Far too much time was spent today wrapping pictures up in bubble wrap. But it was happy time, because some of them sold well. I was particularly surprised by the damaged ones landing well. I think lots of people want to restore art during lockdown. They’ve been vying for doer-uppers.
My favourite watercolour didn’t make the reserve so I’m probably going to put it up on the wall instead. The prints didn’t go either but they’re hard to photograph well because of the glass, and they’re even harder to send easily for the same reason, plus they’re not unique. Nothing to really recommend them. The idea of putting them in the post filled me with enough dread that I chose to put the starting price high enough to take the dealers out of the equation. I guess I’ve saved myself the bother of posting them for bad returns by pricing them up, but I’ve still got them in the flat now. Hmmmmm.
Quiet Sunday. Tous ça change. Morrissey had it in 1988. Every day is like Sunday. Today WAS Sunday, at least, so it’s perfectly justifiable to lounge around. We watched Lucky, a film by John Carroll Lynch. Very glad we did too. The directorial debut of Lynch (a character actor), it was Harry Dean Stanton’s swansong, holding down the lead six months before his death at 91. It has a cameo by David Lynch that had me googling to see if he’s John’s dad or something. But no, they aren’t related. He must’ve just liked it. It’s a good script, done gently and with honour. Dean Stanton shows us all how it’s done. I hope I have that in me at 91. He’s so old, and has nothing to hide. The film is as much a study of the life left in Dean Stanton as it is a contemplation of the characters struggle with mortality. That makes it all the richer. And there’s so much life it makes me sad to think he went so quickly after the release.
I love watching really old actors. I love meeting them. Like the woman whose shopping I was doing. She must be in her eighties. I wish I’d been able to hang out and drink wine with her. I have lots to learn from her I’m sure.
John Mills came on set for Bright Young Things at 95 and did a lovely cameo. I got to talk to him a tiny bit – it was my first movie, while he was in the hundreds. I’ll have to seriously up my game to catch up with him. But I remember his joy, undimmed through near blindness and being trolleyed around in a wheelchair.
Some of us just keep on going. But there’s not much work for ninety year olds. Michael Beint – Tristan’s grandpa – is still on his agent’s books and he’s got to be the same age as Dean Stanton was in 2017. He’s still painting and I bet if the agent rang for the right job he’d be out the door quicker than his hat. Last time I saw him, just before this Covid lark changed it all, he showed me his latest oil painting. He’s still bitten by the need to create things. He’s good at it too. I bet it would’ve fetched a good price if I’d eBayed his one with all of mine.
Enough pictures. This evening I’m nesting, warm from a bath, happy of this chilled out day, safe and warm in my lucky flat. I’m supposed to have paid my tax bill today but I haven’t as it’s huge by my standards. I had a good year before everything fell to pieces. Now I’m just thrilled so many of the pictures sold as that’ll help me effectually pay back my SEISS furlough type thing. But I said enough pictures. Pictures.