This is the end.

August 30th, 2010

This installation evidences the journey from a fortune cookie message to life-changing surgery, and everything in between: the artist playing detective, his documenting the truth or otherwise in seven palm-reading predictions and his contacting long-lost relatives from across the world…

My work is concerned with multiple approaches to narrative: autobiographical, fusing fact with fiction, constructing identities, and old-fashioned story-telling. It embodies my ultimate ambition to re-engage with creativity within my own practice after half a decade teaching in secondary education, through the ATMA experience.

An overriding focus has been to bring an end to the syzygy – “a yoking together of opposites in which the two elements remain distinct” (Middleton 1999: xiv) – of the two different roles I perform daily as artist and teacher, and to resolve the conflict I have experienced within these competing identities. In my writing I have often likened these tensions to the dilemmas faced by a super hero and his everyday alter ego, especially when trying to keep the ‘other’ identity secret, perhaps because “after all, western literary conventions stipulate that plots should have heroes” (Skultans, 1998: xii).

Documentation had a significant emphasis in my first year of the ATMA programme as I explored multiple avenues of enquiry triggered by the catalyst of a fortune cookie bought in a Chinese restaurant. My explorations embraced myth and rumour, street art and interventions, online ‘confessionals’ mixing fact with fiction, and undercover visits to fortune tellers, noting similarities across the seven readings I obtained, just like the work of Francis Alys.

Platt (2010: 50) believes that “Alys is a kind of story teller”, whilst Observer critic Cumming (2010: 37) also captured a spirit in Alys’s work that has inspired elements within my final show, with the title of her review of his Tate Modern retrospective A Story of Deception which stated that “it’s all perfectly pointless, but completely captivating” and “…both heroic and absurd. His art is so often poised between the two.”

I believe that my own work (once described as playful yet sincere) sits in a similar position, and shares some common themes with the ‘actions’ Alys has performed. Therefore, when it came to discussing and presenting my ideas, justifying those ‘actions’ needed careful consideration.

One of the major outcomes of this course for me was the introduction to Bourriaud’s seminal writings on ‘relational aesthetics’ (1998) and more recently, the ‘alter modern’, which were very influential when I began outlining the theoretical perspectives underpinning my work, particularly at the start of year 2 when, having resolved the first stage of my enquiries, I took some time before embarking on the next stage of the journey.

This period of reflection and research introduced me to the history of conceptual art, within which “there is an explicit emphasis on the ‘thought’ component of art and its perception” (Marzona, 2006: 7) and this helped me realise that my own recently exhibited conceptual art (which, after all, “can be almost anything” (Wilson & Lack, 2008: 52)) fitted the definition relational aesthetics (2008: 183) being as it was, one of “a set of artistic practices which take as their theoretical and practical point of departure the whole of human relations and their social context, rather than an independent and private space” and seeing “art as information exchanged between the artist and the viewers [giving] audiences access to power and the means to change the world”.

Similarly, we had Barthes’ seminal 1967 essay The Death of the Author, which itself began to influence the way I wrote my blog entries, my involving people around me in my work, and ultimately, the title of this final submission, after my introduction to it. Furthermore, as this new knowledge then informed my next projects, continuing the theme of the narrative, it helped to develop through my work a personal approach I call ‘relationship aesthetics’ which speaks of the complex and plural inter-relationships with loved ones, strangers, lookalikes and name-a-likes that feature prominently in my work.  One of the ways I did this was to ask people to suggest doubles for me, another, the unusual residency I undertook on a social networking site, fabricating familial links while surveying participants for potential coincidences / shared experiences.

The only real answers offered by this period was the realisation that I had unwittingly created an alter ego and thus, identity and personality became the focus of my final investigations, including how we see and are seen. I chose to enhance my own sight also – this seemed a natural progression because vision has played a part in every stage of my journey, whether it is seeing the future, reflecting back, noticing similarities, cases of mistaken identity – the double take – or, now, eye surgery, a form of Body Art, the ultimate artistic practice.

I do not wish to liken my work to that of Orlan or Gina Pane, but in my efforts to fuse the two different sides of my personality (or appearance, namely always wearing either glasses or contact lenses) I discovered links with others, such as Mark Wallinger’s 2000 Credo show at Tate Liverpool, concerned as it was with notions of vision, plus the likes of Magritte, Escher, Calle… indeed, many artists from history have been concerned with eyes and looking. Damien Hirst (2001: 86) spoke of being terrified at not being able to see out of ‘these two f***ing little holes’ and believed that “art’s about looking. People don’t look. Artists make people look: look at what you know; question what you know…”

This resonates with the themes underpinning my work because, having spent two years looking closely at the daily events of my life and their meaning, now I can see better than ever, not just the ‘other’ but also myself, and have shared the story of this dichotomy with everybody, proving that “the process of self-identity is a leap into a narrative that employs seeing as a way of knowing” (Phelan, 1993: 5) and that “the physiological understanding of vision, like both the psychoanalytic conception of the
gaze and the technologies of aesthetics, is also a theory of loss and distortion” (Ibid.: 14) which is why, having identified his ‘twin’, the artist will not exist after this exhibition.

Therefore, the politics of the location for my final installation were very important. Wanting closure to the story, but to keep some of the mysticism and uncertainty, I felt much more confident curating the space this time around, compared to when I was ‘halfway to paradise’ in 2009.

Just as galleries and museums are increasingly aware of their audience, so have I become, this year not just of the public but the internal and external assessors, and so planned an interactive display accordingly. It was heavily influenced by a room in A Story of Deception, and Sophie Calle’s 2009 Whitechapel retrospective, which I had used as a case study for an earlier module.

Meanwhile, the idea of publishing a book which explains the objects and images that feature within the space was a natural progression from the narrative developed over the past two years, cemented by a visit to Lindsay Seers’ submission to the current Persistence of Vision exhibition at FACT, It Has To Be This Way (2009), which is accompanied by a curious paperback novella apparently written by one M. Anthony Penwill.

My book is an edited version of my website which partly summarises events, though leaves things open enough that the viewer must do some ‘looking’ themselves, question the subtext, and take on the role of the detective, piecing together clues from (seemingly disparate) objects and images after reading the full story. It encourages participation in the display, and gives viewers something to take away and digest, when they can involve themselves in the narrative further by visiting the blog for further instalments, or even start their own – as Skultans suggests (1998: xii) “many people with eventful lives have little to say about them” and whilst mine may not be the most dramatic, documenting it (and my alter ego) has certainly made the past couple of years very exciting – the artist will be missed.

Meanwhile, the ringing telephone and miniature fortune telling booth are other interactive elements to engage the audience, and the involvement of my colleague, friend and lookalike Paul at the private view is a scaled down version of the performance I had planned before the University’s policies meant we had to rein in our ambitions.

His appearance is a reference to the recurrent themes of the alter ego, synchronicity and mistaken identity, and a ‘playful yet sincere’ attempt to confuse the viewer, making them question what is real and what is not, thus referencing several works of art and popular culture, the most relevant example being Dostoevsky’s The Double, in which, according to Chizhevsky (in Wellek, 1962: 129) “the double puts with extreme power the question: will the individual discover a new stability and a new life in absolute being, or will he perish in nothingness?”

This resonates completely with my situation, in which those separate lives of the artist and the teacher should hopefully merge from now on, because the whole theory of the doppelganger is that when someone is confronted with his ‘double’ it is a sign that his life will end, thus, the two cannot continue to co-exist.

