Temple Works reputation is spreading- interns from Finland are finding their way to exotic Holbeck.
Laplander Jenni Ervasti joined Temple.Works.Leeds in late November as an intern and made an instant impression on everyone. She started by hauling huge loads up and down the carpark in her snow gear and ended up by holding a very successful Arctic film event for which she also did all the quite astonishingly inventive catering with her celebrated triple proof flavored vodkas and “once in a lifetime” Finnish rye pastries. She even made it into the Yorkshire Post. She returns home this week and will be greatly missed by everyone.
Some words from Jenni…
“ I am a 23 years old tourism student from the University of Applied Studies at Rovaniemi, Finland and I came to Leeds to do a three month long internship at Temple Works. I am from where Santa Claus comes from and lots of snow, it’s the Arctic. I found snow too in Leeds but no Santa Claus.
How did I end up at Temple Works, in Leeds? Well, I Googled. After many, many links to pages to other pages, I found this place which had very strange things on their websites. Strange things, impressive building, what a place to do my internship! After few phone calls, and far too much paperwork I found my way to Leeds and with the snow found my way inside Temple Works.
To be honest I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I first entered to this amazing venue called Temple Works. After seeing all the spaces, I was even more confused. I was sure I would need a map! Well, it seemed out that you can’t get lost as you are on CCTV 24 hours a day. The building is unique, and so seem to be the group of people who work there. Still I was a bit suspicious, how could they arrange events ? I was impressed by the size of this group, and especially at some of the odder solutions they had for making events work and bringing in money in a Grade One listed uninsured building site. I started my internship by carry hundreds and hundreds of books. Perhaps this was some kind of ritual that all the new interns go through in England? After repeating this ritual for a few days, it turned out that we actually put up a huge popup bookstore.
I had heard that people in Yorkshire talked with a quite strong accent. Luckily though understanding the language that people talk at Temple Works didn’t seem to be a problem; however I was always just a little concerned about whether they actually understood me. Sometimes the language barrier caused some funny situations, like when beer turn out to be a bear, or when people thought I was going to serve fish and cheese cocktails. I did promise that that was not any Finnish delicacy, that would be too exotic even for us. But one of the things I really do like in England and at Temple Works, is that people drink tea all the time. I can hear the kettle bubble to my office all the time. Warmth! Heating is truly something that people need in that chilly building. I have started to appreciate heaters much more that I did before. The huge building is very slow to heat, but that is the price we pay to work in this special place.
Interns get a huge freedom to implement their own ideas, which I really appreciate. Lately I and the other intern Maisie have been working with our own events, which both are related with films. We have been trying our abilities with different kinds of vodka and popcorn flavors. Making new vodka flavors is my new ambition and hobby, and funny that I started this in England which is not known as the homeland of vodkas! Making delicious Finnish pastries has also been another mission during working at Temple Works. I had heard that English don’t understand experimental cooking. But my chance to do this came about because of the fact that every event has a huge amount of work done behind the scenes. What customers see is just a tip of the iceberg. And I know icebergs. Here at Temple Works we are all doing our best in our own ways, to achieve something new and exciting. What a place to do my internship!”
Urban Sprawl go mediaeval
Temple.Works.Leeds tenants Urban Sprawl are taking part in Leeds’ Community Arts Champions’ On the Edge’s new community project for Light Night 2011, performing a modern version of the Everyman plays on three purpose built wagons which are being constructed right here at Temple.Works.Leeds. With mead, fools and maidens, pageantry, music and dance, you will be taken to a time of yore. Come down and celebrate with us on 7th October in Millennium square.
Chronicles of Syntax
Last weekend was a very busy one down at Temple.Works.Leeds. We had 2 film crews in. Arts and Minds were making a short film and iDare productions were filming the long awaited trailer for Chronicles of Syntax, the new Bio-punk sci fi series. Filming outside on Temple.Works.Leeds, land Chronicles of Syntax looks to be an action packed fight fest with a colossal arsenal of weapons, Swords, knives, guns, even bazookas!
www.chroniclesofsyntax.com
A QUICK 2011 UPDATE
Temple.Works.Leeds – once “largest room in the world”–has reopened as a cultural venue. With the Grade 1 Listed 6 acre site’s origins at the hub of Leeds’ industrial revolution, it is still a place for invention and reinvention. While structural repairs are underway in the extraordinary 2 acre Main Space to release it as the big event, artists have moved in to the ancillary spaces.
Originally living solely online through film, Temple.Works.Leeds has now burst onto real-time audiences with the BBC’s “Frankenstein’s’ Wedding” shot on the Gaudi-esque roof, Dennis Potter performed in a joiners shop, corridor dance promenade , film in the bin room, rickshaw projections in the carpark, 12 hours Techno in loading bays, feasts and live music in the paint shop, fashion shoots in the kitchen, art exhibitions in the old canteen , storytelling in the toilets, and soon to be unveiled, mediaeval wagons in the lower sheds right next door to the old boiler room which will be where the aerialists hang out, of an evening… It’s not for the faint of heart.
But if you have something extraordinary to invent, make, show or do, come on by for a chat!
Our Broken Garden Video.
Cardboard trees, tables covered with newspaper and dripping paint pots, strange fruit strung from overhead pipes, a goggle eyed monster with mouth as big as a shelf, hairy pants, a knitted spider in a stripey jumper, crazy masks, tons of compost and a heart beating in a jar . . . at least that’s what it looked like down in the Paint Shop a couple of weeks ago when Ashley Dean and the Broken Pixel team were in there making a video for Our Broken Garden. They all seemed to be working terribly hard, from the moment the gates opened till the very last minute the car park emptied. I couldn’t work out what the heck they were doing . . . but turns out, this!
Rather magical and incredibly beautiful . . . I still can’t quite believe how they did it. Fortunately they are coming back soon for an even bigger project so next time I shall have to watch them more closely.
Kilo75 is 10 Party!
Just thought I’d post a few pics from last Friday’s Kilo75 10th birthday party. Fortunately The Boss remained sober and in complete possession of her faculties and remembered to bring a camera. The rest of us were far too busy having fun to take pictures.
Thanks to Matt and Monica from Kilo75 for organising such a brilliant event (when’s the next one, Monica?) The food was fabulous, thanks to @saltsdeli and @nofishybusiness for feeding everyone so splendidly (and apologies to Andrew and Fiona for the slight lighting mishap while they were cooking the fish and chips – fortunately nobody but us noticed, so shhh!) The entertainment was brilliant, especially the last band @soulcircus – who seemed inordinately curious about my thoughts on the ontological status of the Supreme Being (not very rock and roll guys!) so big thanks to Kevin @BeatSurrender for making that happen. And once again thanks to Monica and Matt for supplying endless amounts of alcohol, it went down a treat and was much appreciated (appreciated in considerable quantities by one or two people, mentioning no names . . .) And a really big thank you to all the people who helped out on the night, Mike, Elly, Dave, Lucy, Robert, Debi, Neil, Richard . . . I think that’s everyone.
Enjoy the pics.
And, please, nobody mention the marquee!
Bettakultcha IV . . . best one so far?
Here’s a guest post from the lovely Claire Cameron who managed to sneak into Bettakultcha without a ticket. I gave her a glass of wine, she gave me a kiss. I poured her some more wine and she agreed to write a review . . . I think I got the better deal . . .
There is a distinctive sense of mystery shrouding Temple Works as a venue; for me it this is due to the slightly out of town, hidden gem like location. This only added to the already massive amount of anticipation that surrounds this event, and its delightful originality.
The queue at the door for Bettakultcha 4 last night was testament to its popularity. I experienced the generosity of the creative crew who attend such evenings earlier in the day when I had to scout around for a precious spare ticket in order to get in. So it was with a sense of being one of the privileged few that I took my seat among the lucky 100 to find out what all the fuss was about.
Opening the evening Hayden Cohen (@haydencohen) presented a comical ‘how to present’ or how not to! The highlight was the ‘don’t use gimmicks’ section, which provoked much mirth and warmed up the crowd nicely. I was impressed to see that the format of:
- All presentations will only be 20 slides long
- Each slide will last only 15 seconds before it goes on the next one
- When 5 minutes finishes so does the presentation
- No sales pitches
was stuck to from the start, and this increased the impact of the talks I think. Although Hayden did ensure all were aware of his availability for weddings and corporate events..
Next up one of the BettaKultcha founders Richard Michie (@RichardMichie) had us in fits of laughter with his take on ‘What makes a Professional Northerner’. Intriguingly we discovered that only Yorkshire dwellers are true Northeners, if you leave for the South or, worse, decamp to live in America that removes your status as a professional Northerner automatically. Jarvis Cocker was hailed as one of the best examples due to his possession of the following qualities: Political, Articulate, Artistic, as well as the late Brian Glover.
Monica Tailor (@monicatailor) gave her Nana’s ‘Top Curry Tips’ with flair and beautiful photo slides of spices and curry that made everyone hungry, and really made me want to go home and try out her recipes! Best tip: if your curry is too hot add some salt, and always start with a spices-infused oil.
I’d been chatting to Martin Dean (@martinddean) at the start of the night so I was already intrigued about what his talk would be like. His subject ‘Leeds’ was extremely popular and he delivered his thoughts with gusto and enthusiasm. Leeds spoke for itself as a city as every slide was decorated with the word ‘Leeds’. What if Leeds?.. is a project run by the Leeds Initiative and some key aims: Leeds should be welcoming, prosperous, fair and have successful and happy communities just to name a few.
The following spot was on Leeds as well, but from a completely different angle namely, Rat Boys and the scary under the arches area near the station in the 18th Century! Hilarious to watch Joe and Andy enthralled and entertained us with their tales of rat kings, museum research trips and policemen telling them to go away as they were weird.
Simon Wilson (@IdleSi) had us in fits over his presentation on Dinosaur computer games which was wonderfully geeky and interesting at the same time, backed by a true passion for the subject matter.
The variety of subject matter in presentations was huge, and kept everyone interested- I really had no idea what to expect next! So it was pretty surprising to find the next 5 mins was dedicated to the strange fascination that exists for Myra Hindley and Ian Brady in Het Philip’s (@burnyourbones) talk ‘How I Love The Romance of Crime’. She was brilliant – witty commentary accompanying hilarious slides revealing just how much popular culture use these murderers for marketing! Bizarre, truly original and funny.
