I have fits and starts at this piece of work but I think it’s slowly coming together. My thoughts aren’t linear but over the past week I’ve attempted to bring them into some sort of order for the presentation in December.
When I went to the hairdressers I sound recorded the encounter …….. banal, uninteresting, the value of it was that it indicated how banal the experience was for me.
But I have taken to telling tall tales – I invented a former life to tell the hairdresser – I’ve been embellishing incidents from my past.
When I was young I was a backing singer to Dusty Springfield. We went on tour to America and whilst in New York we met Andy Warhol. Well, that was it – he demanded that I became his muse and so painted my portrait and made many silk screen prints of me. Later he went on to produce sets of more famous people – but I was the first! Unfortunately our relationship soon broke down as he was a taker rather than a sharer. To be honest with you this time was not good for me. I was living here, there and everywhere; with all sorts of people and doing stupid things in the name of art.
One day when I woke up I had no idea where I was or who the people were around me, I was frightened. I was told I’d been living in the apartment for 6 weeks with the crowd but those weeks were a blank. To be honest I can hardly recall much of my in NY. That was it, I decided to get out of the place so got a job flipping burgers then saved some money. But where should I go? For some reason I fixated on Berlin but that was like frying pan/fire thing. Landing up there in the depths of winter was not a clever thing to do for my soul. How grateful I was when I met Piero. He packaged me up – yes, that’s just how it felt and took me to the South of France. What a change! We lived in a commune miles from a town, doing the real hippy lifestyle but personalities got in the way, tensions arose, disharmony emerged.
I went on a trip to Marseilles and it was whilst I was in an art gallery a man came up to me – he explained he couldn’t take his eyes off me – I was such a free spirit in my dress and manner. That was it, no going back to the commune for me but off to North Africa. Soon I was living in the dessert, dressing like the tribes women, moving from place to place riding on the back of a camel. The Bedouin showered me with jewellery which caused great jealousy amongst the other women and quickly I realised I could no longer stay with the nomads.
He provided a guide and we set off through the desert to go to Casablanca where I would catch a plane back to England. But on the way we were robbed, all my possessions were ripped from my body leaving me with nothing but the clothes I wore……. the rest of the tale I’ll tell later. (actually my 15 mins of free writing time is up!)