It is 22:30 I was going to start this at 19:00, but better late than never. I am “home” as Gabrielle and Martin welcomed me, in the window of 14 Sullivan’s Loop overlooking the cove. Last night there was a full moon and finally I have returned to the ritual that I initiated last year when I was here. I think that I can actually relate the events of the day on the day that they happened – am still lacking a few days from the residency.
Have finally unpacked rearranged the stuff that I junked into my bags trying too get out of Bonne Bay at a decent time. I have my tea and in deference to Paul Kennedy am listening to Leonard Cohen.
To-day James Baird @ Pouch Cove opened. The old gymnasium at the school is now two exhibition spaces quite impressive as two years ago the school was a mess. To promote not only the gallery but foundation Jim had the current residents have open studios and with one extra I show some of the work done out in Gros Morne.
The media were there, I was interviewed by the Telegram and know people who work on the Current. The residents took this seriously – rather perhaps I didn’t take it seriously enough – they cleaned, lit their studios well, hung their work tastefully and some even had ambient music going. They swept the hall, and sat in their spaces while people passed through.
My space – Studio A – looked like a bad undergrad crit at the ‘tute – except that there was actually work on the wall. Printed the images over the last two days again reminiscent of ‘tute practice. Spent no time in my space rather was down in the main gallery, eating Timbits – my dietary habits, like the green dollar, are still declining.
I guess that I hold no hope of selling anything so don’t see the need to answer banal questions.
Lo and behold there is interest in three snaps.
Was in the space, however, talking to someone when someone comes up and introduces himself. It was Joe Dunphy with whom I had been corresponding ever since he saw my work in the shops along Duckworth Street and wanted to collaborate on a book of poetry with photographs. Ah again the serendipity of life on the Rock. Ah the tragedy of life on the Rock. It seems that the job that he was working on is coming to an end and he will have to go off island – Toronto – to find work.
This has me wondering again what the difference between a Newfoundlander and me really is. We both work off island and come back whenever we can.
This is my crowd. We chatted about art - the making of it not the thinking about theorising about making it – conversations run wild, we all being CFA’s talk about experiences here and on the mainland. The conversation leads from one subject to another not all art or art world related.
Being probably the person who has been returning the longest without actually having a place, I knew a lot of people. Klunder’s partner even knew that we tried to buy Henry Langmead’s place – the third best view in Pouch.
All of that is pretty much impossible now. Costs have soared there is no place left on the ocean and when one becomes available.
If these are the people I am supposed to be hanging out with why was I wishing that I were on the Great Northern? Why was I shocked when I realised that everyone in the room was a CFA? Why did I want to lose yet again at pool to “if looks could kill” Earle? Hear that she demolished yet another pro pool player from Britain. To get my own refill at Granite Coffee? Listen to Marilyn who always tells the truth?
While intellectually I should have been quite content as these were my peers, I think that I have been spoiled by the engagement with the work that Kendra had when she put up her snaps at the Seabreeze. No polite remarks, but real questions and comments.
That is not entirely true. The people at the opening for the most part were genuine and the people with whom I had a conversation were engaged and thoughtful with no platitudes. I simply wanted to be elsewhere – and making work.
It is a little better now. It is quiet, I can hear the ocean and see the lights of southern Pouch in the distance.
No comments:
Post a Comment