8.30 am. Into the School to finalise peripherals and to lay ‘The Floating Bible.’ It was like tiling an uneven bathroom floor, and preoccupied me for the whole morning (as I’d anticipated):

1.00 pm. Overdue haircut. 1.45 pm. When I returned, one of the TV screens had an eco-type window (despoiling the text) asking whether I wished to proceed with the slideshow. Such things cannot be anticipated when using new and unfamiliar equipment for the first time, but they must be dealt with. I discovered a forum that addressed this question to a different model of TV. I was able to adapt the principle. However, the problem persisted.

It’s been too hot in the department. Some students have been a little dizzy. (‘A touch of the vapours’, as they used to say.) Why aren’t we allowed to turn the darn boiler down when required? Throughout the afternoon, I made adjustments to components on the wall, tested (again) equipment, and wrote down instructions for power up/down commands for others to follow when I cannot undertake the task myself. (An artist must take responsibility for their exhibition throughout its course.)

7.00 pm. To the School and a final check before the opening. Mr Holland and his team were already preparing the drinks. Guests began to arrive:

It was a rich experience to have friends from very different contexts of my life together in one room. Opening nights are a time for chit-chat and bonhomie and not for engaging with artworks, principally. I’m conscious that the works demand a great deal from the viewer/thinker. And, as such, I was encouraged that so many people took the time to read and digest the available information and interrogate the maker:

Of course, it doesn’t end there. Now begins the process of evaluation, sifting, editing, abandoning, and re-focussing: Where lies the leading edge? What (if anything) lies beyond? Does the exhibition justify its own case sufficiently? Do I, for that matter?  Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should continue to.