Comedy crept in on the slightly serious subject of Giovanni Lupaldi’s presentation on ‘Who is Silvio Berlusconi? Which actually taught me things I didn’t know about the promiscuous ruler as well as sending me into fits of giggles. I learned that along with his Mafia Boss/Horsekeeper, Craxi, the evil Prime Minister has created 53 laws to benefit him and his friends, and 8 helping organised crime! The solemn message at the end, though, was a reminder that he is still in power, and that in order to stop this happening elsewhere we need to stay involved and informed.
Ivor Tymchak, (Master of Ceremonies this evening and speaker) informed us that he was going to tell us lots of things that would change everything we had ever been taught. His propaganda presentation was an amusing, and I think important reminder that books can often be wrong, with the conclusion: ‘The more we discover about the world the less we understand about how it actually works.’
I have to note, as well, that the audience was extremely supportive and welcoming of all the speakers.
Mounties was the subject of Susan Williamson’s (@shiningred) insightful talk. I found it witty and amusing, and found out that Mounties are now on the way out, although 1 in every 100 Canadian is one still, as well as that they are trying to get back to the good old days where Mounties were about getting the girl, Rose Marie and John Wayne.
Steve Manthorp (@manthorp) followed this with a hysterical story bout ‘Top The Wombat’ and the influence of the wombat on the Pre Raphaelites. It was excellently done with some really good illustrations and some slightly doubtful looking wombat pictures from the time! I never knew that a Wombat influenced Lewis Carol’s dormouse until now!
The last speaker of the night was shocking, compelling and utterly fantastic. With comedy featuring throughout the night it was amazing that Nigel Vardy (www.into-thin-air.co.uk) still managed to bring it into his incredible story. Nigel talked of his love of climbing, and then revealed that this had led to the loss of his nose, fingers and toes, as images of the damage were shown on the slides. Despite this he still went to Greenland to be one of 3 people ever to climb not the obvious mountain, but ‘the one on the right!’. He went to Borneo, nearly drowned and Nepal where his rope snapped and he fell 85 feet off an ice face. Terrifyingly inspiring Nigel’s applause was the biggest of the night, and well deserved. He finished ‘The only I can’t understand now is why no one will come on an expedition with me?!’
A raffle followed, (tickets had been purchased with amazing cupcakes from The Sunshine Bakery @sunshinebakery earlier in the evening) and cupcake lessons were won.
I loved the random slide challenge, and the brave two that got up to face it! Paul (@bulletman) did a great job from a motorbike themed start and Pritesh (@teaandtoast) had to deal with the controversial topic of the Pope’s visit, and did admirably well too.
All in all, an extremely entertaining, interesting and unusual evening which was a refreshing change to the norm. Why go? If this review hasn’t convinced you and got you interested enough to come along to the next one then I haven’t done it justice.
Words: Claire Cameron
@claire_cameron
Heritage Open Days.
It could all have gone horribly wrong . . . I got to Temple Works late, the boss had already blown up the balloons and was muttering something about people turning up who hadn’t booked, talking about hard hats and capacity and insurance – all the stuff I never think of. There were already a couple of guys hanging around the gates. They’d wished me a cheery good morning then blithely informed me that the lovely folks at Leeds Tourist information had told them just to come down, they were sure we wouldn’t mind. This, I judged, was a revelation possibly best kept to myself till the time was more appropriate – maybe the week after, over a pint in The Midnight Bell. I reassured the misinformed fellows that people always dropped out of these things, not to worry, I’d sort it, just don’t make a fuss and we’ll fit you in, and then scanned the street . . . thousands upon thousands of people skipping merrily towards Temple Works! . . . I wiped my glasses on my shirt and looked again . . . I counted forty – maybe forty two – still more than I’d bargained for. The boss was gripping the booking list as if her life depended on it. “Let’s just get them in, it’ll all be fine,” I said, crossing my fingers tightly behind my back and mentally repeating a little prayer, “what can go wrong?” Fortunately before the boss had time to enumerate every single disaster in the making the punters were mounting the stairs and crossing off their names. Everyone gathered in the reception office. I slammed the door shut at exactly five past twelve. The boss began her “Welcome to Temple Works” spiel . . . and we were off!
I must admit I was a little nervous about Heritage Open Day. Would people come, would they get what we were doing, would I be of any use to the boss being as I am a blind, bumbling baloney merchant? But actually I really enjoyed it. My role seemed to be to keep the Boss appraised of the time, gather and distribute hard hats, keep an eye on stragglers, and occasionally translate the Bosses speedy Canadian patter into a more leisurely Yorkshire banter. Most of the people seemed to enjoy the tour (though you always get one or two who just won’t be pleased; we are Yorkshire!) and one of the best things was the look of surprise and delight on so many faces when they realised that so much was going on in the place. “It wasn’t the tour I expected,” was a fairly common comment. One old rogue with a twinkle in his eye even slipped the boss a tenner on the way out, commending her on the fine job she was doing . . . first time ever we made a tip. It went on lunch at The Midnight Bell, and very nice too.
So, six tours in two days plus a couple of two hour stewards inductions – not bad for a project with no staff and no proper funding. Great fun but absolutely trashing. Thanks to everyone who came along (even the ones who didn’t book) and hope to see you back soon to see the building as it should be, in use, alive, and noisy with activity.
Oh, and if anyone fancies volunteering as a steward email me at phil@templeworksleeds.com or get in touch via twitter, @templeworks.
Pop-up Pig and Bring out the Mess: Test Space comes to Temple Works
It was a scene from the Italian Job. Madcap chefs in stolen (well, pre-loved) cars, roaring back and forth Saturday into Temple Works car park to deliver successive loads of pig, more pig, did I say pig and lentil cutlets…and giant Eton Mess, cupcakes and found vegetables (hedge-found not hedge-fund, that rules out Bridgewater Place Tesco provenance.) One chef came all the way from Bournemouth. This gourmet rush was preceded by Majestic Wines roaring up in a minivan with rather a lot of booze (a great tradition at Temple Works);Test Space dashing around for two days with lists, cutlery, slate chips, fairy lights, pineapples-for-rent and giant mops…and finally guests roaring in on the trot to demand their fill.
The food was superb and provoked the kind of discussion that engaged foodies and non alike. There was some speculation about what each body part actually was and one bold diner left politesse behind and attacked the pig’s head itself in the spirit of investigation. When the plates were piled high speculation gave way sheer enjoyment and the showmanship of each chef contributed greatly to the evening, in particular the serving of the extraordinarily tasty giant Eton Mess. Many thanks to David Bennett of Sunshine Bakery, Mike Wallis, Mina Said, Leeds Kirkgate Market and SalsaMexicana and Bournemouth’s Dave Prior. Other entertainment included a lengthy visit from the police, concerned at the delicious smells emanating from an uninsured building site; food porn as part of Exposure Leeds Photo Week, addresses on Slow Food by Andrew Critchett and live music from Ryan Spendlove (which was rip-roaring and went the whole hog).
This was a popup kitchen first for both Test Space and Temple Works. Once the largest room in the world, Temple Works is re-opening as a cultural venue which – while the Main Space is being repaired – includes a wide range of events including the improbable, the impossible, the frankly deafening and the roast pig. We can’t wait to see what Test Space pulls out of the culinary hat next. Hats generally mean rabbits but I’ve heard it may be fish…different kind of hat, flies and the like. This will mean a continuing problem for vegetarian guests so next time all you omnivores please don’t eat the gorgeous little lentil cutlets until the veggies have been fed. They get nasty when hungry!
SHHH_IFT…secretly evolving nightlife
Photo by Krzys Raus.
On Saturday 21st August – SHHH_IFT sneaked back to Temple Works to demonstrate its evolution since first invading the space for its opening party back in December 2009.
SHHH_IFT’s 4th party – an impressive evolutionary display it was… its evolved partygoers represented a doubling in attendees.
Despite its clandestine nature – sometimes a whisper is louder than a shout – and SHHH_IFT’s message is clear – the best, most evolved and exciting party available to those who are prepared to listen.
Visually and musically the party represented survival of the sickest. 360 degree visuals enveloped Temple Works cube like Loading Bay during the day and illuminated the Basement by night, and the sounds which reverberated both inside and out represented a unique, stand alone stance on futuristic electronic music.
Different – but always evolved – fitter – better… each SHHH_IFT party is not to be missed. Get evolved – register at www.shhhift.com
Two video clips:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VefrOUYxQMo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsXlKE1Kg0A
How do you get to Temple Works?
Anyone who has been to Temple Works in the past few months will have been collared by me and quizzed about how they managed to get here. This isn’t any kind of private psychological peculiarity; it’s not like I’m a train spotter or anything. The information gleaned is purely in the interests of science and the general forward march of human progress . . . and, more mundanely, for collecting transport statistics so we can improve our accessibility.
We aren’t in the best known part of the city (not just yet, but we’re working on it) and we are surrounded by quite a jumble of random buildings, some impressive Victorian monuments to our glorious industrial heritage, a couple of well designed, beautifully executed, modern office blocks, a temporary industrial estate of cheap and cheerless monotony, and a few monstrosities of corporate egotism, which can be distracting. Still, we are the only Grade 1 listed replica Egyptian Temple in this part of South Leeds, so how hard can we be to miss?
Most people find us easily.
Some interesting conclusions have emerged from my recent transport investigations. Firstly, most people find us fairly easily. They look at the map on the website or Google the address and, well, they get in their cars and drive. Or they jump in a taxi. Simple. The few who claim to arrive by unicorn, teleportation or astral travel obviously have made their own arrangements. A very few people have claimed to get lost and I have made serious efforts to ascertain the reasons why. The answer seems to be as follows; visitors to art shows have been misled by individual artists trying to verbally explain our whereabouts, whereas guests at performance/theatre/literary events have been misguided by a map scribbled by a wordsmith. Moral of this story is, never trust an artist to tell the right tale or a writer to draw a decent map. Google it.
The Question of Buses.
