Clarendon
Darkroom
[Dream
target date - 28 Jan 1980]
High-jinks
got off to an early start at college this morning,
when Kath Brown and Cathy Hill decided to attack
me with hand-held water sprays. I managed to escape
them by barracading myself in one of the darkrooms.
Resigned to the ruby
glow of this pungent cell, I took time to search
through abandoned archives of student photographs.
There were perhaps ten boxes of photographs, it
was difficult to tell as they were located high
up on the top shelf and I could only reach the first
few.
We always knew
our head of department had an unhealthy obsession
with photography, but until I glimpsed the contents
of one of the boxes, I wasn't sure how unhealthy.
Tony Evans' secret
prints revealed a side to seemingly innocent faces
that I never knew existed. No wonder he was so keen
to arrange photography classes for female students
from the Drama and Hairdressing departments.
Time passed.
I fumbled for the button on my wrist, forgetting
that the LED had lost its glow sometime during the
night. It was no good, I would have to spend eternity
in this dark prison, acquainting myself with erotic
photographs of female students of the past.
"Are you
alright in there Paul? You're very quiet!" It was
Cathy, she sounded concerned. "Yes, I'm fine" I
Replied, "I've just been going through some of Evo's
old photos, there are loads of boxes in here". I
dismantled the barracade and emerged into the blinding
light of the studio. KB sat at the opposite end
of the studio, making lurid remarks about dirty
photographs, unaware of how close to the mark she
was.
For now, the secret photographs would have to
wait for another time. Cathy made her peace and
accompanied me to town where I bought a replacement
battery for my wristwatch. Although petite and
mouselike, Cathy Hill was a fierce campaigner
and as we walked along Mansfield Road she told
me about a forthcoming demo against cuts in education
spending. She warned me that bus fares would increase
too, as transport subsidies were also in line
for the chop. I was already feeling the pinch
from the last round of increases and travelling
back and forth from Blidworth to Nottingham, I
could see my student savings account dwindling
away to nothing.
On
returning to college it became apparent that there'd
been a big row in the first year studio involving
my girlfriend Jane Shipman. Jane wouldn't give details
but said that 'things were a little easier now'.
She spent most of the afternoonin my studio reading
through the notes and sketches I'd accumulated since
starting my art training, two years ago.
I liked to open up old portfolios when it was time
to find a new creative direction. Today
I decided
to try my hand at a technique developed by British
artist, Tom Phillips. This technique involved outlining
words across a page to form new sentences and worked
well with overly-rich text. The 'ArtScribe' magazine
sitting on my desk was an ideal candidate. So I
began to obliterate large areas of text with a heavy
gauge rotring pen.