The search for Oil Drum Lane continues but maybe Suggs and the other boys have pointed me in the general direction.



…THE DESPERATE HOURS…

May 2009

“Like all great comedy, “The Desperate Hours” is as tragic as it is funny. No wonder one critic wrote of the series “(the show) virtually obliterated the division between comedy and drama.” In this case it probably obliterated the division between fact and fiction.” (Marcus, L. 2008)

You see I always found myself struck most by the pilot episode of “Steptoe and Son”, entitled “The Offer” and originally conceived as a one-off BBC play, the performance of Harry H. Corbett had been indelibly left upon my memory. He almost seemed incapable of acknowledging that he was involved in something called comedy, the tears of desperation he sheds at the end are not only a brutal reminder of his acting ability but also a precursory signal to not only Harold Steptoe’s plight but the plight that Corbett would share with his character in years to come. I had planned all along to refer to this episode, perhaps above all, in working through the initial stages of development for this new “Steptoe” idea.

Undertaking some background research into the various readings of the show as well as information about the actors and writers I stumbled across a text by Laurence Marcus that seems to position the 1972 episode “The Desperate Hours” as inherently crucial to an understanding of how the writers, Galton & Simpson, dealt with acknowledging the relationship that Corbett as an actor had with his character Harold and the inevitability that neither would escape the shackles imposed by the show. I have a clear recollection of watching this episode on DVD recently, if not only because of the guest appearance of Leonard Rossiter but also the lack of apparent humour and clear-cut gags within the script.

The evening ahead will provide me with the opportunity to review this episode once again and as in previous works utilise some of the dialogue and performances within the development of my own ideas.

I also have to face up to where this work could take me in regards to my own history and as I have previously expressed I try to avoid work that has an over emphasis upon the autobiographical as it can become insular in many respects and that’s not for me...I found myself googling his name earlier today…I don’t know why.



...STEPTOE’S SON AND THE IMPOSSIBLE ESCAPE...

April 2009

I’ve been working on the “Love Thy Neighbour” images today and have been playing around with a couple of ideas in the process. Having established an approach that at this stage is working well I have been able to, rather mechanically, set about generating the vast number of images I require for the installation. It has been during this process that I began thinking through the next stages of the “Living Room” work that recently included the Hancock stuff. I have begun to tentatively work through ideas in response to masculine identity and settled on some working plans for something to do with “Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads?” this aside though I have not been able to escape the idea of working with “Steptoe and Son”.

I am at present, by writing this blog, delaying the inevitability of trying out some ideas, costumes and sequences in the studio. It’s how I got started with Hancock and I feel that it would be a good starting point to kick around some initial thoughts. There is a problematic, or potentially interesting relationship depending on your point of view, between my own personal history and that of Harold Steptoe…but I’m not going to delve into art therapy here,…I’ve delayed enough perhaps and I have just the right kind of neck scarf for this hanging up in the wardrobe.



...RE-MAKING REGGIE AND NUMBER 6...

April 2009

Official press releases confirm the remakes of both “The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin” and “The Prisoner” are complete – I feel compelled to comment.

You see in some respects it doesn’t bother me as much as I first thought it might and I will certainly tune in for, at least, the first episodes. My practice has taken some recent diversions and I am clear that the work I make is not really about the TV programmes in question, they are more a touch stone for broader concerns about cultural identity, national memory…that old thing nostalgia. There is a certain acknowledgement in me at present that there is a gap between my personal feelings towards the role these programmes play in my own personal history and as the cultural signifiers utilised within the work. Occasionally that gap may get muddied…but sometimes that throws up interesting possibilities.

I didn’t get where I am today without being prepared to watch re-makes of classic television programmes.



…GETTING INTO CHARACTER, THE FOOT OPERATED CABLE RELEASE AND ANOTHER TRAGIC ENDING?..

March 2009

“Shall we invite some questions from the floor now?”

I turned slightly in my chair to face the rows of people who had sat respectfully and listened to 35 minutes of discussion between Richard Pickup and myself about how I had made the work, why I had made the work and what I had done with the work in the gallery. There had been an eloquent introduction that mapped out my reference points and the position the work occupied in relation to art history and contemporary practice. Such was the depth of analysis that I felt detached somehow, this couldn’t be all about the work I made surely, yet it was and I had to face the questions that would form from this opening.

“Who took the Photographs?”
The first question, easy to answer and a gentle introduction to the uncertainty that lay before me.
“The studio shots I did myself, I had a long cable release and I just used my foot, my wife took the location shots in Piltdown and a very talented photographer called Andy Jackson took the Birmingham shots.”

“You say you found the character of Hancock quite easy to slip into…well.”
I interjected “Did I?”
She responded just as quickly, “you said you found it more comfortable in front of the camera as him.”
I conceded “yeah, yeah”.
She continued, “did you feel that there were times when you slipped back into character without noticing? You know did you have to prepare yourself to become the character?” My instinct was to play down the weight or impact upon me by Hancock that was perhaps suggested and at the root of this enquiry. “That’s a good question, I mean I’m not an actor so I don’t know if I think about those things. It’s interesting that after I had spent a couple of weeks living as Hancock I put the coat on to go out and the comment was that my shoulders dropped into position just by putting the coat on and so I think it is something physically you can get used to, that you adopt, there’s a bit of a break now, I’ve put the hat down.”

“Has this got a tragic ending?” I’ve thought about this more and more since the evening in question, I’m constantly reminded of Bob Grant from “On The Buses” and I can’t think that I gave a good answer.



…HATS OFF FOR THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS…

March 2009

Removing the hat and placing it down on the desk where I had been based for the gallery performances the thought suddenly struck me, this was the last day before the opening of the show, this was the last day of wearing the hat, this was the last day of Hancock? I glanced back at the desk and made a mental note of how it looked in the space, I had still to discuss the final layout of the show with the curators, the desk and the hat may still find a place and partly through a sudden bout of separation anxiety I decided that the hat should stay.

I glanced at my watch nervously, just an hour to go and I would be in front of the audience for the “In Conversation” event, I realised I was standing over the hat, I had gone into the gallery for a last check, I gently lifted it from it’s carefully positioned spot on the desk and moved the brim through my fingers, I resisted the temptation to put it on quite easily but I did wonder to myself whether this was the last time I would be working with this subject.

Seven days had passed and I was seated in the Philadelphia Flyer Bagel Shop in Wolverhampton, I gulped from the mug as my friend asked me to go over the “In Conversation” thing and I did. At the end of the conversation we discussed the next step, I’ve been continuing to make work about “Love Thy Neighbour” and I thought I’d run those ideas past him as well as mention the latest ideas I’ve been developing about “Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads?”

“Is that it for Hancock then?” he asked, “No, I haven’t said goodbye yet.” I replied.



…THE CORNER OF YORK ROAD…

February 2009

Following the exertions and excitement of the Belmont Street experience I consulted the Sat Nav once more and typed in York Road, it was according to the device but moments away. Consulting the sketchbook for information about the actions I had planned for this part of the work and talking it through with Suzanne, we looked up at the corner of York Road, before us lay closed down shops, brown, tired, dusty in appearance. I seemed to be consistently reminded of that Morrissey lyric “This is the coastal town that they forgot to close down” as I walked in and out of shot, closing my overcoat tight to my neck to acknowledge adverse weather whilst playing out something that hinted at a narrative, suggestive of the very act played out in 1962 by Hancock’s character Wally Pinner.

Why performance? I asked myself later, I mean that’s a question that I surely should have resolved earlier, but sometimes questions pop up intermittently as you make the work. Was it performance, or is it re-enactment? Re-engagement?



…THE BELMONT STREET WALTZ…

February 2009

Initially I had been unaware of the audience, too caught up in the moment maybe…I adjusted my overcoat and as soon as Suzanne signalled for me to begin I took a few steps before breaking into an awkward and over played dance down Belmont Street, just before I got to the last few shots, the last few steps, I noticed peripherally a sea of faces to my right. Over the other side of Belmont Street, Bognor Regis (Piltdown) sat a varied and attentive range of faces all amused, entertained, occupied by the strange sight of a man in a Homburg hat and dark overcoat dancing to a silent beat, skipping to a inaudible tune. As I finalised my movements and travelled ungainly towards the camera, Suzanne reported on the quality and range of shots she had gained, “I’ll do another one, I want to make sure I get it sorted.” I said, glancing momentarily at the audience across the way, they sipped their tea and ate their breakfasts. “I’ll do the same and try and get the kick in at the end.” Somehow the walk back to the starting mark seemed harder than the actual dance, I was aware the whole way that the eyes had not diverted and yet as Suzanne gave the signal again and I broke into the dance once more the eyes seemed to fade to grey and were lost to me as I repeated the act.

It was long after we had departed the place; I suddenly thought about why the audience had not impacted upon me, I had been able to perform the “Belmont Street Waltz” without concern and despite the presence of so many onlookers. The hat, the coat, was this clothing the mask that protected me from the insecurities and neurosis that would have normally descended upon me? Allowing the side step out of convention, just for a fleeting moment?



…BEACH SCENES SEEM TO KEEP COMING UP…

February 2009

One of the most indelible scenes for me from “The Punch and Judy Man” occurred on the beach and I knew when I hatched the plan to return to Piltdown that I wanted to re-enact the moment when Wally Pinner dances, balances and hops along the wooden stumps on the beach. This almost childish and simple series of actions seems to be born out of his frustrations at the difficulty he has with wrestling with domestic commitments and what he perceives as his artistic freedom, his resistance to conform to expectation. Visually it resonated with a childhood relationship with the beach and my umbrella themes of memory and nostalgia seemed to have boxes firmly ticked by thinking about this moment in the narrative.

Beaches seem to be a reoccurring motif, not just for me, for British comedy, for a sense of Englishness and for a symbol of cultural recognition. My thoughts were with Reggie Perrin as I hopped from one wooden stump to another, I slipped more than once and had to repeat over and over again, take after take. I smiled inside as I thought of the words “things just went wrong too many times.”



…THE HOTEL ROOM AND THE VIEW OF PILTDOWN…

February 2009

What did I expect? The hotel was deserted really and why should the occasional glimpse of a figure in a black overcoat and Homburg hat have any significance to a couple of young receptionists? That figure was me of course and I had hoped that there would be a conversation about him, maybe I’m not that good at being him? Maybe it just doesn’t matter to these people, maybe someone who stayed here 47 years ago is a reference lost? The receptionist quickly and effectively processed the booking, she spoke in an Australian accent and I somehow thought that this was something to cling to as the last series of “Hancock’s Half Hour” had been moved to Australia and of course it was the place where he died.

“On the phone, I asked about the room that Tony Hancock stayed in, in 1962? Do you know if we have that room?” She looked at me and offered a fairly detached reply “Erm, well it would have been one of the suites overlooking the beach, you’ve got one of those.” It wasn’t convincing enough, I knew she didn’t really know what I was asking for, but I smiled none the less and uttered “Great, thank you.”

Opening the door and walking into the room I moved toward the window and looked out at the misty day and the view of Piltdown. The pier rose out of the grey to the left of my view and I wondered if this was the room, did he sit in that chair, did he sleep in that bed? Probably not I thought but he had walked that corridor and stood on that beach and that was enough for me.



…MCGOOHAN’S BLUES…

January 2009

I read the news today, oh boy…Patrick McGoohan has died at the grand old age of 80. I don’t know why but I was struck with a genuine moment of sadness, he was an innovate programme maker and I will always site him as an influence, but that wasn’t it, after all people die everyday don’t they. I never knew him, I’d never met him and I had no reason to even say he was a nice guy, but he was the Prisoner, he was Number 6 and for that it felt OK to feel a little twinge in the pit of my stomach.

