Where next - the Library?

The corridor to nowhere, with mint green walls and security barriers, apparently was no longer on offer for Curious Narratives. Instead, in the whirl to make the Swindon Festival of Literature programme copy deadline, I am offered at the award winning building, an intimate curvy corner, inside the main building, at the back, near the children's section of the central town library. I am told this is the ideal space, but there is nowhere to hang anything from a wall, not a shelf or a presentation case, but there is a table but there would be a charge.  Argh, I cry, and share that when submitting my Arts Council Grants for the Arts bid they wrote promptly back during the submission process to say that they didn't like the sound of SCL saying there would be a charge for a 'venue', "it did not demonstrate the spirit of partnership."  Stirring the spoon slowly through the offering of tea, it was agreed, hard times for everyone, but we must be realistic and make things pay! I reflect on the eight day only stay residency/exhibition at the Royal Academy, Bristol, and how much Julie and I creatively packed into a short period of time, how many visitors we engaged with...  I draw breath, and start to talk about how interesting library environments are, such warm and welcoming spaces.  Suddenly, a childhood memory surfaces of my Dad mid-flow in a row with the Head Librarian at Penhill Library, heatedly discussing my once upon a time favourite author, Enid Blyton.  He raged about her rubbish grammar, whilst I sobbed with embarrassment into the bean bag behind the shelf.   

Journal Page, Italy Series 2013

I wonder how I am going to set out my stories and why did I choose to bring my work to the SCL.  It must be the love of book arts. I ask, is there a cupboard, a table, a trolley, some out of date books I could use?  Hmm, was the reply, how many books would you want?  I find myself imagining playing with stacks and stacks, creating environs out of them.  There is a worried look facing me, I'm not quite sure exactly what you are going to be doing? Neither, am I, was the reply, realising that this would be quite a stretch of difference from inhabiting a high end art academy.  I look around and spy a tiny cupboard inset in the wall by the floor, any chance I could use that, I ask, thinking The Borrowers, another favourite read.  Whilst the search for the key was fruitful, the glow from within the cupboard suggested it was all about wiring and not about installing a fairytale scene.  Hmm, I am not sure how to proceed.  Aha, I cry, I see there is access to an electrical plug in the floor, there is hope I think about possibilities, perhaps bringing my sewing machine or something with a plug.  OK, I reflect, I must keep it simple.  The staff here have no idea how I work.  There is talk about changes in the library, I realise I can't just whoosh in and assume anything, the best way is to collaborate.

Suddenly at the information counter I notice a lovely young librarian who had months ago helped me research in the reference section the mythological storytellers, The Sibyls.  We take a moment to share thoughts, to discuss how people use the library. We wonder if anyone notices the books, with faces in front of glowing lights of rows of computers. What do you think about it all, I ask, skimming through photographs of my exhibition works from the RWA on my iPad?  Later, she kindly writes an email to me from her home, saying how nice it was to see my work which she describes as EXTRAORDINARY.  What a great word I think, musing on its sound, shape and meaning.  Later that day I receive a medical letter saying symptoms were UNREMARKABLE.  Hmm, I thought, that is a boring word, how could anyone think anything about me was UNREMARKABLE.  I seriously start to think I am going to start collecting words.