It had been a while. Duke was dead but Duke was still here. In the work, in the sketchbooks, still present in the background. After completing the BMI residency there had been a period of readjustment, maybe even loss…it had been intense and productive and he needed time to evaluate all the work. Now here sitting at his desk on the seventh floor in the Wolverhampton School of Art he had finally found the will to write something down again. Thoughts filtered through from his residency at the BMI, thoughts he had been keeping aside, thoughts locked away (temporarily) to aide the recovery from his time with Duke and to put some distance between him and the work. He had met with Paulette in the art school shop briefly that morning on his way in to work and after initial greetings the conversation had got round to Duke and the sketchbooks. He always greeted Paulette in the same way, he had never seen her without a smile on her face and her positive disposition could be like medicine some mornings. “You’re looking as radiant as ever Paulette!” Paulette grinned and laughed by way of response and her welcoming manner encouraged him to stop for a while. They talked for about half an hour and during the discussion they had stumbled over the sketchbook, kept in his shoulder bag at all times. “I only wish I had the time to read all of this.” Paulette gently let the pages turn between her fingers as she examined fragments of the writing in relation to the imagery. “I think if I did it would be something I would remember forever.” SWITCH “I’m thinking of taking up boxing…what do you think?” SWITCH I DON’T THINK YOU KNOW WHO I AM…I’M THE TINY LITTLE GHOST THAT FEATURES IN DESPONDENT MOMENTS…THE TIMELESS WHISPER…I’M THE SCIENCE OF ALL THAT IS WRONG. SWITCH He had a meeting with Tom Hicks later to discuss publishers and book proposals, maybe it was this prospect that had got him thinking again or, maybe, it was just time. SWITCH “City Lights” Chaplin (again)…Boxing scene. “The Champion” Chaplin (again) Boxer. SWITCH Positioning the mirror in the studio had taken some time; he took a moment to look around. The studio had been dormant for the weeks and months following the residency; many key items and the body of work that had been produced lay still packed in boxes alongside the suitcase that contained Duke’s costumes. He loved this studio, it was peaceful and offered a perfect environment for him to think and work. Momentarily he acknowledged a self-rebuking regret that he had not returned sooner. Stepping back from the newly adjusted mirror he walked around the tripod and looked through the viewfinder before making minor corrections to the position of the camera. The Lonsdale gloves sat on the desk and he reached for them in readiness for his first bout. SWITCH The punch is thrown but never felt…I see the punch come but I just don’t feel it…I feel the punch come but I just don’t see it. SWITCH It was good to see Cat and Jack again, he trusted them and needed them to help him realise his intentions for Duke. It felt strange going back over the ideas with his two companions, Jack had met Duke and worked on the residency so for him things appeared to be straightforward. It must have been harder for Cat but she immediately saw potential and contributed great ideas readily as they sat and discussed the next steps. Later that evening he received a text…”Good to see you both! Looking forward to getting into some Ethiopian food on the next meet up!” SWITCH Marvin Gaye’s “Here My Dear” forced its way out of the speakers and into the room as he considered the material that had arose from the first bout. He was pleased in what was an encouraging start but knew that there was a long way to go yet before the work really came together. He reached for his sketchbook…fresh…ready to hold the new ideas and development of work…he loved a new sketchbook. On the cover he wrote a speculative title “THE CONTENDER” and under a photograph of Chaplin in a still from “The Champion”, which had earlier been taped to the surface, he continued with his pen, “THE SAME HAND THAT CAN WRiTE A BEAUTiFUL POEM, CAN KNOCK YOU OUT WITH ONE PUNCH.” He then turned to page one. SWITCH He shared an office with the painter Christian Mieves these days and enjoyed the calmness that his colleague brought to the environment. They exchanged morning greetings and he immediately lifted his sketchbook and opened it to reveal the work he’d started. “I’ve made a start on this, what do you think?” Christian smiled and before offering his thoughts on the work he said, “I think it’s great that you carry your sketchbook everywhere with you, this is good…no?” SWITCH New Art Gallery Walsall and the opening night of Andrew Tift’s and Mahtab Hussain’s latest work. A busy night, he met and talked with his old College tutors and saw old friends, “I’ve taken up boxing…what do you think?” SWITCH He looked at the floor and saw the vast pile of hair that now lay around the chair in varied clumps. It was important that he looked the way he wanted for the work but the crop was more severe than he had anticipated. When the mirror was held up to view the haircut he recoiled slightly at the more brutal looking figure staring back at him. SWITCH The ‘Dirty Practice’ residency and conference gave the opportunity to occupy another studio space and work through the new ideas and also, he could box. In front of the mirror he stood with the camera rolling as he jabbed, countered and hooked. All the time he imagined DeNiro in ‘Raging Bull’ how he moved, how he looked and as each exertion shot out from his burning shoulder joints he thought to himself ‘punch like DeNiro…be like DeNiro.’ After an exhaustive bout he returned to his studio desk with a freshly made cup of tea and sat looking at the various images that adorned the space in front him. Under a picture of artist Judy Chicago where she had presented herself as a boxer he wrote “ DO I THINK OF MYSELF AS A  WO MAN WHEN I GO TO MAKE ART? OF COURSE  NOT.” He then stood up from the chair and traversed the wall to another image from the early studio tests that had been taped up for consideration and once again he lifted the marker and scrawled underneath the image, “I AM NOT A BOXER…BUT I HAVE SEEN ROCKY II.” Artist Andreas Singh walked through the space and read the recently applied text. He examined the image intently and then turned to speak. “That’s really funny…I was thinking, you’re quite a funny guy in your work.” SWITCH He wondered through the grounds of Birmingham University as he headed to the Costa that Dr Connie had given him directions to in her last text. They had arranged to meet to discuss the possibility of continuing work on a book proposal that they had started to set out during the residency. Once he had secured himself a pot of tea he descended the internal stairs to the lower ground where he selected a table, sat down and set out his recent sketchbook to review and continue progress with. He had a little while before the meeting and wanted to seize some precious moments to continue his thinking on the latest work. It also meant that he didn’t have to dwell on Duke before the discussion with Dr Connie would inevitably turn that way. After a quiet few minutes making notes he peripherally noted a figure and immediately looked up towards the stairs in expectation of Dr Connie’s arrival. Instead he saw the fleeting, flashing frame of a figure disappearing through the door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’ that led into the kitchen. He thought he saw a hat and some braces and rose quickly to follow. He saw the door swing open and went to follow only to be stopped by the barista coming the opposite way. “Are you OK? Can I help?” Now partially retreating he responding quietly, “it’s ok I thought I saw somebody I know walk through here.” The barista kindly responded with a gentle but slightly confused “No” and with this he returned to his seat and picked up the pen again. Within moments Dr Connie walked down the stairs and smiled before offering an excited greeting. The two hugged and sat down to get on with talking through the next stages of the book proposal. All the time he kept one eye on the space to the side and behind Dr Connie, just in case he hadn’t imagined the figure. Dr Connie spoke first, “so, how are you, what have you been up to?” he responded, “I’ve taken up boxing…what do you think?” SWITCH Walking out of the library with a copy of Kevin J. Hayes’ book “Martin Scorcese’s Raging Bull” under his arm he navigated the electronic barriers and turned left down the corridor, three students were walking towards him and he moved to one side to let them through. As he stepped to the side his left desert boot gave way underneath him as the sole connected with a wet substance. He fell forward but steadied himself against the wall with his left arm. The students looked at each other and then laughed at his misfortune. Taking a short diversion across the corridor he now walked over to the toilets. Once inside he wiped down the sole of his boot and deposited the soiled tissue into the bin. He looked up and saw the orthodox opponent staring back at him from the mirror above the sink. His bag dropped to his side and he shot up onto his toes, he danced around and then went in for a right jab. His opponent countered smartly and he felt the full force of his reflection’s left hook on the side of his jawbone. SWITCH He sat alone in the office. His temperature slightly raised after his last bout following his trip in the corridor. Opening his sketchbook he looked at the image of the two fighters that he had taped down earlier in the day. After sipping from his mug he reached for a pen and freely responded to the image on surrounding page. ON THE ONE HAND, THE BOXER IS PRETENDING TO BOX (PERHAPS HE IS EVEN ‘SHOWING OFF’ FOR THE AUDIENCE OR ATTEMPTING TO INTIMIDATE HIS OPPONENT, BUT THE IMAGE DOES NOT EMPHASIZE THIS.) HE MIMES FIGHTING, HE REHEARSES. ON THE OTHER HAND THE BOXER SIMPLY DOES WHAT BOXERS DO BEFORE A FIGH. NOT ‘REHEARSAL’ BUT PRACTICE. THE FILM BEGINS POISED BETWEEN SEEMING AND DOING. He took a gulp of tea and then wrote one more thing before closing the sketchbook, it was a question to himself, “are you orthodox or southpaw?”

