An Art
There’s a German girl with a yellow greyhound
walking through warehoused back streets in
Liverpool, while a Vietnamese man who’s
painted green, sits in a press conference in
the Holiday Inn.
Parr Street afternoon. Karl and Wesley
guard 62-74. While artists seek invigilators
to sweep rubbish, I walk to Bold Street to laminate
Tracey’s poem and reacquaint myself with memories
of evenings spent hill walking.
Feels like a form of homecoming. Familiar faces,
shop fronts and city smells. Banners hang, announce
the 2002 Biennial, in time to mix with commemoration
and bids to place an already world famous place on
an ever shrinking map.
Light points upwards from the Liver Building. In Henry
Street, Stu sits wiring lamps outside Gelatin HQ. with
tales of artist’s egos. Away from street lights, a caravan
sells postcards in Campbell Square and somehow shines
like summer.
0 Responses to “An Art”