I lifted my sleeve and looked at the tattoo on my upper right arm, I had had the number 6 permanently placed there a couple of years ago, it was during the time I was making the Portmerion work and I had decided that this was something I wanted to do…and no…I don’t regret it one bit…and no…I haven’t grown to dislike it. This day has been on it’s way for some time I thought, he was 80 years old.

During the interview in 2007 with James Rose I had predicted that there would be a re-make of “The Prisoner” at some imminent moment, it wasn’t much of a prediction given the constant plundering of "cult classics" that has been a motif of British television output of late, according to the obituaries it is in production…however good it won’t be as good…it won’t be because it isn’t happening at the right moment…it just won’t be as good.

Many train journeys in the past year or so have been negotiated with the aid of sketchbooks, texts and the trusty iPod. Roy Harper’s “McGoohan’s Blues” a 17 minute epic has got me through the last leg of many a late night carriage experience. I wouldn’t normally be interested in a song this long, usually if you haven’t said it in 5 minutes it’s not worth saying, something like that anyway. This song though is called “McGoohan’s Blues” I thought, Roy Harper is a fan too! The time passes easily when I listen to this song, whether it’s just the shear duration or the repetitive mantra like strum of the guitar and vocal line…I don’t know, would it be different the next time I listened?

The DVD disappeared into the player, I selected “The Schizoid Man” my favourite and again without any sadness enjoyed the sheer brilliance of Number 6. I drank tea and slowly drifted to sleep as the final credits appeared.



…SHAVING FOAM AND SHADOWS…

January 2009

It was the third time in ten days that I had sat in front of the camera in the studio and shaved, each time I had had to make adjustments and amendments to the process in order to achieve what I felt was the appropriate working images. This series would be used in the book but would also inform one of the performances in the space and become part of the overall investigation and process.

This time I felt I’d got it sorted, when I reviewed the images, I realised that I had made an error with the lighting and had introduced some incongruous and unnecessary shadows, sighing I resigned myself to a fourth shoot sometime in the next week. I have not shaved since and aim to finally complete the sequence tomorrow.

I turned the radio on and drank some tea as I looked in the shaving mirror that sat behind the camera, realising that I had now also ran out of shaving foam I made a mental note to get some next time I visited a shop…Oh and I need some Malt Loaf as well.



…PLACE SICKNESS…

January 2009

So this word Nostalgia, I’ve been using it a lot recently. What does it mean though? Literally speaking that is.

nostalgia |nä'stalja; na-|
noun
a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations

ORIGIN late 18th cent.(in the sense [acute homesickness] ): modern Latin (translating German Heimweh ‘homesickness’ ), from Greek nostos ‘return home’ + algos ‘pain.’ Place sickness.

I found this dictionary definition really interesting and it seems to fit within my thinking at the moment.

I printed it out and stuck it on the front of my most current sketchbook…just as a reminder.



…IN SEARCH OF THE PILTDOWN GLORY…

December 2008

So over Christmas I continued to work on the Hancock project, especially now that the Wedge show has been confirmed, I felt it important to finalise a few plans and pick up some of the issues raised at the meeting with the gallery. I’ve been watching “The Punch and Judy Man” on a regular basis and making plenty of notes about dialogue, performance and costume. Anything that could be of use, usually the insignificant, everyday actions, tea drinking, shaving, listening to the radio…

The location of “Piltdown” started to become a focal point, the fictional seaside town, archetypal home of the “Piltdown Glory” ice cream, somehow seemed to be the key to unlocking this work in relation to the interest that I have in nostalgia and how our British cultural identities are constructed. I googled the film to see if I could establish the exact and actual place where the film had been made, 45 minutes later and more than a few visits to a whole array of Hancock related websites I had found out that Bognor Regis had been the town utilised in the film. Through further investigation I had found the street names and scene settings as well as information about the hotel in which Hancock stayed during the filming.

Booking a room at the Royal Norfolk Hotel in Bognor Regis seemed essential and before too long I had listed locations and devised potential “events” for each of them, not least of all the hotel itself. It is anticipated that this work will occupy one side of the gallery and provide a backdrop for a series of “performances” and/or events in the space prior to the official opening.



…THE TRAITOR DISTRUSTS THE TRUTH…

November 2008

“A real comedian, that’s a daring man. He dares to see what his listeners shy away from, fear to express. And what he sees is the sort of truth, about people, about their situation, about what hurts or terrifies them, about what’s hard, above all, about what they want. A joke releases the tension, says the unsayable, any joke pretty well. But a true joke, a comedians joke, has to do more than release tension, it has to liberate the will and desire, it has to change the situation.”

Youtube had provided me with an opportunity to view the BBC2 “Play For Today” production of Trevor Griffith’s “Comedians”. It had been split into 10 parts and I spent Friday night and Saturday morning watching each part with anticipation and a sense of expectation, I must admit I wasn’t disappointed, in my head it ticked a series of boxes that have rested against ongoing questions I’ve had whilst making the Hancock work.

Bill Murray’s performance as the teacher Eddie Waters was sensational as was Jonathan Pryce’s antagonist Gethin Price. Although I admired the individual performances I had a definite sense that it was the characters and the words that spilled from them that was fuelling my interest and excitement. I sat with notebook and pen desperately transcribing the significant moments that leapt from the screen and punctured my understanding of this question of comedy, tragedy and truth.

“The traitor distrusts the truth”

I purchased a copy of the book from Amazon for 1p, excluding postage of course, opening the first page I was greeted with some handwritten notes.

“pg 49”

“Patel – compromises over Religion – not for personal gain”

“McBrain – compromises for personal gain”

“Price – will not compromise”

I puzzled over the words for some time, like finding a crossword that had already had some answers filled in I felt both let down whilst simultaneously relieved that maybe some of the work had been done for me, racking my brains I wasn’t entirely in agreement with the McBrain comment and went to page 49 to check. It posed perhaps more questions for me about things that I’d identified, were these three straightforward statements on the opening page what it was all about?

I completed the notes as the final confrontation between Eddie and Gethin subsided. Where did this leave me with the work? Did it confirm many of my assertions or did it bring them into crisis? Did it do both?

I wrote nine words at the bottom of the page in my notebook and wondered whether I dared face them in the future, will it be where the work ends?

ME IN A CLUB DOING A COMEDY ACT – BADLY?



…I WANTED TO WRITE, BUT…

October 2008

It’s been a long time, I know.

There are periods when words fall out of me and other times when the need just doesn’t seem to arise, I feel that I am somehow part of a betrayal by not keeping more up to date with this blog but then I wonder about whether anybody is reading anyway…?

It’s been an incredibly busy couple of months and I have certainly not overseen a lack of production in terms of the work I’ve been making in response to British Sit Coms and Comedians. The Tony Hancock work is establishing itself in a variety of forms and I am pleased to say that there is interest from a gallery and a real sense of resolution on the horizon. As I get more involved I find more solutions and this has perpetuated and sustained the work in a variety of experiments that now seems likely to be presented as a series of documented “events”.

The Love Thy Neighbour work has also come to fruition lately and has opened up possibilities for some other ideas and works that have filled my notebooks and although they lay somewhat dormant at present, I have a sense of where they are going and how they will become manifest.

“Look at a play called “Comedians” by Trevor Griffiths” she said. I noted the name down quickly, “There’s an excruciating scene with Jonathan Pryce that could really help you with this work.”

The shelf mark read 829.3, I quickly located the thin book marked 829.3/GRI and turned with it to walk away, “The setting is a schoolroom near Manchester…”



…I’D CHANGE PLACES WITH YOU…

September 2008

I put the green marker pen down on the desk and swivelled around to view the loosely written statement on the studio wall. Another day, another test for the Hancock work.

“I’d change places with you”

Jamming the homburg hat onto my head and wincing as the hard ridge of the brim caught a recently acquired spot on my left temple, I quickly calculated just how many times I’d sat in the chair, in the hat, and took a sip of tea before setting the camera to take the shots. My sketchbook is gradually filling up with an increasing number of contact sheets, all slightly different and all refining an idea that seemed to begin a long time ago now.

One of the problems in working this way is that it starts to become difficult to separate the studio tests from the intended outcomes, what I mean is that in some ways the studio stuff is becoming the work and the decision will have to be made at some point as to whether the process of studio experiments and location work become intertwined.

“I’d change places with you”

As the camera flash fired I went through the next stage of things in my head and thought about how to arrange and execute the location work based upon these tests. I had got the text from the “Punch & Judy Man” and suddenly felt compelled to check that I had written the line correctly. I pictured John LeMesurier and Hancock in the beach hut and went through the lines in my head, I did get it, I’m sure…I’ll check later.

“I’d change places with you”



…THE MEN’S INSTITUTE BOOK SHOP CAR PARK, PERRANPORTH…

August 2008

Straightening my jacket I looked forward and waited for the signal to start walking, I was in the middle of my second shoot of the day, the Homburg hat was rubbing and I felt uncomfortable in it, this unexpected location had seemed too good to miss though.

Earlier in the day as we approached Perranporth I had been talking about the holidays I had had there as a child, the main memory had been of a little bookshop on the car park by the beach, the Men’s Institute building that housed the bookshop had been indelibly marked on my memory and I had delighted in talking about all the treasures that could be found inside, “It used to be open late as well, you could go there at night and buy Doctor Who books, Colouring Books, Word Searches it was great.”

I had never for a second expected it to still be there, yet somehow not only was it still there but it was as I remember, seemingly untouched and unaffected by anything. It was even still open and still selling books. Having been inside for a real slice of nostalgia I decided that the opportunity to try some things out on the car park was too good to miss and the Hat was bought out for the second time.

It has been on my mind to start “personalising” some of these ideas or at least introducing my own history more overtly into the mix and so even if this sequence stays in the sketchbook it could spark other things off at a later date.



…THE DIRTY OLD CAFÉ AND THE LIME MILKSHAKE…

August 2008

The waitress looked down at me in my seated position at the table by the window, Pickwick’s café in Perranporth had seen better days, but that was the reason for being there. The stained and dusty window that I had peered into offered a suggestion of a lost time and I had been surprised by the fact that, once seated inside, the view onto the street gave the same feeling.

“What can I get you?” came the cheerful introduction from the waitress, she held the pen hesitantly over the small notepad in anticipation of my response, “We’ll have a Hot Chocolate, a Strawberry Milkshake and mmm…” I hesitated as I thought through the options, of which there were just two, my usual order of a pot of tea or the more unusual option of a Lime Milkshake. I had been greeted by a large cut out image of a Lime Milkshake as I walked into Pickwick’s and I remembered that I used to have the very same drink from the café on Hawthorn Road when I was young, it was now in my head and although not a milkshake drinker I decided to end the prolonged anticipation of the waitress and plum for the unpredictable choice. “…Yeah, the Lime Milkshake for me please.”

“Oh I’m sorry, we haven’t done Lime Milkshakes for a long time now.”
My eyes shot to the cut out in front of the counter, the waitress acknowledged this but as if to pre-empt my forthcoming question about the clearly visible advert as you walk into the establishment she offered a very quick interjection, “Really sorry, can I get you something else?” I slipped into predictability and settled for the pot of tea but not before I’d taken the opportunity to let Hancock come to the fore. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, you’ve let yourself down there haven’t you? I mean do you think this great country of ours was built on a failure to provide the correct, and may I say clearly advertised, flavoured milkshake?” There was a short pause before I continued, gaining some confidence in the way the words were forming, “Cor blimey! No Lime milkshakes? Oh dear, oh dear…Tea it will have to be then madam please, a pot of your finest English tea.”