For the people who walk, either from town or from a nearby bus stop, things are just as simple. Walking to Temple Works is a delight in itself and by far the best way to get a sense of the area. From my own admittedly limited investigation very few people get the local buses from South Leeds that drop off at Sweet Street. Absolutely nobody has ever got the bus that comes from the North of the city; as a recent visitor who arrived by top of the range Land Cruiser told me recently, “Why would anyone in Alwoodley get the bus here?” However, in the event of this happening there are two stops that the majority of buses will drop off. Firstly, the corner of Marshall Street and Sweet Street West, right outside the Commercial Pub, and secondly Bridgewater Place.
Bus Stop 1: The Commercial.
Some interesting facts about this pub. It’s owned by Leeds United legend, Peter Lorimer. Leeds United have a huge Norwegian following owing to once featuring a famous Norwegian centre forward in the squad (unfortunately I’m no football fan, so any further information will have to be Googled) and every so often the Commercial is full of tall, blond, handsome chaps who speak English with the most oddly lilting accent imaginable. Also, every Saturday, between 11am and 2ish, my Uncle Tommy holds court at the table just to the left of the front door. A pint of John Smiths and he’ll tell you things about the area you’d really rather not know. He’s an acquired taste.
Bus Stop 2: Bridgewater Place.
Most other buses stop somewhere near Bridgewater Place. I’m not going to show a picture. You can’t miss it. It’s very tall, and it’s extremely . . . erm, I shall keep my thoughts about that building private, but for the sake of directions, what you want to look for is something that looks as though it was designed on an etch-a-sketch by a nine year old with a potentially pathological fixation on Daleks. You really can’t miss it. Another tell tale sign; check the bins, they are usually full of trashed umbrellas. It’s a veritable brolly cemetery. The place is a notorious wind trap. I’ve seen young mothers with prams swept into the paths of articulated lorries while they’ve been waiting for the lights to change. Be careful. Carry a brick in your back pocket for ballast.
You want to walk from the bust stop? Start at The Grove . . .
Once you have located Bridgewater Place there are two options. To the left of the building, just past Tescos, is The Grove, one of the best and most popular real ale pub in Leeds. The Grove is a little haven of humanity surrounded by soulless corporate head quarters, the mighty fortress that is KPMG, and the gormless, gawdy pretension of Yorkshire Forward.
Simply carry on down the street beside The Grove with Bridgewater Place behind you, and you’ll hit Temple Works in about two minutes. You can even see it from the front door of the pub.
Or go down Water Lane.
The other way from Bridgewater Place is from the front of the building and down Water Lane. Keep on the same side of the road with Bridgewater Place on your left, past The Panini Shack (which sells “traditional Cornish Pasties!” That’s class, that is.)
Walk about a hundred yards, past The Midnight Bell and The Cross Keys (no photos, the road is ridiculously narrow here and you’d take your life in your hands risking a shot of the front of these pubs. Can’t miss them though.) When you reach Out of the Woods coffee bar, right on the corner, with an astroturfed outside area, turn left down Marshall Street and Temple Works is about fifty Yards down, opposite The Round Foundry.
The scenic route from the city centre; City Square.
Most people who come to Temple Works by public transport walk from the city centre. Depending on how fast you walk, it’s a seven to ten minute trip through some fascinating spaces. Best place to start is from City Square. The train station is just next door and most buses stop pretty close by.
City Square was one of the most remarkable squares in the country till the council decided to mess about with it a few years ago in the interests of traffic flow. For some reason they decided to place an arc of piddling fountains where it used to be a joy to linger and pass the time of day . . . well, really more a series of small leaks than a proper water feature like Sheffield has, and mainly used as a paddling pool for the local pigeon population . . . but hey ho, the Black Prince is still there, though no one really has the foggiest what he has to do with Leeds, and those wonderfully erotic nymphs, which are well worth a closer look. My favourite is the nymph furthest to the right facing the old Post Office . . . she’s a bit of a stunner.
With the naked nymphs behind you, head South down Swinegate
and watch out for the random carvings all about the place . . . I only just noticed these myself last week. Not a clue what a bird in a tree with a bell above an upside down haddock could possibly mean.
Through Neville Street and down the Dark Arches.
Then walk about halfway through the Neville Street Bridge. Listen out for the ambient sound sculpture and make sure to admire the light art on the East side of the street. Watch out for the drips from the railway station overhead (that’s not part of the art, just a maintenance worry.)
Take a right turn down through the Dark Arches.
This is one of the most incredible, breathtaking structures produced by Victorian engineers. The biggest brick structure in the world when built, and easily one of the most gorgeous. Just look at how the brick meets at the top of the arches, sweeping seamlessly from four separate directions and curving effortlessly together . . . and there’s hundreds of them! It’s really one of Leeds’ hidden gems. And the people who built that had not one NVQ in bricklaying between them.
When you cross the river the noise can be quite intense (the smell too, but let’s not think about that too much.)
Then you take a left just after the footbridge where you’ll see someone has thoughtfully put really big photographs of the Dark Arches, just in case you hadn’t noticed or weren’t sufficiently overawed . . .
To Granary Wharf.
. . . then you are out in the open space of Granary Wharf with it’s lovely new pubs and fancy restaurants.
Walk past the Candle House.
(you really can’t miss this! Hell of a view from up there.) And swing left over the bridge.
The canal, The Towers.
The canal is a great place to loiter around too.
Go past this cute canal office, and through the car park, keeping the Towers on your right.
these are exact replicas of Florentine Towers by the way! All that extravagance for a pin factory! Those Victorians certainly knew how to impress. Then out of the car park and over the zebra crossing on Water Lane
and carry on past Matthew Murray House, past the pubs, all the way to Out of the Woods
And finally to Temple Works.
When you turn left down Marshall Street and you’re almost there!
Just past that big mill there’s Temple Works. Can’t miss us. A very pleasant walk.
And that’s how you get to Temple Works. Nothing to it.
Sh! Awards.
Congratulations to Matthew Young, a very deserved winner of the main prize at this years Sh! Awards. I’ve just found this out even though I was there on the night. Typically I was otherwise occupied when the result was announced, as is usually the case when anything important happens. For instance, when Nelson Mandella was released I’d just finished a 48 hour shift at the hostel I was then working at and when I woke up my flat was trashed and fourteen comatose communists were strewn about my kitchen. When Margaret Thatcher was ousted on that glorious November evening I’d been on a week long bender with the twin of an ex and when I came round I found old grey Mr Underpants was in charge, which came as quite a shock to the system. Even when I agreed to marry the ex I didn’t find out about my proposal till four days later, and then only because my best mate phoned to commiserate. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that I ended up in Tescos last Friday evening just as the prizes were being given out, all because I’d volunteered to sort out a little local difficulty concerning ice. The bar was depleted. We were so low in fact that we were in danger of depriving the punters of the house speciality, the Jaeger Bomb. I don’t know what the attraction is with these things but they seemed to be shifting and I didn’t want to miss an opportunity. So off I went on a mission to fetch supplies. When I got back it was all over. Still, everyone seemed to be having a great time. And we had Jaeger Bombs aplenty.
Anyone who hasn’t seen the work can have a look on the Sh! website. And for those of you who missed a brilliant evening (including a comedian who tried to juggle three guitars in a nine feet high room, with inevitably risible consequences; at the end of his set the poor guy had the expression of a man waking up on Christmas Day in a hopital bed plugged into an ECT machine) here’s a few pictures.
This is the tuk tuk, driven by the Sanjay, who ferried everyone around all evening. He even gave me a lift to the pizza shop after the event had finished . . . you can imagine the fuss we got driving that thing around Holbeck late in the evening. Great idea though.
Here’s the banner looking very fetching draped down from the canteen to the Joiners’ Bar entrance. I was a bit iffy at first that the idea wouldn’t work as well as it should but in the end I was more than pleasantly surprised. The banner looked great.
This is Simon Cooke (@simonmagus) being pinned against the loading bay wall by Mark Howe (@howiehowe) during a photo shoot . . . at least I think it was that kind of shoot! Simon does look a little fearful of his life . . . come to think of it, I never saw him leave.
Here’s some guests, just mingling.
Johnnie and Sophie doing their magic at the bar. Couldn’t find a picture with the third of the bar trio, Tree. They all worked really hard though.
Having a quiet moment.
Just chatting.
Frii Spray! Nice one Scott.
Drinking.
How did these two reprobates manage to get in? . . . Call Security!
Some Stories.
Amazingly my sister beat me to reviewing Some Stories, the collection of four plays that we had here last night. Even more astonishingly, she was full of praise and even adulation! This never happens (well, not since that famous Lloyd Cole gig at the Warehouse back in 1981! Nothing will ever quite compare to her response to that . . . she actually fainted in appreciation. At least this time she managed to maintain consciousness.) It was a fabulous evening though and the crew from Cheap Seats Theatre put on a great show.
I’ve been around for the few days the guys have been here, watching them paint walls and decorate sets, run around getting volunteers to help with the event, and worry over the route (amazingly complex, four plays in different locations, and two groups seeing the performances in different sequence.) All the effort really paid off. I was particularly impressed by the way the directors used the space. Blue Rabbits, directed by Ned Bennett, had Flora Spenser-Longhurst flitting about the scattered audience in the huge canteen, alternating between giggly excitation and dreamy drifting, ending curled up in the corner as her tragedy reached it’s climax. Oliver Lyttleton had Audrey Schoellhammer in Lilly on the Stairs in the old manager’s office, a small and dark and oddly cramped space, confined to a chair for most of her monologue, the only movement the slightest of shrugs; her face told the whole tale, straining to keep the overwhelming sadness of her story behind a mask of polite, inconsequential chatter. (She would have shifted from her seat sharpish if Emma, who was standing right next to her, had not left the room . . . poor Emma found herself a bit wobbly after standing for 10 minutes, and completely nauseaus after 12 . . . let’s just say that Emma made the right choice to leave before she had a little accidental projectile vomit.) In White Blood Cells, Mark Weinman positively wrestles with the Paint Shop, grappling with the walls and slapping the concrete floor. At one point he banged his head hard on the ground. I was sat at the back of the room. My chair vibrated with the force of the impact. I hope Clive Judd, the director, is a first aider. Sophie is Sophie made one of the small rooms off the canteen look like a disturbing childrens tea party, with knick-knacks, teddy bears, kitschy tea pots, and doilies . . . I haven’t seen a doily in decades! Where the heck did they get them? I shall have to ask Elizabeth Sands, the director. I’m looking forward to tomorrow when Rachel Finnegan arrives to perform the piece in person, but the taped voice worked well I thought.