Bibliography

LITERATURE

Barthes, R. (1977 Ed.) The Death of the Author (from Image, Music, Text), New York: Hill & Wang.
Bourriaud, N. (1998) Relational Aesthetics, Dijon: Les Presses du Reel.
Godfrey, M. (ed.) (2010) Francis Alys – A Story of Deception, London: Tate Publishing.
Hirst, D. & Burn, G. (2001) On The Way to Work, London: Faber & Faber.
Marzona, D. (2006) Conceptual Art, Cologne: Taschen.
Middleton, T (1999) An Introduction to The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, London: Wordsworth.
Penwill, M. A. (2009) It Has To Be This Way, London: Matt’s Gallery.
Phelan, P. (1993) Unmarked – The Politics of Performance, London: Routledge.
Skultans, V. (1998) The Testimony of Lives: Narrative and Memory in Post-Soviet Latvia, London: Routledge.
Wallinger, M. (2000) Credo at Tate Liverpool, London: Tate Publishing.
Wellek, R. (1962) Dostoevsky – A Collection of Critical Essays, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall.
Wilson, S. & Lack, J. (2008) The Tate Guide to Modern Art Terms, London: Tate Publishing.

JOURNALS

Platt, Edward (2010) ‘Telling Stories with a Life of Their Own’, Tate Etc, Issue 19 Summer 2010, pp48-55.
Cumming, Laura (2010) ‘Art’, New Review Section, The Observer, 20 June, p37.

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Post Script

August 6th, 2010

Wanting a fitting climax to this chapter, he felt he had little alternative but to revisit the place where the chapter itself began.

A year and a week after the first trip, it was back to the seaside town that they forgot to shut down, where every day is like sunday. Morecambe always held a special place in his heart, for no real reason other than nostalgia and his childhood – but since August 2009, it also meant this.

Twelve months on, predicitions recorded, similarities noted, and resonances documented, it was time to see what the next twelve months on had in store. It had, for him, been a year of change – much had happened, most of which had been predicted, but was this a self-fulfilling prophecy? Or, as several observers had suggested, just a coincidence? Or, most intriguingly, was this a case of another fortune cookie (opened last September) being proved right?

Whatever the reasoning behind it, in a way he wanted closure, and as before, wanted to anticipate future events. Sceptics or psychics can probably predict the outcome, but this is what happened next.

Morecambe, 1st August 2010, 3.30pm

On the way they saw this guy.


He had decided to get dressed up for the occasion. He didn’t want her to remember him, and this was a different project now. Someone once suggested going for a fortune telling in disguise – this was as good as, his ‘new eyes’ being hidden by glasses, once again he was taking on a different persona.

The waiting room was different. He noticed new pictures: perhaps they’d had a re-decoration. Certainly, he hadn’t seen the photo before, the one with about fifty members of a family on, presumably at some funeral, judging by the solemn faces and the bouquets of sad-looking flowers. He looked closer, and recognised at least three of the women. They had all read his palm last summer – he knew most of them were related, but always presumed the first reading had been unique.

Maybe that explained the initial links.

He also noticed a new sign above the exit – one that read

EUROPEAN LAW STATES THAT PALM READINGS MUST BE SEEN AS A FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT

The curtain opened and there she was, showing out a girl – Lisa – who had been having her tarots read. She explained the family photo to the girl, who reckoned they were related in some way, as her grandfather’s cousin shared a name with the dead mother-in-law being mourned.

In he went.

He made the wish on the crystal ball – last year’s had come true, after all – and then they got down to business.

“These are very creative hands, very creative. You must put them to good use, and take care of them.”

Oh no, he thought, she must have read Jonathan’s blog, followed the project. After all, she had confused things with Lisa’s reading too – this one was good!

Disappointingly, or interestingly, however, pretty much the same script followed.

“You’ve been pig-headed and stubborn, you’ve made mistakes, but you don’t need to worry so much over the next year. You’ve got a long life line, you won’t be a burden, you’ve got good health, the odd trip to the doctor’s for medicines but that’s all. And your love line’s strong – you’re surrounded by very caring people who think a lot of you.”

The next part unsettled him a little.

“You bear the marriage line, and the widow’s line – which means you’ll be on your own, might be for a day, a week, or longer. I see an even number of children, and I see feathering, were you ill early on in your life?” He had been as a youngster.

Then, back to normal. he went on to mention the bottle or glass again. He knew who she means. The two-faced person too, he can identify this individual too now, nothing to worry about she said, “just a nuisance, that’s all, won’t cause harm to you or your family”.

“I see sugar in your palm… a birth, death and a marriage over the next eighteen months, the death will be someone over 75, not a surprise, you’ll have a good time at the wedding (he already had done the day before) I see travel but happy travel, holidays and that. I see changes at work, things will be more settled this year, and at home, are you looking to move?”

Did he have any questions, she asked. He was too busy trying to weigh up the accuracy of these prophecies, asking himself if this was to be a new chapter after all, or just a reprint. History couldn’t be about to repeat itself, surely?

He bought three lucky charms. A boxing glove, a fish, and an elf. These were very lucky, she said, he must look after them.

She took the money and bade him farewell, asked him to return and said he “should have the cards next time.”

That should be the end of the story, but unbeknownst to him, whilst he was inside, his accomplice had had an interesting encounter of her own. Looking at the ephemera in the window she was approached by an old woman in the beer garden next door.

“Don’t waste your money!” she shouted. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I went to see her, she said I won’t be a burden.”

“Won’t be a burden, pah! I’ve got terminal cancer.”

Then, he got home, lucky charms still in his pocket, and his goldfish had died.

And so it begins again.

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July

August 3rd, 2010

The twelfth month ended as the first began, with a strange looking bird telling me my fortune.

For most of July, I was slowly adjusting to life with good vision. Halfway through the month I discovered a friend I’d not spoken to for a while had had the exact same procedure a couple of months before I had, which for her had unfortunately not been such a positive experience. At times, the ‘new me’ misses the ‘old me’s’ glasses, even though I have bought a couple of pairs of ‘falsies’ for future appearances as ‘the other’.

Still, being able to see more clearly doesn’t mean other people can, and at different times this month I have been called Greenback and Greenwood by people who should probably know better: meanwhile, a strange old drunkard on the train said I looked like Pete Best’s grandson, whilst I was finally re-united with Ema Hesire at Liverpool Cathedral. British Gas got me and my bill mixed up with somebody else too, with hilarious consequences (if you happen to ever hear the subsequent conversation) but thankfully the phone calls seem to have dried up, those Jamaican scammers presumably tiring of their efforts to take on my identity. One strange night time occurrence that did happen though, was my dream that our goldfish killed herself and four days later, I found little B floating lifeless.

Meanwhile, my inspiration was rediscovered following a trip to ‘that’ London for an old friend’s thirtieth birthday party. Our hotel reservation at the Old Friend Hotel was not honoured, however we moved to the CV hotel three doors away – a sign for changes at work, I wonder? Anyway the party was great, as was the following day’s excursion to see the Francis Alys exhibition at Tate Modern.

Entitled A Story of Deception, and described by one critic as the ‘greatest ever show of a living artists work’ there, I was looking forward very much to discovering more about this fellow whom I had been recommended to research recently. I left overwhelmed by the Belgian born artist’s prolific career and some of his ‘actions’ which resonated with some of the things I have tried to do, only not half as well. These beautiful drawings, films and objects which document ongoing projects he continues to undertake, including The Rumour, Deja Vu and Doppelganger, deserve a higher profile in my opinion – particularly the latter, which the artist started in Istanbul in 1999 and explains thus:

When arriving in (new city), wander, looking for someone who could be you. If the meeting happens, walk beside your doppelganger until your pace adjusts to his/hers.

