Wednesday the 18th. Opening day.
I must confess I use the old trick of "No Great Expectations" to survive the evening, which is also called common sense: if you have just started an exhibition project in a city that is not your birthplace, which is to say where you don't know a huge amount of people, then if five souls show up at your openings you may consider it a success.
It's 6:30 sharp. I am in Cleveland Street, opposite The Bay Window, leaning on my own on the iron fence. The work by Salvatore Mauro is in place and looks great: a series of different photographs, arranged in repeating patterns, of a girl holding some shower hoses behind her neck. Gossip detail: I have asked the artist to remove the bit in which a glimpse of the girl's breasts appeared. I didn't want to have any "moral order" problems with neighbors, passers-by or parents: in the end, The Bay Window is not a private gallery, it's a sort of public space. Moreover, its function is not hundred-per-cent clear: I bet some people must think that who lives in that flat has a very strange taste for fancy curtains.
I am holding a bunch of home made flyers, the latest idea in matter of promotion. Word document, printed and cut in half. I am going to hand them to people strolling by and just try to inform them about what is going on under their noses. Normally, I wouldn't have any problem in approaching total strangers on their way home to harass them about an art project: my latest cheeky deed was smiling at Noel Gallagher like he was an old friend of mine while we crossed paths on the street for the second time. He nodded back, bless him.
Well, back to the flyers, at the beginning I just can't do it. It's very different when you have to face people concerning a project of yours: there is no distance from it to save you, you're just too much involved. I think we can call it "performance anxiety" and it comprises several factors, including still being on my own on a street at 6:42 pm on an August Wednesday evening. OK, everyone shows up late at the openings (Ah, really?), but what if no one comes this time? I lift a flyer, looking hopefully at a man in a suit approaching. He snatches it absentmindedly and mutters a thankyou.
"No no, thank YOU", I hurriedly say. I start observing people's behavior, the unmistakeable don't-nag-me signs: a girl leaves the pavement and walks on the road to put the maximum distance possible between me and her. Come on, darling, it's just a flyer... it doesn't bite! Other people just say NO and walk away. It's normal, I would probably do the same, but frustration starts to arise. Flyers apart, no one has really noticed the window.
For a split second, this is what I think: Why the hell did I do that? I just want to go home.
That's when people start to arrive. One in particular is my hero: my G., who is my partner in crime and supporter for this project, handles the flyers much better than me (and he claims to be a shy person). The people coming to see the window are all acquaintances of mine, and what pleases me is seeing new faces in addition to those who can be called the regulars (two, in fact). Chattering and explanations begin, with other people briefly stopping. A smiling lady approaches us from the restaurant on the other side of the road to ask what this is all about. She grabs a flyer, looses it to the wind and goes fetching it again.
Among the small public there are three curators and two artists, the ones with whom you can have a serious talk later on at the pub.
Artists always speak their minds, which is much appreciated: one in particular, after my explanation about the meaning of the presented work, says that in his opinion the work fails to convey such message and that maybe this time the choice isn't exactly appropriate for the window (I knew! I knew the images were too small! I knew...). Habda, who is there too, asks him in what way and I know she won't let go until she has a straightforward, satisfying answer. I like her way of digging into things. After a good deal of "er" and "hum", the artist replies: "I don't really know..."
I am holding a bunch of home made flyers, the latest idea in matter of promotion. Word document, printed and cut in half. I am going to hand them to people strolling by and just try to inform them about what is going on under their noses. Normally, I wouldn't have any problem in approaching total strangers on their way home to harass them about an art project: my latest cheeky deed was smiling at Noel Gallagher like he was an old friend of mine while we crossed paths on the street for the second time. He nodded back, bless him.
Well, back to the flyers, at the beginning I just can't do it. It's very different when you have to face people concerning a project of yours: there is no distance from it to save you, you're just too much involved. I think we can call it "performance anxiety" and it comprises several factors, including still being on my own on a street at 6:42 pm on an August Wednesday evening. OK, everyone shows up late at the openings (Ah, really?), but what if no one comes this time? I lift a flyer, looking hopefully at a man in a suit approaching. He snatches it absentmindedly and mutters a thankyou.
"No no, thank YOU", I hurriedly say. I start observing people's behavior, the unmistakeable don't-nag-me signs: a girl leaves the pavement and walks on the road to put the maximum distance possible between me and her. Come on, darling, it's just a flyer... it doesn't bite! Other people just say NO and walk away. It's normal, I would probably do the same, but frustration starts to arise. Flyers apart, no one has really noticed the window.
For a split second, this is what I think: Why the hell did I do that? I just want to go home.
That's when people start to arrive. One in particular is my hero: my G., who is my partner in crime and supporter for this project, handles the flyers much better than me (and he claims to be a shy person). The people coming to see the window are all acquaintances of mine, and what pleases me is seeing new faces in addition to those who can be called the regulars (two, in fact). Chattering and explanations begin, with other people briefly stopping. A smiling lady approaches us from the restaurant on the other side of the road to ask what this is all about. She grabs a flyer, looses it to the wind and goes fetching it again.
Among the small public there are three curators and two artists, the ones with whom you can have a serious talk later on at the pub.
Artists always speak their minds, which is much appreciated: one in particular, after my explanation about the meaning of the presented work, says that in his opinion the work fails to convey such message and that maybe this time the choice isn't exactly appropriate for the window (I knew! I knew the images were too small! I knew...). Habda, who is there too, asks him in what way and I know she won't let go until she has a straightforward, satisfying answer. I like her way of digging into things. After a good deal of "er" and "hum", the artist replies: "I don't really know..."
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| Salvatore Mauro, Intimate Parallelism, 2010 Plotter print, 4 panels on window glazing, dimensions variable. Courtesy The Artist and SybinQ Art Project |
Before going home at 9:30ish, G. and I are approached by P., restaurant owner and participant observer of The Bay Window Project since they are one below the other.
P. is a very very nice man, and he tells us that, while we were at the pub, a bloke showed up to see the window and was quite frustrated not to find anyone; he also complained to P. about the difficulty of finding the place. In short, he was disappointed.
I am wondering who this is, or, perhaps, if he was Mario.
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