Any play is only as good as the writing. I’m absolutely envious of Alistair McDowall’s talent. Each play is a little gem, and he manages to realise the tone of voice of each character absolutely spot on. If I had to choose my favourite it would be White Blood Cells, simply because it’s technically the most tricky. And it makes you identify with the most morally dubious character you could ever imagine. Simply brilliant.
There’s still time to get tickets. Some Stories is on till Saturday. If my sister thinks it’s good there’s no harder audience to please.
Caught!
At last, I get to relax. One of the smashing chaps from Test Space Leeds has done a guest post for us. Sterling work Steve, Cheers . . .
Test Space goes to Best Joined Up, live at Temple works, sort of.
Well Test Space’s cultural odyssey in the heart of Leeds continues. Back through the doors of Temple Works, this time not the almost front door at the side of the front door, this time we walked up the road way and into the ‘open plan courtyard’, or car park area.
It was 6.30pm and we’re early. That’s Test Space, ever the cool gang.
Shooed away by the Temple Works leader, her look saying so much about the hard work going on to get the exhibition underway, we backed out to the Cross Keys and had another pint. There we started to spy some Temple Works regulars, Betta Kulcha’s Richard Michie sat with us and we eagerly chatted about the wonders that would surely follow. We also spotted Drew Millard relaxed and with some mates, no sign of stress, ever the professional.
So on to the exhibition.
You got to hand it to the Joined up lot, if they like an idea they go for it. Walking into the ‘courtyard’ and before you spot the entrance you find probably the best looking caravan I have ever seen, take a look, really. No memories of my family, my aunties family and another family sharing one caravan (Steve’s memories, not Neil the other Test Space guy’s) on a trip at god knows where. So if they are capable of that, we were off to a good start.
Inside, after the obligatory mark on the back of the hand and the handing over of emails, we were given a site map (sadly lost now, most likely due to the alcohol consumed), a piece of card and markers to draw with. I drew on the map not the card, oh well. Then off we went a whirl wild of illustrative art and Graffiti. Pieces sitting on walls where the artists had surrounded them with images and colour, making the space completely their own. Its good to see work in places that artists understand, want to use and feel free to work with.
A good many of the people who were part of this show also have studios in Temple Works, spending many an hour roaming for room to room, wild, drawing on walls, living feral, allowed to do what they want. To pull them together with others of like mind and create this event most have been a feat of strength and stamina. To do it with the artists work smoothly sitting beside the next is even more impressive
Large boards full of imaginings, giant figures, small half creatures, sat in the centre of the room and, to one side. Zebras, Daredevil, sweet ladies, marks and colours filling your vision. Then near the entrance small illustrations on paper delicately hung from the pipes that run all through the room. So many different shapes, sizes, ideas and styles.
We see a table at one side selling little crafts, our favourite being Toad (the little mushroom from Super Mario). This stand was great, we love the creative spirit alive in Leeds. We love the ‘get on and do’, make and show attitude.
Disappointment.
We were saddened though. In front of us next to the crafts was an old TV, it had seen better days, and beside that, wonder of wonders, a Sega Mega Drive. Well. we had to have a game. A pile of cartridges, the control pads sat ready for us to get going. Then our hopes were dashed, we were informed power could not be achieved. Stoically we moved on.
You can tell this was a good night. Time rolled forward, unnoticed by all. As with evenings of this nature drink flowed, people met new people, ideas were shared. People sat at a table set up, and drew their own imaginings. The work giving us all something to enjoy.
Now we will not go through the work artist by artist, Best Joined Up have their own site, you can see some goings on on their Flickr page, Phil of Temple Works fame can give much better descriptions. We will guide you through a few moments of the show and give a hint of the event.
Meet the artist.
Some times you stand at a piece of work and can not help but speak to the person who created it. We did not get to meet Sune who is known to heckle himself, saying that the artist ‘drinks like a pirate, swears like a trooper and paints like a 21st century more flighty Turner’. Instead we me Ollie Redding, who will always be known to us as ‘Woman Cosmonaut’, the guy that makes history look good. He told so about his great piece drawn on metal depicting the forgotten cosmonauts, the ladies that went up and did not come down. His work was slick, cartoony and light. These were strong happy women.
Half way through the night.
Imagine an old door held up with found material, pipes, tables and sacks. Behind it a projector works putting light onto the opaque of the top half window of that door. Add Dave Frispray’s magic and you have a whole new idea of graffiti and art. Using a sensor in a spray can, a Wii remote and laptop and some software you can make your own art. He has been working on this Friispray for a few years and it is old hat for him. Dave has new things boiling in his head. He’s released all the tech to do it on line, just check it out and do it yourself, he urges you to, begs. Its pennies to do, you just need some cheap equipment, a soldering iron and time to test it. Test Space wants one, time to get out tech team on the job.
Night fell.
Outside after dark and for our entertainment, a car was wheeled up near the entrance. I hope it was not some poor chap who had just left it over night, because two Joined Up guys proceeded to spray paint all over it. They each took a side and went to work. Bright colours in the night and a new look paint job.
At least one of the Test Space guys stayed until the end. Ever the helpful chap, clearing up, he does not sleep. The independent culture of Leeds comes first. Another successful Best Joined Up event, another feather in the cap for Temple Works.
Another Blog done.
Busy week, catching up.
Can’t believe it’s been so long since I blogged. Seriously, haven’t had a minute, what with the various shows and events here the past week or so, I’ve been roped into everything from shifting furniture and pouring drinks to a stint as a fire marshal and car park attendant; this way please, and are you on the guest list? I was rather hoping for a uniform, or at least a badge. Nothing forthcoming so far. Never a dull moment as they say, but never a spare one either. So much has happened . . .
I missed last Wednesday’s exhibition, The Birthday Party, in The Members’ Bar (or are we calling it The Paint Shop now? I prefer The Paint Shop; that’s exactly what it used to be, and we’re keeping some of the walls just the way they were, so it makes sense.) I really was hoping to get back from Ignite Leeds early enough to report on the fun but didn’t manage to hit Holbeck till way past 9 O’ Clock. It was nice coming down Marshall Street and hearing a hubbub of happy voices as I reached the gates, and noticing that as people pased the building they slowed and looked to see what was going on. Over 120 people had come to see the show, not bad considering that it was advertised as an avant garde show that “situated perilous acts that offend, reconcile, attract, repel, break, dissociate, unite, and re-unite, to liberate thought.” There was something called The Organisation of Dirt, an initiative by some very clever types at Leeds University Fine Art, Art History and Cultural Studies Department, to sweep away the muck of ages that had collected around the concept of the museum. Our Members’ Bar/Paint Shop was the obvious place to critique the “Institutionalisation of dirty space,” though by the time our resident artist/curator Micheale had finished with it any dirt had been organised into the skip. Micheale had spent days cleaning, airing, and making the Paint Shop presentable. You can always tell when Micheale is around, there’s the faintest tang of Domestos in the air.
The Organisation of Dirt folks are fond of their French theory, especially stuff that has to do with “what disturbs identity, system, order. What does not respect borders, positions, rules;” that which draws attention to the “fragility of the law.” Fortunately this doesn’t extend to bye-laws, especially the ones about private parties, and the rule about where it’s acceptable and appropriate to have a glass of wine or two, which was observed to the letter. They even helped tidy up the plastic glasses.
By the time I arrived most of the art on display was in the process of packing away. Even the wonderful “White Cube” cake that had been mesmerisingly assembled, iced, and sliced by performance artist Makiko Nagaya, had mostly been enjoyed or wrapped up for later consumption. I managed to sneak a piece. It was delicious. I’m so sad that I missed the performance. I was glad to have a celebratory splash of champagne after the show with everyone though.
Thursday’s event, Away From the Flock, also curated by Micheale Spessa, was similarly successful. The Members’ Bar/Paint Shop was completely transformed overnight into quite a different show, with pyramid sculptures, performing sheep, voices in cupboards, an amusing video projection of four artists dancing along to Cypress Hill’s Insane in the Membrane, and a lovely installation piece called Missing Girl. Missing Girl became my instant favourite when I spotted a copy of Lolita on the shelf.
Right, apologies for being such a short and cursory post, but we’re still busy. Hope to catch up with more soon as I can.
Overdue at the library.
What a pleasant afternoon I’ve just spent loitering in the library. Not, thank you very much, a Learning Resource Centre. I mean, who would be so dreary as to want to waste time hunched over a communal computer, with the machine counting down the minutes of one’s apportioned time, till it automatically pulls the switch on you? Spare me the digital discourtesy. I wanted to spend some time with books, big, yellowing, musty, dusty things that give a pleasing thud when you lay a pile on the freshly polished oak table. Books with pictures of the author glowering or smirking uncomfortably in the back flap. Books with big black sans-serif print, slightly smudgy around the edges. Only books will do some days. Let’s face it, I am more vintage than virtual.
Books make some people nervous. And I know lots of people who are set against libraries, something to do they say with all that enforced quiet. I don’t understand them. Books are possibly the least offensive object in existence, and what harm has anyone come to being told to hush? I can think of many worse things than getting shut up. Nothing bad really ever happened to anyone in a library.
Remember when you were little, people never came up to you in a library and said how much you looked like your dad or enquired about that tearaway sister of yours or spat on a hanky and swabbed your face or told you to tidy away your toys and go to bed early and have you done your homework and written that thankyou card to granny for that birthday balaclaver.
When you went to the library as a teen nobody ever waited outside to beat you up or told you to stop acting so sulky and stand up straight and isn’t it time you stopped mooching around the place and started acting like a grownup and would you just stop treating this place like a hotel.