It had been a while. Duke was dead but Duke was still here. In the work, in the sketchbooks, still present in the background. After completing the BMI residency there had been a period of readjustment, maybe even loss…it had been intense and productive and he needed time to evaluate all the work. Now here sitting at his desk on the seventh floor in the Wolverhampton School of Art he had finally found the will to write something down again. Thoughts filtered through from his residency at the BMI, thoughts he had been keeping aside, thoughts locked away (temporarily) to aide the recovery from his time with Duke and to put some distance between him and the work. He had met with Paulette in the art school shop briefly that morning on his way in to work and after initial greetings the conversation had got round to Duke and the sketchbooks. He always greeted Paulette in the same way, he had never seen her without a smile on her face and her positive disposition could be like medicine some mornings. “You’re looking as radiant as ever Paulette!” Paulette grinned and laughed by way of response and her welcoming manner encouraged him to stop for a while. They talked for about half an hour and during the discussion they had stumbled over the sketchbook, kept in his shoulder bag at all times. “I only wish I had the time to read all of this.” Paulette gently let the pages turn between her fingers as she examined fragments of the writing in relation to the imagery. “I think if I did it would be something I would remember forever.” SWITCH “I’m thinking of taking up boxing…what do you think?” SWITCH I DON’T THINK YOU KNOW WHO I AM…I’M THE TINY LITTLE GHOST THAT FEATURES IN DESPONDENT MOMENTS…THE TIMELESS WHISPER…I’M THE SCIENCE OF ALL THAT IS WRONG. SWITCH He had a meeting with Tom Hicks later to discuss publishers and book proposals, maybe it was this prospect that had got him thinking again or, maybe, it was just time. SWITCH “City Lights” Chaplin (again)…Boxing scene. “The Champion” Chaplin (again) Boxer. SWITCH Positioning the mirror in the studio had taken some time; he took a moment to look around. The studio had been dormant for the weeks and months following the residency; many key items and the body of work that had been produced lay still packed in boxes alongside the suitcase that contained Duke’s costumes. He loved this studio, it was peaceful and offered a perfect environment for him to think and work. Momentarily he acknowledged a self-rebuking regret that he had not returned sooner. Stepping back from the newly adjusted mirror he walked around the tripod and looked through the viewfinder before making minor corrections to the position of the camera. The Lonsdale gloves sat on the desk and he reached for them in readiness for his first bout. SWITCH The punch is thrown but never felt…I see the punch come but I just don’t feel it…I feel the punch come but I just don’t see it. SWITCH It was good to see Cat and Jack again, he trusted them and needed them to help him realise his intentions for Duke. It felt strange going back over the ideas with his two companions, Jack had met Duke and worked on the residency so for him things appeared to be straightforward. It must have been harder for Cat but she immediately saw potential and contributed great ideas readily as they sat and discussed the next steps. Later that evening he received a text…”Good to see you both! Looking forward to getting into some Ethiopian food on the next meet up!” SWITCH Marvin Gaye’s “Here My Dear” forced its way out of the speakers and into the room as he considered the material that had arose from the first bout. He was pleased in what was an encouraging start but knew that there was a long way to go yet before the work really came together. He reached for his sketchbook…fresh…ready to hold the new ideas and development of work…he loved a new sketchbook. On the cover he wrote a speculative title “THE CONTENDER” and under a photograph of Chaplin in a still from “The Champion”, which had earlier been taped to the surface, he continued with his pen, “THE SAME HAND THAT CAN WRiTE A BEAUTiFUL POEM, CAN KNOCK YOU OUT WITH ONE PUNCH.” He then turned to page one. SWITCH He shared an office with the painter Christian Mieves these days and enjoyed the calmness that his colleague brought to the environment. They exchanged morning greetings and he immediately lifted his sketchbook and opened it to reveal the work he’d started. “I’ve made a start on this, what do you think?” Christian smiled and before offering his thoughts on the work he said, “I think it’s great that you carry your sketchbook everywhere with you, this is good…no?” SWITCH New Art Gallery Walsall and the opening night of Andrew Tift’s and Mahtab Hussain’s latest work. A busy night, he met and talked with his old College tutors and saw old friends, “I’ve taken up boxing…what do you think?” SWITCH He looked at the floor and saw the vast pile of hair that now lay around the chair in varied clumps. It was important that he looked the way he wanted for the work but the crop was more severe than he had anticipated. When the mirror was held up to view the haircut he recoiled slightly at the more brutal looking figure staring back at him. SWITCH The ‘Dirty Practice’ residency and conference gave the opportunity to occupy another studio space and work through the new ideas and also, he could box. In front of the mirror he stood with the camera rolling as he jabbed, countered and hooked. All the time he imagined DeNiro in ‘Raging Bull’ how he moved, how he looked and as each exertion shot out from his burning shoulder joints he thought to himself ‘punch like DeNiro…be like DeNiro.’ After an exhaustive bout he returned to his studio desk with a freshly made cup of tea and sat looking at the various images that adorned the space in front him. Under a picture of artist Judy Chicago where she had presented herself as a boxer he wrote “DO I THINK OF MYSELF AS A WOMAN WHEN I GO TO MAKE ART? OF COURSE NOT.” He then stood up from the chair and traversed the wall to another image from the early studio tests that had been taped up for consideration and once again he lifted the marker and scrawled underneath the image, “I AM NOT A BOXER…BUT I HAVE SEEN ROCKY II.” Artist Andreas Singh walked through the space and read the recently applied text. He examined the image intently and then turned to speak. “That’s really funny…I was thinking, you’re quite a funny guy in your work.” SWITCH He wondered through the grounds of Birmingham University as he headed to the Costa that Dr Connie had given him directions to in her last text. They had arranged to meet to discuss the possibility of continuing work on a book proposal that they had started to set out during the residency. Once he had secured himself a pot of tea he descended the internal stairs to the lower ground where he selected a table, sat down and set out his recent sketchbook to review and continue progress with. He had a little while before the meeting and wanted to seize some precious moments to continue his thinking on the latest work. It also meant that he didn’t have to dwell on Duke before the discussion with Dr Connie would inevitably turn that way. After a quiet few minutes making notes he peripherally noted a figure and immediately looked up towards the stairs in expectation of Dr Connie’s arrival. Instead he saw the fleeting, flashing frame of a figure disappearing through the door marked ‘STAFF ONLY’ that led into the kitchen. He thought he saw a hat and some braces and rose quickly to follow. He saw the door swing open and went to follow only to be stopped by the barista coming the opposite way. “Are you OK? Can I help?” Now partially retreating he responding quietly, “it’s ok I thought I saw somebody I know walk through here.” The barista kindly responded with a gentle but slightly confused “No” and with this he returned to his seat and picked up the pen again. Within moments Dr Connie walked down the stairs and smiled before offering an excited greeting. The two hugged and sat down to get on with talking through the next stages of the book proposal. All the time he kept one eye on the space to the side and behind Dr Connie, just in case he hadn’t imagined the figure. Dr Connie spoke first, “so, how are you, what have you been up to?” he responded, “I’ve taken up boxing…what do you think?” SWITCH Walking out of the library with a copy of Kevin J. Hayes’ book “Martin Scorcese’s Raging Bull” under his arm he navigated the electronic barriers and turned left down the corridor, three students were walking towards him and he moved to one side to let them through. As he stepped to the side his left desert boot gave way underneath him as the sole connected with a wet substance. He fell forward but steadied himself against the wall with his left arm. The students looked at each other and then laughed at his misfortune. Taking a short diversion across the corridor he now walked over to the toilets. Once inside he wiped down the sole of his boot and deposited the soiled tissue into the bin. He looked up and saw the orthodox opponent staring back at him from the mirror above the sink. His bag dropped to his side and he shot up onto his toes, he danced around and then went in for a right jab. His opponent countered smartly and he felt the full force of his reflection’s left hook on the side of his jawbone. SWITCH He sat alone in the office. His temperature slightly raised after his last bout following his trip in the corridor. Opening his sketchbook he looked at the image of the two fighters that he had taped down earlier in the day. After sipping from his mug he reached for a pen and freely responded to the image on surrounding page. ON THE ONE HAND, THE BOXER IS PRETENDING TO BOX (PERHAPS HE IS EVEN ‘SHOWING OFF’ FOR THE AUDIENCE OR ATTEMPTING TO INTIMIDATE HIS OPPONENT, BUT THE IMAGE DOES NOT EMPHASIZE THIS.) HE MIMES FIGHTING, HE REHEARSES. ON THE OTHER HAND THE BOXER SIMPLY DOES WHAT BOXERS DO BEFORE A FIGH. NOT ‘REHEARSAL’ BUT PRACTICE. THE FILM BEGINS POISED BETWEEN SEEMING AND DOING. He took a gulp of tea and then wrote one more thing before closing the sketchbook, it was a question to himself, “are you orthodox or southpaw?”