i.e P.T.A day
I woke up early on Friday morning after the private view to drag myself off to the gulag (Savoy Tailors Guild) tired, hung over and with a mouth of cotton wool. That night I had a vivid dream where Anna & I were manning the Mall reception desk/shop. There are people crowding around like rush hour on the tube. Someone comes running up to me and says excitedly
“Oh my god your prints are just selling out! There are so many people!! Its amazing.”
I woke up bemused, thinking or hoping it was real.
It was not.
I am so pathetic.
Even my sub-conscious isn’t subtle. Pathetic.
As friends and family surged around everywhere, I vaguely remembering having a brilliant epiphany about my work that was crystal clear, made perfect sense and I suddenly knew exactly where it would go with absolute clarity. Within 5 minutes the timely arrival of more wine destroyed this brief, sparkling vision of the future and now I can’t remember any of it.
Mark my second cousin’s husband slightly criticized the show in his mild, cheddary sort of way, but I am willing to absolve him completely since he was emotionally blackmailed into buying one of my prints. My mother said I ought to have given it away but he works in the BBC and I sit on a couch blogging. It’s only fair game.
I was hardly expecting any to sell frankly but Uhr also coerced his dad into buying a print. God bless that Slovenian and his dad. Mark really set the ball rolling so I shall forgive every slight.
It was a really relaxed day compared to the hectic tension of the Private View. I had no family to babysit fortunately but Charis and Kardo kept disappearing, skulking around corners and then walked so slowly with their long English umbrellas to the Chandos I lost them again. Two days later I got a belated voice message from both Kardo & Charis begging for directions.
The college being as highly organized as it is, forgot to order drinks for the PTA day which the tutors only realized after getting hammered the evening before. They had to run around in the morning looking for a wholesaler but were forced to buy from various corner shops instead and drag them to the gallery in Foz’s granny trolley bag type thing.
The ex showed up for friends and family day late. I had invited one of the ex’s exs and she was nice enough to show up on time. The ex called me up cranky and irritable saying there were errands to do etc. 3 o clock became 4 o clock which in turn become 5.
I had humbly requested if it was on the way could I get some sleeves or large plastic bags to put my remaining prints in? Perhaps this made it later, perhaps it was my fault. It was well past 5 o clock when the ex finally showed up. The gallery shut an hour early so the show was missed but met us in the pub where the ex’s ex, Kardo & Charis (both looking very mafioso and Italian which is odd since one is an Iraqi, the other a Greek), Foz (with his granny stroller), Fernanda (in her best ‘good-girl’ outfit), Dan & Ruth and I were continuing the afternoons boozing.
For the past few weeks all my posts have ended with
“….and then we all went to the pub.”
It is both a sign of poor writing on my part and an indication that we are creatures of habits, us illustrators. (See how I generalize with such confidence? It’s so MA darling).
I finally had a long semi drunken conversation with Dan and his lady Ruth and it was highly entertaining. It was about time after 2 years but at least on this occasion there was no yelling with regards to my DIY incompetence.
Ruth explains that she too would prefer it if the drawing/photography would start and stop 9-5. It’s the lack of attention she explains. I still can’t understand the problem though. If you’re sitting in the same room, sitting on the same couch, watching TV, doing exactly the same thing (i.e nothing) whats wrong with maybe doodling in a sketch book or working or just fiddling with something (anything).
I can’t just sit there and watch TV. Drawing relaxes me. What makes it any different for whatever relaxes someone else i.e cooking, doing your nails, reading?
I don’t know, it doesn’t matter anyway I suppose. I suspect that this sort of relationship problem will never go away (for me at least) unless I date my clone (I’m such a narcissist but we’d probably kill each other).
Owen’s very large Irish catholic family were there with his heavily pregnant house mate. As I’m sure anyone can predict, they hated my work. That made me more happy than I can tell you (they are clearly my target audience) but being a shameless coward I avoided a lynching by staying well out of sight.