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Long time no blog! / 21 September 2012

A pic from my performance at The Vestry House Museum, Walthastow, from a few weeks ago.

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I was thrilled that the 'Ship of Crips' event on the 12th had a good turn out, and that I wasn't canned-off stage following each screening and a short q&a. Our only hitch on the night was that the gallery lifts had stopped working a couple of days before, and despite two engineers being in all day working really hard to try to fix them, they were still broken on the evening of the 12th. as such, I hastily moved some of my stuff from my studio - all spookily lit, with spinning mirrors and market-bought automata - down into the cafe area to perform there.

Wearing an outfit that might not have looked out of place in the Bruce Lacey Experience (a suit with glow in the dark stars attached, a pink top hat, a tie-die skirt) I played electric guitar with a range of market stall automata - including a Pedalo cyclist, a puppy, a butterfly,and  a doll singing 'Twinkle Twinkle' into a mobile phone'. Lucien, Shiri-Shalmy's son, joined in, and we made an impromptu, sculptural sort of cacophony. Afterwards the skies opened and there was a torrential downpour of rain - which felt like a good sign.

The lifts at Camden Arts Centre are now working again, but the 'Bruce Lacey Experience' has ended. The gallery is currently closed while the next show, featuring works by Eric Bainbridge and Simon Martin, is installed. To keep up, I'm clearing my space too, and have been painting the walls and getting tidied up, with my plan being to make new work that resonates within and among the new show. More of that later, but expect sculptures made of scaffolding...

I'm also working on a small 'File Note' residency publication. Gallery staff have been helping me take photos in poses reminiscent of a Norman King. Seated in the arched doorway to my studio, I wore a plastic tiara, silver grass skirt, tin foil head-piece, fake breasts, and a crown to cover my modesty - among other regal-meets-tabloid props. The idea is to suggest that an artist in residence might be considered similar to a monarch - with no responsibility but to dwell in a room, perform the occasional opening, and get photographed in compromising situations. I know I'm on slighly dodgy ground with this work, but some of the images are quite funny and just maybe one might adorn the cover of my little booklet. I'm waiting on advice from a friend.