It’s even better at university because nobody drops by the library to tell you how much of your student loan has been spent on beer and bad gigs and that you never ring home and your hair looks like a rats nest and your mum is worried sick you’re not looking after yourself properly and nobody knows why you’ve turned out this way you were always such a diligent student and you are remembering to take precautions, aren’t you!
Nobody ever gets dumped in a library. Nobody ever has “the conversation” and says it’s not you it’s me and you really are the most superficial, self-absorbed, sarcastic shit they have ever had the displeasure to meet and they never liked your taste in music either.
And now, when I’m all grown up and in terminal decline the library is an even more wonderful place to be, more familiar and full and resonant.
For a few hours you are safe from gas bills and final notices and council tax and demands from ex-partners and those fearful phone calls that make electric jelly in your gut.
And the boiler never breaks down in the library and the vacuum cleaner never chokes to a shuddering, squealing death and no one ever mentions how much you don’t measure up to the manifold responsibilities of manhood, how lazy you are and how easy it would be for you to just make everything better if only you would try, for once show some gumption, gall, get up and go, but you never will because you lack moral fibre, character, persistence, and why will you never learn to drive and you still haven’t tidied up your toys.
I almost didn’t want to leave. If the library sold beer, I’d move in.
Homage to Catalonia . . .
I wasn’t really sure what to expect on Friday. Turns out nobody else did either. We’d invited a bunch of bloggers from Barcelona and a few local folks for a look around and a bit of a natter. Lee from Hebe Media had said twelve to twenty, and they’d be here for half past one. Nothing more specific than that. Lee had been a delegate on the Leeds In Barcelona festival last March (jammy devil, don’t know how he managed to wangle that one) and wanted the Barca people to experience a bit of Leeds that they wouldn’t normally get to see on that sort of marketing malarkey. If he sorted the insurance we said we’d be happy to have them and host his little creative conflab. The only other thing we talked about was sensible footwear and warm clothing. Lee said he’d pass that on.
Come Friday and I was sat around the office table with a few people I’d asked to lend a hand to steward the proceedings. I reckoned Spaniards with cameras may want to wander and I just wanted to make sure we all kept to the safe parts of the building. So at 1:30 there I was with my carefully chosen squad of cultural heavies and intellectual bouncers, selected for their intelligence, wit, conversation, and the fact that they all had nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon; Mike (@mikechitty), Richard (@richardmichie), Rob (@chance4321) Matt (@mattseward), and Steve (@testspaceleeds), all eager to meet with our friends from Iberia. First thing we did was rearrange the chairs around the boardroom table. I think that’s become some kind of ritual.
Muireann (@bangsandabun) turned up on time. I could tell by her shoes that she didn’t intend doing the tour again. Definitely would be sticking around the office and chatting given that her heels, when she was vertical, and that in itself was quite a feat and must have taken years of study and hard practice, enabled her to look me straight in the eye. I’m six foot five. They were some heels! She took up position in the office and chatted to Emma while the rest of the guys and I hovered in the boardroom and waited. And waited. And no matter how many times I was asked what we were meant to be doing this afternoon my answer never varied; “just make it up as you go along.”
Ten to two and we noticed a couple of cars slamming doors right over in the far corner of the car park. Our attention was accosted by the spectacle of six or seven young women, dressed for the catwalk, tottering towards us over the uneven, gravelly surface, on heels that made Muireann look positively mumsy! (I’m going to pay for that comment, I just know it.) Pity that not one of us inside thought to take a picture. I doubt that a more surreal scene has ever been played out in the Temple Works car park. When I’d got them all signed in and settled in the boardroom I asked if the knew what the plan was . . . and we all fidgeted and looked at the floor . . . for a fleeting moment I worried that I’d not remembered to give the carpet a sweep and that it looked in need of a bit of attention. What would our visitors think! “So, where’s Lee?” I asked. “He’s not here . . .” one of them replied, and I wasn’t sure if her intonation indicated a statement of the obvious or a question. I’m not used to dealing with fashionable people. I decided it was best to ask Muireann to give Lee a ring. It had gone two o clock and we still didn’t have a clue.
Lee’s phone must have been frantic for a few minutes after five past two as probably six people tried to ascertain his whereabouts. Finally someone got through. Lee had left the City Inn and was proceeding in a disorderly fashion towards Marshall Street. ETA, five minutes. More people were already arriving. Some were eating lunch on the steps, others hanging around the office with Emma who was in serious engagement mode. A couple were seen heading to Tescos on a mission to purchase diet coke. The plan was still a mystery hidden in an enigma and cloaked in a quandary. Back in the boardroom things were a little fraught. Frosty even. The lads, our hand-picked cadre of crack conversationalists, were huddled together and speaking in hushed tones as if they were about to hatch some conspiratorial plot, and our guests, the poor girls, scantlly clad and shivering in the big chilly room, stood about, dejected and desperate to know what the heck they were doing here. Ten past two and still no sign of the Spanish.
Finally, no more than three quarters of an hour late, Lee and his band of Barca bloggers hit Temple Works with a blast. Now I’m even more confused. I ask Mike to count heads. Thirty three! Emma mentions the couple who have gone for coke and maybe someone went for a smoke. One of the models, Steve says, has capitulated to the cold and gone to fetch her coat. Sensible girl. Now, even granting the fact that I barely scraped O Level Maths, thirty-odd is significantly more than twelve to twenty. Not to worry I thought, they’re here now and let’s see what the plan is. Lee just says to show people around then we’ll just do our own thing, talk, take pictures, hang around and socialise. That’s a plan?
I’d promised a tour so got Lee to quieten people down while I did the follow me and don’t wander spiel. I was rather hoping Emma would respond to my plight and help me out but I think she was rather revelling in my public inarticulacy; “It’s your gig, you do it.” She just followed me around chuckling, flinging the occasional heckle, “what’s the plan for the Main Space?” and “don’t you want to show them the Basement Bar then?” Helpful things like that. Cheers Emma. I have trouble enough getting through to people who speak English, so heaven knows what the Barcelonans made of it. In future I’m going to hire a tour guide, sub contract the showarounds . . . I can offer minimum wage and some pear cider if anyone’s interested. You get to meet some fabulous people and hang around in an amazing building too. Give me a ring and we’ll negotiate.
The tour went well though, even given my gibberish attempts to edify and enlighten and my gormless pointing and gesticulating at random architectural marvels. I suppose sometimes it’s just best to shut up and let people make their own minds up; they can always ask questions after. Back in the boardroom I had a natter with Lee about what next. I said people could use any space that took their fancy, except the Main Space, just so long as they were accompanied by one of our appointed commisars of culture. I got the impression everyone wanted to use the Canteen, which isn’t surprising given the light and the space, so asked the guys to keep tabs but with a light touch. For about half an hour bags were emptied, clothes were strewn on the table, floor, window ledges, and conversations were had between photographer, designer, and model. Now I can talk reasonably intelligibly about most things; obviously I know most about books but I can waffle on about music (as long as it’s 80′s and Indie) and art (well, high Modernism and American Minimalism to be honest) and I’ve even been known to comment on graphic design (yes, Vast Agency, I do know who Vaughan Oliver is, but I still thing your HUV design is awful.) But I have a complete block when it comes to fashion. The full extent of my critique of fashion was always to answer the ex when she queried “do you prefer the blue dress, or the black?” you look gorgeous in both of them, darling. You choose. It’s not that I’m lazy or that I’m lying, but I really just don’t get it. A frock is a frock is a frock. How am I meant to tell what’s nice and what’s not? Clothes are simply there to preserve one’s modesty and protect from the elements . . . perhaps I was the wrong person to do the tour on Friday.
Once the debate was over and decisions had been taken everyone moved upstairs to the canteen to get stuck into a serious fashion shoot. At least I thought everyone had gone to the canteen. After about ten minutes of talking to Mike about something and nothing (why were we inspecting the collars of the purple columns Mike? Can you remember?) I noticed that we were the only Temple Workers upstairs. I went down to the middle corridor, the artist-in-residents’ studios and workshops, and found Matt, Rob, and Steve congregated around the kitchen door. It wasn’t obvious that they were doing much more than slacking; nothing wrong with that, but we were meant to be on message chaps! Then I noticed a designer, Then a photographer. Then a model . . . in a slinky black number hoovering in the loos . . . like I said, I don’t really get the fashion concept. She looked lovely though. The photographer wanted a change of gear so they both disappeared into the kitchen to change. Micheale, one of the resident artists, looked a little discombobulated; “I just want to make some toast,” she said, plaintively. I’ll have to apologise to Micheale when I see her next. I didn’t envisage that we’d invade her space so much. I didn’t think ahead, did I! There was definitely a shortfall in the planning and preparation phase. Still, we are on a learning curve at Temple Works . . . sorry Micheale, didn’t mean to inconvenience or disturb you.
Back upstairs we had the inevitable model in the fridge scenario . . . I’ll have to get a photo to explain that one, but suffice it to say, photographers take one look at those decommissioned industrial fridges and think, hmm, bet they’d look great with a skinny, semi-naked young woman clambering around in there. Such a cliche, boys. Still, they did some shots in other parts of the space, the old canteen office, the window frames, the kitchen, the stairs, and the supervisors office. I really want to get hold of that last photo with the model sat in fron of Ivor’s cartoon of Holbeck. Interesting shot. Female photographer. She didn’t stick her model in the fridge! There’s a moral there somewhere.
It was almost five when we shook the last hand of the last Barca blogger and checked the fridges . . . you can never be too careful. They were here for three hours nearly and probably would have been happy to stay here for three more, but Lee was whisking them off to Nash’s for fish and chips. They seemed to have a great time. We swapped cards and Lee has promised to send a list of websites and blogs so we can check out their work. I’m looking forward to seeing what the place looks like through Spanish eyes.
Pity nobody from Marketing Leeds or LeedsLikeitorLumpit made it down. They mention on their websites that Leeds is full of listed buildings . . . I know, I’m sat writing this in one. Actually, one of only a couple of Grade 1 listed buildings in Leeds, and they don’t seem to know where we are! And Leeds also has a lively creative and blogging scene; some of us have been blogging in the city and about the city for years. Would be nice if they woke up and recognised that there’s more to Leeds’ culture than Casa Mia!
