A Trumpeting Last Hurrah!

I had been anticipating the final weekend with mounting unfettered excitement. Gordon Brown whoopee cushions at the ready, this was to be the ultimate test of all authoritative theories on Open House trade. Word on the street was that week four would be throbbin'!

But when Saturday dawned and the rain came down like stair rods I sensed my elation may have been misplaced. To cap it all, after an evening of excess and exuberance observing Heavenly's birthday, several of my troupe had stonking hangovers - the severity of which tended to increase with the longevity of their hosts. 

A remedy vehemently advocated by Kenneth and endorsed by Voluptuous (both have a flair for celebration) was to toss down half a pint of lager. And so it was on Saturday morning that Heavenly ('it's like drinking iron filings') and I prepared to greet the world with cheery smiles and boozy breath. Perfect.

With the benefit of hindsight I suppose it was just as well that only the most intrepid visitors had ventured out because, most certainly, the cakes were not at their best. I had left it until just before opening to finish off the strawberry scones and, as I proceeded to lace the entire kitchen with whipped cream (this took three attempts - electric whisks are a menace in the wrong hands) I noted that, mercifully, there was likely to be scant demand for al fresco cream teas.

Added to that, the presence of guests revealed an unforeseen design feature associated with the whoopee cushions. I was already aware that one remote control would detonate a resounding cacophony of trumps from all of the cushions on display - much to the delight of our most youthful patrons. But I had been ignorant that a similar effect would be elicited by receiving 

an incoming text on a mobile phone.

Demob Happy?

As the bitter-sweet reality of the final weekend approaches L-S Dave and I are both experiencing little tides of sadness. This will mark the end of our first open house and there's never another first is there? And we have become very attached to my troupe who have worked so hard to keep this wobbly enterprise going. It's hard to imagine them dismantling their pitches and trundling off (will Kenneth bring a pram, I wonder?). Heavenly, a generous soul, has offered to move in every weekend to help ease the transition.

Meanwhile my delightful crew - egged on by Voluptuous - is all for forming a small enterprise to keep the whole esprit de corps thing going. Effervescent, true to form, is especially keen - although her train of thought runs more towards creating a catering-cum-party-business (she knows this market the best). Hmm ... not sure what an accountant would make of it, although I suspect L-S Dave has his ideas.

So, to take my mind off things today I'm finishing off my Gordon Brown whoopee cushions (no I wasn't joking, this is a more enduring lunacy - although, as yet, I've not finished the artwork for the much anticipated Boris Johnson variation). 

Earlier in the week I set off, armed with vibrant silks, to BIP - an amazing establishment awash with creative and supportive types -  to be inducted into the art of textile printing by founder and screenprinting legend Jane Sampson. 

My 'fart trumpet' inserts (remote controlled whoopee cushions these, six different sounds and a range of 10 metres!) arrived yesterday and, having dug out my old sewing machine and accomplished the light engineering necessary to get it going, I completed two by evening. Tasteful - although I wouldn't advise standing too close to the silver one with a lit match.

Sewing and me are not natural bedfellows and I've noticed that L-S Dave takes flight when the machine comes out. Yet, on sight of the first sample, Heavenly and her family were much impressed and rather optimistic about sales potential. Perhaps it was carefree abandon that led Heavenly's husband to suggest that I farm out any repeat orders ... either that or I've found out where L-S Dave goes to unburden his soul.

Time to Flog Gordon?

Anyone who's ever worked in Wonkville will know that timing is key.  In contrast, academic policy types don't concern themselves with it, happily dotting the i's and crossing the t's on their 10,000 word monographs that will change the world. Unfortunately, more often than not their insights are delivered long after the debate is over. But for a wonk with press targets it's all about the timing. When your thoughts are a bit hazy, much can be achieved by tethering yourself to something more solid. (You may have gathered from my first posting that I was not a naturalised inhabitant of Wonkville.)

So, what's all this guff got to do with the art? Well, I have on exhibit a 'Wonky Woman' series of screenprints. No propaganda art this - party political tub-thumping is out - rather, the intention was to comment on contemporary policy.  

