I should probably explain what this thing is that I’m doing. I’m up in Croydon where an artist – Amy – has built an installation. I’m populating it. So I’m part of the art.
Amy and I have developed a strong working relationship through her work and her approach to it. We have both processed a deal of sadness and pain and we have both reacted to it by wanting to spread random stupid joy.
This particular installation is a silly shop full of colourful ridiculous things, run by a Panda who wants to charge people to play with his stuff but is then going to insist they put everything back where they found it. Play don’t pay. People come in, mess around with things, talk with Panda, leave empty-handed. No money changes hands even though Panda is acquisitive. It’s a shop where you can’t buy anything. It’s pointless unless you are playful.
“I think the art is about how people deal with finding out they can’t buy anything,” Amy says to me at one point today. We are both trying to work out what just happened, and break it down a bit, because into this joyful world – temporarily – has come a touch of genuine nastiness.
I’m the Panda. I don’t have to be nice to people. I’m usually going to err on the side of kindness but I’m quick witted and won’t take any negativity. But my nuance is very off-whack as I can’t see a fucking thing so I can’t see faces or body language. I can’t always tell if people are being mardy with me by their tone, and I’m not really expecting people to be mardy in a silly free art installation anyway. Why would they? But … much as I try to deny the truth of this, it is undeniable that there are joy vampires out there. Nasty petty mean spirited joysucking meanies.
As Panda I’m there all day. 11 to 8. It’s a long shift.
It started with an avalanche of kids, running rings and pulling everything off the shelves. One if them broke the tortoise. We just about kept on top of it and it was finally beginning to ease when I was asked “Can I buy the broccoli?” I told her it was £4000 but I would accept a little dance as payment but then she had to leave it in the shop and see if it followed her home. “No, no I want to actually buy the broccoli from you.” This is an inflatable broccoli balloon thing she wants. She starts telling me about how her child is scared of insects and saw a dragonfly here which means he can never come here again. Child vs Nature. But the nature averse child is sick and thus deserves an inflatable broccoli balloon type thing. I tell her she can’t have it cos it’s mine. She gets rude and leaves telling me that this is stupid. “What’s the point of a shop where you can’t buy anything? I don’t get the concept”. A bit spiky, frankly, and leaves a bad taste. I’ve seen no play out of her so I’m not inclined to smooth things though. Other people pick up on it in the shop. One dad tells me his child wants some sweeties. Maybe there’s something wrong with my concept? She’s left us a little shitnugget. “Maybe there’s something wrong with you,” I don’t say. We put up a sign. “No more than 1 child”. That’ll solve the crêche problem.
“Don’t touch the broccoli,” I then take to announcing to everybody, threatening them with a toy chainsaw. I’m trying to turn poison into medicine here. Bear in mind that the vast majority of people coming in, adults and children, are getting it, enjoying it, playing in it and responding well to it. But broccoli lady is likely being vocal in the bar because suddenly there’s disproportionate broccoli interest.
There’s a hen party. I see the bride to be and her sash. She asks me what my concept is. I respond cryptically as it’s written on the fucking wall and Panda doesn’t have perspective on his own existence.
Another of the hens comes in though , after the inflatable fruit. I’ve already laid down the law about the broccoli so they covet the carrot instead. “Can I buy the inflatable carrot?” and again there’s some sick kid who deserves it. I’m shown his photo this time. “He’s already vomited this morning before I left to go party,” I’m told. “And therefore I want that inflatable carrot.” My child hates nature / I left my sick child to get drunk. Not the most compelling arguments even if I could give away the art, which I can’t.
It’s a bridesmaid. It’s a hen party. I don’t think either want it for the kids anyway. These people want these inflatable vegetables because someone forgot the blow up willy. They leave in high dudgeon when I refuse them, much the same as the previous pair, trying to drop more shitpellets. “What’s the point of a shop where you can’t buy anything?”
None of these hen party guests can read.
And then she cometh. The main event. Likely after saying “Right, give me a shot of vodka. I’ll sort this panda guy out!”
I reckon she’s the mother of the bride. I have an inkling all these nasty people are fomenting in the bar in between margaritas.