I’m Gonna Forget My Own Name Soon.
I’m going to try a small experiment. I am going to write a blog post without mentioning any names. This isn’t because of a sudden conversion to the cause of discretion and diplomacy. That’s never going to happen. I really like raking the muck and dishing the dirt far too much for that. Nor is it some kind of avant garde high jinx, like writing a whole book without the letter e or publishing every word you spoke over a whole week (both of these exercises have been done, so don’t get any ideas. We’re after new art here, not rehashes of painfully obscure and possibly crackpot concepts. Keep them to yourselves.) The simple fact is I seem to be forgetting people’s names. Even people who I know very well. Even people who send me emails with their names very obviously signed. I seem to be on a mission to delete and erase them from my mind and then replace them with something similar and plausible, but entirely wrong. I’m beginning to suspect some kind of mental melt down. Maybe the dust from the canteen clean up is clogging up a specific part of my cortex or happen the fumes from the newly painted basement bar floor is monkeying with my mental molecules. I wish I knew. But I’m not risking it.
Take Tuesday. We had a group of people around from the Arts Council. The only name I can remember is Ralph’s . . . and that’s because I cheated and asked whatshername to text me the list of visitors. Funny thing is I can remember exactly the route we took, whole snatches of conversation (most of which I shan’t repeat as whatsherface was in a bit of a giddy mood and is worried she wasn’t sufficiently solemn and sharp enough. I thought we went down well, warm, inviting and, dare I use the word, engaging. If they wanted gravitas and professional polish then what the heck are we doing here?) I even recall commenting on sensible shoes, which is about as random and insignificant a fragment of memory as you could wish for. But if you asked me to name the owner of said footwear, I’d be reduced to a shamefacedly staring at the ground and hoping that the world would just go away. They were a great bunch of people though and one or two of them even promised to come back and see the Tom Rodwell gig (last Friday in May, if I haven’t already mentioned it.)
I’m not even going to bother to rummage through my memory bank for the names of our newest neighbours over at Slung Low. I nipped over there yesterday with thingy. Even if I copied and pasted from their website, chances are the internet gremlins would grab and garble and I’d get it wrong (Hello Alan! It’s all coming back to me . . . hello . . . nope, gone again . . . hopeless.) It’s a fabulous space, under the viaducts round the back of Temple Works, right next to the infamous Hooker Alley and in a row of tiny car repair shops, metal beaters, and businesses of a nature I couldn’t quite surmise. Couldn’t ask for more atmosphere, and the view they have of the city is glorious. They’ve only been there ten days and already completely transformed the place. And they have the cuts and bruises to show for all their hard work; and the burns too! Never mix builders lime with water folks, it burns! I’m not a practical person, and certainly no chemist, but I do know that. Ouch! Looking forward to going over there again soon and getting to know what they are up to . . . though I think I’ll wait till all the heavy shifting is done.
Right, it was my day off today, and mum’s birthday (Hello mum!) But got to get ready for the meet and greet for the Barcelona bloggers at The City Inn Sky Bar in a bit. I’ve not mentioned this before but we are hosting a visit by some of Spain’s most important bloggers tomorrow at Temple Works. Watch this space.
Bettakultcha 2.
Who loves ya, baby!
Finally I’ve gotten round to writing about Bettakultcha 2 . . . three days after Bettakultcha 3 was announced! Or is it four? Oh well, it’s been that kind of week.
Apologies to anyone who came along expecting the usual polished performance from Susan or Emma who normally do the Welcome to Temple Works bit. Public speaking is not my forte. I’m pretty sure I got my point across about the location of the loos, though probably more by gesticulation than articulation (ladies to the left, I swing my arm and crack my knuckle on the door frame; fellows use the one downstairs, I point in the general direction of Hades.) And I’m certain I muttered something about the hopes and aspirations of the Temple Works Project, mentioning that there was a lot more going on down here than just Bettakultcha (wonderful though that is!) I also remembered to plug our Tom Rodwell gig at the end of May. In the Members’ Bar. I alluded to this event more than once, I really did. Even collared individuals and raved about it. If I’d had leaflets I would have left them on the chairs. People do recall me going on about Tom Rodwell, surely? Apart from that all I remember is mumbling and stumbling away for five minutes about nothing in particular until Ivor flashed his “you need to shut the hell up now, Phil” look and I was allowed to retreat into the shadows where I’m much happier. Ivor is much more comfortable in the spotlight than I could ever hope to be. I prefer skulking in the background, lurking, loitering, and generally not doing very much except watching. And it really was something worth watching.
The organisation of the evening seemed to go much more smoothly than the first one we did. Booking and paying on EventBrite made things a heck of a lot simpler, and we didn’t have the whole palaver of chucking pound coins in a bucket and rattling it at people as they came in. Most unseemly that was, and not befitting the Temple Works cultural ethos. And this time the arrangement of the room went without incident. Everything just clicked into place. No arguments about the best location of the boardroom table this time as the table cannot be moved – by order of the committee! No quibbling about the position of the projector either; had to be on said table, and once Ivor had sorted a stack of computer books to raise it to a reasonable height, the projector worked perfectly. We had the room looking great by half past six, and a quick trip to Tescos for extra loo roll and we were ready to unleash the merriment.
First person to turn up was Muireann of @BangsandaBun fame. Impeccably presented and supremely stylish as ever she gave absolutely no hint of nervousness, except to mention casually that she’d just had a wisdom tooth out and was under the influence of a heady cocktail of top shelf prescription drugs. A more mundane, less indomitable person would have used the excuse of major dental molestation as an excuse to back off and bow out, and who would have blamed her! But Muireann is bigger than that. She’d made a promise so here she was, slides chosen, talk prepared, high as a helium balloon. This was going to be a fascinating evening.
The boardroom began to hum with chatter and expectation and the neat rows of newly scrubbed stackable chairs started to fill nicely. Everyone who booked turned up, plus a few more who Tweeted me late and just chanced it. They paid on the door. I always make sure there’s enough slack in the event in the event of slackers. But let’s not make a habit of it @GedRobinson and @MaxBite. Next time guys you book it properly.
Once Richard had tweaked the technology and sorted every one’s slides so they ran seamlessly Ivor suggested we make a start. After a few well polished gags he introduced the first speaker, Muireann. If she had an iota of agitation about her performance she kept it well hidden. She retold the story of her Valentine’s Day date with some bloke called Idris Elba. Apparently he’s in some American programme, The Wire? Anyway, Muireann has this theory she calls the field of dreams; you know, if you want something hard enough, and screw your eyes fast shut and clench your fists really tight, and wish and wish and wish, you just might get lucky. A bit of brazen stalking helps too, she says. I must admit to some scepticism. I tried the same trick on Keeley Hawes, who I’ve had a bit of an infatuation for since the infamous episode two of Tipping The Velvet (I know it’s wrong, I just can’t help it.) All that the Field of Dreams has got me is a decade of disappointment and dejection, rejection and a restraining order. Explain that one to me, Muireann. Rationality and the scientific method aside, Muireann told a terrific tale and she told it with aplomb. If she’s this good when she’s not feeling grand imagine what’s in store for us when she’s on top form.
Next was our very own @IvorTymchak. If anyone was up to following Muireann, Ivor’s the man. He didn’t disappoint. His talk was about his art and where it came from. The funniest bit of a very funny talk was his series of paintings he did of himself with various celebrities; The Beatles, The Kennedy’s, and my favourite, Telly Savalas. The picture above this post says it all. Ivor’s idea seemed to be that painting himself with celebrities might work some primitive magic, the fame may rub off, stardom by association. I’ll leave you to decide if Ivor’s thaumaturgical portraits worked. The paintings are certainly amusing.
@DJBogtrotter, AKA Noel Curry, did his five minutes on webcomics, about which I know absolutely zilch. I have started reading Noel’s webcomic though, and it’s rather good. He has inspired me to investigate further.
Next was @LeeJackson followed by @TheBulletman, both high octane public speakers. Both had similar messages about doing what you believe in and never giving up . . . and there was something about goggles, or am I remembering wrong?
At half-time we were treated to some flutery by Heather from The Leeds Savage Club, then straight into the second half with Jonathan (@sqiggle) who gave a fascinating talk on the new Hackspace in Leeds. I’ve only recently become aware of what the heck a Hackspace is but it does sound fabulous if you like mucking about with machines and building killer robots. I’ve never been that good with a soldering iron, and I wouldn’t trust myself to change a plug or mend a fuse, so maybe I’ll just spectate. Safest that way. Would definitely recommend going down and saying hello though, great bunch of people.
Richard was next, the brains behind Bettakultcha. He explained how he came up with the idea, along with Ivor, and how much fun they were to do, how his nerves were frayed each time by last minute speakers, how many hours he frets over borrowed equipment. Worth it though, eh Richard? And he’s doing it all again. Marvelous. Must put him in touch with Keith, the conservation architect I met on Friday. He’d be perfect for Bettakultcha.
I am the world’s worst traveller so Alex’s (@101ofawolf) advice always to take a hat wherever you go fell on deaf ears for me. And I look such a twit in a trilby! Still, I heard that plenty of people found the information useful, and I know Susan has purchased a bespoke balaclava for her latest jaunt to Canada. Very fetching.
Our friends Rob and Maria from @LeedsSavages gave us a potted history of the club, though it left me wondering how much the pair of them had simply made up. If you’ve ever heard either of them read the stories they come up with you’ll know what I mean. Both of them have at best a tangential relation to reality. You never know what they’ll come up with next. And Rob did seem to have an unaccountable antipathy towards the lovely people at Leeds: Lump it, or Leave it. Rob, it’s only a website, no need to get so worked up mate. I’m sure plenty of people visit owing to the fact that The Rough Guide to Britain named shopping in Leeds one of the top 30 things to do in the UK. I personally cannot wait to hit Briggate with my credit card and I’m sure Rob and Maria will be thrilled to join me. Let’s get shopping in Leeds into the top 25! Whoop! Makes me feel proud to be part of this fine retail destination.
