Today was wonderous, a different day to the rest, a bunch of artists, potential residency holders, went underground, 30 odd metres, under the Northern Line, indeed, we could hear every single train rattle over our heads as we stood below. We stood in vast, long, empty tunnels, surveying our studios. I weighed up how I would feel being down there there day after day working. I am undecided.
I reckon they're pleased to see someone their age. That's Dyson standing and the man smiling on his right is the rector. He had met me earlier, liked one of the drawings.
“The canary bird in the coal mine theory of the arts: artists should be treasured as alarm systems.”
My blog, a thought or two