St Abb's National Reserve

St Abb's National Reserve
View from my office

Tuesday, 20 May 2008

All in the name of publicity, I say:
A nice person from BBC 'Look North' came to visit today. He filmed a bit, photographed some pictures; asked some questions, then we had a nice run out to my mate, Natasha's to film her garden, hoping to wedge in a mention of her open garden (15th June).
Well it was fine; bearable- as fine as having a ruddy great camera pointed at you, can be.
It was the preparation that made me really laugh at myself, feminist, that I am, I wondered whether I should wash my hair, use some serum, you know?
I found a tube of something- a freebie from a pitying cosmetics counter goddess- that claimed 'instant lift'. I put some on my face.
The smile in the photo is a symptom of the fluid. Beware.
I used foundation and mascara (steady, girl.)
Put my hair up in an arty-looking knot.
Vanity, vanity.
(I haven't even mentioned the zip-around I did, to make the house look presentable- Germaine, close your ears.)
If only the whole minute of filming I was allocated could be directed towards the paintings, only.
We did some 'dabbing' of the paint on the canvas.
I do take my hat off to proffessionals who can paint, speak and be watched at the same time- there are folk who tour the art supply fairs doing that, all year!)
Who said women were the multi-taskers?
My left hand was scrutinised, close-up, scrubbing a pastel on some paper. Apparently I sketch in Natasha's garden.
One might guess from the film I asked a six-year-old to do some colouring in, for me. I simply cannot work under these conditions!
But insist on doing so-
Tomorrow, I'm off to humiliate myself on Radio Newcastle; again, to promote 'art tour'.
They want me to bring along my drum, make a bit on noise in a 'what-artists-do-other-than-paint feature.
I flipping paint. That's the bit I'm trying to sell. That's the main point, isn't it?
But, still I go.
I resolve to take my coin-fringed hip belt and finger cymbals, too.
I'm going to make a right effing racket.
Next week, I'm balancing a seal on my nose, whistling 'She'll be coming round the mountain', naked, in Grey Street, and passers by are invited to throw tomatoes for the seal to catch.
If you look closely, the art tour dates are tatooed on my...

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