Boats against the current

I stayed up all night reading The Great Gatsby.

The day began well enough: Lee and I took the bus into Attlee Square and walked along the seafront to Blenheim Place. The sea was wind-whipped and ferocious, the weak sun casting a sheen of dull unpolished metal on the brown waves, which raced shore wards and expended themselves on the beach in much thunder and mud coloured foam. The entire promenade was shrouded in a mist of wind driven spray.

Ian was out, so we waited unsuccessfully in the gloomy hallway for his return. We walked back to the Art College and hung about doing nothing. I missed my morning tutorial but decided to attend Colin Pasmore’s afternoon session. I had to wait half-an-hour in the bitter rain for a bus. The usual feelings of frustration, sensing the uselessness and limits of what I do.

In the evening Del dropped round, and after enduring his relentless piss-takes we helped Lee with his flame-photographs. I held the camera, Barry held the matches and Del switched the lights on and off. We took a dozen or so pictures of Lee, hand held up, palm forwards, hand cloaked in blue and yellow flame or with burning brass cross or flaming hat. I set my cheek alight. I felt very weary and negative so I came to bed. Lee has many plans for a video and a live ‘light’ performance.