While Miss Dover luxuriates in the bath I have taken to browsing the internet for silver powder and new phone tariffs. As usual my current provider O2 seems by far the worse and I will be forced to make annoying changes. Earlier Miss Dover and I put our lives in order with a colour coded chart. It made us much calmer to see the rest of the year laid out before us.

What the hell is going on? I have woken exhausted again having dreamt I was doing my degree for the fourth time. This is a recurring dream which I usually get upon my return to work. In the dream I know I am repeating my degree and that I am going to do worse than last time. Because of this, depressing thoughts have overwhelmed me and I have decided to stay in bed. I am attempting to raise my spirits by writing snide remarks on Twitter while Miss Dover, that little Allumeuse, tends to her beauty regime next door. I think I may change film 15's title to Panopticon and go hunting for a photo of the moon.

National Service

Another sleepless night has made me think twice about staying in my beautiful Ipswich flat. Staggering groups of screeching women serenaded me during the drowsy hours between midnight and four by which time the seagulls took up their sweet roundelay. I slept at seven until the bells of St Ignatius called it's worshippers (and myself) to mass. The day has followed in something of a fog and all I have achieved is a little light hoovering, a crossword (which I had to cheat at to finish) and some under the breath grumbling. I need to get back on top of things. Starting tomorrow I must email B about my diy nightmare buildings. Post some films to Hackney for some sort of evening of surveillance and get together some video samples for a curator in Leeds. On top of this I need to find two large lampshades and make an arts council application for One Million pounds. I pray for a quiet night but as I write a crowd of young men are setting out on their night's revelry singing "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday." they are literally chorusing as they do not seem to know the verse.

Film 9 - Glass Tower

Film 8 - The Treasure House of Bloody Morgan

Film 5 - The Undertaker's Handbook

Film 4 - The Man from Lieksa

The Bins, The Bins!

This morning Miss Dover and I managed our first visit to the studio in quite a while. This was an event made even more momentous by the toing and froing involved in reaching our destination. My day had already been set off kilter by an argument about the bins. Apparently bins which we have been using for five months now do not belong to our flat but rather to the hairdressers below a service that they pay hundreds of pounds for. I was accused of filling there bins with my rubbish. I pointed out that at most I produce one small bg of rubbish a week and that perhaps the brimful bins may have resulted from the shadowy graphic design agency that sits between us on the first floor. The upshot of this is we have no bins. Nor will we be getting any in the near future. A telephone call to the council revealed that they do not provide bins on our street. If we are lucky we will receive an orange sack. I look forward to it. Anyway this news upset us so much that we both forgot vital materials that needed to be transported to the studio forcing us into a dreaded return trip. I never like going back, it seems such a waste. Nevertheless we eventually made it and while Miss Dover settled down to some painting I set about prising up the foam that had adhered itself so permanently to every surface of my studio (and mopping up the puddle at its centre) I have recorded some of the morning's work, presented below, although I forgot my camera and was forced to use my phone. The last is my first test of the dvds for Pearlville it is proving to be a cacophonic experience. But technically all went well.

More blobs

Impatient to get on. I unleashed another can of foam filler on a garden shed, garage and telephone box. As I was in my flat I was a little more circumspect than at the studio but I still managed to weld the above outbuildings to my kitchen table.

Film 6 - Billboard Caesar, Salford Syrup & Bang-tail Shuffle

The Untitled

I have left film 15 untitled. This was an oversight not an attempt at creating some sort of filmic mythology. Stupidly I deleted all of the also ran titles so I have had to start from scratch. If stumped for much longer I shall resort to a Blue Peter type competition and bear the consequences.

Stills from Pearlville Film 12 - Pellicule

Proposal for a new Religion in Ipswich inspired by the carrying of two lamps through the town centre

On the Merits of Brevity

After briefly showing my face at work I ran away into town to hunt out some standard lamps for my forthcoming show :

I was continuing to shrink, to become... what? The infinitesimal? What was I? Still a human being? Or was I the man of the future? If there were other bursts of radiation, other clouds drifting across seas and continents, would other beings follow me into this vast new world? So close - the infinitesimal and the infinite. But suddenly, I knew they were really the two ends of the same concept. The unbelievably small and the unbelievably vast eventually meet - like the closing of a gigantic circle. I looked up, as if somehow I would grasp the heavens. The universe, worlds beyond number, God's silver tapestry spread across the night. And in that moment, I knew the answer to the riddle of the infinite. I had thought in terms of man's own limited dimension. I had presumed upon nature. That existence begins and ends in man's conception, not nature's. And I felt my body dwindling, melting, becoming nothing. My fears melted away. And in their place came acceptance. All this vast majesty of creation, it had to mean something. And then I meant something, too. Yes, smaller than the smallest, I meant something, too. To God, there is no zero. I still exist!

I have begun to realise that such a title brings with it certain difficulties. If people ask me what my show will be called I will have to pull out a card (and not a small one). I caused the Axis "events" form to melt down when I pasted it in to the title box and only a strangely truncated version appears now. Nevertheless I have waded this far and might as well carry on. I found two perfect lamps rather quickly in the Heart Foundation charity shop a place where the foundation kindly gives it's most physical jobs to those in most danger of a sudden myocardial infarction. Unwilling to carry both across town myself I called upon Miss Dover to assist. The sight of two people carrying a large lamp each along the main street caused such a stir and feelings of public unity as to make me think the people of Ipswich would benefit from a return to a religion with a degree of pomp and ceremony.