My first such - reprinted in the AOH brochure - depicts Jamie Oliver as enlightened guru of food policy veiled by a 'poverty map' of London. If you're up for a bit of history, in the late 19th century Charles Booth carried out surveys of poverty, classified individual streets according to the income and social class of their inhabitants and produced colour-coded maps of certain areas. My point was that notwithstanding the aims of government interventions we make choices influenced by things like our income and access to education. Even Effervescent, politically naive as a neonate, 'gets' this.

But my latest is more of a challenge and it's all to do with the timing. When more appropriate than now to portray Gordon Brown as Ganesh, Lord of Success (complete with man boobs)? Too subtle perhaps are the tarnished New Labour roses and the marauding soldiers wielding weapons in the background. 

And after all, as Effervescent commented, 'it doesn't really look like Gordon Ramsay does it.' Oh I give up! Yes, my dear, of course - I have been so inspired by the baking of late to create a series of artwork featuring celebrity chefs. 

So it was in exasperation that the foundations for my new venture were laid - Gordon Brown whoopee cushions.  Hmm ... what do you reckon, scope for a bit of product differentiation ... Boris?

Sun is Shining, Weather is Sweet ...

On Saturday evening, stimulated by my new found joy of blogging, I put it to L-S Dave that perhaps I could challenge any readers visiting the house to identify themselves by doing something surprising. L-S Dave suggested wryly that just buying the art would be surprise enough for him.

By Sunday though our souls soared as the sun glimmered through the house and Jacob - Jacob the Recently Washed - emerged from his ablutions looking quite dashing ('Not a Girlfriend' was making an appearance).

It was L-S Dave's birthday. You may imagine it purgatory to host an open house on your birthday but L-S Dave's spirits were curiously high. If you'd have asked him why, he'd have mentioned the simple pleasures of the season. Only we - the cognoscenti - know that L-S Dave shares a birthday with She Who Must and, for obvious reasons, currently sleep-overs are out (he's all for opening up at Christmas too).

The atmosphere was buzzing as guests rolled through our doors in their undulating waves. Delightful friends new and old, neighbours and even former colleagues, twitching with withdrawal from their ivory towers, dropped by to assess the talent on display. My troupe were at their most genial, stimulated by the fillip of an appreciative audience. Even Jacob had postponed his customary expedition to the shops and was to be found either capitalising on his elevated status as resident artist amid a bevy of beauties or counting his takings.

But I noted an air of desperation hovering over those prospectors who arrived with their notebooks and lists, industriously annotating them with purchasing targets and sketches of desired chandeliers. The search for the perfect piece of art was on and it was a competitive sport - only this time it was being played out guest-versus-guest. 

That evening we lodged Jacob with Elusive and, bathed in the bliss of the moment, strolled down to the seafront for a celebratory birthday meal at our favourite restaurant, Due South. Gigging has taken its toll on Elusive's hearing. 'Due South?' he queried incredulously 'I thought you said you were going to a Jew's house' ...

All Gong and No Dinner

On Friday, as Shifty roamed around our garden - I suspect, unconventionally upright - serenading us with his latest ditty, I considered the coming weekend. Actually, shortly after being introduced to Shifty, he'd picked up L-S Dave's acoustic guitar, strummed a few chords and said, in what I thought was a rather presumptive tone, 'I expect you're wanting me to sing now'. Effervescent, three-sheets to the wind, looked blissfully acquiescent and, true to form, continued talking loudly throughout the performance. I have long since developed a technique to block out distractions. 

There's a mantra among open house hosts that, in weeks one and two, sales are limp whereas it all kicks off in weeks three and four. So that Friday, as week three neared, I was feeling very positive. Things had gone to plan then, we hadn't sold all that much art. Shovel loads of jewellery had exchanged hands, scatter cushions, bags, the odd purse but not the stuff that's written on the tin. 

Later that evening and fully engaged in culinary pursuits I continued to be spurred on by imagining the returning  hoards of Arnies, no doubt planning their purchasing strategies as I baked, who would shortly be beating a path to our door. I have to admit there were some doubters in my camp. Heavenly's husband mentioned that it wasn't week three but week four when sales happened. Matt disagreed, he'd heard of cases where sales had only peaked once the open house season was over. Hmm, either some slippage needed to be built into my expectations or my troupe were, as the Americans say, 'losing suction'.