Lastly the lovely @HaydenCohen confused us all with his peculiar take on who we should be voting for in the forthcoming election. If the English Defense League make a strong showing in South Leeds there’s gonna be trouble, Hayden. It’ll be all his fault with his seditious, skeptical insinuations that the politicians all pee in the same bucket, as my grandad always used to say. I was surprised he wasn’t heckled more given that the audience contained some local political heavy weights, mentioning no names. I’m sure they all were just enjoying the comedy. Hayden ended a fun evening with uproarious laughter.
That’s about it. My memory is pretty dim and rough around the edges, after all it was a fair few days ago. I’m sure other people have very different recollections, but I’m pretty sure that a good time was had by all. And, if the interest in the next Bettakultcha is anything to go by, it looks like Temple Works is the place to be this July 13th. Book your place quick, tickets are going fast!
Slacking . . .
The Salamanca. Middleton Railway.
So much for my one post a day promise. Trouble is there’s so much going on and so little time for quiet reflection. Take one fairly standard day, say last Friday: I powered up the laptop at 7am, answered a couple of emails, worked a little on some new project I seem to have got myself roped into, which involves concocting some words that the council will then carve into the concrete near Kirkgate market! I’m used to having my work trampled on so that should be a cinch. By the time I got to Temple Works I was already so behind myself I could see myself coming the other way, a little out of breath. Even before I had chance to take my coat off or fill the kettle I was dashing off emails to importunate artists and discussing potential proposals. My phone rang mid missive and it was my 11 o’ clock appointment with a conservation architect (hello Keith if you’re reading this!) I met Keith at the Candle House opening. He mentioned he was doing a bit of work in the area and was itching to get into Temple Works for a shufti. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me saying, Keith loves his job, has a real passion for old buildings, and he’s a bit of a talker (must remember to bag him for Bettakultcha3!) so we ended up gossiping with Emma in the office for half an hour after the tour and then went for a lovely lunch at Out of the Woods. I can’t remember the last time I paid for my own lunch, so cheers Keith! I popped back into TW for ten minutes just to finish the emails but it was impossible to get anything done. The place was mayhem. Dave was in a loud and loquacious mood (ahem!) and the office was dizzy with distractions, disruptions, digressions, and discussions about slow food and slow walking, hog roasts and psychogeography.
I was due at the Leeds Islamic Centre at 2:30 for a meeting about the new Hillcrest project. There’s a strong possibility that we’ll be seeing more of the LIC as they want to work with a couple of our team on an exciting new venture. Early days yet. I got there with time to spare (it’s only a 25 minute walk) and was impressed by how many people were coming out of Friday prayers; there seemed to be hundreds, and I felt a little self-conscious hanging around outside until the crowd eased up, but fortunately I was rescued by Mumtaz and ushered inside. I also bumped into Tom Riordan as he was pulling up and we shared a bit of a joke (I’m not stalking you Tom, honest!) Tom’s the head of Yorkshire Forward and soon to be Chief Exec of Leeds City Council, and the LIC had invited him over to talk about their plans for Hillcrest. The meeting was lively with plenty of intelligent and practical debate about what the community needed most, and Tom went down a storm. He genuinely listened and made some good points without coming across all stiff and official. All the people I spoke to afterwards over copious amounts of tea and biscuits were positive about how the meeting went and were eager to get things off the ground. And they were curious about what we were up to at Temple Works. Can’t wait to get some workshops up and running!
Mumtaz kindly gave me a lift back as the rain had set in. I’d literally only just opened the laptop and unwrapped a lemon cupcake that I’d nicked from Emma when Robert opened the office door. He said nothing, simply retreated back into the boardroom, leaving a very tall young woman dithering in the doorway. Another one of those “just passing” visits. We do encourage people to make proper appointments as there’s only three of us and we’re actually only part time (though you wouldn’t believe it from the number of hours we seem to put in.) But if people do make the effort we’ll always try to accommodate them. That’s not a promise by the way, and certainly not a guarantee. If you drop by unannounced chances are we won’t be around and our very efficient and effective security guys will firmly but politely ask you to come back later. You certainly will not get in, for fairly obvious reasons. Anyway our young visitor had apparently emailed Emma about arranging a photo shoot. Something about college, and a band, and atmospheric architecture . . . I wasn’t really paying much attention as I was trying to wade through my ever expanding in-box.
Emma recited our standard spiel. I heard her mention Health and Safety, insurance, which bits of the building you can use and what for . . . all the usual, sensible, formal stuff. We’re not trying to put people off, just trying to be realistic about what we can offer at the moment. It’s up to you to bring some imagination to the place and work within the present parameters. Most people get it and do amazing stuff. Emma then palmed the poor girl off on me, for the tour, “If you don’t mind” she beamed, knowing I rarely refuse. I had just stolen a cupcake, hadn’t I. I was obliged. So, while Emma questioned the Twitterverse about the cost of insurance for a day’s photo shoot, I did a whirlwind tour of the building. I try not to say too much when I take creative types around; why should they care what the heck anyone else has done here? Or what wonderful event has happened in any particular spot. Better just wander round in a kind of derive and let them see for themselves. I don’t want to interject my own interpretation or guide them to any creative conclusion, I really haven’t a clue. I just stop yapping and listen and answer any questions. Our photographer friend was gobsmacked by the place, which is a normal response, and I always think it’s a bit too much to ask of someone to make a plan or present a perfect proposal just after they’ve experienced the scale of Temple Works. I told her to go home and have a think then get back in touch. Of course, being a student, things are inevitably last minute, so she needs to get cracking. Students, what are you like!
I just about managed to finish my cupcake when the door opened and Stuart came in with Chris Squire from Impossible Arts. I met Chris on the very wonderful Artimelt Academy and it was great to see him again. He hadn’t been around the place before so I happily agreed to another tour. I assumed he’d be done before six, but as he was meeting Emma to talk about Twitter I really should have known better. My next meeting was at 5:15 with my old mate Joe Pattinson, so I didn’t even bother switching the machine back on, just had a pleasant catch up with Chris. Joe eventually ambled in with a Morissons bag of provisions and tatty canvas bag filled with a random collection of stationery and art equipment, plonked himself on one of our red leather Chesterfields, and began his pitch. His t-shirt was a little too short and revealed a bit too much belly for my liking, and he rubbed his palm clockwise over his midriff while he talked in what I have to surmise was a kind of self-comforting manner. I have to say Joe, it’s not the most appealing of habits. Still, it wasn’t a bad proposal, much tighter than his original one which seemed to involve knocking a lot of holes in floors (I’m not sure how he thought he’d get that one passed us, we’re in a temporary state of repair and restoration, not the best time to go bashing the place to bits.) There were still some ideas that just wouldn’t work, and he agreed to concentrate on the things we thought were winners. He’d really thought about the building and the history and had come up with an idea that was unique and probably couldn’t be done anywhere else. Might even make a little money too. I can’t say exactly what the idea is, you’ll have to come along next month and find out.
When Joe left at sixish I suppose I could have got my head down, could have retreated into a quiet corner and got my thoughts together. I had half an hour before my next appointment. Valuable writing time. Pity to fritter it away. But Emma and Chris were having such an interesting conversation I couldn’t resist joining in. Or, more accurately, barging in completely uninvited. Emma was attempting to lure Chris into the big, bad, bustling world of Twitter, and despite putting up some manful resistance he seems to have capitulated to the concept . . . hello @ImpossibleArts!
Bang on half six my next guests arrived, Eva and her friend who shall have to forgive me forgetting her name! Sorry, I have a strict limit of new names I’m able to memorize each day and it was a quota that was well exceeded by lunchtime. I’d met Eva and her daughter last month when they were scrutinizing the blue plaque and I sneaked up on them unawares, pressing upon them the inevitable promo card. Eva said they were researching the family history. They left Shrewsbury in the 1830′s (I hope it was Shrewsbury! Eva, if you read this please do correct me, I have a tendency to be a bit slapdash with the facts.) They were flax workers and the first mention of them in Leeds dates from 1841, which makes them among the first factory workers in Temple Works! Pretty damned amazing.
Chris joined us on the tour, and I have to say the ladies were incredibly well researched. They knew more about the area than me. We ended up having a lengthy discussion about John Blenkinsop. He’s not as well known as Matthew Murray, with whom he collaborated, but he owned and built the first working railway in the world, right around the corner in Middleton. George Stevenson came and had a look at the railway, as did Tsar Nicholas of Russia. The design also influenced railway makers in Germany and Belgium. This part of Leeds had some pretty heavy hitters in those days. We really should be more proud of our past. The ladies left, promising to bring a book about Blenkinsop for me to borrow. I hope they come back soon.
I managed to get away from Temple Works at about 7:45. The gates were locked and the evening security guard had to let me out. Stuart was still working. That guy has much more stamina than me. I was tired. This was the earliest finish of the week for me but when I got home there was no way I was capable of composing a single coherent sentence, never mind a whole blog post. It could wait. Posts on Bettakultcha 2 and The Savage Club private party are also waiting. I’ll try to catch up, soon. I know I’m slacking.
Boardroom blackouts.
Boardroom blackouts
There’s a good reason I don’t volunteer for the practical jobs around here, the serious stuff involving hammering and screwing and measuring and attaching wires to various electrical implements. Anything involving an actual intervention with real, rock-solid phenomena and I’m best not getting involved. Leave me alone in my cosy, insulated noumenal realm, to play amongst the intangibles, toy with the abstractions behind the appearences. Safest that way; ideas don’t really have much of an impact after all, so I can’t do much damage if I restrict myself to the immaterial.
Take a look at that window. It wasn’t a big job. Not exactly complicated. Simply sticky tacking a few sheets of paper to some tall windows so the late evening sunlight that streams through the boardroom is tempered a tad, if not entirely blocked. Even with the blinds drawn it can be so bright in there it makes you squint. There’s no way a projector has any chance against that obliterating onslaught of photons. Bettakultcha wouldn’t work. We may as well go home and switch on the telly. The idea for sticking the A1 sheets up there was one of mine, and as ideas go a pretty good one. As Emma pointed out, the alternative of tacking bright yellow and ludicrously lilac table cloths to the windows would have created a distracting filter effect, probably worse than not seeing the screen at all. We just had to buy some sticky stuff.