I have started the process of naming the 17 films that make up Pearlville. Through a process of suggestion, automatic reading, and desperation I have carefully matched each film with a title. The titles won't be on the films themselves and no doubt due to inevitable feelings fear and regret they will change many times. I am still not sure about 6, 11, 17 & 18. The images below are from Bonny and Clyde
Film 1 - Underling
Film 2 - Workhouse
Film 3 - Aquaduct
Film 4 - The Man from Lieksa
Film 5 - The Undertaker’s Handbook
Film 6 - Billboard Caesar, Salford Syrup & Bang-tail Shuffle
Film 7 - The Dropper and the Dip
Film 8 - The Treasure House of Bloody Morgan
Film 9 - Glass Tower
Film 10 - Embankment
Film 11 - The Last Man on James Street
Film 12 - Pellicule
Film 14 - Marlene’s Butler
Film 16 - Flight Time
Film 17 - Bonny and Clyde
Film 18 - Adelphi Circus

I am very very tired. The reason for my lack of sleep last night was a precipitous return to work. The annual recall to the office always seems too early after an adventurous summer and this year has been no exception. Many of my colleagues (more eloquent than I) have taken to referring to the office as "The Shitter" a name that seems to have stuck. One of my first tasks this morning, after the usual welcome back meeting, was to arrange some time off to return to Manchester for the install of "Unspooling". This is not usually too difficult a task as those in the Shitter are always keen to give each other a leg up. Unfortunately the week I need to escape coincides with the first real teaching of the year and I face leaving my eager neophytes with a note saying "back next week". The fear in these situations is not that they will be missing out but rather that they might have a better time without me. Otherwise things are progressing well. I am half way though burning the DVDs and have begun the arduous task of thinking up titles. I don't intend to put them on the films but like amnesiac foundlings I think they should have a name of some sort. Miss Dover (after a Bloody Mary) has been a great help although some of her suggestions have been a little wild. "Coconut Corkscrew" especially so.

Packages

It is astounding the number of spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, formatting gaffes and just plain bad writing one can squeeze into a document of 40,000+ words. On Friday I spent a full day in a London café marking up such errors in my so called novel. I have no doubt I have missed many more but quite frankly I've had enough. The final draft has been despatched to the printers, everything is now beyond my control.

This shelf in a local charity shop cheered me up no end. I am thinking of slipping my book in for a photo op.



Miss Dover and I have had a number of other deliveries at our Ipswich flat. These have included a number of books and DVDs, a golden falcon, a number of pendants with kittens on them, boards and oil paint, a garden shed, garage and telephone box. The hairdressers below who receive most of these parcels for us are beginning to look harrassed.

Miss Dover, who will also be exhibiting at TAP has chosen a far more concise title for her show "Whistlejacket". Yesterday she sent me a photograph of how she wishes to be represented in a forthcoming Hollywood Biopic.
(she has a cat called Pig)

I am very excited. As well as getting ready for Unspooling my solo show at Tap is also coming together (at least in my head). I have decided on the title which (in part) is already up on the TAP website. I have located a chair (in need of a little repair) on which my novel will be placed and chosen the other works (mostly) that I wish to show. I have also made a new piece for the show which will be erected by the AA on the site marked on the photograph below.

The title of my show is:

I was continuing to shrink, to become... what? The infinitesimal? What was I? Still a human being? Or was I the man of the future? If there were other bursts of radiation, other clouds drifting across seas and continents, would other beings follow me into this vast new world? So close - the infinitesimal and the infinite. But suddenly, I knew they were really the two ends of the same concept. The unbelievably small and the unbelievably vast eventually meet - like the closing of a gigantic circle. I looked up, as if somehow I would grasp the heavens. The universe, worlds beyond number, God's silver tapestry spread across the night. And in that moment, I knew the answer to the riddle of the infinite. I had thought in terms of man's own limited dimension. I had presumed upon nature. That existence begins and ends in man's conception, not nature's. And I felt my body dwindling, melting, becoming nothing. My fears melted away. And in their place came acceptance. All this vast majesty of creation, it had to mean something. And then I meant something, too. Yes, smaller than the smallest, I meant something, too. To God, there is no zero. I still exist!

The last two days have been taken up burning DVDs for Unspooling. each of the Pearlville films must be looped several times with varying volumes to allow them to come in and out of aural focus (I think I made this up) In reality as they are all different lengths and I have no desire to get into the drudgery of precise cueing sometimes they will all shout together or all whisper. Whatever happens I am sure it will seem planned though I do fear for the sanity of the invigilators. I also made a trip to the studio yesterday armed with a can of expanding filler. I had hoped to conjure something magical with a few well aimed squirts but as usual my manual skills did not quite match my imagination. It is fearfully sticky and sloppy stuff and my studio now has fungal growths where it previously had not. Still I made a couple of sculptures which I hope M will like

This is the one.

I have been searching for a style for my neon sign. A few years ago I derided the ubiquitous neon artworks to be found at Frieze. Now I find myself quite excited by them although I don't like any of those pictured here. In addition to this I have been getting a quote from the AA for yellow sign for my show at Tap. I haven't told Amy McKenny yet.

I have received the first proof of my "artist's novel" I say artists novel because it lowers expectation. It is exceedingly bricklike and I like the shiny cover All I need to do now is proof read it again an idea that fills me with ennui.

Planning has begun. The room in which Pearlville is to be housed is to be painted a different colour to the rest of the gallery space. I have sent three swatches to Mr Bracey. The colours are sampled from video footage taken when my cameras are running out of battery. I prefer the second and third.