Rain notwithstanding, on Saturday we had a healthy stream of visitors who said some lovely things about the art on their way out. Still there were few sales.  United by blitz spirit, customarily my troupe are to be found sharing memorable anecdotes and even revealing occasional lapses of moral responsibility. But by Saturday evening even their stoic courage and endurance had collapsed into hysteria and madness. Conversation took a more deviant turn as it settled on sales. PMT, before they left for sunnier climes, made no secret of their preferred ploy - tripping up guests when they arrived, turning them upside down and shaking the change out of their pockets. Now Kenneth unveiled his idea - filling an old pram with his wares and taking to the streets. Heavenly, perhaps because she was running a fever, suggested darkly that while he was at it there may be a spin off business to be had by ringing a bell and wailing 'bring out your dead.' Hmm ... can't wait for Sunday!

A Postscript

You may have expected my last entry to be withdrawn at Jacob's insistence. I know I did - although, somehow, L-S Dave didn't and he was right. In fact Jacob seemed quite pleased to be featured - especially after Effervescent traipsed home with Shifty, a musician type who mused that 'Indecisive Stalker' would be a good name for a band ... 

Oh groan! We've been through all this before. Elusive is part of Leonard & Bubba's Delicious Goo-Goo Cluster - a name that only a mother can remember. If you've had your senses assaulted by them then you'll know why I haven't inserted a link.

Jacob's Unique Sales Approach

The first week we opened Jacob was revising for SATs. The second week, free of such constraints, he has emerged from his studies and made the occasional appearance downstairs lured by the opportunity to make cash. This is necessary because he has a newly discovered fetish for 'vinyl' (he's been rifling through our attic in an indiscriminate search for such treasures) and is fixated on purchasing a 'vinyl player'.

Early visitors that second weekend would have found him clamped to his exhibits, eyeing them (visitors and his work) expectantly. Or they may have noticed him rearranging the art in the browsers so that his were the most prominent. In this, I suspect, there may have been a bit of a cold war developing between him and PMT.

After a while though, he must have decided on a sales tactic. This was somewhat unnerving for our guests. Jacob is tall for his age, around 5' 10", and of late he has been cultivating what he assumes is a rock-star/artist look - complete with extremely tight black jeans and pointy shoes. His slightly greasy hair falls none too neatly across his forehead, covering one eye and he has the beginnings of a moustache that, from afar, looks as if it might be a smear of grime. Mercifully, at present there are no spots.

His chosen sales approach involves rounding on his targets, hovering (a bit too close) behind them and then lurching forward. The lurch usually is accompanied by a grunt - intended to be a friendly greeting - that sometimes comes out all wrong. If you've not seen it coming, as one visitor hadn't, really it is quite alarming ... I assume it's akin to confronting an indecisive stalker. Needless to say, most of Jacob's sales are accomplished when he's not there.

Baking for Brighton (and Hove, actually)

Sod the art. I have discovered, dear reader, that when it comes to the real bare knuckle competition the cakes have it, no contest. (By the way, are there any readers? If so, do click the comments tab and send a wave and a hellooo! Returning visitors might issue an 'elo, 'elo and so on.)

Now it could be the effects of the economic climate but I am becoming ever more convinced that this whole Artists Open House thing is, in fact, a subterfuge for top patissiers and chocolatiers to ply their wares to the locals ... of course, only using fresh, locally sourced ingredients, prepared simply, with at least 110% of effort and a real passion for food. 

The alternative is that it may be one of those government employment schemes to keep out of work artists as far away as possible from the state benefit system (or its statistics) ... unless they are migrants in which case, by definition, they are already as far away as possible from official statistics. Missing work? ... Not me!

Back to the point. You may have detected a certain frisson of tension in this blog because, believe me, competition for the cake trade is serious business. If you are still in any doubt, let me enlighten you. Apparently there is one woman on the Seven Dials circuit who is renowned for her teas and spends about three weeks of every year baking in preparation. I rest my case. 

Originally we hadn't intended to do refreshments at all. But then everyone we knew began saying that they planned which open houses to visit according to which ones provided tea and cake. So we thought we could get away with offering the odd dried biscuit or two just in case a marauding bon vivant was attacked by acute hunger between gastronomic pit-stops (note to Heavenly - my dear, really, I'm not besmirching the virtues of your Lemon Drizzle, it was lovely - please, keep baking!). But now somehow - actually, if you've read my previous post then you'll know how - this whole refreshments antic has snowballed out of control.

