Monday, 4 January 2016

Summer 1989 from what I can remember. The desolation collective.

Then of course I have to go home at the end of the first year. Its like a big slam of a door on a noisy room , or the moment you leave the party with your ears ringing and the cold hits you and your breath ragged in the night air from too many cigarettes and the further away you get from the party the softer the music becomes until there is nothing.

Getting back to college in the autumn was harder, some had stayed over the summer worked through , got digs and studio places , second year you get a studio spot to keep for the year , get back too late and you get the bad spots , me and a few others were consigned to the greenhouse , cold and leaky. But I pressed on with my experiments into painting without looking and more printmaking - though this was parallel with a slide into alcohol worse than last year and more drugs, leading to an eventual almost breakdown , college asked me to take a year off , but I knew there would be no coming back from that , so spring term I returned and started with a different perspective of which I have few examples. Though this, from the Desolation art collective manifesto, might explain where my head was at , I'll leave this post at this because the next few posts I'm going to have to explain with words and not pictures and maybe a few links to what I was thinking at the time. ( The stuff about the breakdown is the sanitised version by the way , those who were there know what happened , its not important to explain it overly) .


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