Tottie here again.
I couldn’t remember how the conversation started, or should
that be argument. In any event voices were raised. I’d been up since half three
trying to get some writing done (these summer nights are glorious, the sun just
rolling along below the horizon), when Tom ambled into the studio to make
coffee, and then came out with the same old line about nobody being interested
in art. Well I’d heard it all before and usually just ignored him, but this
time I’d had enough of being used as a sounding board that wasn’t supposed to
respond. “Have you put the sign up?” I said knowing full well what the reply
would be. His arms flew up in exasperation, “It doesn’t make any difference
when I do, and anyway all they want is to park their arses on a pony.”
I decided it was time Tom should hear how ridiculous he
sounded, and so discreetly pressed record.
“I just don’t
get it.” Don’t get what? “Why anyone
wants to sit on a horse.” Have you ever tried it? “Twice, and I came off both times. The first time
was by choice, and the second, well I wasn’t the one holding the reins.” We both
know this isn’t about horse riding. You seem to take a morbid delight in having
so few visitors. “It’s not morbid, it’s a fact.” Well
stop wallowing in it. “What do you
mean by that?” Well, you make know effort, no publicity, and no
public contact or on line presence, how can you expect anyone to even know you
exist. And, if they did come, what would they see, the studio looks a mess, a
tip with all this junk and retro garbage. Nobody going to look at old milk
bottles and rusty chocolate tins. “OK, keep your
hair on.” You could
start by smartening yourself up as well. Just because you’ve moved your bed
into the studio doesn’t mean you have to wander about in your pajamas all day. “That’s rich coming from you, you’re always in your
lounge pants as you call them, and only the other day you were saying they were
trendy.” Alright, forget the pajamas, but get rid of the junk. I can
hardly move in here. “But, I like the crowded look.” It’s not
crowded, it’s crammed, you can hardly move. It’s supposed to be a gallery but
there are more pictures on the floor than on the wall. “So
what does madam recommend, that I get my mate Banjo in for a makeover?” Definitely
not, the last thing you want is more junk cluttering the place, you need a
total clear out of everything that isn’t related to your art.
Well that told him, and he stomped off in a huff saying he
was going to do some weeding in the garden. I suggested he might try the same
thing in here. “I might just do that Tottie,
starting with your bloody computer.” I knew he didn’t mean that, but all the
same decided to keep a low profile for the rest of the morning, and keep well
away from the topic of junk and disorderly. Now there’s a good name for a tat
shop.
The following morning Tom appeared with boxes and started
packing. I said nothing. One step at a time I told myself.
Tom.
Totties been on at me again about my retro stuff, and I suppose begrudgingly I have to admit she’s right. There is little point in it cluttering up the place if nobodies coming to even look at it. So today I started packing. I’m not throwing it out, who knows one day it might be worth something, but in the meantime it’s confined to the loft and I have to say the studio looks a lot better for it. I won’t be telling her she was right since it doesn’t change anything. I’ve still only had four people through this year, but at least there’s less under foot, although the way I work I’m not sure how long that will last, the workshop is a real mess and I suppose that should be next on my list to do, however that’s more a case of burning offcuts rather than boxing bric-a-brac.
