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It was called Gallery Re-Repasage. Kate and Graham, above, knew the guys involved, mostly young people. There had been a mix up in dates but the guy due to show offered me his spot; he could show some other time. The first thing I needed was a load of ten foot poles, silly joke really, meaningless to the locals. The guy whose spot I'd taken became my guide. There was no wood to be had in the whole of Warsaw, of any kind, maybe tommorrow. I got back to Kate and Graham's in the evening and passed out. I was unable to leave bed for two days, soaring temperature, shivers, really bad. On the third day I rose again, very weak and shivery but with only a couple of days left to make my first one man International show. At the wood yard we got in the queue and eventually I explained I wanted about ten, ten foot poles. They couldn't do round so I settled for square. The bed of the circular saw wasn't long enough, but that was okay, at the far end of the machine sat an old man, wedged in between the machine and the wall. His job, if anyone wanted unusual lengths, was, as the wood came towards him, to gently lift it clear of the barrier at the end of the machine. Back at the gallery someone hand made a poster and I went with him to the only public photo-copy machine in town. In the centre of an underground shopping mal was a cubicle. You queued in front of a guy at a desk. He was the censor. If he passed the document you got a token then queued again in front of a woman, who you paid. The token was then passed to a guy who did your copies. I was told there were only a few places in town for posters and everyone saw them. We couldn't get wine so we bought jars of cherries and mashed them up. On the night people arrived in formal evening wear on the way to opera and theatre. Again I was told that all the people that mattered went to everything. No-one batted an eyelid at being served red sludge. |
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The show was called 'Flight of birds, flock of thoughts'. Bird feet like marks went up the centre of the canvas, in red I think. The poles were reminiscent of clothes props, every family, when I was young, had a long pole that would lift up the washing line in the back yard. The floor was supposed to be covered in drawings out of a small note book, hundreds of quick marks and ideas, just thrown away. I was so weak I couldn't do them and spent the evening sitting on a chair shivering. Afterwards I was taken out for a banquet at some student type place that served great food. I finally got a drink which revived me. Two young guys in matching white shirts looking like handsome poets had overheard our conversation and realised I was British. They stood by me and sang 'Tea for two' repeating the phrase over and over again, the only words they knew in English. I love the Poles. |