The theme tune
to the kids T.V show Why Don’t You
instructed its viewers to “Go out and do
something less boring instead,” which is exactly what I have been doing
since finishing a long run of work. This is the advantage of working freelance
– when things are relatively good and financially stable – I can get out and about, although the aim is
to get more work asap, as the onset of freelance paranoia is never pleasant and
I certainly do not want to be without work for a lengthy period of time. Thus,
the moment must be grasped, the opportunity seized and I must get up off my
arse and make it happen. It is like coming in for a mental and physical M.O.T.
I started
writing this post yesterday, sitting at a table in the Archie Parker café in Forest Hill, South East London, close to where I live (see HSD Image.) A homely, slightly kitsch,
bright, yet stylish gaff, housing tables and chairs direct from the 1970s
and wallpaper straight from your gran’s front room. Splendid. The Archie Parker
is located just down the road from Forest Hill Pools, where I go for my weekly
swim, when I'm waiting for work to happen. I was awaiting delivery of a toasted Rubenesque sandwich, which comprised
of pastrami, emmenthal, pickles and mustard mayo. I had never heard of a
Rubenesque but the only information I can find on line is that it refers to a
painter called Peter Paul Rubens who died in 1640 and who used to paint large,
shapely, voluptuous ladies. The dictionary definition is "plump and attractive." It is not the most flattering of descriptions for a
sandwich - and I don’t know if there is any truth in the artistic connection - but I can
certainly see how too many of them would leave you prone to putting on some
extra flesh.
Today is my
seventh work free day and I am continuing to write this post in the Members Room at Tate
Britain, after seeing the Frank Auerbach
exhibition and being immersed in the sounds of Susan Philipsz’s wonderful audio installation. So far, in the time I have been off, I have gone
swimming twice and had my haircut at a local barber’s in Brockley. The barber’s
is an establishment run by an animated young Cypriot guy who sports a glorious
beard - which is de rigueur for many young men who live in the Brockley area - and where
a good chat, live football and a very decent haircut are the order of the day.
I have
journeyed into Soho to meet a mate for lunch and for a visit to the impressive Saul Leiter exhibition at The Photographers Gallery – a vivid
illustration of early colour photography – where the colours come alive and the
images are stand alone art works in their own right. Leiter’s work was apparently
a major influence on the look of the film Carol.
Music wise, I
picked up the three vinyl set of Kamasi
Washington’s album The Epic - modern
jazz music at its finest - and an incredible body of work, which demands you to
invest the time, to listen from start to finish. There are not enough hours in
the day!! Ezra Furman’s latest album,
Perpetual Motion People is also
inhabiting my headspace to a great extent at the moment and both Kamasi and
Ezra are on the bill for this year’s Green
Man Festival, which is already very much on our radar.
Last Friday, I
made it to Greenwich Picture House to
see A Bigger Splash, which I enjoyed
very much. Ralph Fiennes plays a truly loathsome, self-obsessed and egotistical
record producer with brilliance and hilarity. It is a stylish film, with a very
good score and tension built by sound design. Go see.
With my hair
already smartened up, I saw the osteopath yesterday, so the matters of physical well
being and outward appearance have been taken care of.
Back to Tate Britain
and Frank Auerbach. The exhibition showed off his work from the 1950s to
present day and although it varies throughout, his overall style of painting
feels extremely original to me. I can’t remember having ever seen so much more
in a series of paintings by standing further away to view them, or looking from a different
angle. I actually couldn’t see some of the
paintings close up but from a few steps back or across the other side of the room, they revealed themselves to me, which was
really bizarre and very rewarding. He also has great use of colour.
Susan
Philipsz’s sound installation is thoroughly absorbing. I was alone in the main
hall when I first arrived at the museum and fixed above my head, like something out of an old
tyrannical sci-fi movie, were numerous big grey speakers, out of which came the sound of
horns, bugles and trumpets. The brassy blasts of old wartime instruments,
rescued from long lost battlefields and now part of museum collections. Single notes,
sometimes coming off the back of another note, sometimes just hanging there,
all melancholy, yet strangely uplifting but totally alone, drifting away. The
instruments themselves are so battered that the notes drawn from them sound
cracked, battered and imperfect themselves. The combined sound of all these
notes which were taken from a rendition of The
Last Post – the tune nowadays played at military funerals - was intriguing
and captivating and seeped faintly into other rooms of the museum. The effect
was one of eerie optimism.
I finished
writing these words with a cup of coffee in the Members Room, upstairs at Tate
Britain, before walking back to Westminster tube and heading back home to be there
for my youngest son’s arrival home from school. I have now been provisionally
booked to work from next Monday, so potentially have three more days to “go out and do
something less boring instead.”