When discussing this with the very knowledgeable Imogen Stidworthy (who herself investigates narratives and impersonators) a few days later, she suggested I read Dostoevsky’s The Double, and straight away I realised my ignorance – this being a perfect metaphor and lead-up to what I’ve been going on about for months. It focuses on the old and young Golyadkins, and in this short story “the ordinariness of everyday life is strangely shot through with the fantastic, naturalistic portrayal alternates with the pathos of an abstract idea, the sober striving for reality with ecstatic visions of the world beyond the confines of reality” (Chizhevsky, cited in Rene Wellek’s 1962 Dostoevsky) and will be useful over the next few weeks as the end approaches.

As will the wise words of John, the brightly coloured sooth saying budgie of the South Bank, who sagely advised me of future events with the help of his glamorous assistant Jenny.

This prediction, whilst mostly accurate and highly entertaining, didn’t quite offer the climax to the story I wanted, so I had little alternative other than to return to

a woman about a hand, to see if she could help once again…

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Liz

July 1st, 2009

liz

Yes, she was basically a prostitute. Not any more, thankfully.

Liz’s descent began just before the Milennium. She started going out into town at the age of fourteen, would dance with blokes for a drink and then try to steal their wallets during the ’slowie’. Or, if nobody was playing, another trick was to walk into people and drop a bottle then get an expensive replacement drink off them. She especially enjoyed doing that one to naive students. It was a laugh.

Time went on, and it would be easy to suggest she just got into the wrong crowd but in reality it came from her. She persuaded her friends to start doing other things in exchange for drinks, ciggies, the taxi fare home. They would meet guys and get their numbers then get back in touch when they needed money.  They all worked together, Liz, Kate, Siobhan, but had to keep this ‘project’ separate from their colleagues.

They had to keep it private.

It was Liz that came up with the idea of the notes. She used to love writing notes to her friends in school, often telling them about what had happened the previous weekend. These notes, though, were slightly different.

liz4

I found them in three places mainly, and marvelled at the explicit nature of them. What was even stranger was that often there would be two or three together, identical. And bizarrely, upon analysis it became clear that the three girls had very similar handwriting. Liz had written a few too.

But eventually, the notes dried up.

It seems that one wet Wednesday afternoon, Liz saw me picking up one of the notes intended for her. I was depriving her and her friends of intimacy, of pleasure, of money. So, the girls turned to the internet for their communications, safe in the knowledge that interception was less likely now. Liz was the leader of this too, now 19 her ICT course at college was coming in handy.

They started going out and began stealing coats in bars. She’s actually still got a nice purple one they ‘found’ down Mathew Street. But the novelty soon began to wear off and Liz just couldn’t take it any more. What really did it for her was the night she was hospitalised by one of the guys they’d met, he had seemed decent too. As she lay in the bed recovering, she decided she didn’t want to put herself or her friends in such a position ever again.

Kate and Siobhan couldn’t move onthough, they liked the lifestyle too much, they know the risks and take the best when they can. Nothing bad’s happened to them so far.

This photo was of the three of them together. Liz ripped it up after a couple of gins. She’s got a job, office work and she enjoys it, still cringes when she thinks of how she used to earn her crust. Laughs a little when she has to take notes. She misses her friends, but prefers her new ones. They go out only every so often, blokes try to chat her up in particular but she gives out other people’s phone numbers, scraps of paper she finds just like that bloke she saw with her own, she doesn’t want anything yet.

Too many scars to heal.

Plus, it’s a laugh, isn’t it.

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The Doctor

July 9th, 2009

He was half of one of the first openly gay couples in Chicago.

He might also now be HIV positive.

He first met Chris whilst buying a house – and although they got to know each other intimately, for such a long time they denied their feelings for each other for fear of retribution or knock-on effects within each other’s lines of work.

You see, the doctor is an internal medicine specialist, one of the leaders in his field in American medicine, and is based at the hospital that ER was said to have been based on. A compare healthcare website tells me he studied in Sweden and Sarajevo before coming to America.

Part of their attraction was that as they were talking on an informal date early on, they had both divulged that at school they wanted to be artists. It was a time for experimentation, and they wanted to try new things, so returned to their carefree high school days and decided to start sending out messages. It was so exciting, such a release from the daily humdrum of prescribing drugs or selling properties.

Chris got the idea travelling back from a trip to New York, where he’d got talking to a young guy from Liverpool, England, on an art school trip, whilst dining alone in the Hard Rock Cafe. He liked his ideas, and went back and shared them with the doctor over a romantic catch-up meal. He felt a little guilty as he fancied the English guy a bit but was more bothered about using the inspiration to start a new project. After all, it was a new millennium – and this idea of writing messages on dollar notes wasn’t entirely original but felt anew to them.

One of their five dollar bills, which simply said HAVE FAITH, was intercepted by me in Las Vegas, August 2001.

chicagoan

Their project gathered momentum the following month.

The doctor has always been a minimalist – he didn’t like to carry a wallet, instead, he carried any important documents in his Glasses case. Receipts, prescriptions, his and Chris’s calling cards, that sort of thing.

One day he was in a rush to make an appointment with a newly married couple, who were trying for a baby and were travelling and in town for a couple of days, for some reason he really wanted to help them, and anyway he dropped it crossing a road.

It was picked up by an English couple, who just knew it would be the perfect souvenir from their trip for their eccentric son who revelled in collecting this sort of thing. They retrieved it from a gutter, perhaps he’d been looking at the stars…

mensur2

His confusion and upset at losing this glasses case only heightened his despair. He was already in trouble for prescribing the wrong medicines, and falsely claiming expenses, so he could have done without losing some of the receipts he lost that day.

As you can see from the above passport photo, which I found in London last year, a trip Chris brought him for a surprise anniversary holiday, the doctor was also awaiting routine HIV test results.

He and Chris don’t have much time for art projects right now.

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Neela

July 22nd, 2009

neela

Today I found out that another mystery that caused me pain, will never be solved by the powers that be.

Despite this letter from the public health department of the council arriving in my postbox a couple of months ago, and the reams of answers that I sent back, Tracey (apt name) from the office dealing with the investigation into the outbreak this morning told me that presumably there was no link to be found amongst those who fell ill that weekend and therefore no further information could be sought or offered.

 neela21

By now though, Neela will have been deported. It would seem she has got away with it.

If her last act in this country was indeed to poison a section of society, it is pretty ironic considering she was once going to be a doctor.

She came to Britain a few years back to stay with family. It was difficult leaving her husband and their son but things hadn’t been right for a while, she dreamed of bigger and better things and Kalim was happy working where he did. She had a photo of them in her purse – well, she had, it must have dropped out one day and some weirdo had picked it up and kept it. Still, she wrote regularly, sent money home when she could. It got harder when her status changed to ‘illegal’.

She arrived in Liverpool with the intention of working with her cousin in one of the restaurants on Bold Street, until a job came up at the school of Tropical Medicine.

It never did.

Instead, she suffered years of misery. Yes, she had her extended family around her, but missed the warmth of her husband and child, whom she presumed she would not even recognise now. Still, as soon as she was home she would track them down and find out how they were getting on. In a way she was looking forward to going home even more since her town featured in the successful film Slumdog Millionaire. She couldn’t wait to see the changes.

neelas-husband

Ever since her arrival in Britain, Neela has been the victim of racist comments at work, in the street. Since the London bombings it had got much worse. But so had the country in general, and the things she saw more regularly now, meant that she wasn’t even that upset the day the letter came telling her she had to go ‘home’. In the past few years, she has had her phone stolen, found out she was working with a load of prostitutes, and most recently she has seen a car crash when the guilty driver sped off.

She just wanted to have a little bit of revenge, it was playful more than anything, she certainly never wanted to hurt anyone.

