So we were encouraged to do in the famous Monty Python film The Life of Brian. Perhaps today I’ve been tempted to come round to that point of view. In some respects it has been a rather troublesome day. Having made my commitment yesterday to submit a selection of my work for the Bradford Open, I have spent today fighting off the conviction that I made the wrong selection. I walked into the studio this morning to be confronted by two of the pieces I decided not to send, only to be impressed by their presence and an awareness of their unusual ideas. It seemed sensible at that point, but too late, to ask the opinions of other people about my work on this type of occasion, as I’m probably a pretty hopeless judge of it myself. The experience has been niggling me off and on all day.
During the morning I went into the city for my regular eye test. Although the optician was generally impressed by the condition of my eyes, for the first time in my life he did mention that perhaps I am beginning to show the preliminary signs of developing cataracts. It could be a decade before anything remarkable happens, but nothing like this has been on my horizon before. If nothing else it made me feel my age.
After lunch I went up to South Square to deliver the entire set of my Italian series to the picture framer. It is exciting to be moving ahead again after the project was stalled for several months. Even so, it became evident early in the conversation that framing twenty pieces (some of them fairly large) is going to cost an arm and a leg. They will look good when they are completed, and I am always impressed by the technical competence and the aesthetic judgement I get from him. Even so: I had better start saving up now! Should I give up the single malt whisky until they are paid for?
While at the Square I spent some time trying to move along the maintenance job I’ve been doing there. It is evident, with a building 150 years old that has not had much money spent on it, that maintenance is going to be problematic to say the least. I am trying to make doors and windows, which I’m sure are the originals, last that little bit longer, but every time I prepare part of the woodwork for painting it becomes evident that this is a loosing battle against the weather. What I am doing is really cosmetic patching, when what should be done in an ideal world would be structural renovation. How the Centre will ever manage to break out of that cycle I don’t know. It’s a bit depressing.
While I was at South Square I got into conversation with a colleague, who told me about the problem of a mutual acquaintance, who is a fairly well-known and well-established artist whose work we both admire. It seems that he has to move out of his studio because the landlord has decided to raise the rent, and he is anxious about the prospect of finding anything as serviceable and convenient to replace it. At the same time, the flow of commissions from a large business concern, which has made up a substantial part of his income for several years, has come to an end. I thought, at that point, of how very fortunate I am in being able to use a spacious room in my own home as a studio.
There is a difference between the Monty Pythonesque refusal to acknowledge the reality of pain and disaster, and “always look on the bright side of life”, and the maintenance of a suitable degree of thankfulness. I’m trying to find that balance.