Heavenly and I are good at responding to a challenge and we ended up producing quite a mouthwatering (and waist expanding) selection including: a couple of chocolate cakes which I believe have healing powers; a relatively healthy carrot cake; the aforementioned Jean's banana loaf (like Jean, a little nutty); Heavenly's fruity cheesecake (like Heavenly ...); and individual cakes that, quite possibly, were made by Heavenly's resident fairies.   

As temperatures threatened to soar - given the gender and age of the artists it was likely to be hot flush central in our back room - we added a supply of choc-ices to our menu and set up a fan. 

Much to my surprise the cakes went down rather well ... and word got out. Particular favourites were Heavenly's cheesecake and my chocolate one. There was, though, an incident involving three delightful gentlemen who thought they had found a lovely quiet spot in the garden to sit, near the lilac and shaded by the gazebo. As they gracefully sipped tea, munched cake and chatted amongst themselves, their invasion into our estate was discovered by George, our neighbour's dog, which crept up to the fence behind them and began to let rip.

But for me the real deal is still the art. So if you return, you who only wanted to engage with my chocolate cake, I am of a mind to enculturate you ... a Rodin sculpture in gateau, perhaps? After all, I did win the 'Virtue, Learning and Manners' trophy at school you know.

Launching a Full-Frontal Marketing Attack

I must admit that I've never taken to mass marketing (part of the reason for such a late publicity push - well, that and the enduring presence of Sheila Who Must) but, clearly, a media onslaught was necessary. I took to the internet to hunt down tips and tricks. A direct response (i.e. inducement to divert one's path from its current direction) - I was informed - is best lured by a direct approach. So, taking to the streets had to be one part of our strategic marketing plan. But believe me this was not as immediate a solution as it might seem in the reading - if you've heard the joke that a camel is a horse designed by committee then you'll know what I mean. 

The most media savvy among my troupe - notably Heavenly, Butcher's Dog and Effervescent - joined by several new stars in our midst, my neighbour Vicky the Vanquisher, two stalwart friends S&M (truthfully, those are their initials) and Newsworthy Nick from across the way - know what's what and congregated to discuss our meagre footfall. Every sales tactic known to man, woman and dog was deliberated ... at length.

The theme for most of the debate was 'Attracting Press Attention'. Quite quickly we discerned that the local newspapers were displaying signs of ennui with local arts and crafts. So, what would distinguish our Artists Open House from the rest and persuade the press to embark on a story? Suggestions were thick on the ground - but most settled uncomfortably around me and my family. 

Butcher's Dog knew a freelance journo willing to undertake the task of marketing my kith and kin to the masses, for a fee - but did we have any skeletons in our closet that might help secure the story? Yes, loads, but I'm not telling. 

Heavenly was keen as mustard to get us noticed too - perhaps Living or Elle Decor might be interested in a feature? - watch this space. Newsworthy had contacts in local radio poised for action on the off-chance that things would kick off. Effervescent was all fired up and ready to go ... in almost any direction that we aimed her. But in the end The Vanquisher had the least ethereal and the more immediately feasible ideas. 

It being rather late in the day to engage a printer, I began churning out marketing material as if my life depended on it.  Effervescent was deployed to every (elite) shop, gallery, and bar (she seemed to respond particularly well to this challenge) armed with posters and flyers. Meanwhile the rest of my troupe, led by L-S Dave, began distributing leaflets - each one brandishing the all important map of how to find us (PMTs warnings did not fall on deaf ears). All in all, around one and a half thousand items were doled out to tempt neighbours in adjoining roads, towns and villages to join us. 

By Friday I was feeling rather self-satisfied, secure in the knowledge that I was oh so much more worldly wise than I had been just a week earlier, and contemplated the almost inevitable stampede. But there was a niggling feeling at the back of my mind ... gradually it dawned on me that I had just invited over a thousand people to come to our house for tea and home made cakes on behalf of charity. Clearly Jean's Banana Loaf, a generous offering from another of our neighbours, was not going to go around.

Some Very Important Things

So early on and I've missed out Some Very Important Things. And I didn't even realise it, eager as I was to unleash my subjectivity on the world.  The reason is that these Important Things were not accomplished by me at all but by L-S Dave (who, incidently and having read my future posts, thinks that he comes across as a bit of a buffoon. Not so, my love.)

