All that glitters...

The news is grabbing my attention. First the Large Hadron Collider, and now...


Yesterday, on the very same day that Lehman Brothers collapsed, and our financial future became even rockier than it was the day before, the contemporary art world made history with Damien Hirst’s sale at Sotheby’s of an entire body of new work. Work sold at auction by the artist. Not the usual route -- where pieces sell first through a gallery and might later arrive at auction via collectors who'd like to off-load.

He who dares wins: Marketing and spin paid off for Damien Hirst.

Many pieces achieved prices way above their estimates. So, while investors have lost confidence in property, they feel bullish about contemporary art.

And if you had several million sloshing around -- would you throw it away on property, risk it on the stock market, stash it in a bank that might go bust, or gamble on freshly minted art?

If gold prices had not risen to their current heights, I might have withdrawn my savings and invested in glittering ore. The thought really did cross my mind. Not Krugerrands, and certainly not gold bars, but either...

The Gold Toy Lamp by Ryan McElhinney (though not real gold)...


Or a ring by Solange Azagury-Partridge (definitely real gold)...


So I could take my worth wherever I go...

High Mountains

Whenever you are standing on a high mountain you feel free and

happy. You see around you bigger and smaller mountains, you

feel the music they play together, nothing irritates you, nothing

seems to trouble your sight. You feel happy.

An extract from ‘Whenever you are standing on a high mountain’ by German Dada artist Kurt Schwitters (1887-1948). He fled Nazi Europe and settled in the English Lake District in 1945.

Schwitters is one of my favourite artists, and that poem often comes to mind.


Standing on a high mountain and absorbing the view is wonderful for one’s perspective. And because I’ve been something of a stress-bunny these last two weeks, I’m going to stand on a high mountain this weekend.

I'm not much of a mountaineer -- but I can scamper up a fell. More fell jogging than fell running, and a pack of lean and wiry runners usually overtake me. But who cares? It’s all about reaching the top!  

Unforgettable!

I have a really bad memory. Or, for a more positive spin, I could say my memory is very selective. I don’t forget people’s names. But I do forget what my mind, of its own accord, seems to consider trivial. And I’m not proud of this fact.

I recently walked into my mother’s house and picked up an ornament.
“Oh, that’s nice!” I said.
“Don’t you recognise it?” she asked.
“No.”
“You gave it to me for my birthday!”

That’s one example of how embarrassing a 'selective' memory can be. Another is that I had absolutely no recollection of organising the graduation ball at the end of my BA course. Years later, a friend brought it up, remembering every detail. I had no idea what she was talking about.

It seems gifts and occasions stand little chance of being filed in my brain. But I thought I was better with the BIG STUFF.

I used to write weekly art reviews for a London listings magazine. Because they aren't recent, and obviously aren’t fiction, I decided not to include these credits in my query/cover letter to agents. If I could have dropped them in elegantly -- then maybe. But there was really no connection.

Until yesterday!

When out of the blue, I suddenly remembered with complete clarity, an event that had inspired the main character in my novel. (She's a teenage journalist.)

I would usually suggest to my editor the exhibitions I wanted to review. But sometimes, she would assign me. On this occasion, and for the first time ever, I had to review both a lavish coffee-table tome, published by Thames & Hudson, and its tie-in exhibition.

Off I went to the press viewing, toting the tome. While the book was glossy, its content was predictable, and the exhibition -- mediocre. I started to feel anxious. The book AND exhibition were the work of a very grand man; highly regarded in his field. How on earth could I write about this when I couldn't praise it? What slant should I take?

Then it got worse.

The very grand man was there, in a side room, and wished to meet the press. Six of us shuffled in, and sat on plastic chairs. He sat before us, a copy of the tome plonked on the table in front of him. A female assistant, who never spoke, hovered nervously behind. The very grand man didn’t smile or chat about the book. He just sat there, looking stern. I started to shake. I felt like a ten-year-old, in the office of an angry Edwardian headmaster.

A couple of brave souls asked a couple of questions, which received condescending replies. One stood up, and began flicking through the tome. We all followed. It was a relief to simply move. The One made small talk while drifting towards the door. Two minutes later, all six of us escaped from the room. The only words I had said to the very grand man: "Thank you."

I did manage to write the review, quaking. Then, somewhere subconscious, it inspired a novel. And once the novel was written, the memory returned. Amazing!

I think my writing credits can now slot in quite nicely. But much more succinctly than this!!!

Karma

It’s great that blogs are quick to set-up and easy to customise. And it’s wickedly simple to embellish one’s posts with pictures and the like. Fun things can be accomplished in an instant. But. What seemed a good idea at the time can quickly be regretted.

Which is how I feel about the ‘Process’ post of 6 November. Whenever I scroll down this page, the worst photo of me, EVER, stares back, grinning. What was I THINKING??? I look baggy-eyed and white as a sheet, which I thought funny at the time, because it was around Halloween and ghosts and vampires were in the ether. And my front teeth! I must tell you: yes, I have gaps, but I’m not as goofy as THAT!!!

The post was about process, so what can I do? I can’t remove the photo. No, that would be wrong. And after two more posts, it will move from this page and into the archives -- phew!

To counter-balance my impetuous mistake; to restore karmic order and realign the chakras of the blog, I am adorning this post with a BEAUTIFUL picture, something I could never, ever regret or want to change: a sublime painting by Mark Rothko.

And another, just for good measure...

Namaste!