Strange Dreams. . .
I am in a large hall / gallery with a brightly sprung wooden floor. I am standing in a large circle made out of chalk, salt, sugar and soil. Inside the circle there are small shards of torn sheets of music scattered randomly in all directions. I stand with a double bass playing the fragments. Children (not mine) run in and out of the circle spreading the chalk and soil across the manuscript obscuring the notes but creating new ones. It seems to make sense I and seem to be now playing an altered, nebulous music which echoes darkly through the big hall.
I woke with some of the music in my head and the imagery of the dream was very powerful. It also struck me as a potential performance art piece and one I’d love to perform. Two small problems; one is I don’t have a double bass and secondly I don’t read music. Still, why let small details like that get in the way of a good idea. I wonder how much a double bass would cost ?
The boys and I sleep in this morning and we have to dash around like maniacs. In the end we dash around so much that we catch up with ourselves doing what normally takes nearly a full hour in around fifteen minutes flat. How much time do we lose by maintaining wasteful habitual routines ? I know I am very wasteful in this respect but I do find much of this time as a means of grounding myself and working out what the day’s tasks are and how much of it will be realised.
On the bus the boys discuss the merits of various Pokemon characters and I ponder on the joys that await a local government officer in the service of the arts.
At the moment, a lot of the chores and requirements feel very onerous and although I know this, like the other times before it, is just part of the cycle of ups and down which anyone experiences.
A dull morning problem solving and then onto Newcastle for a meeting with a major funding partner. The good news is that they are interested in signing a contract with us for a three year period which will enable a whole raft of activities to take place.
This hasn’t come about by accident but is the product of a sequence of careful and patient negotiations by a talented and experienced team. I feel good about being a player but I also feel slightly dislocated from the over-arching bureaucracy within which I operate.
Later this afternoon, I talk to Jamie Muir about one of his paintings which I think would look wonderful as a potential cover for the KC book. Turns out he threw it away a while back but does have a copy of it on transparency. It’s one of those featured in the Marquee magazine Jamie sent me up a couple of days ago. In principal Jamie is interested in giving permission but I want to try the image out with some chums such as the great Kimbrini of leafy Highgate.
Speaking of which, I make the trek down to London tomorrow in the run-up to seeing King Crimson at Shepherd’s Bush on Monday. It’ll be an opportunity to catch up with Kimbo and his recent Blue outbursts. I’m not talking about his blasphemous and scatological musings but his current paintings. There’s always something exciting about yakking away creative processes and how different people respond and react to the call.
If you’re coming to the gig, I’ll be the fat blokey in the big hat, standing / sitting right in front of you, talking loudly all the way through the gig, taking pictures and shouting Epitaph every few minutes. Be sure to say hello.