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.