I guess we’ll never know quite how she did it, unless she comes back to confess, but Easter 2009 will be remembered by many for the week they were infected by campylobacteriosis. Some thought they were going to die, so severe were the gastro pains and headaches. Some lost over half a stone, their appetite, precious time with their families, all because someone else was having to finally admit their dream had died, and left a mark of contamination amongst innocent citizens unlucky enough to eat and drink there that day.

Neela says she will be back.

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Frank

August 1st, 2009

frank

This guy takes photographs. Not just any photographs. He took photos that tell the story of  my life.

Some even before I was even born, some with me in them.

I came across his old dark room when we were clearing out the school buildings. An Science technician there thirty years ago, he used an empty store cupboard to develop and proudly display his work.

I took what I could. I took all those images that I instantly recognised, plus a couple I just liked.

The first family holiday I can remember was to Butlins, Pwllheli. We went to this beach. That’s me running away from the water, scared. Sally often walked Daniel on this beach.

pwllheli

I’ve still got a VHS recording of a trip we went on at primary school to somewhere in the Lakes. On it, we were filmed walking up a mountain. This mountain. It was also Terry and Kim’s favourite place to visit.

lakes

When I was seventeen, I was approached by a drunken tramp who told me he was going to kill himself later that evening. I spent time talking to him, gave him some money, and hugged him, told him everything was going to be ok. It wasn’t, and he jumped to his death from this bridge a month after meeting me.

bridge

Later, I spent a year in Blackpool at art college. Greg and Ana loved Blackpool, reminded them of Vegas.

blackpool

Then of course I came to study in Liverpool, and even now my dad sometimes visits the Port of Liverpool building for work. It’s also where Gaz stole his first phone.

liverpool

Last year I visited Whitby, a beautiful resort on the east coast. This is the harbour.

whitby

I spent new year this year at a lovely secluded farmhouse, and the following day visited Conwy and fell in love with the place. Frank had also taken this photo.

conwy

Little did I know when hoarding these prints, that Frank now owns my old camera. It was stolen from my class room three years ago by a disgruntled pupil, and sold on in a nearby pub. Frank had always wanted to ‘go digital’ but had previously been too scared. He knew it must have been stolen, but it didn’t really matter. This seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

When he started playing about with the camera, he felt a bit guilty though. And he found the lad on some of the photos stored on it, strangely familiar.

He’s still taking photos, mind.

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John (The Past, Present and Future)

August 4th, 2009

john

A thoughtful boy, John had always wanted to make sense of some of the things that had happened to him in his life so far.

It all started with the fortune cookie from Brigitta.

A random opening which led him on a journey of thought, discovery, reflection, and ‘synchronicity’ of hispast and my future, attempting to make sense of it all and perhaps, change his fate in the process.

You see, after that meal at the Chinese, strange things began to happen and suddenly he ‘got it’ – he started to understand the bigger picture. Things started to make sense.

Sharing these stories helped him. It was like a release. He likens it now to a medicine cabinet.

A medicine cabinet? I hear you ask.

Think about the scene in 13 going on 30, or even better, Big, that seminal film from our childhoods (maybe) and specifically the scene when Tom Hanks’s character Josh sees himself as a grown up. He sees himself in the mirror but doesn’t believe it’s really him, so he opens the cupboard to check there’s nothing behind it. The cupboard contains the usual medicines, nothing more.

John’s medicine cabinet shows a mysterious face. By looking inside the cupboard, unlike Josh, he finds experiences from the past that also tell the story of the face he sees.

So, writing these stories helped John. It was cathartic, and helped put things into perspective and into the past.

Explained the car crash. Attributed blame for the burglary. Solved mysteries.

As you have read, those thirteen faces he has written about, were unlucky for some. Mainly him.

But John couldn’t stop there.

The fortune cookie message had predicted something that may or may not be true. What else lay in store for him in the future? He needed to know what other possibilities were there, so that he could make the most of his future. Like Marty McFly, by going back he was improving his own future.

This time, he also had to enlist the help of others once again. He looked closely at the work of Sophie Calle and Paul Auster, who made the following comments  over ten years ago:

“Chance? Destiny? Or simple mathematics, an example of probability theory at work? It doesn’t matter what you call it. Life is full of such events… These are coincidences… Things like this happen to me all the time!”

John also wanted to discover more, by using other people’s interpretations of his story.

He began to find out how others saw him, and his future.

He followed the rules of the Psychic Reading Handbook, in which he read the following:

“Sometimes our desire to create something is so strong that we impatiently search for the outcomes before they have been created… A psychic can help you to get to the heart of the matter by putting aside your emotional blocks and pre-existing expectations”

He had his palms read several times.

Followed his stars.

Made wishes, too. Think back again to Big, and the wish that Josh makes at the Zoltar fortune teller’s booth.

His wish came true, and he had fun, for a while at least.

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The past was yours, but the future’s mine

August 16th, 2009
Having already shared with you stories from my past, thirteen in fact – unlucky for some – I now look to the future, and over the next week I will share with you what happened when I went to visit seven fortune tellers.
I chose one in Morecambe, and six in Blackpool. I decided to do it this way because seven is seen to be a lucky number, but also because both places played important parts in my past, and I have a real affinity for these ‘seaside towns that they forgot to close down’.

(Have a look at this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Da50Bzn2Lg)

There are definite links between much of what I have been told, though each reading also gave its own piece of interesting insight. Clearly there is something in this. I have spoken to many cynics who have dismissed my experiments, or what I have been told.

Despite being told by the first palm reader that to record a reading brought bad luck, I was fortunate enough to record a couple of my subsequent readings, using a hidden microphone. This added excitement to proceedings, though also a little guilt. It did though mean I have been able to listen again and go back over the few minutes we shared, anyone who has had a reading without taking notes will know that it can sometimes be difficult to take it all in and even in my post-reading video diary, I admit there will have been some things I was unable to recall.

But I have certainly overcome the fears that I initially had regarding meeting a psychic. Many people are too nervous to be ‘read’, whilst others I think read too much into what they might be told. My outside research has taught me that whatever we get told is only a guide, it is still up to us to make the decisions.

 

 

But too much got said across the seven readings that suggested consistencies and I can not get away from that. I know that seafront fortune tellers might not be the most trustworthy of clairvoyants, I certainly got fleeced a couple of times but at the same time, I believe that adds to the experience, just as the photographs of C List celebrities having their palms read do, the porcelain hands, the expensive lucky charms, the wishing on a crystal ball… Yet still, I listened, and I believed.

I still believe.

You see, the visits were on the whole intimate experiences, and were very rewarding. Even though this was an expensive project, in terms of money and emotions, I am really glad I have done it.

(Now listen to this… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKXdFriKuE8)

My life has already changed since the first reading, and I believe will continue to even more.

As always, I welcome any comments or questions you might have, or any stories you might be able to share with me about visits to fortune tellers: theartist@jonathangreenbank.com

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1. Morecambe, 3pm, 24th July 2009

August 17th, 2009

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Intrepidly I entered. She beckoned me in, held both my palms.

 

“These are very creative hands” was the first thing a fortune teller said to me.

 

Well, before that she told me that recording was not allowed: it was bad luck, so was inviting people to sit in on the reading. Everyone will tell you that, she said. This was all news to me.

 

I then had to make a wish holding a crystal ball. I did. It’s already come true.

 

So, creative hands then. A good start. She went on.

 

“You’ve had rough times. But the next twelve months will be better.

 

“You’ve got a good health line – there are no signs of dementia. But I do see sugar in your palm – let me ask, do you have a history of diabetes in your family?”

 

I do. But she suggested it could be in my future, too.

 

“You’re stubborn… and you can be a bit pig-headed, can’t you… and you’ve made a few wrong decisions in the past, haven’t you?”

 

My marriage line is strong and healthy, apparently. I will only be married once, and she could see two children.

