The Art world Genuinely Needs Me.
After months and months of retirement, I've decided that the art world genuinely needs me. So I've started making progress with new work. Lets hope I don't get evicted before I've created millions of masterpieces.
The council made a super surprise visit to the house today. I was happy I'd moved the rotting fox from the driveway but bricking it that they would wander into the garden and discover the open graves. There's a nice corner not that tucked away which I've been stock piling materials. . .
Unless the council are blind and stupid, the definitely saw everything.
They definitely saw all the weird sculptures hanging around and they definitely saw what's lurking in the basement. As soon as I heard they were heading into the garden I mentally shat myself and pegged it.
I've been evicted before and I wasn't ready to face the potentially impending fury. This eviction story is a story I haven't told many people apart from live... and when I see their faces contort and distort I am reminded that I am indeed very very weird. But please remember I am very nice deep down.
Anyway: Once upon a time I was living in a care home in Wimbledon. There were hundreds of unused rooms so I decided to take advantage of one of them by scattering a few dead bits and pieces about the place. Bits and pieces like a pigs head, a deers caracas on the bed and another head by the window. I turned the heating up and closed the door, letting nature take its course in a very unnatural situation. Needless to say it was like a scene from one of those horror movies that get banned. . .And it stunk. Luckily it was miles away from where anyone actually lived so no ones lives were in danger.
One day someone came to inspect the property. The woman opened the door, screamed and pretty much had a nervous breakdown. Luckily I wasn't there but my friend was, valiantly guarding the room saying that no one could touch it because it was priceless art! Environmental health were called and even they wouldn't touch the stuff. Long story short I got evicted and then so did all my friends. One for not paying rent..and the other they found living in a toilet. Good story.
Sooo after running away from the council and impending doom I found myself inside the most amazing pub in Forest Gate. Gotta see to believe kinda place. Like a terrible version of someone's living room.
The juke box was playing the Bee Gee's 'Tragedy' they sold sprits by the old school measures and Peter invited me to his house to watch the football. And it kept getting better and better in there! 'Moon Light Shadow' played three times in a row and everyone was smoking.
The icing on the cake would have been a fight..
So after an hour drinking I got a text saying it was safe to come home. I came home and got back to business, upgrading myself and life's' work from the sodden basement to the super damp spare room. No one uses it anyway.
Really really pleased and happy about my decision to come back to life after all this time away. But why the sudden change of heart?
Well, after a recent discussion with a real artist, they asked what I was. Obviously I am an artist. Just got disheartened/ distracted and jumped ship into fashion(my other great love Mind Like Magpie) More good questions followed: Why I stopped, what I needed to come back and how I was going to get back in there. We worked backwards to go forwards and here I am again, creating my own future out of others recent pasts.
BACK IN THE GAME