All change!

Well, almost...

My new blog is here > wideyed.co.uk/lucy/news/

The reason I say 'almost' is that the address will change to wideyed.org/lucy/news/ at some point (soon, I hope), when someone works out how to do that. But I've decided I can't wait any longer. I'll come back here and say when the address does change. Just in case there's anyone out there that's interested?

Meanwhile, time to start blogging again. Just, over there.

Scrumping alert

There’s no season for liars, cheats and thieves. But with the London Olympics coming up, there’s bound to be more of them around and trying to capitalise than usual.

We’ve got a lot of friends wanting to come over from France for our exhibition at the end of April, and we thought it might be nicer, and cheaper than hotels, to rent a big house together for a week. So I’ve been searching and searching... and a short while ago I thought I’d found what we needed. But it’s a scam.

I admit a certain grudging admiration, up to a point. Our con artists set their bait on a private road, which means it’s a blind spot for Google Street View and we can’t visit virtually. But Google is still our friend. Once I had the supposed address, I ran the advertised photos of the house through an image search, and discovered they’d been lifted from one of several bona fide property agents. The house I thought I'd begun negotiating the use of is on the same road in London, but it’s not the house in the photos. The private road advantage is cancelled out by the fact that, unless you live or have legitimate business there, you can’t get in to make your own photos of the place you want to scam with, and have to swipe them off the internet.

I’ve been particularly intrigued by the photo as evidence lately, so this has actually been interesting. What kind of amuses me in this case is why the scallies thought they needed to use a photo of a real house from the street they’d targeted. I mean, it’s not like they’re in a line of business with ethical guidelines re: the use of images, and ceci n’est pas une pipe, right?

And while it’s not impossible to successfully scam a photographer using photographs, it’s probably not the best idea.

Tales of the unexpected

Of course, nothing ever turns out the way you imagine.

The whole time we were away, I never once slept where or how I thought I was going to. The hotel with the swimming pool? Transferred us somewhere pool-less at the last minute because the heating bust.

The very first night was the best though. Capt.B waited until we were on the train to Heathrow to tell me that bits of Montenegro were in a state of emergency because not long before 3m of snow had fallen in one night. We were supposed to sleep in Podgorica, but got stuck in Belgrade because of the weather, and ended up staying in this fascinating hotel (courtesy of the airline) that was in its very own 70’s time bubble. The orange and brown tiles, the solitary scaly old soap and single bogroll in the restaurant loos, the instant mash and synthetic cream dessert... The kind of ambient heat that only the elderly can somehow withstand. There was a casino in there somewhere, a hairdresser and, randomly, a dentist’s surgery. Fab is the most appropriate descriptive for it. Sadly though, we were only there for 4 hours, no time to fully explore and savour the authentic groovitude.

Anyway, I managed to get my holiday snaps deved last week. Few of the photos I made of snow are as pretty as I feared they'd be, so that's a relief. At first glance of the contact sheets, I'm kind of liking this one. It intrigues me. Did someone start clearing the snow away but then stop because they suddenly realised this wasn't their car? Or did they just clear enough to check there was no Swedish bloke hibernating in there?

Modicum of solace

In less than a week I will wake up beside Mon Capitaine in a different bed (on change de lit...), in a hotel that looks (on the internets, anyway) like the remote HQ of some Groovy Slavic Bond Movie Villain. Perhaps after breakfast I may (if I can find my cozzie before we leave) do a few laps in the olympic-sized swimming pool whilst also admiring through glassed walls the view of Montengrin moutains snuggled deep and crisp in evenly thick snow.

And then, kind of around now-ish o’clock, I will ski. For the first time, ever.

It’s at this stage that my imagination fails me. Which is a shame, because without even going anywhere it makes such a welcome change from thinking about projected audience figures and project outcomes.

Anyway, I just have to get through the rest of this week. The plan is to sort out the last of the funding application whatever aaargh! stuff, then RUN AWAY. Fout le camp. Briefly. How we’re going to pay for this escape I don’t know, and I’m too scared to ask, so desperate am I for it to happen please...

And I’ve managed to get some films. And there will be snow! If I can avoid breaking any limbs on the beginner slopes, I will photograph. Snow!

White Out, Darlington, January 2010

Oh, and I think I've made a decision. Sometime after we get back, I will start using the blog in my website. I'm hoping that if I'm blogging over there regularly enough, I might get into the habit of keeping the whole site up to date. Cutting off my escape route by deleting this blog is really tempting... but I won't. Changing beds will be enough?

"Cette vie est un hôpital où chaque malade est possédé du désir de changer de lit."

Charles Baudelaire

Sisyphus syndrome

I’ve begun this new year skint (again). Bearing this in mind, agonising about whether I should or shouldn’t do anything at all, let alone attempt to put a book together, seems pretty ridiculous.