 

She saw a birth, a death and a marriage in the next year. The death will be someone over seventy, and it will not be a surprise. She then told me she saw a glass and bottle, and asked if there was someone I could think of who had a drink problem. I could. She said to be careful, it’s not yet a problem but could be.

 

“You have a very strong life line: you will live to a good age. You won’t be a burden.

 

“You’re going through changes in work, aren’t you? It will be better, don’t worry.

 

“There’s someone around you who you worry about? Things will get easier.

 

“And is there someone close to you who you think is a bit two-faced too… Be wary of them.

 

“Are you considering moving? It won’t be forced, you will make the right decision.”

 

She ended the reading by wish me health and happiness, and invited me back in twelve months to let her know how I’d got on, and maybe have my tarots read.

 

I gave her £10 and left.

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2. Blackpool, North Pier, 1.30pm, 30th July 2009

August 18th, 2009

2. Blackpool

She’d been on TV and had read for all the stars – Jason Donovan, Barbara Windsor, Myleene Klass.

The first thing she did was ask me to make a wish with my ten pound note in my left hand.

She asked if I’d been read before – and was it recently?

This time it was only my left hand she read.

“I see finance is an issue, are you thinking about changing career?” she asked.

“Now I also see a strong relationship line, though there’s been an obstacle in the past also…

“You have a lot of admirers… and your health line is strong. You won’t be a burden, you’ll live to a long age.”

She then told me she saw me travelling over water in the near future, and asked if I was a worrier, then what I worried about.

She said the worst was behind me, and I didn’t need to so much now.

“I also see an illness in the past. And there’s some sugar at the end of your lifeline.

“I see a birth in the next twelve months: it’ll be a nice surprise, someone close.

“You’ll also go to a wedding, and you’ll have a good time.”

That was as much as I can remember, apart from her telling me that I will return to see her in twelve months and tell her how I have got on over the year.

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3. Blackpool, Promenade (Central), 2pm, 30th July 2009

August 19th, 2009

number 3

I tried to record this one. The dictaphone didn’t work and I was convinced for a short time that a strange force was stopping this from happening.

After a short wait, in I went.

I was asked to make a wish with a crystal ball in my left hand. She then held both.

“You’re a worrier,” she said, pointing out my worry line full of anxieties on my right hand, “ but your life line’s strong. Your brain’s strong too – you won’t suffer tumours or haemorrhages.”

“You’re not married yet, are you… Don’t worry, it will happen, but it was meant to be nearer thirty than twenty. How old are you?” she asked, twenty nine the reply, “well you’ve already met the person you will marry, it could be the person you’re with now, it could be someone you went to school with…”

“I hope not,” I replied, “I went to an all-boys’ school!”

She laughed and went into one about how her daughters went to an all-girls’ school and were horrible to each other.

She went on to tell me more about me, though.

“You’re going through a big period of change… don’t worry, it’ll be for the best. In September, you’re going to come in to some money.

“I also see you travelling across the water.

“And you were born to be a leader – you will one day be your own boss.”

She wished me luck and bade me farewell.  I stepped out on to the sunny Prom…

This was all getting a bit surreal.

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4. Blackpool, Coral Island, 4.10pm 30th July 2009

August 20th, 2009

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This time the tape recording worked. And it was perhaps my most positive reading of all.

I didn’t even make a wish at the start.

She discussed my options, and told me I was lucky as she’d only just started for the day.

“You’ll live to a long age. Your life line’s strong. But you’ve had a lot of worries and stress, you get down hearted and depressed, and you’ve had a lot of bad luck for a young man.

“But 2009 is going out a lot brighter than it came in.”

She discussed my indecisiveness, that this is my year for changes, for decisions, that I’ll be lucky, but I try to please too many people.

She told me everything will be ok.

“Are you looking to move house?” I nodded. “Make a decision and stick to it… Don’t hang about!”

She told me she sees a birth, a death and a marriage in the next twelve months too. The death will be someone old, maybe the person I’m thinking of, maybe not. I will come into money, but may be wronged out of it… “Because some people are one way to you, and another behind your back. You do know that, don’t you?”

She told me I had a married man’s hand, and that there’d been slight disappointment, and to be careful of people who have tried to split us up. She spoke about crossing of water, asked about uniform for work, and setting up a business on my own, re-iterating that I mustn’t hang about!

7 & 11 are lucky numbers for me. I will come into a lump sum of money linked to a government white paper… but I need to be careful.

“I see an odd number of children on your hand. Definitely one, maybe three. It could be twins – are there twins in your family?” I said no, but should have said yes. “One child comes up, then another two.”

She told me I’d found the right young lady, that health and happiness comes up on my hand, that I’d had my bad luck and had good luck to come… and that my destiny started now.

With that, I left.

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5. Blackpool, the Golden Mile (Central), 12.05pm, 13th August 2009

August 21st, 2009

blackpool5

I closed the door. This was a small booth. She was sat at the back, watching House. Her phone rang twice whilst I was with her.

This was the cheapest reading: only £5 for the right hand.

She crossed the hand for life, love, health and happiness, then said these were the hands of a gentleman.

“I see a stick… you’ll live to an old age… you won’t be a burden.”

“I also see a wedding ring, you’ve thought about it haven’t you? The girl you’re with now, her head’s screwed on, isn’t it?  She’ll stay true to you.”

“I see you crossing the water – you’ll have a good time, and meet friends.”

“You’ve got an outing planned with friends I see.”

I did, the next day, to watch the match.

“ Wear blue, it’ll bring you good luck.”

We lost 6-1.

“I can also see a change of car, do you know who that is? Because I can also see L plates… You’ll be a successful driver.”

She also saw me rocking the cradle three times. One child is going to be a talented musician, one will need a bit more pushing, but will be happy. And, asked if I knew someone who had rocked the cradle before marriage… and to expect good news from them soon. She also saw a christening in the near future.

“I see a bit of jealousy, someone who’s a bit two-faced… Do you know who that is?”

This has come up a few times now.

“I also see paperwork, I think you’ll be your own boss because you’re independent and you don’t like debt.”

This is getting scary.

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6. Blackpool, the Golden Mile (South), 1pm, 30th August 2009

August 22nd, 2009

 

 

I had to wait to go in: she was on the ‘phone, reading from a magazine.

She was definitely the most glamorous of the tellers I’d visited.

No wish this time, it cost £10, not the advertised three, though she did read both hands.

“Wherever you go once, you can go back to. You are popular, and well-liked. You’ll live into your eighties, you won’t be a burden.”

She pointed out my life lines, then asked my age.

She asked if I was in management, because she believed I was about to make a career change – I should go it alone, and will have made my name by the age of 40.

“5 and 8 are your lucky numbers… blue and white your lucky colours… and Saturday your lucky day, so anything you do, do it on a Saturday and it’ll be lucky.”

“The dates December 17th or 18th are big days for you, you’ll get a nice surprise.”

“There are two children on your hand… you were born to be a dad. I also see marriage and moving in together within the next twelve to eighteen months,”

She asked if I had any unanswered questions. I mentioned the sugar.

“No, I don’t see any sugar in your palm at all. What will kill you is something like a heart attack, something sudden and painless. You won’t suffer.”

Before leaving, I bought a lucky birthstone charm bear from her for three pounds.

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7. Blackpool, the Golden Mile (Central), 2pm, 14th August 2009

August 23rd, 2009

 blackpool 7

 

She looked the part, dark glasses, long black hair. I recorded this reading too, as it was going to be my last.

 

“I’m no make believe gypsy,” she told me, “I’m a true born Romany. What I say is guaranteed to come true in the next year.”

 

She told me she could also do more expensive readings to forecast the next three months, and that I should think about this, as there was something she really wanted me to know.