I jammed the Homburg hat onto my head and assumed a posture that had been rehearsed in my studio a week earlier, the tea arrived and I continued to wear the Hat as well as consume the hot refreshing liquid. The Polaroid camera flashed repetitively and the digital camera took over, as I finished the tea I took off the hat and started to survey the images, there was enough I thought to be getting on with, this was just a “dress rehearsal” for the Birmingham shoot and at this stage it is more about trying solutions out and getting used to the “look” and “order” of things.

As I left I took a look over my shoulder at the large Lime Milkshake advert and sighed before turning to Suzanne and saying, “Stone Me! Bloomin' marvellous ain’t it?”



…BAGGY EYES AND NOT SMILING…

August 2008

“That image, that sequence of images works so well, I mean you could say that there is the entire show.”

Don’t get me wrong I couldn’t have expected a better response and I was chuffed at this opening remark, it’s just that I would have felt a little bit fraudulent had I agreed with it.

“Well that was just me in the studio yesterday really trying a few things out, just a rehearsal so to speak. I wanted to do more, get involved in location and interact with people to see what happens.”

He stared wide-eyed at my sketchbook, but even after steadily flicking through the pages he returned to the original contact sheet that I had slipped into the space between the cover and the front page. “How did you get so close to the look, the mannerisms, did you really have to study to get it right?”

Again, chuffed with the comment, but I felt incapable of delivering an elaborate and deceitful description of the hours of study that I put in observing and monitoring every facial movement.

“I have really baggy eyes, if I don’t smile that pretty much puts me in the region of Hancock, especially with the hat, it all seems to just come together.”

We furthered the discussion positively and the exhibition of this work in January now seems clearer, more directed and more likely to work and more importantly booked into the gallery programme.



…ALL ALONE WITH A HAT, A CAMERA AND A CUP OF TEA…

August 2008

I was on my own today, not that unusual really but I felt an overwhelming sense that the summer was slipping away and that I had work to do and should be in the throws of a much more productive state. Sat in my studio looking past my sketchbook and out of the window it came to me that I had a meeting at the end of the week for which I had to prepare some preliminary work…it had been slow so far this morning.

I entered the kitchen, threw the switch on the kettle and reached into the cupboard for a mug; I took out a plain blue mug and placing it down on the work surface moved towards the teabags. I suddenly stopped and returned to the mug cupboard, I moved a couple of mugs to one side to reveal a cup and saucer, it is not my habit to drink from a proper cup but it had struck me that I had the opportunity to get to grips with this Hancock stuff and do a test shoot, after all I needed some evidence of ideas and something to base a discussion on at the meeting.

I put the Homburg on and sat drinking my tea, the camera started to fire, it’s automatic setting making it all relatively painless and as I drunk from the cup I became less and less aware of the regular flashes. I have a naturally baggy face, particularly in the eye department; I only had to avoid smiling to offer an appropriate sequence of facial expressions.

The results were better than I expected and the rest of the day was spent productively working through the prints and contacts, the sketchbook looked fatter and richer and I felt a huge sense of relief that in some way this project seems to be somewhat off the ground.



…JUST DAYS BEFORE…

July 2008

I had one of those strange days today when things constantly rattle around your head and you have the intention to do something productive with those thoughts, only to reach the end of the day without really achieving very much.

The first bath I took simply to wash and prepare myself for the rest of the day, projecting a busy day ahead I felt that the bath would activate my senses and provide me with the kick-start I clearly required. I looked at the shelf and selected “Scott” by Scott Walker, put the CD into the stereo, pressed play and moved to the bathroom. As the opening orchestral sweeps of “Mathilde” introduced his rich baritone vocals I settled into the hot water and resolved to plan the day ahead as I relaxed into a horizontal position aided by the sound that now filled the house. Making a mental list of things that I should attempt to complete during the day ahead I washed my hair and thought about the weekend that had just passed. Scarborough had been a new experience for me, the first time I had visited the seaside location and the first time that I had ever been on a “Stag” event. On more than one occasion it had crossed my mind to make an excuse not to go, I am not cut out for these kind of events and I had wondered what situations may befall me, what difficulties would arise, I didn’t cancel as it goes, I felt too much respect and friendship for the person who had invited me. The weekend gave me the opportunity to renew old acquaintances and forge new ones and I never felt uncomfortable in the presence of my “stag” companions.

So, bath number two arrived later in the evening, I should point out at this stage that it is my normal habit to bath at night, therefore there was nothing unusual in this adherence to routine. As I lowered myself into the hot water I was reminded of, and measured my inactivity through reference to the bath that I now inhabited for the second time. I looked at one of the tiles on the wall, I had picked it out because it was coming away from the wall it somehow got me thinking, as if my mind had reached the emptiest point of the day and was now giving a signal that it was ready to be filled back up. “Love Thy Neighbour” jumped into my head and I thought about the line of enquiry that had been my only practical concern for the last few weeks or so, I went over the sketchbook pages that I had been working with, they were fresh to me because I had had two meetings to present them to a couple of interested parties just days before. Mentally going through the key pages I had a thought to examine and re-shoot interior as well as exterior scenes, I reminded myself of the particular motifs that I identified during discussions, the living room, the kitchen, the bar and the front doors and I resolved to shoot all of these in order to fully stock up on potential solutions.

By the end of the second bath I had enough of a plan to last for the rest of the evening, I went back to the camera and back to the sketchbook and worked on a few new possibilities. My final thought of the day was to introduce a new page to the website that dealt with the sketchbook…don’t know?



…THE WHY, THE HOW AND THE PHONE THAT RANG…

June 2008

“I don’t get it, I think I need more convincing.”

I drank from the cup, savouring the tea and listening as he continued.

“It just seems that you are removing yourself from the process and I don’t quite understand why. I mean if you are going to use other people’s imagery then I think you have to be absolutely clear on the reasons and the methods that you’re using.”

I drank once more from the cup and then considered my response, trying to consider the question really as much as anything but also making sure that I knew the answer. Some questions are rehearsed in your mind and likewise the answers, this was about being put on the spot though and needing to offer justifications for the decisions that I have been making.

“I’m trying to address nostalgia and that does stem from personal experience I think, so I’m not totally removed from the process, it comes from my experiences, where and when I grew up in Birmingham.” My first thoughts verbalised and before I could follow them up I was interrupted again.

“I’m not convinced though, I mean I get the thing about your experiences but a lot of what you say is anecdotal when talking about the work, often about responses after you’ve made it. That’s great but you’re almost an archivist of these programmes and I would expect a more meticulous cataloguing of the evidence to fully justify why you then choose specific parts to work with. I mean why did you choose the shots of the buildings that you showed me the other day?”

I felt a bit battered but nonetheless confident that I could talk about the selection process, I continued, “I chose the particular buildings, the street shots, to reference a particular perception of the British Industrialised urban area, the typical working class street, the familiar residential area. I did that because I am using some fairly obscure references in terms of particular sit-coms and that becomes insular and ineffective for a viewer that hasn’t seen or isn’t aware of those sources. It has to be broader and that’s where that selection comes from.”

He listened for a short time and then carried on, “Yeah, but I’m still not sure. Partly because it’s just totally at odds with my own practice and I don’t think I can remember ever using someone else’s images myself. I’m still not convinced. The whole Sherrie Levine thing is interesting up unto a point but I’m not sure that you can base a whole practice on copying existing imagery and calling it your own.”

We were now walking across a car park having finished our morning drinks, I kicked a stone and thought about the reference to Sherrie Levine and made one last effort to establish my position, “I think Sherrie Levine’s work is very different, I think that has a lot to do with gender as well as the act of replication. My work is about utilising motifs from a particular period, I don’t copy images, the work I showed you the other day were my photographs of the TV screen in my room, they’re my images, I considered the framing and what was included in the images and what was left out of the images. I collect fragments”

“Why don’t you just re-edit the fragments into a new piece then, make a new film like the “24 Hour Psycho” film? Why don’t you write a sit-com that is made up of these fragments?”

Over the day I thought more about what had been said and I was given one more opportunity to summarise my recent practice, he walked into the room and moved towards his chair.

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation this morning.” I waited for a sign to continue, he turned to me and signalled his attention, so I continued, “My practice isn’t exclusively about sit-coms. I’m aiming to address Nostalgia & Memory through the appropriation of motifs from particular times and offering them within a revised context. From this approach subjects such as Racism, Class, Gender, Sexuality, Tragedy/Comedy become apparent whilst remaining a collection of motifs under the umbrella title of Nostalgia & Memory.” I realised that it may appear a little rehearsed but then I suppose it had been, in my head over the course of the day I’d sought to find the words to answer the concerns that had been established from the morning conversation. “My place within this is as a catalyst and originator in terms of the references explored, the instances and sources are derived from my own personal nostalgic experiences and memory. This places an emphasis upon my own Class, Gender and Attitudes.”

He raised an eyebrow, “That’s the most interesting thing you’ve said about it, and when you talk about it in the future, those are things that you need to say.”

The phone rang, I didn’t answer it.



…REBEL WITHOUT A PAUSE…

June 2008

I pressed the button on the remote control and the image on the screen froze momentarily, I sighed and pressed the button again and then again, the screen froze for a second time, just to the right in the top corner the image flickered and danced, I spent a moment considering if this was the image I was after and then with a certain amount of abandon I moved the camera into position and took a series of shots. An hour had passed by the time I completed the task and I had shot enough images to work through, the decision at one stage to abandon the pause button and simply shoot on sight had speeded up the process and may result in a different type of image…I looked over at the clock and realised my time spent on this experiment, although far from wasted, had made me late, I reached for my jumper from the floor and the can of Lynx Deodorant on the shelf and quickly prepared myself for the outside world.

Opening nights are odd affairs and sometimes you attend because you think you might be introduced to the curator of whichever gallery and discuss that all important chance to show them your work in the hope that they will want to offer you a show, sometimes you attend because a friend or colleague is showing work, sometimes you go because you want to see the show. On this occasion it was the latter and I had not expected to be involved in any discussions related to an exhibition for myself.

It had been sometime since I had seen and spoken to some of the people who now stood before me, we talked generally at first and then about the work on show and as I looked at their faces I recalled some of the good times I had experienced with them I became lost in that pocket of thoughtful reminiscence that softens the impact of the words and conversations around you, you become incapable of full interaction and begin to nod and mutter in the right places. A new face popped into view and brought me back into the room, it was soon accompanied by a corresponding hand that gestured for me to move forward, I excused myself from the small crowd and went over.

“The theme of the show is “Rebellion”…So get ready, I’ll e-mail you next week with the details”.
“OK, but you must give us adequate notice to get the work made.” I found myself trying to stress this issue as the request had been made for a group show involving the No Such Thing Collective and it isn’t always easy to get groups together at the last minute.
“As long as you give us enough notice I don’t see why we can’t do it.” I did feel mild discomfort as I had made this statement on behalf of other people but at the same time a show is a show and all that.
“July time we’re looking at, OK?”

I walked through the door and found myself moving back towards the TV in the corner, I pressed the button on the DVD player and picked up the remote control again, this work now seemed likely to be needed for this exhibition, I picked up the camera and began shooting again.



...THE PICTURE OF TONY AND ME…

June 2008

Andy adjusted his position several times; he worked quickly and effectively, rarely directing me, always busy. I had asked Andy to make the image because I trusted him not only in terms of quality but also in terms of my discomfort with this kind of situation. Ambre-UK had asked to feature me as guest artist for their online magazine and required a portrait for inclusion in the article. Andy knew me as well as anybody and I knew he would make the image with the minimum amount of fuss and handle this “difficult” subject. I had chosen the Tony Hancock monument as a location as I am developing a piece of work that features the landmark as well as the connections with Birmingham and previous comedy/tragedy work; it seemed to be the natural choice.