I could go on and on here but I will restrain myself to the couple of Things that others might want to know should they consider being an Open House host. The first is that the preparation involves a lot of time and energy ... and paint ... and, in our case, alcohol. I think I mentioned Sheila Who Must's prolonged stopover post-Xmas in my first posting. To make up for lost time, L-S Dave took a couple of weeks of his very precious holiday and spent all of it roller in hand. We did have some help. Effervescent came over regularly and slapped on emulsion with gusto - not all of it landing on the walls. Elusive turned up for a couple of hours to help shift furniture. And towards the later stages PMT got well and truly stuck in too - in fact, they started wielding paintbrushes almost as soon as their plane landed from Spain. When the proverbial hits the fan, you need people like these around you.

The other Thing is to make sure there's enough art to fill the space and that it suits as many tastes and pockets as possible. If you've not been extraordinarily prolific, this may involve arranging interviews, viewing the work of would-be visiting artists and selecting, from among them, those whose work, and whose personalities, you are likely to enjoy being cooped up with for a month. On some occasions it also means adopting a straight face for longer than would normally be possible in such circumstances. I am not a natural at this but L-S Dave has mastered the art of appearing unruffled by the ridiculous having worked for an American company for years.

L-S Dave's advice to me before these viewings was always 'don't agree to anything immediately'. But, when confronted with the true genius of Matt's pots - and the delight of his personality - I offered him a place on the spot. L-S Dave agreed - in pretty much the same timeframe. Rules exist to be broken. Apparently Matt's partner had given him the same advice but Matt was no laggard in accepting our invitation either.

So this is also a tribute to good friends, many of them hitherto undiscovered geniuses, and to L-S Dave, without whom all this would not have been.

The Incident That I Found Odd

The question that most people ask upon finding out that we're opening up the house is 'don't you mind having strangers  traipsing through your home?' To this I can say quite honestly that I don't - otherwise I wouldn't have done it.

Of course we have taken security measures - actually, more than we had planned following T's (of the PMT duo) insistence that we protect ourselves against hordes of drunkards and thieves who might besiege us. And we have taken out insurance to protect against the unfortunate (hopefully, unlikely) circumstance of injury caused by art falling on someone's head. 

Our neighbours admit to being a bit nonplussed at seeing huddles of visitors devouring cake on our lawn, whereas I am merely bemused by their choice to sit lined up on a bench next to the compost bin - which does get a bit whiffy in warm weather.

But I will admit to being somewhat stumped on Bank Holiday Monday. We were closed that day. We got up late'ish and, as I put out the rubbish from the day before, a couple of people walked past me and into the house for a look around. Thank heaven I wasn't doing my Ena Sharples impersonation.

Opening to the Public - Too Much Lull and Not Enough Storm

Somewhat to my astonishment all of my troupe who were on L-S Dave's invigilation rota arrived on time to open to the public. Flushed with success from the Preview Party the evening before, and rather naively, I expected to be flattened in the ensuing rush of art patrons, all potential customers. It being the Children's Parade I reasoned that these were most likely to be retirees, young professionals and those without school-age children. I had created enough health and safety signs to cope will all eventualities - including positioning a vibrant cordon around Heavenly's exhibit that, I hoped, would prevent toddlers from using it as a climbing frame. It was with baited breath that I anticipated the coming storm. 

At 11 am sharp our first visitor arrived, surveyed the display, and left - our first, and last, visitor for at least an hour. Etched in my memory is the vision of Kenneth, not a small man and with a shock of greying hair, perched on a stool in the middle of an empty room and enquiring with mock gloom, 'Is the doctor going to be long, because I've been here since eleven?'

Visitors that first afternoon also may have noticed Matt the crying potter. I know that talented artists are meant to be temperamental but this was not because he'd had a bad day. On the contrary, swelled with the joy of life and elated to be part of this delightful troupe, Matt had wandered blissfully into the garden and buried his face deep into the Choisya to fill his senses with it's scent. Matt has hay fever.

Visitors, I've discovered, hunt in packs - they may as well be tied together with string. At one point I suspected that L-S Dave - in one of his entrepreneurial moments - had nipped out along the A23 and re-directed coach trips down our road.

