Today started off hard. After less than an hours sleep the journey had begun. Getting to London was tiresome and full of farts. Though they were not smelly, the seismic blast alone was enough to alert the poor lady next to me to my foul bowl activities. I got to London and through drunken recollection discerned my path. Oxford Circus you say?! I’m now a pro at navigation. I met with my dear friend and mentor and after a couple of drinks and a couple of bars preceded to the gallery. Listening in on the conversations of those who had no idea of my contribution I could only hear positives. The artist himself has been filled with a new vigour and I eagerly anticipate working and collaborating with him again in the near future.
So last week I had my fist open studio. A Friday and Saturday ordeal. After initially being wracked by anxiousness I found myself settling in and for the first time in a very long time. talking about my work and craft in general. After the first night an obscene amount was spent on Bloody Mary’s. I explored the city I know and will soon call home.
Sleeping in the new gaff. The throw-over I am using as a blanket smells like cat piss. It smells like cat piss because a cat has pissed on it. I am excited to be here but worried I may have an allergic reaction.
New flat. Grog in an old bottle. Unfortunately the best choice given the options. Big long day tomorrow. Gotta tidy the studio and make it presentable to the public, hang anything I can to make it look pretty, then start work on new stuff well before the doors open at six. I just want to get a little drunk and cry into my pillow. I don’t have a pillow.