“OK, I guess” Andy signalled the potential end of the shoot and handed the camera over for me to check the images he’d shot. “Is that what you needed?” I glanced through the images and was more than satisfied at my friend’s efforts, “Great” I said, “Let’s go and get a cup of tea.”

Over the duration of our time in the café we talked generally about loads of things and yet nothing in particular, as friends can, and do, I bid farewell and went home to look at the results of the shoot. I quickly decided to concentrate on two of the images and with little more consideration finalised my choice, as I clicked the button to send the image I reflected on how quickly it had all been resolved and admonished myself for getting wound up about the prospect of the photograph. After all I have no issues of standing in front of the camera to make work, is that because I feel detached? Is it that I am adopting a role and therefore am unencumbered by the neurosis of presenting myself? It’s probably more likely that I am just vain.

This thought sustained me through some sketchbook work for the proposed “Hancock” piece and I looked over to the corner of the room where my Homburg Hat now sits.




…THE HOMBURG HAT…

May 2008

I have worked on a short film in Birmingham before that related to Tony Hancock, and my interest in him, as a subject has not waned, the film had limited successes in that it was more of an interim piece that helped me develop the ideas for the “Great British Comedy Moments” work. After pitching the idea of a return to Birmingham and Hancock at the Costa meeting I had begun to work out the next stages of the project. I visited eBay as I had done before and secured the purchase of a Homburg hat, this could be the decisive move, I have ventured into a more performative role of late and this piece of “costume” would surely help me to finalise and work through the ideas more actively.

I struggled with the two layers of brown parcel tape that secured the lid to the box; I had no doubts about what was inside and like a child on Christmas morning I wrestled with excitement and anticipation. It was no good, I had to avail myself with a knife, the packaging was far too efficient and I was far too eager to get at the object that was imprisoned inside.

Once inside the box and the hat liberated I passed the brim through my fingers and marvelled at the quality, it was absolutely beautiful, beautifully made. I walked across the landing and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, I carefully placed it on my head and looked at myself for the first time, the first time I had worn a Homburg hat. I felt for some reason like the children’s cartoon character Mr Benn, I took off the hat and returned it to the box. I located my sketchbook and scribbled down some quick thumbnail storyboards. I would need assistance and so I e-mailed my friend about a possible date in July to make the work.



…ANOTHER COSTA CONVERSATION…

May 2008

“How about…mmm…?” I paused as I turned over the possible date in my mind, it was a new piece of work that had to be made, I didn’t want to offer an unrealistic deadline. At the same time I didn’t want to over extend the date and appear incapable of delivering.

“October?” The interjection filled the space in the conversation that I had clumsily left open, finishing my sentence and plotting the first marker.

“I was thinking February actually” there I’d said it and now we were left with two dates to consider and thrash an agreement out with. I couldn’t help feeling however that I had sold myself short a little; surely I could get it together before February? Why had I said February? In my head I was saying “…December, December, December…” I decided to make the first move and concede some room in the negotiations.

“I’m being too soft on myself, I need a bigger challenge than February. How about November?” I drank from the large two handled mug that I had been supplied with, the warm liquid filled my mouth and momentarily soothed me, I looked out through the double doors to the street, the overcast day remained as grey as when I’d walked in, I returned to the conversation.

“That’s fine, it’s totally up to you really, and November sounds good.” He also paused to drink deeply from his mug, “We’ll set up an “In Conversation” event and get people along, film it, transcribe it and maybe we could get a publication together?”

“Yeah, maybe a catalogue but with a transcription of the interview thing?” I now started to see the possibilities of the proposal and felt more at ease with November as a deadline, I knew that I had to react to this and not ponder too long, the process was there I thought just got to go out and do it. ““I don’t think I ever met a man as humble or modest about his talent” that will be the title, working title anyway for now.”

We left the Costa and arranged to continue meeting to discuss and keep on top of the work as it develops and as I said goodbye I started to work through a mental image of myself in a Homburg hat.



…JUNCTION 19 AND THE WOMAN WITH THE DOG…

May 2008

She looked over at me from her crouched position underneath the raised tailgate of her black Volkswagen Golf, she had been pouring water into a silver bowl, her dog, an English Springer Spaniel, drank noisily from the receptacle, I wondered if she had stopped here for the same reason that I had. She smiled at me and I smiled back, I returned my gaze to the stationary traffic that had been my sole focal point for the last half an hour, here I was watching traffic, still traffic. One lorry in particular had caught my attention, it poked itself above the line of trees making itself more visible and more noticeable than the rest and I watched it intently, just waiting for a movement, just a slight change would and could make all the difference.

The Moto service station just off the M6, 1/3 of mile before Junction 19, had been my haven of respite. For just under three hours I had sat in my car whilst the traffic crawled at a snail’s pace along the grey vista of the motorway, at the sight of the services and with the line of traffic now slowing to standstill I decided to give my car, and myself, a break. I signalled left and pulled off, curiously liberated for a few moments by simply being able to accelerate. I had no idea how long this could take but I knew that I would prefer to sit in a service station car park with the engine off than to continue in the slow trickle of dusty, dizzying, immobility that offered the alternative. I was on my way to the Gallery at the Chorlton Arts Festival; I questioned whether I would make it there at all.

The woman was now walking her dog around the small area of grass that separated the car park from the line of trees that in turn separated the grass from the motorway, she smoked continuously as her dog manically manoeuvred its way from corner to corner only restricted by the lead that occasionally tugged it back. I glanced back to see a space where the lorry had been, suddenly I could see movement and hear the sound of speeding engines, I pulled the seatbelt across and moved the gear into reverse, my journey was back on track.

I realised that the time and space that myself and the woman with dog had shared, the time we had spent together, yet only tenuously connected, meant very little. She wouldn’t know why I was there, I wouldn’t know why she was there but as I drove away I seemed to be struck by the fleeting moment that I had just encountered.

I arrived nearly four hours behind schedule at the gallery, so I had little concept of how the visitors had interacted with the work. The image of Gary Glitter I had placed on the wall was littered with handwritten words and I was pleased that there had been a response. I will examine and go over the content at a later date and see what people were driven to write. I turned the ignition key in the car, turned the car stereo on and prepared for the M6.



…THE FILM OF THE MAN ON A BIKE ON YOUTUBE…

May 2008

“Have you looked at the work of Bas Jan Ader?”

I looked across the table, over the half consumed Tea (Large) and the Cappuccino (Regular), this particular branch of Costa Coffee in Lichfield had very comfortable seats and an open plan seating area that had given a deceptively calm backdrop to the meeting that I was currently engaged in. I say deceptively because I am rarely comfortable in these environments, it is only the large dose of tea that settles me, on this occasion however, the company and the discussion had diverted my immediate attentions from the place we were sat.

“Sorry?” I replied “Bas Van…?”
“Bas JAN Ader. He is a performance artist, I really think you would find him interesting.”

I scribbled down the name and noted within myself a slight discomfort, that feeling of inadequacy you get whenever you have betrayed a certain amount of ignorance. I glanced up from the notebook and out onto the street, where it was raining quite heavily. Returning to the conversation I remarked that I had not been aware of Ader’s work and as the discussion flowed towards the intricacies of his practice, I wondered if I would look him up, I tapped my pen on the surface of the page and made a few random marks by his name as a result.

“ I think there might be a significant relationship between his work and the stuff that you’re on at the moment.”
“ I’ll definitely look him up.” I confirmed

Once the conversation had concluded, drinks finished, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

I opened the notebook a couple of days later and I realised that I had made the notes from the Costa conversation in the back, somewhere…it took me several attempts to thumb through the pages from the back cover before I found them. I sat at my desk and googled the name, reminding myself of the clumsy error I made in the discussion. Amongst the list of possible sites my eye was drawn to the first thumbnail image, a dark, degraded, black and white image next to which it read “YouTube – Newly Found Bas Jan Ader Film – A newly rediscovered film by artist Bas Jan Ader. This was…5 Sec *****”

I clicked and watched for the duration of the short film, in that short space of time I made connections with my own practice and started to work some things out.



...RULE OF THIRDS…

April 2008

It’s been a funny time really, felt like I had loads to write about and yet have sat at the Mac twice this week and have been unable to start typing. Therefore this represents the third attempt, it may appear forced, apologies in advance.

I have had confirmation of two exhibitions in two days and that’s obviously a positive thing, I spent the day on Tuesday making the work for the “?Anonymous?” show in Burton and after producing three panels, I made the judgement to include only one in the submission, it was a new version of the “Glitter” piece and is succinct and does the job, I packaged it and prepared myself for the walk to the post office but as the work from this show will all be sold I had the thought to document it before I said a final farewell, so it was unwrapped and photographed, and then re-wrapped. By this time I felt a resistance to taking the walk along the Walsall Road to the Post Office. The package is still on my desk…tomorrow maybe.

The other show is the “She’s Lost Control” event at the Chorlton Arts Festival, I toyed with the thought of not submitting a proposal for this show as I had been involved at the inception of the exhibition and asked to take part in the selection process, I gently removed myself somewhat from the selection committee and forwarded a proposal that reconfigured the “London/Glitter” piece, I was contacted yesterday with the news that the proposal had been successful. I will still be involved with the curatorial aspect of the show and I am looking forward to this event a lot. Third show this year so far and third outing for the “Glitter” project.

A visit to the printers provided the final piece of work to consider this week, as the print of the Dorset Beach sequence I performed back in August finally arrived. I have set some time aside tomorrow to look at it properly and start to plan the text to go onto the surface. Feels like a full stop in many respects but at the same time I kind of feel that I will visit the West Beach again…?

I bought Portishead’s “Third” album today and I have it on now as I type this line.



…I LOVE MY BROTHER…

March 2008

At last I finally got hold of my own typewriter today, a Brother Deluxe 220 from the Banardos Charity Shop opposite the Art Gallery in Wolverhampton. I had had a craving for Liquorice and ventured out to find a shop that would sell me some cuttings, you know, weighed in a little white bag. I failed in my mission to locate any suitable outlet for this purchase and went without. On my way back I passed the Charity shop that I occasionally venture into, my attentions were immediately drawn towards the small black item placed neatly in the bottom left corner of the window display. Before I had even stopped to think I was waiting at the counter for the manageress to collect it from the window for me and as she placed it on the formica surface I smiled to myself and remembered the suitcase I had bought in Lewes. The lady spoke first, “It probably needs a new ribbon.” I leaned over to look at the mechanism that holds the ribbon in place. “It’ll be fine with a new ribbon, you know I had to use these when I was at school.” The manageress, an elderly lady with candyfloss hair and a hand knitted cardigan, moved in front of me and started to wrestle with the mechanism, indelicately pulling and prodding at the ribbon, “Trouble is, some kids have got at this I’m afraid and messed it up.”

Some time later, after a great deal of tinkering with the typewriter and a small amount of negotiation over the price, I left with my fully operational Brother Deluxe 220 and I started to think of the various things that I had left to do on the “Glitter” project with it and how I could give back the typewriter I had borrowed from my friend.

I have had one of those weeks where lots of ideas have filtered through into my thoughts and I have a long list of things to do for potential projects and events that are in the pipeline. The “Tin Soldier” idea has developed again and I have started planning the next stage of the “Glitter” work as well as sending the finalised piece for the “Reggie/Dorset” work to the printers. I am enjoying this work at the moment and feel that any one of the nascent thoughts that I’ve had this week could develop significantly if I afford time to them.