There are art-lovers, cake-lovers, house snoopers ('I like what they've done to the flooring but I'm not so keen on the banisters') and out for a walk'ers. Then there are the Arnies who accompany their exit with haunting cries of  'I'll be back'. In fact we had a veritable army of Arnies that first weekend and, if you were one of them, you can only imagine the heightened state of excitement you instilled in PMT. 

Some visitors genuinely wish to purchase art, others are less prepared - 'How Much?!' (replete with bulging eyes and raised eyebrows) was one visitor's reaction to Kenneth's exhibition. In response - quite calmly, I thought, in the circumstances - he delivered a short lecture on the economics of producing fine art.

More positively Jacob, only 13 and keen to go shopping, made his first sale - a colour photo of his favourite sweets that he had spent some time over  - in part because he kept eating the sweets.

At the end of the weekend we took stock - sales weren't bad but visitors were thin on the ground. A quick call around to other Open Houses and we estimated that ours had attracted about 30% of the available footfall for that weekend - not bad for a debut performance, we were told. Humph - I wasn't brought up to be complacent! Snapping back into Apprentice PM mode I gathered together the team to devise our strategic marketing plan for the coming week.

PMT told us (several times, and with a map of the Seven Dials trail in hand) that we were in the wrong location and that, on the edge of the trail, we could not expect to attract visitors. So, if you're up at Seven Dials and spot a bewildered artist sporting a framed canvas necklace you'll know that it all got too much!

The Preview 'Party'

Whether or not to launch with a preview event on the eve before the grand opening is a hotly debated topic among AOH experts. The doubters seem to think that the result is DARN (drank all, revenue nil) but nonetheless we soldiered on with our plans.

New to mass marketing, the first thing I learned was that the psychologically vulnerable among my tribe were struck with existential anxiety as they became acutely aware that they were hideously unconnected to the rich and famous. I'm probably the worst offender. I do have contacts - honest - but for the most part they are academics who are afraid to venture out in case a display of cultural awareness will put them off their train of thought. Not so Heavenly and Butcher's Dog who arrived armed with bulging filofaxes and began to circulate my full-colour 'Preview Party' invitations.  

L-S Dave went out to buy what we assumed would be sufficient wine, beer and soft-drinks. Once the frantic last-minute staging was complete, we sat down and contemplated - me, the display, L-S Dave, his navel ... he calls this 'resting my eyes' - well deserved, say I, because he'd only just finished decorating the interior 'gallery style', a task akin to painting the Forth Bridge. Just as we were getting comfy, PMT turned up and informed us - take note, you would-be hosts - that 'Preview Party' means party food whereas 'Private View' merely involves elegantly sipping wine. Out with the recipe books that, to my shame, haven't seen light of day for many a year and back to the shops for L-S Dave. 

All available children were inducted into the art of making tasty morsels - and very good at it they were too (note to self, rope them in more often)! As our guests arrived, armed with additional supplies of wine (did they know something that I didn't?) and luxurious flowers - including a particularly stunning display from our sponsor at sixtyseven - the atmosphere started to buzz.

We love a party and, even if I do say it myself, this one turned out to be a roaring success. Effervescent played hostess and kept everybody topped up with wine (she's good like that) - thank heaven for PMT's advice regarding the food. L-S Dave was on top form overseeing the entire operation and my troupe and our guests behaved themselves impeccably. Well, there was one incident involving a local musician and some hot chick peas that I won't go into.

More importantly, considering the object of the exercise, we sold art ... and (I'm blushing now) one of my screenprints was first to go! Not sure how professional it is when a posse of artists lets out a rippling cheer as an exhibit is sold ... but hey-ho. It was then that L-S Dave realised that he didn't know quite how to record a sale - however, my delightful client was able to steer him through the process.

As the evening wore on it became apparent that a cluster of party go'ers had clamped themselves to the stash of wine in the kitchen (there's no art in the kitchen) and looked as if they might take root for the night. Some nifty tactics (invoking all departing artists to issue hale and hearty goodbyes in the direction of the kitchen) were necessary to save these die-hard supporters from themselves before they moved on to drink the nail varnish.

Even then, and I expect it was inevitable, one well-oiled guest called the next day to ask how much she owed for her purchases. 'I bought a green painting' said she, only to be informed it was a photo of a pot.