On the other hand, basing a decision on zero knowledge/information/experience - e.g. definitively choosing not to pursue something achievable without first having a crack at it - is beyond stupid. OK, so I may not now be able to see how in hell I will ever be able to afford publishing it, but what exactly is stopping me at least mocking up a dummy?

Making that decision proved easy. Acting on it is more problematic. Finding time, for instance. Wideyed has become a major energy drain. The five year plan I wrote last May covered three pages but could easily be condensed down to two basic points: I don’t want to have to project manage so much, and I want to be able to get on with my own work more. Couldn’t be simpler. Unfortunately, the second thing depends very much on the first... In December I decided to start keeping timesheets, so I can see exactly how much work I do for Wideyed. In total, and project by project.

No wonder I’m skint...

On the more positive side, Wideyed has at least one new and very exciting project in the pipeline this year that may bring in some much needed income, if we can successfully raise funds for it. It’s an international arts residency called Nomadic Village, and it’ll be taking place last two weeks of May in exotic Wolsingham (which is just 40 miles up the road from where we live). We’ve known since November that we’d be taking part, so by the time everyone else was officially notified mid-January it was old news for us, which is one reason why I haven’t been arsed about blogging it yet... The other being that I’ve been too busy writing funding applications.

Another reason for the lack of blogging activity is website related. As I’m skint, at the end of last year I had to drop the one I had, just couldn’t afford to keep it up. But it’s OK, I’ve got a new one now! I just haven’t found time yet to put anything in it. 

But the key thing about the site design I've chosen is that, for the very first time, I have the option of an integrated blog. It’s a new year, and I have a spanky new website, so it’s really tempting to stop blogging here and start afresh over there... Towards the end of February it'll be this blog's 7th birthday. Is it time for a change?

When I’ve had time to decide, I’ll let you know.

S/S 2011

Stormin' the Castle, Witton 2011

From my 2011 collection of biker T-shirts. The lady wearing it told me her kids refused to be seen with her when she had it on because, in their opinion, she was too old for that kind of thing.

Nice.

Chronic

For several months now I’ve had (even more!) doubts about making a book with my biker work. I’ve not mentioned this here, because I’ve been desperately trying to work out if the misgivings are typical of me talking myself out of doing something (even - or especially - something I really, really want), or if instead they mean I’ve been trying to talk myself into something that isn’t me (that I’m not ready for, or that isn’t right for this particular project) just because everybody else is doing it. There’s been such a lot of hype around photobooks this year. Have I let myself get caught up in it?

Not complicated at all...

Ironically, next year I’ll be working on several publications that Wideyed has planned. The newspaper we took to France in September is being reworked (around the kitchen project) into something we can try selling to raise much needed funds for the London exhibition next spring. We’ve also cooked up an actual book of the France work that should be launched at the exhibition. And there’s a new project we’ll be taking part in (that we can’t announce officially yet...) which will also involve a publication, funding permitting.

But that’s all Wideyed stuff.

Diane Arbus did not publish a single book in her lifetime, and she was 48 when she died. I don’t think her reputation has suffered for it, or that her work is any less valued, or valid, as a result. And I’m certain she’s not the exception that proves the rule.

So where does that leave me? 

Wishing for a decisive 2012.

Farmyard Party, Helmsley, June 2011

Hello Dolly

I finished laying the parquet floor last Wednesday night. Capt.B picked the sanders up Friday morning, but they’re so noisy we decided to wait a few days.

Oh, and it’s Xmas.

Yesterday we went to Mibs’ for lunch. It’s not snowing this year so we decided to cycle. Fisheman’s pie (Capt.B doesn’t eat meat), with parsnips, carrots and potatoes, all roasted, mmmm... Crackers and paper hats and terrble jokes. Shaun the Sheep DVD, because there’s fuck all on TV...

It was lovely cycling home in the dark, passing people waddling off their festive meals, glimpsing other Xmas’ though spangly windows.

Back to work today though. My nose is full of dust, but the floor looks amazing.

And did I say there’s fuck all on TV? As I type, Ms Parton prepares to broadcast live from London...

B-sides

I have two iPods. The older, Classic one still works, and has almost enough memory to hold my entire music library, but I don’t use it much because the battery is shit. Plus, it has an interesting quirk. It’s obsessed with Dolly Parton.

When I got back to England 9 years ago, it was just in time for Mibs’ birthday. Although this is the woman who once took me to see Thin Lizzy and The Who etc, since being with her current boyfriend (and they’ve been together for about 20 years now) it’s all Mahler and Madame Butterfly pretty much, and I couldn’t think what to get her. And then I had a brain wave - Dolly Parton! Not the ‘D-I-V-O-R-C-E’ stuff, but the Blue Grass, which I’d just read somewhere was quite good. To make sure though (and because I was curious), I stuck both albums into my iTunes too. And they are OK. Job done.