…ALL DIVERSIONARY TACTICS…

March 2008

We got the go-ahead from Chorlton Arts Festival for the “She’s Lost Control” group exhibition proposal. So here’s what happened, I was in the bath reading “The Boy Who Kicked Pigs” by Tom Baker with the Edgar Jones & The Joneses album blasting out of my stereo across the landing. I was trying to take my mind off the impending Madame Lillie’s exhibition and the, at that stage, unresolved “Glitter” work, the bath, the book and the noise were all diversionary tactics aimed at putting distance between myself and the images that I had been failing to resolve all week. After another morning of trial and error I had opted for a change of environment and made the short trip from studio to bathroom via the bookshelf and the stereo.

I couldn’t however completely divert my thoughts from the deadline for hanging the show and started to think of different ways of presenting the work, back up plans and alternatives are always useful. In between Tom Baker’s words on the downfall of “Robert Caligari” I started to think about giving away the act of writing onto the surface of the work, it had been the most time consuming and measured part of the process, and I wondered what people might feel moved to write upon the image of Gary Glitter…No…I discarded the thought.

“Goodnight Robert,” squeaked the rats. “Thanks for the meal.”

The book complete and the last notes of Edgar Jones’ finale giving way to comparative silence, I stirred and negotiated my way out of the bath, the thought returned and unlike ever before I turned on the Mac and, still wet, e-mailed Mark at Blank Media a quick summary of how the idea to release control to the viewer/participant could be a workable theme for a group exhibition. Mark is based in Manchester, so were Joy Division therefore “She’s Lost Control” appeared on the screen before I had too much time to consider.



…GETTING UP FROM THE COMEDOWN…

March 2008

At the end of any exhibition there is a mixture of emotions that combine and conspire to leave you somewhat undone. Centre on the relief that accompanies your survival of the process that begins and ends with you standing in the space with the work, either installing or removing, and you can plant both feet in the camp of positivity. Start to look at actual visitor numbers, financial outlay and time spent engaging in the logistics of the exhibition and you can easily find yourself moving towards an altogether darker place. I suppose the trick is to just carry on regardless, keep producing, and keep looking for the next opportunity…

Whatever happens - there is a gap, a space left after the show that will inevitably leave you in limbo, just for a short while, but even so, in limbo.

I looked at the alarm clock as it hammered out that altogether unsavoury sound, rigid, forceful and not unlike a straight jab to the ribs, an audible attack upon my person. Everything drifted in and out of focus for a short time as I felt the injection of consciousness hit my temples and as the sharp pain subsided I could recognise the traces of a dull ache left behind. It seemed like only a few minutes (rather than hours) since I had completed that long drive back from the Gallery in London and here I was unprepared, yet still ready, to engage in another new day… it was over now…the show. The kettle, as if to mirror my own demeanour, slowly crept into life and as I waited for the sound to build I thought about some of the conversations that had arisen from the show and in particular those first hand accounts from people who had claimed to work for, or with, Gary Glitter in the 70’s. I poured the boiling water into my mug and built up a mental image of a man bursting out of a large birthday cake and in doing so setting his hair on fire, this event came from one of the “Glitter Stories” that I had been told in the gallery…was it true…did I believe it…it was over now anyway. I opened the blinds and the sun burst through and reminded me of the dull ache of fatigue in my temples I turned away quickly and began to drink the freshly brewed tea from my mug, I found myself thinking about what I should do next and how to start that process, “This is the comedown” I muttered to myself. At the point at which I put a name to this experience I also realised that the words that I had just uttered sounded overly dramatic, pathetic even and certainly not the reasoned assertions of the person I try to be, I’ve never been into all that tortured artist nonsense and I shook my head in disbelief at the way I was behaving. “Get on with it” I told myself and I put my mug down and started to get dressed.

The post arrived; I had some ideas and got on with the business of the day.



…DOWN IN THE TUBESTATION AT MIDNIGHT…ALMOST…

February 2008

The opening night at Madame Lillie’s went as well as these events can go, people came, people saw, people asked questions, people made comments and then left. I am always at odds as to know how to behave at these events, it seems that all the work takes place away from this environment and yet is aimed towards the time that it will occupy the gallery space, the opening night becomes the focal point of this process, complimentary drinks, introductions, discussions and farewells.

Following the events of the opening night I made my way back across London to Ealing, my sister lives there and I had borrowed a parking space for the day, as I glanced down at my watch and realised the time, 11.06pm, I started letting my mind wander and recall some of the less savoury uses of Tube stations in recent popular culture. “An American Werewolf in London” came to mind first and as I passed through Tottenham Court Road station I played back the faded image I had of the events that took place there in the film. As my unease filtered through to my body and I sank into the safety of my seat as if to repel the scarcely populated environment around me I pictured the brutal assault and irrationally started to become concerned about my own safety. The lyrics, which I used to sing at the top of my voice in my bedroom, of “Down In The Tube Station At Midnight” by The Jam rattled around my thoughts and I entered into an uneasy few stops on the line, however it wasn’t long before these words, as I thought through them, began to balance my unrest and almost offer comfort…memories can be warm…and I am always warm when surrounded by the words of Mr Weller. I was sustained for the rest of my journey by trying to remember the words at the end of the song and also which tube station the cover shot was taken at. It was a short leap from this back to the conversations about nostalgia that had arose at the gallery about Gary Glitter, two separate people on the night claimed to have known him at some point and retold stories about him from the 1970’s.

My drive back to the Midlands was OK and as I turned into the road where I live I thought about a man with his head on fire and Thailand…



...SOMETHING DOWN UNDER RINGING BELLS...

February 2008

So I am more or less ready for the Madame Lillie’s Show and I am more relaxed about the resolved Gary Glitter work now…not many bus conversations with myself this week anyway.

I have at the eleventh hour introduced a new element to the work and one that I rediscovered by going back over my sketchbooks for the nostalgia collaboration that I am working on with fellow artist Katrina Vivian. Why did I even look at them? Partly the last entry in this blog I suppose. I had mentioned Katrina at the end of the blog entry and as I read it back to myself and considered the work laid out in front of me in the studio I answered a call from a niggling doubt and reached up for the red “nostalgia” sketchbook that rested on the middle shelf of my bookcase. The doubt, as it goes, seemed a minor one but a doubt none the less that had remained at the back of my mind for the duration of the week. Something to do with the way that the texts that I had selected played out together, once upon the same page I had the slight question over whether they had enough of a connection and I felt that a third source was required to amplify the effect and bring a greater sense of resonance to the words. Enter Pat Molloy…One of the wrongly convicted men in the Carl Bridgewater case and someone who for some reason I had felt compelled to focus on at the inception of this project. In my red sketchbook I had transcribed his initial interviews with the Police and, as I read through the words, the minor doubt that I had seemed to be the target for the pages in front of me…I immediately began working over the panels with Molloy’s words, in pencil, in ink, over and over until his protestations of innocence mutated to confused words of confession…within the panels Norman Stanley Fletcher and Gary Glitter looked on and seemed to grow in stature as a result.

Katrina is away in Australia at the moment and the “Nostalgia” project I think we both accept now is a long-term venture that will grow over the remainder of this year. If I hadn’t have had those initial conversations though…



…I AM A LITTLE TIN SOLDIER THAT WANTS TO JUMP INTO YOUR FIRE…

February 2008

Decided to work with an alternative approach, I haven’t used a camera for a while and feel that I would benefit from a journey sideways. I was packaging up some work when I had the thought / flashback / memory, whatever it’s called, about the story of the little tin soldier from my childhood…I bought the book…like most things it didn’t seem as good through my 34 year old eyes as it did back in the day…but it seems relevant to start there. It isn’t a million miles away from the work I’ve been developing for the nostalgia project with Katrina…



...THAT OLD FASHIONED TYPING NOISE, THE CORNER OF THE BEDSIDE TABLE AND THOSE CONVERSATIONS YOU FIND YOU HAVE WITH YOURSELF ON BUSES...

January 2008

I have been busily resolving the Gary Glitter work for the forthcoming Madame Lillie’s show and have drifted in and out of crisis all week as a result. I have conversations with myself on buses about what I am doing…I ask myself the question and try and provide the answer, if the answer isn’t good enough I imagine the scenario of destroying the work in a frenzy…if I can answer my own queries satisfactorily then the imaginary massacre is delayed for the time being and in the short term I am satisfied that I am on the right track.

I typed for almost an hour last night and the sound seemed more than just an anachronism, as I hammered on the keys and watched the speedy long spindle arc and direct a letter shaped punch upon the surface of the annual page, I realised that this seemed like an ancient process and therefore this “machine” that I hunched over and clattered with uniform irregularity would look more at home in a museum than in front of me, the sound unusually familiar, faint and yet invasive. The position that I had manoeuvred myself into, upon reflection, was awkward and uncomfortable…yet I took no opportunity to adjust. My left heel rested against the corner of my bedside table as I laid out the scripts of “Porridge – Series One” and the Gary Glitter annuals on my bed, the typewriter supported on a piece of board, to give it enough stability. Every now and then I felt my heel push back against the rigid corner of the bedside table, usually after a particularly forceful letter had been permanently stamped onto the page, each time the pain in my heel subsided almost instantly yet I felt unable to adjust my position, caught in this finely balanced arrangement I typed and typed and typed.

Potential display strategies have been occupying my thoughts and my bus conversations of late…I have a plan that may prove impossible when I get to the space but I am thinking about a scattered approach where the images appear in a variety of places throughout the space rather than as a uniform block, we will see…



...THE LAUGHING TRAIN LADY AND THE LIST OF THINGS TO DO...

January 2008

Meeting with HV (Tues 22nd) check TIME

CURZON ST STATION??? Eastside???

Typewriter from Stu’s Sun/Tues am

“DEAR GARY…”

Nostalgia Work
Gary Glitter Annuals/Porridge script

Play around with text removal
Marker Pens
Tippex
Paint
Masking Tape


Handwritten text?
Frames glitter? Polaroid eBay –check
£17

Tippex again? Porridge Script Ep 1 + Last Ep? Copyright check?
POSTER M.L’S

e-mail -
RUTH
THEO
EMMA - Ref
ANDY J
ANDY N

SUZIE’S B’DAY 18TH/19TH
JAMES ROSE

When I reach Wolverhampton Train Station I know that I am nearly home, I tend to switch off and occupy myself with music and my notebook, on this occasion I opted for Bonnie Prince Billy and the black pocket notebook I keep in my blue bag, my Thursday bag as it goes, I don’t tend to use it at any other time of the week. I travel to and from Chester every week and I seem to have no problem occupying my mind on the way there, it is on the return journey that I find my thoughts fractured, fragmented in the repetitive clatter of the train and the occasional punctuation of a station stop. I tend just to write down the things I have to remember for the forthcoming week and I am not a neat or formulaic note-maker, I just hit the page with the pen and let the everyday scribblings about remembering to e-mail friends and dates that I musn’t forget to ideas about work new, old, unmade, never will be made, could be made, will be made and in the process of being made, my notebooks are a bit chaotic but that’s OK I think, I’m used to that system.

A woman sat in the adjacent seat to mine had kicked off her shoes and was sprawled across two seats, I quickly guessed that as the train would eventually arrive in Plymouth in a further 2 hours time that she may well be in for the long haul, she held a hardback copy of the Peter Kay autobiography. As the last notes of “Hard Life” faded in my earphones I became aware that the woman was laughing out loud at regular intervals and that she was clearly enjoying her read. The laughter continued intermittently for some time and I realised as I packed my notebook away into my Thursday bag that the pattern of sound that had stopped my note-taking had now progressed to an amalgam of the laugh and the clatter of tracks, I waited for the announcement that Birmingham New Street Station was the next stop…it came and I stood up. I couldn’t help looking back at the woman on the seat, without her shoes, laughing at a book and as I held onto the yellow handle by the door she shot a glance back at me, it was a glance that signalled her awareness of my interest in her current situation but it didn’t last, she looked down at the page and began reading again. I stepped onto the platform and heard the laugh for the last time.



...CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER...

January 2008

So I got to thinking about how much clearing up and discarding I’ve been doing over the Christmas/New Year period and wondering what’s wrong with me – I’ve never been particularly tidy before and often function best in a chaotic environment. I have no answers, just a need to get myself and my space sorted, I’ve thrown a lot of stuff away that at some point in my history must have seemed important, but the cathartic experience of removal inevitably will give way to replacement and I wonder whether in 12 months time I will be re-establishing the need to clear up after myself. I also wonder whether it will have any significant impact upon my work and practice?

The “Kyoori-Ossati” exhibition at Madame Lillie’s gallery in London has been confirmed and Hilton Vasey and myself are now working through the logistics of getting the participating artists together to plan and arrange the show. I suggested the title after a long e-mail discussion with Hilton about the theme of the proposal to Madame Lillie’s, of which we both provided some terrible suggestions – none of which I’m willing to share here – we had settled upon the general theme and I had become pre-occupied with the notion of curiosity, curiosities and the curious. As I was looking over the dictionary for what seemed like the hundredth time I started to notice the phonetic interpretations of various words and the threads in my head started to join up and I e-mailed the ones that stood out straight to Hilton. The gallery is a small intimate space and we have selected a number of artists to compliment the environment.

I am at this stage still undecided on which work I will put up for the show, I submitted two proposals and have been finalising both pieces of work simultaneously, it may be that I put the decision off until I’ve seen the space and can make a judgement in relation to the other work submitted. Gary Glitter on one hand, Reggie Perrin on the other…



...CLUTTER...

December 2007

Another year completed and another one due to begin, new targets to set and collectively we take a deep breath as we prepare to embark upon our individual and respective paths in this prospective entity called 2008.

I decided to clear out my studio, a fresh beginning and a refreshed environment within which to work. Eight black bin liners and two cardboard boxes later and of course a visit to the local tip to discard my unwanted debris left me with a feeling of renewed optimism (as well as a work space in which I could now move freely in all directions) and a residual thought about the clutter that I had removed…I missed it already and started to consider the implications of discarding so many personal items, objects…stuff. Why had I held onto it for so long? What purpose had it served?

Standing on the Ikea rug that rests in the centre of my studio I looked around at the seemingly new area that I now had to work in following the removal of my clutter, my debris and I spared a thought for all the things that I had thrown away. I then sat down at my desk and e-mailed Hilton Vasey…



…APPLICATIONS, AUCTIONS, THE WEATHER AND THE TIN SOLDIER…

November 2007

Inactivity is a strong word and one I hope that I would never use to describe a month in my life. I have been busy…honestly, but I have not been busy making work and this is where I have felt as if this month has slipped by. The No Such Thing collective that I co-founded with Hilton Vasey is preparing applications for a show in early 2008 and this has been an ongoing discussion and process between Hilton and I throughout recent weeks. I have also submitted work for the Airspace Gallery in Stoke to auction as part of the Airtrade event in December, a simple re-worked excerpt from the “Reggie Perrin” piece, it took an evening to sort the presentation out and as I sat in my studio deciding on appropriate text panels, I became preoccupied with the sudden drop in temperature and the need to work quickly so that I could return to the warmth of the house.

As I packaged the work for delivery, the brown parcel paper somehow started to remind me of a story that I used to love when I was a child, “The Story of The Little Tin Soldier”. The faint memory of an illustration in the book that I had owned when I was younger came fleetingly into my thoughts, a fish swallows the tin soldier and then ends up being caught before arriving on a market stall, my memory told me that the illustration depicted the fish resting upon a piece of brown paper. I made some very swift notes in my sketchbook…could it become a piece of work…I don’t know. The weather continued to threaten my resolve and I completed the task of packaging the work and left the studio, later that evening I made a list of things to do, amongst completion of the “beach” work and the “Gary Glitter” experiments, I noted that I should get hold of a copy of the “Tin Soldier”…to date I haven’t…outside the snow is falling.



…B IS FOR THE BUS WHAT I TRAVEL ON…

October 2007

“Can we have a nice big smile then…come on a lovely big smile…I know it’s there…come on…” I stood awkwardly in the installation space at the Guildhall as the local press sought details of the “Re-Writing…” work and the artist responsible for it. I know now why I never pursued a career in Newspaper Photography. I am not the best “smiler” as it goes and certainly not on demand. I tried desperately to facilitate the reporter with the facial expression he desired but it was a struggle and as I stood in the space uneasily contorting my features, just minutes before the doors opened, I felt pressured to come up with the “big smile”, here’s where I made a mistake. “Wouldn’t you prefer a more thoughtful, contemplative expression” I interjected, just to speed up proceedings, you understand. “That’s a good idea, hold your chin as if your thinking about something” came the response, indeed I was thinking about something, but it wasn’t deep or contemplative…I am bracing myself for the awful results in the press next week.

So the “Re-Writing the Dictionary in a Day” installation took place on Saturday and when all said and done was a great success. Over 400 people visited in 6 hours, an average of around 65 people per hour and they all contributed a word to the revised dictionary and now of course the task of collating and getting the individual pages into book format lies ahead for me. The overall atmosphere throughout the day was really positive and people engaged with the old Johnson words as they replaced them with the new, and yes, simple as it is to say, the results perfectly define the notion that language has changed over nearly 300 years…and some.

Many of the new words were completely unfamiliar to me, betraying either my age or my ignorance, many were redefined versions of older words and some were explicit, invective and expletive. Some referenced Winnie The Pooh for a definition others referenced Paul O’Grady, some derived from Jamaica and New Zealand others from the Black Country. Of all the visitors that contributed a ”new page” I am absolutely determined that every one will be included in the revised dictionary, I’ve mentioned before about Johnson’s dictionary acting as a reflector to the world and culture he experienced and I am hopeful that this installation has resulted in something nearing the same…this is the modern world…

A is for Ace...Something that's really good
B is for Bus...What I travel on



…SO, ABOUT GARY GLITTER…

September 2007

“You’re going to get some funny looks” read the text “but it’s up to you”. I had decided to contact Suzanne about my most recent find on e-Bay, some 1970’s Gary Glitter annuals, I had hesitated on the bid and thought that I’d get her thoughts on whether or not to acquire them for my “Nostalgia” work.

Why had I hesitated? In a fit of paranoia I wondered if there was some kind of internet police watching and logging anyone who established an interest in Mr Glitter, a government department dedicated to the monitoring of anyone wishing to purchase items that contained his image, specifically annuals from the 1970’s!? In truth there could be, but surely not? Maybe there has to be? Maybe these questions are exactly the reason that they might be a useful addition as part of the work.

My finger hovered over the mouse even as I resolved to bid, but I kept my nerve and the progress of the work in mind and went for it. I await the postman to see what arrives…



…FADED PAGES AND THOSE 1970’S ANNUALS…

September 2007

Sometimes you have down times and those times can spin you around and leave you dazed somewhat. I currently feel dazed and in truth a bit jaded. It could be that having worked up to the Dorset Beach stuff and then right to the wire with Artsfest 07 that the sudden space that is left after the event becomes an anti-climax and inevitably what follows leaves you wondering where to go next. Of course I have the Dr Johnson Installation and everything is full steam ahead on that, and don’t worry this isn’t another woeful story from a tortured artist with a propensity for looking at the glass as half empty…no, that’s not for me brothers and sisters. Why begin this blog entry in this negative fashion then I hear you ask? I don’t know really but I have worked through a whole range of different feelings this week and come out the other side with a plan…

It started where the last entry ended, I had made a decision to shelve the “Comedy” work and look for something fresh. The faded book excerpts have been working well and re-configured really nicely for different spaces but just as these faded pages had represented a shift in my output six months ago, so I need to challenge myself once again and adopt different methods to reinvigorate my ongoing practice. I reasoned to myself that I must complete my work with the Dr Johnson Installation before anything significant took place elsewhere but nonetheless I had to move on, this suddenly felt scary. I have yet to actually complete the production of the last Dorset work so to take a break from it seems premature and perhaps foolish, I will be completing that sequence for the next show, whatever, wherever and whenever that might be…so why am I bothering to think about new work, I have enough on my plate? Without an answer to this question I picked up the sketchbook that I had started working on for the “Nostalgia” collaboration with Katrina Vivian, I leafed through the pages and realised that I have a commitment to this project and that this should be the focus of any fresh efforts.

Just on the desk in my studio I have an old “Dangerman” annual, I purchased it from e-Bay for a couple of quid about six months ago, not for any other reason than it connected with “The Prisoner” and I liked the look of it as an object. It has been a fleeting thought since I bought it that it could become part of a piece of work at some point. Like it does sometimes with my brain, threads of ideas suddenly connected and I realised that the “Nostalgia” work could be moved forward with the introduction of the annual and/or annuals from appropriate periods. As each page turned I started to make mental notes of possible ways to utilise the annual, soon those notes were transposed into the sketchbook. I left my studio that night with a possible way forward…a plan.



…AND FINALLY, DORSET…

August 2007

Standing hesitantly just out of shot, ready for my entrance, ‘at last’ I thought finally I get to retrace Leonard Rossiter’s steps on the West Bay Beach in Dorset.

The old suitcase in hand, the wind blew fast against my face and I took an inward breath before stepping into shot. I had gone over and over this moment for many months, ever since I found the case in Lewes I had imagined what it would feel like and had sketched time and time again rough layouts of how the resulting images might look. As Reggie had done in the script I looked back at the huge cliffs that towered over the bay and turned to stand looking out to sea. So within this entry it would be great to write something about how this experience generated profound feelings about the act that I was simulating, that somehow a connection with the frustrations of people who had stood where I stood now occurred, in truth, nothing profound, nothing deep, nothing meaningful. A feeling of mild embarrassment arose as my discarded clothes fell behind me and I walked in my underwear to the edge of the water, the beach after all was inhabited, I felt frustration as a young guy in a Manchester United shirt walked straight into shot without consideration of what might be taking place meaning a repeat of my actions for another take. I felt utter relief and genuine excitement as I watched the raw footage back and realised that my intentions had been met.

I decided when purchasing the case that this series on the Dorset coast should become the final act in the “Great British Comedy Moments…” work, and as Reggie walked off to a new life after his visit to the West Bay then maybe as I walked away I began to move on with my plans.




…THE ASSISTANT, THE CARETAKER AND THE ADVICE GROUP…

August 2007

As it does these days, it rained hard, really hard. As I made my way along Bore Street to the entrance of the Guildhall building I went over in my mind the way I hoped the room would look, I’m sure that I once went to a Record Fare in the very same room, and I clawed through the back pages of my memory for how it had looked. I turned to Dave who walked alongside me, he was sheltering under a large umbrella and this amplified the rhythmic pattern of the rain sound as we negotiated our way to the venue. Dave has kindly agreed to be my technical assistant on this project, I’ve worked on constructing exhibition spaces with him before and I know that he will be able to deal with the idiosyncrasies of a given space without panic and without losing sight of the original plans. “I actually like the rain Dave, I’m not an umbrella kind of guy.” He responded to my comment and then amongst the idle chat that followed picked out a question about the Guildhall, “Have you arranged to get into the room today, do they know we’re on our way?” I must admit I hadn’t considered the need to arrange an appointment to see the space and I replied with a simple gesture and a quick remark aimed at reassurance.

