As I wandered around the great unconquerable stocean today, pondering about whether I could sell signed stones from the field in order to raise money for some community project in the village, I discovered that some of my grand work of art, about the futility of endeavour and the transience of life and the temporary permanence of the planet, had been kicked over by some disgruntled person (or possibly hoofed animal). I am guessing it was a person though as it was the small line of stones that I had constructed along someone’s fence, though tellingly on the field side of the divide, so if the person who owned the house had done it then they had no right.
To be fair they might just have noticed the stones on Halloween and been freaked out and I decided that it had been unfair to start a portion of the wall so close to someone’s back garden. I shall move the scattered stone to a part of the field that is uninhabited and wait until that house is owned by someone who appreciates looking out of their kitchen on to a work of art.
But all artists have to contend with this level of ignorance. I expect some Dutch idiots threw tomatoes at Van Gogh as he ferreted around in the sunflowers field and that noncompoops were knocking bits off of Michael Angelo’s David whenever Michael went for a wee. Both artists didn’t get down about it - they just got on with creating art. Though one of them did kill themselves. I don’t know if Angelo did. Though sadly he died before he could hear the Brotherhood of Man’s tribute to him. Or the Barron Knights parody. The artist’s life is full of tragedy.
Not everyone will approve of what I am doing. But ultimately the village will realise the money I am bringing in from selling stones and from tourists coming to the village to view the 100 foot tall wall, will make me their hero. And the kind of people who kicked my wall down look like the dolts that they are.
Anyway, there were some good stones there and I am glad to relocate them.
But it was Halloween and my daughter was going out trick or treating for the first time. Ernie stayed in, but he did enjoy dressing up as Olaf the Snowman. Phoebe was in her monster costume, but kind enough to explain that she was really Phoebe when I appeared scared by it. That childhood belief about the brilliance of their disguises is one of the loveliest and stupidest things I have ever witnessed. Our first visitor to the door was one of Phoebe’s friends wearing a sheet that barely concealed his clothes, with felt tip drawings all over it. “Oh no, it’s a ghost!” I said and the boy whipped off the sheet to put my mind at ease that he was actually alive. Though he could have been the ghost of a child who died whilst wearing an unconvincing ghost outfit.
As always I got high on my own supply of Haribo, but still had enough for the many, many visitors to the door. Phoebe returned, clearly unable to believe that if you walk round the village with an orange bucket people will give you free sweets.
What a wonderful world it is. As long as we can keep all the horrible bits hidden from her.
And an accidentally very apt guest for a Halloween release of RHLSTP: the unbelievably cool and awesome Alice Lowe is now up on video here
And on audio here
And on iTunes
And if you want to bid for the copy of Emergency Questions that I tore up like some kind of Banksy, then you have til next Wednesday. It's here.
It looks like it’s heading toward three figures. Which proves that this is art.
Or buy a regular unripped up copy or one with Snowman art or one with a bonus question here