Attended a PV last night in a large city situated somewhere between Bath and Portishead. Took ages to get there and when I did I parked in a side street and, strolling past a small gaggle of artist types stood outside gesticulating at each other, courted a couple of suspicious glances. Inside I bought a cup of flat ginger beer, set my mindset to mingle and wandered through to the arty bit. 12 people stood around chating intently, another couple of glances – perhaps they think I’m a dealer, or a critic, how exciting!
I didn’t really understand the work and I wondered if even the artist did; videos both projected onto walls and diplayed on monitors, dialogue hard to make out over the chatter, some seemed speeded up (the films) and some didn’t (the guests). On a table were some books for us to look at, possible clues as to what was going on or else waiting to be returned to a library.
I finished my drink quickly and tried to imagine bubbles going up my nose before not making any excuses to anyone and leaving. Exiting via the threshold I passed the same gesticulating gaggle, this time they ignored me. I reset my midset to comfort break and revved up my car to suggest it was getting into gear for a spin to somewhere further than Wells and, once I was out of sight, pulled up at a garage and bought myself a Ginsters Ploughman.