We arrived in the Guildhall entrance area and could hear the steady noise of people conversing from behind the old wooden door of the Guildroom, looking down we identified a laminated sheet of A4 attached to the door. The A4 notice read “ALZHEIMER’S ADVICE GROUP”, I looked at Dave and suggested that we shouldn’t invade the meeting and that perhaps I would come back another time when it was unoccupied. We stood outside for approximately five minutes; I found myself becoming animated as I acted out various different imagined layouts for the room whilst Dave scribbled down notes and quick sketches in response to my words and actions. Through this process we had worked out a tentative response to the construction of the sections for the installation and I advised Dave to give up no more of his time and I would arrange to visit the space on another day, as these words left me the door of the Guildroom creaked open and a woman stood before us. As she looked us up and down I imagined quickly a potential scenario running through her mind, were these two figures in front of her Alzheimer Sufferers? Were these two figures in need of advice and support regarding issues that either they or a family member have relating to Alzheimers? The silence was broken by the woman who merely commented on the appalling weather conditions, she struggled with her umbrella and as she passed us by Dave moved forward into the Guildroom, I followed tentatively still exercising my imagination and projecting perceptions of myself and Dave onto the unsuspecting inhabitants of the room.

“What can I do for you?” asked the caretaker who appeared first from behind the door, “This lot are just finishing up.” He looked us up and down and rattled his keys in his right hand as if to indicate that he wished to lock-up sooner rather than later. Dave turned my way and I garbled a quick description of our reasons for appearing in the room and the caretaker beckoned toward me with an action that suggested that he wished me to move into the corridor, “Follow me, I’ve been waiting for you to get in touch.” I struggled to keep up with him and wondered as I followed exactly why he had been waiting for me to contact him. “Confirmation, I’ve been waiting for you to confirm the booking, now what was your name again?” he was now standing over a desk with a battered appointment book before him. I relayed the appropriate information and he confirmed that I had not been the person he thought I was and pointed back down the corridor to the Guildroom. “Help yourself my friend.”
I entered the room to be greeted by a group of four women they each looked up as I walked into the space, the nearest to the door smiled and said “How can we help you, do you need to talk?”



…FACE TO FACE…

July 2007

I have been interested in Tony Hancock for a long time now but like most things I have the capacity to drift away from areas of interest and working themes as new ideas arrive and different opportunities come up.

As a result of working on the St Mary’s Old School show, I spent some time installing a reconfigured version of the “Perrin/Hancock” work. As I spent time with the text panels, and having to re-think the layout and order of the fragmented words, I started to review the reasons why I have found Hancock such an important figure.

I casually search eBay from time to time for anything that may help my work or could be physically used as part of developing pieces. I have a set number of search titles, of which “Hancock” is one, and with the installation fresh on my mind I found someone selling a DVD copy of the infamous ‘Face To Face’ interview with John Freeman. I realised that I had only ever seen clips of this interview and naturally found the prospect of a complete version exciting. I bid upon, won the DVD and settled down late on a Tuesday evening to watch.

This would be uncomfortable viewing for anybody, let alone someone with a regard for Hancock and his work. The uncompromising questions, the uncompromising camera angles, the uncompromising interruptions, Hancock was quizzed on his religious beliefs, his lack of education, his high earnings and his relationship with the character of ‘Hancock’, and it’s painful to say the least. I reached for my notebook and started jotting down some of the questions and responses as well as camera position and facial expressions.

“What would you like to reform about the world?” asks Freeman.
“I’m not capable of doing that. You just observe the world and practice within the limitations of your own talent what you see around you.” replied Hancock.

I don’t know whether it is the information that we now know about Hancock and the events that took place after this interview that coloured my perception of what was taking place. I realised more than ever though that the insecurities of the character were the insecurities of the man. At one stage John Freeman reinforced this by inaccurately assuming that the character name Anthony Aloysius Hancock was indeed Hancock’s real name, although he laughed as he corrected his interviewer I felt that this moment as much as any addressed Hancock’s desperation to escape from the confines of the role.

“You spend most of your time discarding, not gathering” – Tony Hancock



…THE OLD SUITCASE AND THE OLD VICTORIAN SCHOOL…

July 2007

It seems a long time ago, that dull day in Lewes where I spotted and purchased the old suitcase from the antique shop. I fully intend, and have scheduled, to visit the West Beach in Dorset, the location for the opening sequence of ‘The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin’ and produce a series centred on the suitcase.

When I was asked to participate in a group exhibition at St. Mary’s Old School Gallery in Lichfield I decided to adopt a similar approach to the Manchester show and rework an existing piece, and although I intend to continue with the ‘Perrin/Hancock’ series with new approaches, I chose to address the text sequences that I had been working with earlier in the year.

Whilst I worked through my sketchbook notes at my desk in the studio I kept looking over my shoulder to the suitcase that I had deposited in the corner ready for the daytrip to Dorset. I gradually hatched the idea to use the case as a centrepiece for the installation and allow the object to react against, and with, the text panels that surrounded it. I went back to my notes in the sketchbook and found that I had originally considered a section of text where Reggie writes to his wife explaining why he had faked his suicide, locating this section of the book I went back to the process of removal of words and laid bare Reggie’s heartfelt correspondence.

I played around with set ups in the studio and decided that I needed to introduce a couple more elements, a shirt and a pair of formal trousers that I bought from the local charity shop worked well with the case, and like the case, held a secret history that was evidenced in every fold and every mark, yet remained hidden now that they had been given this new role.

The challenge of working in a converted space where the walls are not white and the original décor of the building is in tact provided a further element to the installation, yet my initial concerns were dispelled once I had sited the case. As an experiment I felt justified in my decisions and I am already imagining running across another beach…



…OH MANCHESTER, SO MUCH TO ANSWER FOR…

July 2007

So I’ve only been to Manchester on a couple of occasions and my knowledge of the city and its suburbs is really limited to, and reliant upon, the lyrics of The Smiths, the fictional spaces of “Coronation Street” and “Shameless” and a passing interest in the Moors Murders. I would probably only rely upon Morrissey’s musings out of those reference points as a possibly accurate descriptor and so I was prepared to learn something of the place by spending time there.

The journey to the city was reasonably uneventful, as most motorway journeys can be; I stared for long periods out of the passenger side window through the distorted patterns developing on the glass from the torrential rain. As I stared I wondered about the space I may have been allocated at the Zion Arts Centre Gallery and the usual pangs of insecurity arose in my thoughts, would the imagery work in the same way I had it working in the studio, would the work hold its own in a group show, what would the other work be like that shared the space with mine, and so and so on…

I checked the Mapquest printout on my lap and identified Hulme as the region to which we were headed, I found myself remembering those Smiths lyrics that name checked the places appearing on the signs that we passed, “What do we get for our struggle and pain? A rented room in Whalley Range” and “Rusholme Ruffians”, I imagined what the streets in those places might be like and I wondered if they would bare any resemblance to the streets we were due to visit.

The Blank Media Collective is a relatively new organisation and I am really pleased to be a part of the first exhibition opportunity that they have developed. The show contains work from a whole range of disciplines and artists located nationally and internationally. I arrived at the Zion Arts Centre and identifying the Gallery Space made my way along the corridor just inside the main doors, I’m still on crutches so it was an ungraceful series of movements that delivered me to the entrance of the space. I had a mixture of thoughts running through my mind, leftovers from the journey and new apprehensions about the show.

Mark Devereux, one of the Blank Media Committee, was standing on a table as he fixed a painting to the wall and looking up he jumped down swiftly to greet me and relieve me of my toolbox and spirit level as well as my packaged work. We exchanged greetings and Mark collected a plan from a table that contained a radio, some barbecue flavoured Pringles and a variety of assorted tools and fixings. He escorted me to one of the side rooms that lead from the larger main gallery and identified my wall, Mark decided to consult two other members of the committee about the space and the hanging of the work, and after much agonising between the four of us we opted for an alternative wall within the same space, I was pleased about the choice and had wanted the alternative space from the moment I had walked in. I hadn’t indicated this too strongly, after all I was not curating the show, and I would not have felt comfortable about bossing proceedings. We spent the next hour or so attaching my series of images to the wall; we talked about the future and hopes for this exhibition, the next exhibition and where the next opportunity may lie. I stood back to look at the final sequence and felt pleased, relieved, nervous and justified all at the same time. Another show sorted, on with finding the next.

The rain was so heavy that we decided not stay for any length of time in Manchester, so I will wait a little bit longer to discover the city properly. In the meantime I will return to my record collection.



…CABIN FEVER AND THE REBEL…

June 2007

There are moments when you are desperate for more time to get your work done, time to physically produce and even time just to get ideas flowing. It’s easy to bemoan the routines in your day-to-day existence that smother and interrupt your creative intentions and easy to blame the very same routines for not being as productive as you feel you should be.

Imagine then my first thoughts when I was summoned into hospital this week at short notice for what was meant to be minor surgery on my knee, perversely I thought, an opportunity to get some work done, a couple of clear days of convalescence will translate into time to really get the work together for the recently confirmed Blank Media show in Manchester, planning time for the forthcoming Dr. Johnson workshop at Lichfield School of Art and a chance to liaise with Katrina on the Test Card F work.

The surgery turned out to be more “aggressive” than expected, and although this is largely irrelevant within the context of my work it has meant that I have been somewhat housebound for the last couple of days and the immobility that has accompanied my period at home has made it impossible to get to my studio. I spent some time this morning feeling overcome with a sense of helplessness and inactivity and generally entered into that state of mind where you feel bored and despondent, Cabin Fever had set in; it took Tony Hancock to shake me out of my lethargy and break my preoccupation with the four walls around me.

I decided to watch a DVD and as I looked at the shelf I found my eyes resting on a film that I had not watched for a few years, despite my referencing of it regularly, I adjusted my standing position and uncomfortably reached up for “The Rebel”, it took such a small amount of time for me to remember the sheer joy of the film, forget about whether I had taken my tablets or not and more importantly to reach for my notebook and start scribbling down some of the dialogue. “If you didn’t have those initials on your briefcase, you wouldn’t know who you are” a suited Hancock opines to himself as he sits on the train at the beginning of the film. I laughed out loud as Hancock moves a cow into his studio and performs an action painting on a bicycle. As the film reached its climax I realised that I had surrounded myself with sketchbooks and had spent the duration of the film planning and preparing the very things that I had felt incapable of at the start of the day.

Anthony Hancock’s frustrations played out in front of me as I systematically and somewhat inadvertently avoided playing out my own…



…MARY’S GRANDDAUGHTER…

May 2007

Mary waited nervously at my side; I was speaking to the Manager of the Nuffield Unit about my plans for the workshop I was about to undertake. The previous week I had delivered a workshop on basic bookbinding techniques to the group and had set them a task to use their individual books to collate, record or examine their experiences throughout the week. The Nuffield Unit has been providing meaningful daytime opportunities for people with Mental Health problems for the last 40 years and the group’s involvement in the Dr Johnson project includes a variety of workshops that will culminate in their contribution to one of the Public Works.

Mary passed me a piece of paper, “I just wanted to see if you thought that this was OK, I mean good enough for what you wanted us to do.” I heard the tremble in her voice and realised that she had invested not only her time but a great deal of thought into what she would like to put in her book. I also realised that I had a responsibility to Mary, to read what she had written and be honest about what I thought. The words on the page were contained within one paragraph and the seven lines simply expressed how important it was that she had been at the birth of her granddaughter and how important it was that she had witnessed her granddaughter growing up and how much that kept her going. The style of the wording was consistent with my limited knowledge of the way she spoke. Without calculating a response I found myself uttering a very short reply, “That’s perfect Mary, really good.” She wanted more, I could tell that, I repeated my initial response and added “…well done.”