And that would have been that but then three years ago, when we first started doing the kitchen up, I thought I’d try sticking my iPod into shuffle mode so I wouldn’t have to keep poking it all the time, and the strangest thing happened. Every other track practically was a Dolly Parton. Even when I fast forwarded they would keep coming back.

I hadn’t dare use shuffle since. And then, a week ago, when I was working on the kitchen again, it occurred to me to give it another go with my newer iPod. It doesn’t have as much memory as the other one, so when I update I carefully select the stuff I want in there.

At least, I thought I did. How the fuck did Dolly Parton slip in? My iPod Touch is not quite as obsessed as the Classic, so there are longish stretches where I can wonder how on earth the shuffle logic decides to follow Johnny Cash with Prodigy, or Şevval Sam with Kurt Elling, but then Dolly Parton will inevitably pop up from nowhere. Last night even (while I was scraping the bitumen off the zillionth bit of parquet), as I’d let it run through one whole Dolly track uninterrupted, it seemed to think I wasn't paying attention and immediately tried to sneak out another.

Does anybody else have this problem?

NO

Aside

This has been a busy month. It doesn't feel like I’ve really achieved much though, probably because most of what I’ve been doing is legwork towards things that won’t happen till next year - if they all really happen... Only the exhibition in London next spring is a cert, and with that alone there are so many details that have to be sorted out, like (before even mentioning everything to do with the exhibition proper) how do we import wine for the PV, how do we organise a wine tasting and, basically, AAARGH!

So we just got back from a long weekend in London, where we went to try and get some stuff organised. Visited the gallery again to collect an updated contract, get a floor plan, and talk about publicity and whatnot. Went to meet a wine importer. Saw a friend about a possible venue for a parallel slide projection event. That kind of thing.

Being in London was not just for work though, it was also about catching up with some of Capt.B’s family for the first time in ages, and having a break from the kitchen. Actually, I haven’t mentioned the kitchen for ages, have I? This is what it looked like three years ago, which is why we decided to strip the whole thing back and start again from scratch. This is what it (and Capt.B) looked like a short while later, when it was being stripped. And below is what it looked like this morning when the sun came out briefly.

So yeah, after a rather protracted hiatus, since we got back from France in October major progress is again being made! We’re about to put down the parquet floor. Once that’s then sanded and varnished (by me), and the wiring is tidied (by Capt.B), we can start putting in the actual kitchen. I think.

In a way, it doesn’t bother me that it’s taking us so long to do this job because I think we can honestly say we’ve had more interesting and important things to do instead. On the other hand, we’ve been cooking on a two ring camping stove, propped on top of a boxed appliance (the oven, in fact), for the past three years. And I crave roast potatoes.

Anyway, London. As this was probably the last time we’ll be able to go in Capt.B’s van (because next year something is happening to the congestion zone charge thing which means it will cost £100 a day to take it there), it was also a last chance to take bicycles with us. We didn't really get to see any exhibitions over the weekend, but we did have a great time cycling round.

And now, back to the grind...

Les cheveux dans le vent

It’s now been over a year since I passed my bike test.

And this is my bike. It’s a rubbish picture really, both of the bike and more generally (so I can’t be arsed scanning it properly) but I kind of like it because she looks how I feel when riding (i.e. small). Unlike the following Brigitte Bardot clip (but hey, let's include it for fun, the lyrics are hilarious).

Anyway, before setting off for France again in September, I remembered the thoughts I’d had about road trip photography the year before and did my best to prepare this time by turning my tank bag (the bag you strap to the petrol tank) into a camera bag so I’d be able to get at my kit easier. Result? I shot two photos, one on the way, one on the return. This was two more than last year already, but nowhere near enough for any purpose. The problem was a basic lack of opportunity - too much hurry getting from A to B ASAP. Need more time!

Also need to start working on my biker book...

I want to be in his gang

The horror

So I was sitting at my desk when the doorbell rang, and outside stood all the kids on our street. The hopeful line of Hallow’een costumes stretched from the front step to the garden gate... and I realised I had nothing to give them all. No sweets or biscuits, no apples. In my pocket I had about enough cash for 2p each. The last time that would have been a windfall was 40 years ago, before the pound went decimal.

I deliberately chose not to have children because I guessed I was not good parent material. Thanks to Hallow’een though I get one solid chance a year to inadvertantly disappoint other people’s, lots of them, in a single hit. That’s some trick.

Annika, Lémeré, France 2011