Erecting Heavenly's Chandeliers

I don't know whose idea it was to suspend Heavenly's glorious chandeliers on used scaffolding but Heavenly and I were both taken with it. Chris, neighbour and owner of the scaffold, was less entranced - in fact, quite bemused ... more so when we insisted we weren't going to clean off the rust and paint it. 'But is it art?' he questioned, not unreasonably. But I've worked at the Open University and recognise diversionary tactics when I encounter them. 'It's an installation, like Tracy Emin's bed' and so we gave it a title 'Decadence and Dereliction'. With the benefit of hindsight this may have been a mistake - early visitors thought they'd have to buy the whole thing. So we added a sign to say that each was for sale (may I add, at a very reasonable price).

The scaffold went up quite easily really, once we worked out how it all fitted together and Chris undertook some deep excavations in his garage to find its locking wheels. Then us girls (well, we were about a quarter of a century ago) set about the task of bedecking the scaffold poles with chandeliers, sleeves rolled up and proceeding in what I thought was a very professional manner.

Our next error was that we started from the bottom, occupying the space with these lustrous bijoux and undeterred by the resistant crystals that determined to escape their housings. We saved the biggest and boldest for last, to adorn the pinnacle. It was then that our mistake became apparent - how to get to the top?

A growing audience of neighbours watched agog as I slipped a ladder under the scaffold and followed it with my less than svelte frame. Pivoted atop this structure and with heart beating fast I instructed Heavenly, no stranger to the gym, to 'clean and press' the more elaborate articles over the top of the poles so that I could receive and attach them to butchers hooks. It was at the point of attachment that Heavenly innocently asked "have you ever seen that episode of Only Fools and Horses?"

The installation looks great though - visit my website for a snippet. And the orange tint we emerged with (rust, not fake tan) eventually washed off.

Hosting an Artists Open House (AOH)

Yesterday, in a somewhat rash moment, and influenced by the engaging and eloquent recollections of Fred in Fred's Blog, I resolved to share some experiences of opening our house, 11 York Villas, to the public as part of the 2008 Seven Dials Artists Open House trail. 

But I've never blogged before - and I'm already playing catch-up as this idea didn't occur to me until half way through the season ... as if being elbow-deep in cake recipes wasn't enough! I guess I'll have to start with some memorable moments before engaging with the present. In this, as a former academic, I am on firm ground. 

The initial decision to host an Open House was, no doubt, product of a mid-life crisis - my second such. The first one involved deciding to work in 'Blair's favourite think tank' at the time of the Iraq invasion. Hopefully this current venture will not have such a hapless outcome!

I won't go into the details of the setting up process. Actually, with comprehensive support provided by the organising committee, this was a doddle compared to the task of winkling my mother ('Sheila who must be obeyed') out of our home following her post-Christmas sojourn.

All that I will say on the subject is that I consider us exceptionally fortunate to have attracted such a group of talented and professional artists to exhibit with us in a very short time!

Our happy troupe includes: Heavenly Helen and her installation of vintage chandeliers; the extraordinarily innovative Matt Smith and his seemingly innocuous pots; Livia O'Toole (according to Matt, 'Fit as a Butcher's Dog') who prints her wonderful life-drawings onto vibrant textiles; the hugely talented photographer Maria Short and her compelling large scale images of animals; Pam Aldridge, an established artist showing exciting new work as well as one piece that has been on international tour but has never before been offered for sale and Pam's partner, digital photographer Tashi Thondup (as voices of experience and mature wisdom they often instil productive angst, so I've fondly nicknamed this couple PMT); and Kenneth Welfare presenting alluring images that combine photography and painting and transport the viewer into other worlds. Then there's Jacob Norris, my 13 year-old son, whose desire to be included moved him out of his bedroom to create images of his favourite sweets and of some local scenes. For my part, I'm showing graphic screenprints including a 'Wonky Woman' series that comment on contemporary policy and politics as well as my hand-printed black and white photographs. The glitz is provided by Voluptuous Val (jewellery) and Delightful Dinah (textiles).

I am also PM (Project Manager). So far I have resisted the temptation to sit this errant group down in front of a flip-chart and give them a 3-hour 'Apprentice' style lecture on my business strategy. In the AOH task I'm backed by Long-Suffering Dave (husband), Effervescent Emma (daughter, my model and muse) and Elliott the Elusive (older son) ... plus amazingly supportive neighbours up and down the road who have taken to feeding and watering us.