My Bedroom walls are painted gold. The opacity thins from one wall to the next, until the last which is a diluted yellow. Its a big room, much like the last two in Glasgow. The cornice painted over so many times that the frieze is undefined. Its anaglypta wallpaper; the stuff I like to pick away at. (I find myself doing that in people’s houses. People i don’t even know.) With dad’s suggestion, I agree optimistically to ‘chisel’ out the frieze design and repaint the walls and ceiling. And while i’m at it, fix the shutter on the window, the pulley mechanism has dettacthed itself from the wall leaving a plaster crater. Conspicuous black duck tape is the remedy. And its universal remedy apparently; in the bathroom fastening the tap to the wall, in the kitchen sealing the top of the fridge. Its the mother of all adhesives. Big black strips of the stuff everywhere. I laugh when I ask Ross for some sellotape to seal an envelope and he reaches for the monstrous black roll.
But the room is great. The flat is great, if a little dingy. I wont get round to doing any DIY.
Last night I went to an exhibition of Nan Goldin photographs at the Berlinische Gallerie. What struck me was the radiance of the photos. Hung on Cadet blue walls, the images seemed illuminated as if by lighting from behind. The exhibition documented Goldin’s time in Berlin. She squatted here for three years in the early 90’s. As always the subjects are her friends, many of which have died of aids. And as I often find with these things i am unmoved until the next day.
Yesterday too I finished a 50odd minute mix entitled Fantasmagoria. Discontinuous Musics narrated by Frank Zappa and Vivian Stanshall. Its an uncomprimising musical selection, an indulgence on my part interspersed with an amusing narrative, taken largely from Joe’s garage and Sir Henry at Rawlinson’s End. The whole things a bit sketchy to be honest. Good though.