Making An Exhibition

[rhythmaning]

My wife’s exhibition went pretty well.

Her show was at Patriothall, an old bakery – perhaps bread factory is more accurate – hiding behind the Co-Op in Henderson Row. The ground floor is gallery space, the three upper floors house artists’ studios (including J’s).

We got the whole thing up in one evening – one fairly tense evening, perhaps, but we got it done. J laid all the paintings out, and then between us we hung them – most of them were screwed into the plaster – thank god for electric screwdrivers - and if screwing pictures to the wall sounds strange, usually they are nailed in! (Screwing is easier but takes longer; and you don’t have to live with the fear that you might miss the nail and damage the picture or its frame).

It was a great space: two large, white rooms, which showed off the large paintings well: there was space to walk back.

There were two private views, one on the Saturday the show opened, at lunchtime, and one the following Friday evening; neither felt busy – it takes quite a crowd to pack the gallery out – but across the two views, there were seventy people, which was pretty good.

I did bar duties – indeed, I provided all the wine (and, as usual, provided much more than was actually needed!). On the Saturday, I was drinking, and probably drank more than anyone else there – J and I started by opening a bottle of champagne, and I just kept going. (Until, that is, I went away to watch the England-Portugal glorious failure football match, when the exertions of the previous evening – getting the show up, that is – and the lunchtime booze took effect, and I fell asleep, missing the all too typical penalties debacle.)

Funnily enough, the following Friday I was feeling tired and dehydrated, and I didn’t drink a drop – well, not at the gallery. We went out to dinner to celebrate afterwards, and had a nice bottle of wine at Pizza Express.

Several children from my wife’s school came, along with their parents, which was rather good – they seemed quite sweet kids – and a couple of parents even bought pictures.

I recognised one of the parents the moment he walked in, but I had no idea who he was or why I should recognise him. I tracked back through my memory – someone I had worked with, or seen at work? He was Scottish, which kind of put him locally, but nothing was coming – just that I knew I knew his face (and I think he recognised mine, with the same degree of uncertainty). I hadn’t worked with him, so I went back further… It took me a while, but I realised he had been an ex of an ex of mine (some twenty years ago!); this girl had dumped him on the platform of Gare du Nord, when he had just travelled from Edinburgh to spend the summer with her in Paris.

My wife sold several pictures – small ones, though more than enough to cover all her costs for the show, which is good. I don’t really understand why people buy the paintings they buy, because my favourites didn’t sell at all. (In some respects this is good, since they can still hang on our walls; but I do want people to buy my wife’s paintings!)

The pictures were much faster to take down than to put up – and then I rushed home to watch the World Cup wrestling final.

If you missed the show and would like to see my wife’s painting in the flesh, the studios are having an open day on Saturday August 5th, 11am to 5pm. As well as her work, many other studios will be open to walk around. Her studio is on the top floor.