A Sunday With Bainsey
Posted: March 22nd, 2009 | Author: graggregator | Filed under: Graf | No Comments »To celebrate the arrival of a major piece of my forthcoming screen printing studio, Christina, my significant other, persuaded me to drag my sorry hide from my obsession, namely art, and peer above my desk at the outside world for a few hours.
Sunday began in the wee hours, in fact late late Saturday night with a bottle of cheap red vino and a movie on Film Four. Bug starring Ashley Judd, is as about screwed up as they come, just my cup of tea. The plot centres around the female lead’s relationship with, from all appearances, seems to be a paranoid schizophrenic, I’ve met a few in my lifetime, but this guy takes the biscuit.
Disturbingly enough I could relate to some of his more outlandish conspiracy theories, namely the use of illicit drugs as a transport for governmental control of its people, be it through genetics, microbial attack, or as was one of my pet theories in one of my past depressions, electronic signatures, be they audio, visual or somewhere in between.
To cut a long and rather disturbing story short the couple wrap walls, floors and ceilings of their shabby motel room with aluminium foil and set light to themselves to escape the encroaching wrath of a back ops team, who may or may not exist.
I found myself, with some encouragement from Chris, rambling on (and on) about the possibility of secret governmental mind control experiments, especially under the cover of a plethora of transmitted signals via mobile phones, television, and the electricity grid itself. Yes I was having a (William) Burroughs moment but don’t hold that against me, it was the wine talking. I led us through the various possibilities, and relationships between art and life, a perfect metaphorical vehicle for our own supposed reality, mirroring the adjunct, the overt and askew in equal proportions.
Essentially we crashed soon after the film ended with our heads groggy from the consumption of alcohol and a near matrix of ideology I’d spent most of that last hour of consciousness weaving like there was no tomorrow. Is this real, are we, is anything? Where is the context, the Darwinian context of the universe and its parallels of bio-diversity? Are we all that there is, and do we as one race of individuals actually make up a whole being who couldn’t stand the isolation of their infinite existence? Should we all concur would the lust for life and need for survival dissipate in a flash of ultimate realisation? Who knows, my need for the sustenance of sleep won over all, and soon I was once again dreaming of parallel lives in the never never.
We were woken abruptly by the neighbours, the gypsies as we’ve nicknamed them, essentially they’ve never lived in a house before, they rent the first floor flat next to our house, all three of them and a large dog, and none of them seem to be able to sleep through the crack of dawn. The moment the sun rises they’re up and outside, radio blaring, fixing and washing a collection of broken down cars as usual.
I got up and began reading emails, the usual spam and automated messages from various networks I’ve attempted to co-operate with in the name of self-publicity were broken up by an offer from the Florence Biennale, yes I haven’t heard of it either, Venice of course, Florence no. I was rather excited by the prospect at first, a chance to exhibit works in the same gallery that luminaries of the arts such as Gilbert and George and David Hockney have done so in the past. Then as the slumber and delusions of a bad night’s sleep began to fade away I used a little common sense and checked out a few of their 98,000 listings on Google. Before long I realised it was little more than (yet another) glorified vanity show, a pay and display venture on an altogether grander scale than I had come across before.
If you’re famous you’ll get some serious media coverage there, if not, well, join the back of the queue like every other struggling artist. As Chris beckoned for a cup of tea and my attentions in bed I recounted the email and she was all for "sponsoring" me, after sending out a begging letter to the world asking for the same, if all failed she’d be there, risking our hard earned savings on a wild goose chase. It’s times like that that you realise you’re truly loved by the woman you love. I put her off the idea, it seems insane to throw money away in Florence when I could just as easily use it to produce art, which after all is what I’m here for (I hope).
We went our separate ways for a few hours, Chris in her office upstairs, and I slaving over graphics tablet working on my latest piece "outta space" before meeting up for a late breakfast of scrambled eggs and beans and mushrooms on toast. We had a coffee or two and then ventured off to an exhibition at the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill. The building is marvellous, a triumph in Art Deco design, the atmosphere as cold and indifferent as usual. Bexhill is a relatively new town, built for the main part in the 1930s, ironically a vast majority of its population are old, as in elderly and practically waiting for death. The wind and cold hits the beach at Bexhill with a force to be reckoned with, unlike our little patch of the coast it’s at least 5 degrees colder all year round, even though it’s only a few miles up the road, and combined with the looming spectre of the grim reaper over the town it manages to creep me out every time.
As usual the exhibition was a disappointment, the problem with the De La Warr Pavilion is they just don’t have the funding for big names, and they don’t want to take a punt on up and coming contemporary artists (like me heh). So, we watched a few minutes of an awful video installation (they usually are) and then walked off to the café for a coffee. The waiter was very nervous and ran around us rearranging tables and chairs, almost as if he thought we were about to steal one ourselves. We watched our Cappuccinos blow away in a force nine gale before strolling back to the car park, well running really.
We stopped off at another Deco landmark, St. Leonards on Sea’s Marine Court, and went down the steps to the cafe. As we stood there looking at the locked doors a party of middle-class rowdy Londoners gawped, then one of the women chirped "You’d better get something from the offy, they’re only serving food today, no food no drink". We smiled and walked off to the nearest cafe for a take out, I had another Cappuccino and Chris had an awful cup of tea, too milky, too sweet, too much water. As we sat watching the sea come in I pointed out that the woman we’d briefly chatted with was famous, she was a star of Channel Four’s comedy "Smack The Pony", she began parading around in front of us, I guess she liked the attention.
Then she wandered down to the beach with who I guess was her mother and her daughter and began to shout at the top of her voice, I didn’t catch what she said but let’s just say she was making sure the world knew she was there. I finished my drink, Chris left hers, we wandered back to the car and agreed that even though celebrities are annoying they’re usually rich and that could only be a good thing for the local housing market.
Eventually I found myself at my desk and in the background Chris is shouting at Paypal who have suspended her account for complaining about an Ebay seller who is selling counterfeit Chanel perfume, there’s an example of the law twisted to suit a corporation for you. The TV began blaring an announcement that the "reality TV star"
Jade Goody has died of cancer. I honestly thought she was faking it at first, seeing as she’d ruined her career whilst managing to offend the whole of India a while back , there’s karma for you. Don’t become famous for no reason and spout racist obscenities to the world and his wife or you will die an early death.
So, there’s a Sunday with Bainsey, I hope yours was as eventful, if not more, stay tuned for more rants, veering on the artistic side in the near future. Time has got me by the family jewels these days, how does one blog, create art, print it, set up a studio, clear and repair a house and stay sane in one fowl swoop? If i learn how I will let you know.
Tags: art, artist, baines, bainsey, Channel Four, De La Warr, Florence, Florence Bienniale, Gilbert and George, Hockney, Jade Goody, life, Smack The Pony
