My legs hurt.
I was tired this morning anyway after all the heavy lifting yesterday. Today I had to pause the plate job in order to shift into home studio mode, but this time it was home studio times 11.
Green screen underfoot. Green screen on the ceiling. Green screen all over the fucking place. A concealed ladder with greenscreen on it. Edges and corners and shadows.
And no decent tape. I had some parcel tape and I was trying to attach green cloth to my ceiling with it but the tape wouldn’t stick on the cloth. I’ve run out of gaffer! How can a man run out of gaffer? Call the cops.
PINS! A pin through the tape holds the tape to the cloth, usually for a few hours at a time. The tape holds itself to the ceiling.
I was filming in my living room for HOURS though so the cloth kept falling down with the heat from the lights. My brain filled up before I had even finished working out how to hang the green screen. I was stressed, angry and overheating. It was the least Zen pre-shoot warm up I’ve ever done. Then we started rehearsing and my body slowly filled with pain. I’m not as young as I used to be, darling. I felt old by the end of it.
I’ve done so many squats and sit-ups today in the name of contorting myself for the common good that I feel like I’ve been at boot camp. The blinds have been closed and I’ve been lit just by my two big hot Raleno studio lights so I’ve seen no natural light all day. I love my work, I love the chance to do my work, but this was about the extent of my good will towards myself in it. It’s times like this that I look at the minus symbol in front of my bank balance and consider my life choices. But then I remember that I love it, and I count my blessings that I’ve been given a chance now to pick up a new skill in a new medium – particularly as we appear to be tumbling inevitably towards a very different wintery kind of lockdown, Gods forbid.
So I’ve come to sit on my bench in the dying light. The sunset is rose behind the lights of Albert Bridge. The river is high and there’s not too much traffic. I’m exhausted and my bed is covered in boxes. The living room is CARNAGE after I focussed the entire space on an expanse of green against one wall. I’ll have to move boxes before I can rest, but these boxes are a good thing. They indicate a successful sort out. The attic is emptier than it has ever been. Ideally by the end of the month I’ll have dealt with the last few bags, but they are not hugely interesting being mostly my teenage junk.
I’m just going to sit here in my natty three piece suit, and watch the sky go to grey. Then I’ll have a hot bath and sleep like I’ve been punched.
AlBarclay 