Throughout my two short sessions with the Nuffield group, I felt entirely comfortable, never judged, always trusted and amongst a group of people who made me feel at ease.

Dr Johnson’s manuscript held a mirror up to the world he inhabited, maybe Mary’s, likewise, will hold a mirror up to the world around her…



…SEARCHING E-BAY FOR TYPEWRITERS, PARKAS AND NEWSPAPER BAGS…

May 2007

Katrina passed over her notes and initial ideas for the “test card” work and I fleetingly guessed at the potential content of the folded papers and wondered if the sketchbook on my lap containing four or five pages of loose working research and ideas would be of equal value to our project. This was our first scheduled meeting following our agreement to work together on a collaborative piece for a proposed exhibition sometime in the future.

We had initially settled on a loose examination of the Carl Bridgewater Case from 1979 and ideas associated with nostalgia, we had discussed the old BBC Test Card, and how Police Corruption was now a recognised motif of the time, and these things somehow operated in a way that may focus us in on how the notion of nostalgia may function and inform our work.

It’s difficult to say at the moment where the ideas are going, Katrina is experimenting with Clothing and Photosensitive materials, I am experimenting with Text and digital imaging.

“I need to get one of those newspaper bags to have a go with,” Katrina said.
“e-Bay’” I said,
“I’ve been looking for an old typewriter on there, there’s loads of stuff like that,” I said
“Yeah it’s great for those kind of things, I reckon I could get one off of there” Katrina said.

I drifted momentarily, I was suddenly struck by a mental image of a Blue Parka, the kind everyone wore at school, with the snorkel hood. I could see the Midlands TV News and somehow became convinced that the Blue Parka was something to do with the Carl Bridgewater reconstruction that had been screened. I told Katrina about my fractured recollection, but couldn’t be 100% certain about who the young figure in the parka was that I was recalling, was it an actor retracing the steps of Carl Bridgewater? Was it a school friend or myself? I was 6 years old at the time, could I have seen this on the news and remembered it, as I talked I referred to a bike, I didn’t know the model of the bike but I seemed to feel that it was white.

“I bet I’d get a Parka off e-Bay as well” Katrina said…



…THE JOBBERNOWL EXPERIMENT…

May 2007

As an experiment, and as a result of going through the pages of Johnson’s dictionary in more depth, I decided to include a range of selected words within my everyday dealings last week. It started out as light relief from the day-to-day routine, I encouraged others to be involved and this small band of willing volunteers spent a day slipping some of Johnson’s more curious words into conversations. “Currish”, “Limous”, “Brangle”, “Saponaceous”, “Jobbernowl” and “Fopdoodle” are just some of the words we experimented with, and that we agreed, did not register regularly within our own vernacular. The resulting conversations throughout the day generated a whole vista of different responses from people we encountered, the most common being a slight acknowledgement of something irregular being said whilst simultaneously continuing to converse as if nothing had occurred. On occasions questions were asked, “What language is that?” “Have you made that word up?” and this is where the experiment shifts from light relief into an interesting and valuable piece of research for the work I’m looking to make.

Words disappear over time, the need for certain words slips as the need for new ones develops.

I started to think that Johnson’s dictionary is therefore like a mirror that reflects the times, the people, and the fragments of a long lost culture that we may only know through BBC1 Period Dramas or those hazy History lessons at School where you only remember the smallest and most insignificant of details while you stare out of the window waiting for the bell. Layers of language are built, some words we use now derive from old ones, other words we use now seem to derive purely from the need to describe a new cultural phenomenon or trend that previously hadn’t registered on the social radar. Slang words, swear words, new words, old words, derivatives, vulgarisms, and so it goes on…

I thought through possible solutions and have arrived at a proposal for an installation that engages with this notion of layering language. Unlike other works that I’ve produced it has a reliance on the viewer / participant to interact with the space and become part of the layering process. It’s exciting to think through the problems and challenges associated with public art in comparison to previous work that I’ve made. There are early reactions to the proposal that have been promising and encouraging and the search is on to find and secure an appropriate venue that will coincide with the Dr Johnson Tercentenary programme.



…THE LITTLE GIRL, THE TOY CLOWN AND THE BLACKBOARD...

May 2007

I had a meeting with fellow artist Katrina Vivian at the end of last week about working collaboratively in the future. I’m pre-occupied with the Dr Johnson work at the moment but we had a fruitful discussion about where we may have common interests and where our individual practices could collide successfully. It’s a great challenge and a great experience to work collaboratively and I find the prospect of working with Katrina particularly interesting, I‘ve known her a long time now, although until we recently re-established contact through the Custard Factory Show, it had been a while since we had spoken. We have both changed a great deal in that time, personally and professionally and, although I can’t speak for Katrina, there has been a period of remembering who we were and acknowledgement of how we’ve changed.

Katrina is Australian by birth and our initial discussions about nostalgia and national memory were intriguing because I found that when dealing with old news stories and icons of a past age Katrina is learning a majority of things from scratch, basing a project on events in the history of this country means we both have polarised starting points. “Do you remember the test card with the little girl, the toy clown and the blackboard?” I said, “Test card? Where I come from its just colour blocks” Katrina continued to ask me about the details of the test card with a puzzled look on her face, “Are you sure you’re not winding me up, sounds a bit dodgy to me.” We talked about nostalgia and how we are often bound by memories of how great a decade was, how it is presented in the media and how the good points are cherry picked, and of course how this is often a redundant act as every decade is marked by the sinister events that take place as much as the positive motifs that inevitably code our perception of the time.

Just maybe the little girl and her clown summarised our discussions and just maybe that could be the start of things…



…ABACTOR TO ZOOTOMY…

April 2007

So I’m really made up to be a part of the Dr Johnson project and delighted that Peter Walker has asked me to work on some ideas for the event. By way of a beginning to proceedings I got a second hand copy of the dictionary from Amazon for a small price. I always like second hand books for my work, there is a history marked on every page, in every crease and blemish there is encased a singular passing moment and I enjoy the thought that I am adding to those mysterious moments in some way and that somehow those marks become part of my work and process.

For somebody like me who has been using text, whether it be transcriptions, autobiographical passages, comedy scripts or fictional dialogue, Johnson’s dictionary is a revelation in terms of some of the words that appear on the pages. The first entry "Abactor" isn’t recognised on my spell check, this is disconcerting and brings the words validity into question such is our advanced reliance and trust in technology, rather like looking in a French or German dictionary at school I found myself trying to imagine a meaning for this word before I read through Johnson’s description. Needless to say I was a million miles away and on viewing the correct definition was hit with a sense of why this feels like a foreign language – the country has changed massively since the good Dr decided to map it’s native dialogue and “someone who steals a whole herd of cattle as opposed to someone who would steal only a sheep or two…” may just be the kind of character who is thin on the ground these days…maybe not? By the time you reach "Zootomy", a word that happily does register on the spell check by the way, you are aware that you have been on a journey of sorts. In truth I wondered how many words from a contemporary dictionary would I be aware of, how many words from the dictionary do I currently use in my everyday existence, how many words come from Johnson’s dictionary and how many have been additions as the passing of time alters our needs for certain words whilst introducing and generating new ones.

How do I turn this into a piece of work?

My first conversations with Peter Walker lead me to discuss the work I was making that utilised comedy scripts. I talked with him about “Blackadder the Third” as it was at the time my only real reference point for Dr Johnson and probably a lot of people’s main reference point as well. The script is full of possibilities in the way it addresses the Dr’s attempts to catalogue the English language as well as the doomed attempts of Blackadder, Baldrick and The Prince to “re-write” the dictionary in one evening. It may be here that I start although I am definitely entranced by the object of the book itself and this again may have potential in the experiments that go on, I don’t want to be restricted or bound to the processes I’ve used before, the brief after all is to celebrate the efforts of Dr Johnson and the legacy of his dictionary, language is such an exciting vehicle that it appears limitless as a subject. As we speak I am reaching for the Blackadder video and my sketchbook…

“Fire – the hot orangey thing under the stony mantlepiece” - Baldrick



…THE OLD SUITCASE AND THE DORSET COAST…

April 2007

So I was in Lewes at the weekend, visiting friends and recharging before the onslaught of the Custard Factory Show and we were walking along the street looking for a place to have a cup of tea, anyone who knows Lewes will confirm that despite it’s obvious charm, the main street is made up of Health Food Shops and Charity Shops and very little else, I had therefore slipped into a “small town” daze as we meandered our way through the repetitive collection of shop frontages. I don’t know what it was that made me rest my eyes on one antique shop a little way ahead, but outside on the pavement amongst a collection of unidentifiable objects there lay an old battered suitcase, I immediately pictured Reggie Perrin walking on the beach at Dorset with a similar suitcase in tow and felt drawn to the shop. When I saw the £2 price tag on the suitcase my excitement grew, I moved inside the shop to pay hoping to get some history on the case, unfortunately the woman behind the counter who was wearing a grey hand knitted jumper with a large broach, was on the phone and simply used hand gestures to beckon for the payment and to seal the transaction offered a thumbs up and a nod of the head. I wonder how Reggie would have reacted to this I thought as I left the shop. I stepped out onto the pavement with the feeling that my thoughts for the day had been re-directed, no longer in a daze I now started planning the next piece of work, the suitcase and the Dorset Coast await…



…STARTERS AND CUSTARD...

March 2007

I am at this stage unsure as to how this blog will turn out, I have no premeditated thoughts on style of writing, content or even why I need to do it, I simply want to get into the discipline of getting my experiences down. I have started many hand-written diaries/journals and have never maintained them, never really being able to separate journal notes from the dialogue and notation that is contained in, and supporting my sketchbook work. Inevitably I stopped this replication and stopped the journals. There is an apprehension about the validity of such a dialogue like the blog, self indulgence is one niggle in the back of my mind and I am keen to make sure that this is not over indulgent and imparts something of an experience that may or may not be insightful. So here goes…

The Custard Factory exhibition has come a long way since Hilton Vasey and I sat on a cold train from Stoke to Birmingham one Wednesday evening. We had been discussing the necessity to maintain some momentum within our practice and put a group show together. We had no plans on location or who would be involved, no themes or styles were talked about but we talked none the less. As Hilton left the train at Stafford he turned and said “Yeah, that will be good to do”. Nearly one year on from that night and we are preparing to move into the gallery space at the Custard Factory in Birmingham and I guess that it is genuinely exciting to have overseen this project and to be so close now to opening the exhibition to the public. I could point to occasions when Hilton’s words seemed to be coming back to bite us, when we were worried about getting the artists together to exhibit, finding the right location, thinking of a name for the show and collective, public liability insurance and printing promotional material but this is all part and parcel of getting a show together. All that matters now is that the work is displayed well and that the exhibiting artists gain some exposure for their work.

My current ideas have been based around mediated language and the shift that can take place in meaning, when isolated and lifted from the original context. I have moved from tabloid newspapers and tourist board brochures to arrive at British Sit-Com scripts and have decided that for the Custard Factory exhibition I am going to re-work a text installation I produced last year for the Empire Gallery. This implies dissatisfaction with the original piece and I am not at all, rather I can see there are more possibilities for the idea and I am interested in producing another piece in response to Reggie Perrin and Tony Hancock. Last year I was interested in the collision between factual and fictional texts, factual and fictional events, and factual and fictional characters. I am now in the process of moving from abstracting text from the script to using the original book as an object and although I have approximately 120 pages to “censor” I feel it’s coming together. It seems that I am again, like last year, using Reggie and Tony to prepare for a larger project based upon Alf Garnett and Love Thy Neighbour.