 

“Where you go once, you can go again. You have very good character, and bear a good name. Exactly a month today, you will get a big surprise – it will make you very happy. But be careful who you trust, and who you tell things. Be wary.

 

“You are not going to die of sickness. It will be of old age. You will never be a burden. You were born under a lucky star. You’re a survivor, you’re like a cat, you’ve got nine lives. But you worry, I can see. Try not to take life too seriously.”

 

“What is your biggest worry?” she asked. Travel, I replied. “Your career… you’ll make a change, soon. You won’t spend your days doing it, you’ll work for yourself. Have you considered living abroad?”

 

“You’ve got a good partner. I see big changes and surprises in the next six months… and within the next three months, you’ll come into good money unexpectedly. Not millions, but a nice amount. Don’t lend it: you need to be careful who you trust.”

 

She kept saying, don’t share too much with others, keep things to yourself.

 

Then it came.

 

“Now there is something I want to tell you, something you should know, I do wish you could afford the extra cost… go on, it’s not every day you get your palm read!”

 

I parted with an extra seven pounds. She handed me the crystal ball. “Go on, make a wish…”

 

She then told me my wish would come true, and that I was born to be the father of three, two boys and one girl.

After re-iterating what she had told me during the hands-and-face reading, she simply said, “If only you knew how happy your future is going to be… you wouldn’t worry.”

 

On the way out, I asked her name again.

 

“It’s outside. You won’t forget it in a hurry.”

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What the world is waiting for…

August 27th, 2009

When it came to presenting the findings in the academy for the exhibition, I had a clear idea in my mind as to what I wanted to present. Transferring the documentation to the gallery space was not a straightforward process, however, there were several issues which I first needed to resolve… My grand ideas of using the toilets as a place for ‘art outside the gallery walls’ or employing a fortune teller for the private view, had to be reined in and will be reserved for next year when we are the more prominent cohort.

dsci0626

Similarly, I had a dilemma regarding just how much I wanted to ‘say’. By developing the narratives the way I have, I came to enjoy using my imagination in a playful way and encouraging others to interpret things the way they wanted to. Always careful to leave subtle clues and allow others’ imaginations to ‘fill in the gaps’, when presenting such a body of work to the public – many of whom would not be familiar with the style of my blog – I became conscious that there was a danger of giving too much away.

And finally, I was not confident enough about the short documentary I have made, to have it projected in the gallery, and preferred more intimate presentation via a laptop (with the accompanying soundtrack on the actual dictation machine I used during the readings) although clearly this is an area to explore for future practice. I have embraced new technologies in terms of my website, which has been an online exhibition of sorts with elements of collaboration, in terms of the comments submitted.

dsci0625

I do, though, feel I have reached a balance in the physical installation I have ultimately produced.

Because I was creating a semi-fictional world, I wanted to present objects as if they were artefacts one might find in a museum, so borrowed some display cases and offered a fabricated cataloguing system for the objects related to each narrative. I have read that what I have created, could be described as alter-modern (being as I am, an artist working with super-modern themes with text and image across time and space) but throughout my journey, the concept behind what I have been doing has been key.

The art I have presented is not quite objectless, but is based on a mixture of fact, fiction and memory, scribbled notes or fantastic ideas. I was also keen to encourage at least some participation by viewers, even if I wasn’t letting them ‘in’ completely, and my submission fits the description given to conceptual art following the 1960s, by Daniel Marzona:

“At a stroke, art was understood as a special form of information, which was often presented as a combination of photography and text.. the beholder was now finally being urged to take part in the art actively, and often at considerable expenditure of effort…”[1]

The main body of the piece is quite minimalist, with traditional display methods underneath randomly-hung frames. My desk, notice board and reference books are there in the gallery too, to recreate my working space and hints at the processes I have followed, allowing viewers some access at least to the methods I employ, whilst the recreation of a fortune teller’s booth table, complete with free fortune cookies and fortune teller fish, is another playful gesture of involving members of the public in my story.

dsci0616

Ultimately, this work presents my version and others’ interpretations of events from the past and in the future, so it should be recognised as a collaborative piece, even though many of my colleagues were unaware of their input. The installation’s title is ‘Halfway to Paradise’ because Billy Fury was a regular visitor to Blackpool fortune tellers related to some of those whom I myself frequented, but also because I find myself in a state of transition in many areas of my life, not least in transcending from a gloomy past (Unlucky for Some) towards a brighter future (which, as many a palm reading told me, is In Your Hands). A rejected alternative was the song lyric “The past was yours, but the future’s mine”[2].

Where I go from here is an interesting question. One small project I have already begun to undertake is mapping the findings of the seven readings and then log their resonance or otherwise what happens in my everyday life. This has already started (indeed, some of what I was told has come true this past week) and will be documented in a diary that will last exactly one year. In this I will also keep a record of every horoscope that I read during that time.

Another step I have tentatively taken is to document the responses of other people to what they are told by fortune tellers. The first experiment of this type gave rather unsurprising results, as during a return to Morecambe, my girlfriend was told almost exactly the same during a reading as I had been by the same fortune teller a month previous. I must then decide how to interpret this – either the fortune teller says the same thing all the time and makes up more than I do; she saw me coming and wanted to join in the game by giving false information; or, our fates are similar and we are simply meant to be together.

dsci0515

I will also be writing a second series of short stories, based on people’s interventions in my future, following what I have been told will happen to me. These will be more difficult to create, but perhaps allow more theoretical foundations, especially if I continue my wider reading around the subject, on issues such as synchronicity, self-fulfilling prophecies, time travel and spirituality. 

[1] Taken from p7 of Marzona’s introduction to Conceptual Art (2006) Taschen, Cologne.

[2] A line from the song She Bangs the Drums by The Stone Roses (from the album The Stone Roses, 1989)

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August

September 1st, 2009

the truth

Ok so it’s just over a month since my first visits to fortune tellers, and part of the deal was to track the success or otherwise of what I was told.

In a funny way, my life has already changed somewhat since that initial trip. I had read a lot about how to interpret readings, but was not prepared for the surreality of the whole event, or the clarity and consistency of the messages I would be passed.

I feel like I have a little more direction, I definitely feel more settled about certain things. Like I wrote recently, things are coming together nicely. The past was yours but the future’s mine etc.

Away from the fortune tellers, I have also experienced some evidence of more synchronicity – coincidences in my friendship circles, for example, passport photograph faces identified, lottery numbers correctly dreamt, and I’ve had my e-mail account hacked twice – perhaps payback for my own playing with others’ identities.

But going back to the palm readings, I’ve also been told some fascinating stuff about gypsies in Ireland that I need to follow up, and have heard about a family friend who for years visited fortune tellers on a weekly basis.

From what I was told, well, I’ve been to a wedding, and been invited to another. I had a great time, as predicted.

I’ve heard of two pregnancies – not quite the happy news from loved ones I was promised, but extended family members so I suppose they still count.

No deaths as yet, thankfully.

Two people have decided to change their car, as was foreseen. I have made the decision to move flat, hopefully in a few weeks, and it does feel like the right decision, worth the wait. And we’ll find out from tomorrow whether those changes that are taking place at work, are for the best… Similarly, we don’t yet know if predictions of success in my work were correct – the forthcoming exhibition and start of term will tell us – but in the past week I have had some favourable comments and internet linkage for which I am extremely grateful. They are on www.wsag.org and www.mercyonline.co.uk if you’d like a look.

One of the snippets of information I was given has already been proven definitely wrong though, as wearing blue on my next outing with friends didn’t bring me luck at all as far as Everton were concerned.

