Friday, November 12, 2010

Shit, son.

I'm sorry about all the bitching and pointlessness of late, it's just that the Grad Show is now only a matter of days away.

The blog will be back to its regular schedule of bitching and pointlessness interspersed with bad art soon.

I realise you probably don't care, so feel free to leave.
If you haven't already.
But if you have, who am I talking to?

Oh god, it's all too much.

Today's story involves this place, the sculpture studio; my home at SCA.

[Jarring change of tone.]

Yeaaah. Just got back from a 12.5 hour stint at uni and an unusually long trip home. It was fun working late, dodging security and flouting OH&S regulations, but also very distracting. Goddamn ex-mental hospital art school, giving me the heebie geebies.

Anyway, I managed to get some stuff done in those dark hours, which is cool, but not what I'm here to talk about (though I will post pictures).

These will hopefully be a bigger version of this at some point.

The day's main event actually involved the huge fucking plinth the above will end up on...

And this heritage listed door.

"Yo T-Bra!" I had said this afternoon, "wanna help me lug this huge-arse plinth to my studio?"

"Sure," said T-Bra, stupidly.

In the blazing hot summer sun we (well, mostly Thom if I'm going to be honest) lugged the plinth across uni from the workshop to sculpture.

The sweat flowed like a mountain river as across gravel and brick and concrete and grass we did lug.

We pulled the plinth through the back door (derp) of the studio and it was sweet.

Then we came to a second door (pictured) and were met by a situation quite disheartening.

"This ain't gonna fit," spake Thom.

"Yeah," spake I.

"Not even if we turned it?" spake Luke, rising up from between the floorboards.

"Bitch, please, this is a 1.2m cube," spake Thom and I in unison.

"Let me measure the door again" spake Danny, brandishing a tape measure. "Oh, shit, you're 2cm off."

"BAAAWWWWW" spake I.

I had taken a screwdriver and was ready to dismantle the plinth's protrusions when...

"Stop, in the name of love!" spake our temporary studio tech. "I may have a solution to your perplexing problem! This door frame, her attachment to the wall is weak as cheese!"

Eyebrows were mischeviously raised at this observation, and quickly studio higher-ups were consulted and their blessing gained*.

With naught but a few taps of hammer and chisel, heritage jamb was prised away and the plinth sailed through like a ship between two very geometric icebergs.

There was much rejoicing, until...

"So where are you showing your work?"

"In there."


A temporary wall.

She was removed.

I am an embarrassing thorn in the side of my studio. Oh dear.

*Of course on the condition that we never, ever mention it to anyone. That's why I'm blogging about it.

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