Good thing I don't have any obligations or responsibilities that actually require me to get out of bed.
By the way, if you're trying to work out the third bit of excitement, well, you plainly have never seen Martin Creed. Watching him struggle to put on a narrow guitar strap without removing his hat - which he finally had to do, with lightning speed, so we barely had time to notice the poodle hair - it was difficult to say whether he had genuine stage fright or was just playing up - by that I mean I had the impression that it could have all been a weird, awkward performance. I'm pretty sure at one point he recited most of this poem:
I don't know what I want to say, but, to try to say something, I think I want to try to think. I want to try to see what I think. I think trying is a big part of it, I think thinking is a big part of it, and I think wanting is a big part of it, but saying it is difficult, and I find saying trying and nearly always wanting. I want what I want to say to go without saying.
Martin Creed, 2001
It didn't get any easier over the following hour and a half. I think he might have been making fun of us the whole time.
image from http://martincreed.com/site/works
He'd turn and stare at the screen, upon which this painting was projected, then he'd turn to us and stand with his eyes shut tight for some time before announcing, "I don't know what to say!" Then he'd play his guitar and sing. After some songs we'd all applaud, then after other songs we wouldn't, or one person would and we'd all laugh and feel embarrassed. After awhile he told us that he was only singing because he couldn't think of what to say to us, and practically begged us to ask him questions. He could have been messing us around and making us "be the art", but if that's the case then his flustered bits were the equivalent of sticking your four year old's drawings on the fridge and going "aw, isn't that lovely!"
I think natural modesty robbed him of interesting stuff to tell us on his own initiative, because he had a lot to say in answer to the questions that were asked (except for a question about being Scottish; his answer to that was just, "I'm not Scottish. Unless I need to play the Scottish card"). I suppose you've got to be pretty pompous and up yourself, or else have a hell of a lot to answer for, if you sit down and seriously try to decide how best to fill up an hour and a half talking about yourself, not as preparation for a job interview or what you plan to tell the police if caught.
I felt too shy to ask questions, although I wanted to suggest a game of musical chairs since I thought it would be more fun and totally something Martin Creed would like. I think it was the mic that put me off. Because the session was being recorded anyone who wanted to ask a question had to take a microphone from my friend, who works at Tate and handles the mics (this is probably not her actual job; I'm terrible at remembering what my friends do). Having recently dedicated myself to a life of fancier mic-work than a toothless prostitute could manage, not even a week after my first gig, the thought of asking a famous artist to play musical chairs while my nasally voice was amplified in a small room with 30 people in it, filled me with the same squirmy terror as I got from a teacher's voice telling me to speak up so the whole class could hear. Besides, like I said I couldn't tell if breaking the carefully constructed atmosphere of social discomfort would be welcomed or not.
But some of the questions led to great answers! For a mental artist he totally broke all stereotypes. He said he felt that the Turner prize improved his artistic output and that he had desperately wanted to win it. He also said that he had wanted to be a successful artist to please his parents. He's from Wakefield and has a Glaswegian accent, which I personally liked, since I have a Canadian accent and I'm from London. His newest single is called "Fuck Off and Die", which is what I think whenever someone even slightly annoys me.
This artist just speaks unto my very soul, you get what I'm saying? It's like he's thinking my thoughts for me, man.
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