I’m getting closer to finding out who the two-faced jealous guy might be. I’ve got my suspicions. In fact, seeing as I always like to involve you in my stories, check your phones and see if the number 07818691644 means anything to any of you, just out of interest – and if not, don’t hesitate to make anonymous prank phone calls to it late at night if you’d like - please let me know via theartist@jonathangreenbank.com if it does, or you do.

Talking of numbers, throughout September I’ll be seeing if those lucky ones bring that money I was promised – I’ll let you know how that goes too.

fortuneteller

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September

September 30th, 2009

Green Day famously sang ‘wake me up, when September ends’ and that rings true with this boy’s life.

The following is an account of the chronological events of the actual month of September, based on my experiences within that time frame, themselves linked to the outcomes of my seven fortune teller readings from the summer.

The month started well, with the private view of the exhibition and I recieved some excellent responses to my submissions. People were fascinated by my stories, whether genuine, fictitious or a bit of both, and offered me their own anecdotes about psychic tendencies and phenomena. It reminded me of being told that I would be successful in my work, and to be careful of how much I tell people.

Academic

September was going to be a good month, I believed.

Then, no sooner had I felt on top of the world, that another common theme from the readings raised its rather ugly head. Changes were indeed afoot in work, but whilst it had been suggested that these changes would be for the best, it was soon evident to me and several others that this might not be the case. I even had my first ever argument with a colleague this month, though new guidelines mean that I’m not allowed to discuss work any more.

It’s perhaps for the best as the other mention of my changing profession and working for myself has never seemed so appealing…

Back to the month’s events, though, I did soon receive some good news. A friend (colleague, sorry) came into money.

A mere coincidence, you think, however the circumstances suggest a small element of something more coming into play. You see, said colleague looks exactly like me. The resemblance is uncanny. We look like brothers, you might even say. Especially when you learn that we share the same birthday, admittedly five years apart, and of course work in the same place. But the fact that I had been promised money this month and his wife had had a funny feeling about the bathroom floorboards in their new home, which he then dislodged to discover £1600 in used banknotes, to me suggested hope as to the truth of what I had been told.

There were further funny goings on this month too. Strange twists of fate, unexplained until I sit here typing away: such as the pupil who had exactly the same keyrings as me and is named after another of my lookalikes; my solo trip to a pub who inexplicably played the album that me and my old flatmate had designed the cover for on the day of my surprise party, attended by that same fellow; and then an act of serendipity in which I was asked a question by a friend on behalf of his mate, I had no idea how to help so, when reminded of the request, guessed a random website I didn’t even bother to research and on that very site, he found exactly what he had been looking for all along.

Of course, in September we also had Derren Brown’s questionable attempts at ‘events’, specifically the predicting of the lottery numbers on the 9th… clearly, I will have to investigate his methods much further as they themselves rely on “suggestability… predictability… random decisions” and people’s wishing things to come true based on their will power combined with a ’state of fear’. Fascinating, albeit dubious, stuff.

check your lucky numbers...

Nothing in particular happened on the 13th/14th, as I had been distinctly promised exactly a month previous, though a couple of days later there was by happy accident an episode of Friends aired on E4 which featured the half dozen… playing the lottery, and discussing how they could make themselves luckier for the rollover jackpot. During this month, I even bought a couple of lottery tickets, based on my own lucky numbers and a set dreamt of by my best friends, partly maybe attempting to force the coming into money. No luck came my way though. However, many of my horoscopes over the month did have some resonance with what actually happened, but then it was a rather surreal month overall, what with a surprise 30th party based on time travel, so I suppose anything could have happened.

also called brown!

Indeed, that night I gave a speech exclaiming that the fortune tellers were right, and I did feel like the richest man in the world, in the presence of all my friends and family who had made such an effort for my special evening. A week later, the generosity I was shown with birthday gifts proved the soothsayers were entirely correct in their predictions and I did indeed come into money.

It turned out to be perhaps the greatest birthday I’ve ever enjoyed. Unfortunately though, a couple of other moments soured the positivity, with a sudden death of someone over seventy (as was multiply predicted)and an expectant mother’s unfortunate loss.

Roll on October.

 

 

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October

November 2nd, 2009

October was a funny old month.

It’s quite apt that it ends with Hallowe’en, that horribly over-egged pudding of a celebration that not many people actually understand (more of which later) because in several respects it was a dark thirty one days.

However, much of what has happened could well be deemed to have resonated with what I was told during the fortune tellings I had over the summer, and for that reason alone, I must stay positive about events overall.

A major contributing factor to that optimism is the hugely stressful though ultimately wonderful flat move I am currently experiencing… however many blisters the confusing IKEA instructions cause, I am very proud of my most recent creations (two wardrobes, two bedside cabinets and a chest of drawers) and am certain that the whole process was set in motion back in Blackpool.

witches-curse

In case you are unfamiliar with my back story, the short version is that I visited seven fortune tellers over the summer and am currently documenting how much of what they told me, comes true. Several of them talked about moving, one in particular advised me to ‘not hang about; make a decision and stick to it, you’ll be happier’… the very next day we saw this flat and the rest, as they say, is history.

The new place is number 8, one of my lucky numbers apparently, the postcode includes a 7 (another lucky number) but moving has been rather difficult due to my sentimental nature and subsequent difficulty in sorting through the flotsam and jetsam accumulated over the years. But then, all of this is about letting go of the past and looking to the future (“2009 will go out better than it came in…”) so I suppose I just have to deal with that.

October though as I said was not a very happy time overall. This was largely due to changes in the workplace, changes that were foreseen during my visits and were promised to be positive ones, though getting hit twice within three weeks by the same twelve year old does not offer job satisfaction.

Stress levels rose with the workload, and emotions were high as I dealt with a birth, death and marriage on the same day early in the month. The death was particularly saddening, and not entirely as described.

This account is quietly dedicated to his memory.

However, I also received a christening invitation and there were a couple of great wedding celebrations this month, the first of which involved my discussing with a fellow guest their encounter with one of the fortune tellers I myself had met, whilst for the latter I had been asked to request a tune for the DJ to play in the evening. By a strange twist of fate, it was This Charming Man – on the same weekend that my hero collapsed whilst singing that exact song.

Also though this month, I was fortunate enough to meet a couple of my other inspirations, artists to whom I gave this website address so that they might read and hopefully see the links with their own, much more celebrated, ouvre. Michael Landy and David Shrigley haven’t left a comment yet, maybe they will discuss an issue on the new forum – why don’t you too? – but given how much they have influenced my practice, I’ll let them off just for now. I also contacted Sophie Calle, who this month I discovered was to open an exhibition in London, and has been a major player  in both my research and my life over the years. I hope she found my heartfelt ponderings interesting. In fact, if you’re reading Sophie,

je t’ai vue… tu as mes sentiments distinguees… merci bien…

introspection1

Some other little coincidences caught my gaze this month, which were not directly related to my studies but added weight to the theories I am investigating. We had the curious case of Stephen Gately, whom I discovered a couple of years ago shared the same butcher as I when purchasing the most expensive steak ever. And, we had the fantastic story of the boy who was believed to have flown away whilst stowing in a hot air balloon but actually didn’t… in the same week as Pixar film ‘Up’ (about a stowaway boy who flies away aided by balloons) was released.

And, he was called Falcon.

And finally I discovered that the motif on my favourite shopping bag – has anyone else gone as over the top as me recently to save the environment? – was actually designed by my old Uni tutor and guiding light.