I went to the Pound Shop with a lightness in my step, purchased the tack, and returned full of the joys of spring. I tore twenty four sheet of paper and dutifully dabbed each corner with a dob of adhesive and started to stick. Halfway up one window I realised that the paper was tissue thin, barely more than tracing paper. It barely made a damned difference. Now I’m not sure what to do. Table cloths are a no no. Susan has allowed us to use some of the Temple Works t-shirts for some unusual purposes before, so I’m wondering if we could cannibalise them as black outs? It’s a thought.
I put my present predicament down to tiredness. We were here till gone 10:30 last night, babysitting a band who were doing a video shoot . . . apologies to Chickenhawk, that’s such a patronising phrase. And, to be fair, the guys were brilliant, very professional and totally got on with the job. All Emma and I really needed to do was open the Basement Bar, sort out the power arrangements for the shoot up in the Canteen (actually, Stuart did that) and then lock up after them. They finished on time and even shared their pizza! Perfect guests. I really liked the look of what they were doing in the Basement Bar and I’m hoping to get a pic from Danny for the blog, he has promised. I didn’t want to embarrass them by snapping one of my sorry efforts, and I wasn’t really sure if they wanted to keep the shoot a bit of a secret for the time being. I’m looking forward to having a natter with them soon; first question I want to ask is, why the name? And the second, are you aware of the urban dictionary definition?
Right, Ivor is here, must go and arrange the chairs. My lovely, clean chairs.
Coffee craziness.
I was walking out of the Starbucks on St Pauls’s Street after being stood up for a meeting when I bumped into Guy who I’ve probably known since Year Two and occasionally went to the odd gig with at Uni, hung out at the same parties, but we hadn’t been in touch for years till we collided just now and decided to have coffee.
He still has that booming voice and a laugh that could strip barnacles off ocean going ships. He’s built, as my dad would say, like a brick out house. I thought he still seemed to have the bounding energy of a Staffordshire bull terrier and I can’t remember why we drifted apart. He wasn’t really a part of the rugger crowd. He read books even. In Middle School he dealt in illicit fireworks and I’m sure he almost got caught distributing stolen maths papers in sixth form.
At Uni he rode a growling, stinking bike and kitted himself out in black leather jacket and filthy jeans. He was always on about Che and read an awful lot of Althusser. For some reason he always knew where to get knock-off white goods dead cheap. Then I heard he’d moved to Chester, done his articles, became a solicitor, and here he was in navy three piece and shiny, sensible brogues.
Starbucks is in the grip of that mad, mid-morning push when everyone needs that caffeine kick and needed it five minutes ago. “Just watch,” he says. In his perfectly pressed suit he swaggers past everybody. I hang back a bit. At the front of the queue he niftily inserts himself beside cash till cutting off a chubbyish bloke whose face looks as if it’s taking a moment. Guy points to an almond croissant in a glass jar and orders coffee, “with plenty of cream, and whatever he wants,” thumbing at me.
The chubby guy startles. “Excuse me mate, there’s a queue.” It’s not threatening at all, not an imperious order, just a simple, polite, declaration of the state of affairs as all right thinking people must see it. He assumes Guy is simply not au fait with Starbuck’s etiquette.
Guy swivels. His face flushes, his whole body stiffens and quakes as if he’s been Tazered. His eyes have a maniacal gleam about them. When he opens his mouth to speak it’s like he’s grown fangs; “DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM? DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE THIS FURTHER?”
The bloke shrinks. He’s never heard of croissant rage but he doesn’t want to be the first case you read about in the Daily Express. He just wants a double shot skinny flat white with a bakewell tart and make it back to his desk at the dole office unmolested. The chubby bloke says, “Erm, fine, No, I mean, by all means . . . ”
Guy gives a practiced grand mal shudder as if he’s barely able to contain a justifiable homicidal outburst, and asks the gobsmacked young girl serving for more butter, “if you don’t mind!” The chubby bloke gets poured his coffee by the other barista and scarpers without daring to collect even a sachet of sugar.
I am handed a cappuccino and remember why I stopped hanging around with Guy.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday!
Steve and Rob with the new Savages banner.
Down at Temple Works on a Sunday. Just been shifting random lumps of tarmac and shovelling rubbish into the skip. Or rather watching Micheale grafting hard and probably getting in the way. Last time I looked Micheale was cleaning out the rabbit hutch with her bare hands and trundling the wheelbarrow to the loading bay. Next time I go out I’m pretty sure that skip will be at it’s laden limit. You can always tell when Micheale is around; the place looks that bit tidier, there’s usually a new piece of furniture making an interesting feature in some forgotten corner, and there’s the tell-tale tang of bleach in the air. I wonder where she’ll attack with the mop and bucket next? I can hear some rattling and scraping from down below which means she’s probably tackling the mess in the Members’ Bar. Brave woman!
I’m taking five minutes to answer a couple of emails from people I’ve bumped into recently who want to come and have a look around, people I’ve mainly accosted in the street, going by innocently gawping through the gates. I have no shame these days in sidling up to a complete stranger and shoving a card in their hand after I’ve related the potted history of the place. Amazing how many people do email and want to have a snoop. Normal people who are curious about what’s going on in a place they’ve seen dormant and disused for years. It’s very encouraging.
I’m also waiting for the Savages to come back. Rob, Maria, Vicky and Steve have nipped to Staples for something terribly important for Wednesday’s private party. They came an hour ago, did something or other with spray paint and a banner, had a sandwich, opened some crisps, discussed the proper disposition of tables and chairs with Micheale, then decided they must sort out the pressing stationery issue; all of them. What could possibly merit a four person visit to a shop that mostly sells pads and pens? I’m sure Rob did mutter something but I was perhaps busy texting Susan about another matter and the information went in one ear and straight out the other. Not to worry. They are on the case.
Ivor also turned up on a dual mission. He dropped some A3 prints he’d done of some sample Savage work that will be mounted for the Wednesday Soiree. Looks great. Then he asked about the possibility of a hose pipe in the car park. I offered the observation that his car was looking sparkly clean! “For the chairs, Phil,” he said wearily, almost piteously, “chairs for Bettakultcha on Tuesday. They were filthy last time, we promised to get them scraped and scrubbed.” “I’m there before you,” I said, “chairs are buffed and burnished. You can see your face in them now!” This of course is a huge exaggeration, a bare-faced embellishment of the facts, some outrageous audacity with the veracity. It’s true I spent hours last week at the Belfast sink upstairs, cold tap cranked to a cruelly sharp spray, medium sized marigolds so tight they were strangling the veins in my wrists, a bottle of Cillit Bang in one hand and a scrubbing brush in the other, wrangling each chair into position and methodically scouring every inch of plastic even down to the legs. By the time I’d finished my jeans were soaked, my black suede shoes ruined, and the toilet floor was a paddling pool. Even so the job was done. And the chairs, though I’d never describe them as pristine, at least they leave no residue when you sit on them. Ivor seemed happy enough to be spared the hosing. He has it easy that man.
The Savages have returned, and here’s an update; they were buying Mounting board! It all makes sense now. Well, it makes sense as far as the printed stuff that Ivor brought goes, I’m still unclear what else is happening in the Basement Bar on Wednesday . . . and I’m a Savage. Has to be said though I’ve kept my distance from the organisational effort that’s gone into putting this event on, mainly because I’m a lazy blighter! But also because I think it’s good that we have a bit of distance, some sense of separation, a set of well defined boundaries, so that we don’t get all confused and colluded. There’s more to the Savages than Temple Works, and I’d like to work on other literary projects such as Reality Is Behind You that’s organised by TWIST (Temple Works Imaginary Story Tellers.) More on that one soon.
It’s four o’ clock. My hands are so cold I can barely type never mind hand write a list of furniture that Micheale is bringing down here in a hired Luton van tomorrow; 35 tables, 4 chairs, 3 bar tables (high.) We’ve just had hot tea and chocolate biscuits while we wonder where to store the swag temporarily since the Basement Bar is going to be the venue for some kind of video shoot tomorrow. Micheale doesn’t want the stuff to be in the way but quite sensibly doesn’t want to have to cart the contents of the Luton up the stairs, only to have to cart them back down a few hours later. I have an idea that I’m pitching to the project director . . . and, right on cue, a text. Result!
Right, enough random musings and writing in between the real work that needs to be done. There’s toilets to be cleaned and I’d best go check on them Savages. Never know what they will get up to unsupervised. They have a reputation for rowdiness which is well deserved I’m told.
In a dash . . .
Looks like everyone is out doing interesting things while I’m sat here scratching my head and wondering how I’m going to haul a couple of pallets and an Ikea table over from The Round Foundry. I had an email from the centre manager yesterday (hello Sharon!) offering us a load of stuff if we could come and collect it asap. Sharon was on the last Inspirational Event down here and said she noticed the studios upstairs were a veritable cornucopia of intriguing and wayward objects; old adding machines, industrial lighting, sound equipment, leather sofas, old bikes, and lots and lots of wood. The guys do seem inordinately fond of lumber. I’m sure they have great plans for it . . . maybe they’ll let me in on it if I ask them nicely. Anyway, the Jam Jar folks are master scavengers and I’m sure would appreciate the offer. Looks like I’ll have to get the wheelbarrow out.
I’ve just read the latest post from our neighbours, the Black Lab, who are currently resident over in The Green Sand Foundry (lucky them! I bet that place has heat!) They certainly seem to work their artists over there, making them attend deconstruction sessions where they tease apart the binary oppositions of Inspector Morse with the help of texts and talks by intellectual heavy weights Simon Critchley and Alain Badiou. I think we need more of this over here. We need a bit more gravitas and glowering looks. I think the Black Dog guys are perfectly right to wonder if “perhaps the artist-led community needs to laugh at itself?” Maybe over here we need a little less levity, so I’m going to recommend a course of Zizek to run concurrently with our Twin Peaks celebration event in the summer. I’m sure an injection of post-Hegelian dialectical difficulty will go down wonders with our little artistic community over here. I’m all for a little aufheben.
Crikey, look at the time! Got to dash and apologise to the nice folks at The Round Foundry for not being able to organise the shifting of the stuff in a timely and efficient manner. I’m away.
