(This is an entirely art based post. All non classmates please skip. Many apologies to all individuals featured)
When you have a bunch of largely right-brained artists with no clear leadership trying to organise their own show it all tends to go a bit potty.
On the other hand it does make great blog material.
Last week the Mexican firecracker and O. Belatedly discovered that ‘Westbourne Studios’, where we planned to host our mid year show, had some very serious flaws.
They emailed Foz in absolute horror saying:
- True, it is spacious BUT there are only 7 boards provided. We are not allowed to hang or touch the wall of the space at all + we aren’t allow to hang anything from the parapet or the ceiling!
- If we supplied our own boards, they can’t be put very close to the gallery walls as these are offices and fire exits, and one side of the space is a bar!+ there are sofas everywhere which they wont be moving out of the space!
- If we did supply our own boards not only would it be very expensive, we would also have to transport them all and this is all a lot of effort for a show that’s only going be on for 3 days!”
Apparently the gormball designers who had sourced the place hadn’t bothered to check about any of the above and the gormballs that we are, happily trusted them.
It was all an outrage. A critical meeting was held on Monday evening after our seminar and crit. Let me paint you a little picture:
The Firecracker and Amalia began the seminar by drinking Stellas from 11 in the morning and onwards. By mid morning they were cheerfully merry. By mid afternoon they were boisterous and uncontrollable, and by evening, were both on top of the world and as high as kites.
(Georgina the class leader, by far the most responsible, organised and sober individual of the lot, had managed up until now to contain and control all of us and so somehow the seminar had trundled on.)
Unfortunately by the time we got around to the critical meeting, the Mexican had enough beer in her to open an off-license in her liver while Amalia was looking distinctly floppy.
The show was brought up before Foz arrived and mayhem ensued.
There was shouting from all quarters, Georgina looked like she was about to have a mental breakdown. The Mexican and Amalia were arguing with no one in particular about nothing in particular. More yelling.
“Why are we all arguing??” “Will we get our money back?” “Why didn’t that fucking Jake and Sara fucking check this shit?? What they fuck man!” “What if they don’t want to pull out?” “I don’t think we can pull out, if we do the entire show wont happen, it’s all on a budget!” “We can’t attack the designers..” “If we pull out of the show they’ll hate us!” “What will be do tomorrow??”
Over all of this background noise was the Mexican was shouting so loudly no one could get a word in.
“I want my money back I don’t care if I’m a fucking cunt bitch yea but its a fucking waste of fifteen quid and I might as well go fucking get pissed instead of this fucking stupid show I don’t get if I’m a fucking bitch but I am gonna get my money back its fucking stupid yea? what are we gonna fucking do I’m fucking pissed about this yea and we had a fucking stupid and no we having fucking nothing and just losing money”
“Fernanda just let Georgina talk!”, “Fernanda, SHUT UP!”
Adam, the voice of reason said,
“Why are we arguing? We all agree with each other lets just wait and see what the designers have to say tomorrow. Fernanda stop swearing so much!”
But the firecracker, fuelled by the wonderful brewers of Belgium would not and most probably could not shut up.
Athier who was now leaving for work, tried to talk about if we did pull out of the show, we could host it in his mother’s gallery.
The Mexican attacked the poor bastard like a shot.
“This is a fucking group show and we should do this like a fucking group you are just taking the piss but it’s a fucking group and we should be a fucking group and do this all together and a fucking group if you think I’m a super fucking bitch cunt then fine I’m a bitch but you are just fucking about its a fucking group yeah?”
Even I, who can swear like a trooper was taken aback by the volume and breadth of this monologue. Georgina who NEVER swears put her head in her hands, giving up all hope.
“Fernanda just let him talk!”, “Shut up!!”
I try, Adam tries, Anna Onnalin and Georgina desperately try to distract the Mexican from her one track rant but it’s absolutely no use.
Athier, and I must admire him for this, calmly continued talking about his backup plan and then without responding to the firecrackers unjustified tirade of abuse, got up to leave.
The Mexican was still going strong
“…this is a fucking group and we should go things in a fucking group if you fucking leave you’re vote wont fucking count yea?”
Finally both Athier and Uhr snapped and yelled
“Why do you have to be so fucking rude Fernanda??”
By the grace of Zarathustra Foz sailed in at this most momentous time and managed, fuck knows how, to rein us all in. He was authoritarian enough to scare even a drink fuelled Fireball into peace and quiet.
By now Georgina looked completely wrecked.
Foz calmly took charge, made us write a concise list of things to present to the designers in the morning and reasoned us all into sense.
“Now, don’t panic”
he said, with the serene air of a prophet,
“It’s not the end of the world. If we can’t back out of the show we can have some sort of event instead”.
“We can’t lampoon the 2 designers who made this mistake, it wouldn’t be fair after they did all the work in good faith” he went on to say, as a true man of mercy.
So somehow or the other, EVENTUALLY the meeting ended and we all went to the pub.
In the sanctuary of the pub, Amalia and I reasoned with the Mexican that her outburst was undeserved and she ought to apologise to Athier, which greatly to her credit she did promptly and sincerely. She also apologised to Georgina, who joined us later looking harrowed beyond belief.
A little birdie (Martyn) informed me that for some reason A. G and F were all blubbing quietly together in a corner of the pub. (Women, what can I say).
And so yet again, all was well in the valley of the illustrators.