I had a very strange experience this afternoon. We went to a memorial social event for the wife of a former University colleague. It was a very pleasant occasion and a great opportunity to meet people I haven’t seen for a long time. The oddity of the occasion lay in the fact that everybody there knew me in a former identity, as an academic. Nobody, I think, really thought of me as an artist, even if they “knew” that is the case.
There was a display of the books written by my colleague, which was a bit odd since the event was intended to celebrate the life of his wife. What was even odder was the fact that, for some unknown reason, the display included a book by me! His shadow lay very heavily over the occasion, and I realised suddenly that, just as his wife was being defined by her relationship to him, so was I.
Another metaphor comes to mind, namely the experience of playing Father Christmas at a children’s party. Although everybody knows that I am not really Father Christmas, there is a kind of conspiracy to maintain the pretence (at least for the duration of the party) that this is indeed my true identity. Very odd indeed!