She wants the inflatable carrot. She can’t have the inflatable carrot. Why not? It’s mine. We aren’t Communists. She flirts. It doesn’t work. She’s trying a number of tactics. None work.
She tries to draw a crowd. She asks me what the concept of my shop is so I ask her what the concept of her is. I hear a laugh from someone not in her party.
She tells me I’ve made an artwork. I tell her no, I’ve made a shop but I’m glad she likes it. She clarifies that it is a shop. I confirm. “But we can’t buy anything in a shop?” “No. You can’t. It’s all mine.”
Meanwhile the other hens have nicked the carrot, but been headed off in the lobby by Amy and Ava, and made to return it. That round was an attempt at clever distraction. She thinks I’m the artist. It hasn’t occurred to her I’m supported here.
Now she’s on a very different tack. Now she’s someone who didn’t get what they wanted. And it gets amazingly insidiously nasty very very quickly from here. I hear her telling some stranger “I’ve heard of these people who put Panda heads on. They’re sexual deviants. We should get this thing shut down.” All this because she couldn’t have an inflatable carrot. I’ve heard of people who are obsessed with inflatable vegetables… The strangers she is trying to persuade into thinking I’m a Furry respond pitched so I can hear it too “um … it’s an art installation. Of course you don’t just take things from an art installation.” Bless them. “Everybody is always so interested in the sex life of Pandas,” I tell her. I think that’s the end of her.
But no, she’s not giving up that easily. I’m holding my ground now no matter what. She could offer me a grand in cash and she still couldn’t have that carrot now, and she hears me make a remark to someone else about how perhaps touching the inflatable mushroom was causing them to imagine they are talking to a panda, but really I’m the security guard at Boots. It is still mostly playful fun in this room, although by this time I’m getting very very hot in the head as it has been a constant stream of people. I hadn’t seen her still there through my limited vision but suddenly “He’s talking about illegal psychedelic mushrooms and there are children nearby, this is absolutely disgusting!”
She was filming on her phone. She can do her worst. Amy and I really get and respect one another. By holding my ground I’m trying to serve her art and Amy sees that. Good art provokes a response and that woman could do very well to examine how she behaves when she doesn’t get what she wants.
Amy likely has a better perspective on what was actually going on than me, with my tiny window of gauze to see through, overheating and with a headache. I felt totally lifted, trusted and supported. Despite that horrible woman though. Horrible horrible horrible woman. Horrible. “Likely she could dehumanise you cos you had a panda head on,” says Lou. Definitely. But again, what does that say about her?
Everybody else today was delightful, but I was trapped in Panda for hours and couldn’t process the poison. Also I’m always concerned about these things – she might be some sort of big old social media trollster. People that hateful sometimes have a wide reach as fundamental thoughts are easy to follow.
Finally, at dinner, I met the maitre d’hotel, who I am very fond of. “People were complaining about you – said you should be shut down,” he said. “Yes. She wanted me to give her an inflatable carrot and I didn’t. She got angry”. So, she went to the maitre d?!! Grade A.
I really hope that we’ve heard the end of this as it is a lovely dumb fun piece of art that exists for very positive reasons. It is fascinating though the extent to which some people are willing to be unpleasant just to serve their own sense of entitlement. Lack of perspective much? I needed to write this blog to get the poison out of my system. It is a very cathartic thing to put it all out there like this, but I carried it for the whole day as it was basic, cruel, selfish, mean, petty and spiteful. Quite a heady cocktail.
I think it is evident to the guys here at Birch what was actually going on, and we have had enough positive feedback that there’s no way her noise will break this. Still, it wouldn’t surprise me if she went in there while we were sleeping, trashed the place and burst all the carrots. If she does we’ll build it in and it’ll all be fine. I’ve written her out of my bloodstream and into these paragraphs. And it is ridiculous. Because in truth, what’s the headline to the story I’m telling here?
“WOMAN FAILS TO UNDERSTAND ART INSTALLATION.” ?
“IMMERSIVE ACTOR REFUSES TO GIVE AWAY PROPS TO AUDIENCE.” ?
And it’s gone… whew. Night.
AlBarclay 