A couple of horoscopes told the truth this month – one said that the time was perfect to launch a makeover project (the week before moving in here) whilst another… and, to echo the words of another fortune teller, someone whose drinking I have worried about, fell ill this month, nothing serious you understand, but enough to concern me somewhat, whilst the two-faced texter reared their ugly head once again – this despite my thinking I had come up with a cunning plan to deflect their attention. Still, it’s sorted now, I hope.

two-face

So, the 31st of the month brought with it ghosts and ghouls and freaks and fools, and my favourite story of the month was found in my new local paper. It basically involved a local faith school holding a Superhero themed disco on Saturday night, under the strict proviso that HALLOWE’EN COSTUMES ARE NOT ALLOWED. For me it was refreshing to see such an approach, given that only a day earlier I had witnessed a queue of fifty students outside a fancy dress shop waiting to buy their outfits for the weekend. I am generally disappointed to see such a celebration, not even of death, just of poor horror films or generic clichés, accompanied by a lack of understanding of what exactly All Hallows’ Eve even refers to.

Especially when, during said decant, I attempted to part with a collection of superhero comic book images, and found those illustrating this blog.

johnny-peril1

 

Remember, remember, to read about November.

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November

December 2nd, 2009

A month of great change.

As predicted, the flat move went through finally, and I am very happy to be here. Other aspects of my life, in terms of moving (recent and potential) brought with them less good news, therefore the predicted career change looks more enticing than ever, especially given some of the experiences encountered through University-arranged talks and workshops: more of which later.

This month I had a great time at a christening, the first I had been invited to since such an event was predicted by the seaside seven. There I heard of the subjects’ mother’s recent visit to a medium, and what she had been told about the children… which came only a couple of days after a riveting story I heard about a young boy who sees ghosts. And, I discovered that where we now live was once a social club one of my best friends used to drink in before regularly scaring himself on the way home by staring at the building’s ‘ghost brick’. Perhaps it will turn out to be haunted though by characters from its time as a fire station, when the chief fire man shared the name of another of my best friends and my god son. All this being a flat where an old tutor, who once told me I reminded him of himself when he was younger, lives on the next street, I found out this month.

The warnings regarding ‘a bottle or glass’ were also painfully resonant this month when, after months of anticipation, I went to see one of my heroes (Morrissey) as part of my birthday present. As many of you will know, the concert lasted about five minutes before the singer sulked off stage after being hit by… a bottle or glass.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tLUI7IGb38&NR=1

Once again, a birth and a death took place on the same day in November, though this time they affected a colleague, and the very creator of this site. And, as many of those ladies told me, I came into money unexpectedly this month, ok so they were a couple of months out, but there is not much  that I was initially told that is left to come true now.  This financial gain was also predicted by a horoscope in our now local paper, and a fortune cookie which said ‘if you had your life to live over again, you’d need more money’ the very day that one of the cheques arrived.

Plans to cross the water are continuing apace, and the year does seem to be “going out much brighter than it came in”. Coincidences, quirks of fate, are happening more frequently now – maybe I am looking out for them – but how else can you explain those above, or the time a couple of weeks back when I returned to the old place to cheekily check the mail box and arrive at exactly the same time a couple who looked remarkably like me and Lise, entered the building accompanied by an estate agent who said he was about to show them around my old flat?

However, perhaps the strangest coincidence this month was passed on to me by a course mate, who, during a visit to his friends, noticed a fortune cookie message pinned to her notice board.

“HELP! IM LOCKED IN A FORTUNE COOKIE FACTORY” said it.

Now, I have a decision to make. Clearly, Brigitta’s desperate pleas were bound to end up in other people’s post banquet entertainment, but I never expected such convergence at this stage.

Therefore, do I dismiss months of research and pondering? Accept that it was not my destiny to intercept her s.o.s.? Or at least, not just mine.

brigitta's message

brigitta's message

Or, do I investigate this event further, exploring the notion that this is all just another intricate layer of the elaborate game I am mixed up in?

You see, my lines of enquiry are already shifting, and this is where I need your help…

I spoke at the start of this post that I had been lucky enough to attend several fascinating glimpses of the worlds of curation and collaboration. One of these introduced me to the seminal article by Roland Barthes (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roland_Barthes) which I will now (rather ludicrously) reduce to snippets of still-hard-to-read soundbites, but you get the idea:

“writing is that neutral, composite, oblique space where our subject slips away, the negative where all identity is lost… the explanation of the work is always sought in the man or woman who produced it… the author ‘confiding’ in us… the novel ends when the writing becomes possible… the text is a tissue of quotations drawn from the innumerable centres of culture… the writer can only imitate a gesture that is always anterior, never original. His only power is to mix writings… when the author has been found, the text is ‘explained’… but there is one place where this multiplicity focused and that place is the reader, not, as was hitherto said, the author… the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the author.”

Subsequently, over the coming months I will be asking you to play a more active role in my narrative. The exact details are yet to be revealed, and many of you already play major roles in my life story so I don’t want you to feel that you have to intervene any more than you already do, by acting differently the natural order might be upset…

But in the mean time, please can you look out for any lookalikes of me that you think are particularly good. Celebrities, colleagues, anyone who might be mistaken for me – now, in the past or even the future. You can send me links or pictures, comment on the forum or email theartist@jonathangreenbank.com and your input would be greatly appreciated. Apparently, my godson thinks there’s an Uncle Jon lookalike living next door here – unless that was a ghost too.

http://www.123people.co.uk/ext/frm?ti=person%20finder&search_term=jonathan%20greenbank&search_country=GB&st=person%20finder&target_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.clubwebsite.co.uk%2Fglanconwyfc%2Fcommittee_members.pl%3Fpage%3Dprint&section=weblink&wrt_id=216

I will leave you with two horoscopes that I read on the last weekend of November. One  mentioned that “problems with education make for a stressful time” whilst the other said “we all have our negative moments, but they pass… fotunately, the stars are giving you a deeper insight and a sense of how something is shaping up.”

‘Til next time – Happy advent.

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December

January 3rd, 2010

 

You really couldn’t make this up.

 

Another strange month, culminating in a life-changing few days in New York, more of which next time.

 

But the twenty two days before our departure was event-filled and offered yet more – as if it were needed – evidence that my seven ladies were telling the truth.

 

The month started with a trip to a self-help guru training day, all very useful, and the journey there brought chance encounters with two very influential old tutors who had sat themselves (separately) in the same carriage on the train there.

 

The following day, on a different train entirely, I met an interesting family who themselves showed a sincere interest in what I was writing in my little notebook about (them) and proceeded to borrow my phone, discuss Christmas spending amounts, and comment on my niceness, whilst swigging Stella from a can. What intrigued me about this meeting was that they now have my phone number – long story – and I wonder to myself, will this development come back to haunt me?

 

It hasn’t yet.

 

This was the day I also completed a ‘mental toughness’ questionnaire, and I was not entirely surprised to find out a couple of days later that I had the lowest possible ‘mental toughness’ score, one category of which looks at how ‘in control’ you are of your life. Every participant receives a ‘coaching’ report full of useful advice for improvement – I will be looking to follow this over the next few months and check my progress….

 

Perhaps the highlight of the start of the month was the World Cup. I prayed that England might get paired up with Algeria, the land of my fore fathers, and just as Derren Brown suggested might happen, my wishing came true and the two countries will play each other next June in South Africa. I immediately began collecting information on Algeria, though planning a sojourn there this year proved problematic when BA advice suggested nobody travel there unless it’s absolutely necessary… However, I also found out that one of their squad plays for Blackpool.

 

 

All the above, and following, was played out against the backdrop of a rather uncomfortable domestic situation in the flat above that which I recently moved into, the woman there, in between drunken-sounding screams, sounds as if she could be the two-faced individual / one who likes a drink that the fortune tellers warned me about?

 

A school trip encouraged me to consider converting to Judaism, and a TV drama was aired about someone whose life is dictated my fate and numbers, meanwhile hands came back in to my thoughts for a reasons that will soon become very apparent. And, at my grandma’s ninetieth birthday – the age I was told I will also live to – we discovered that two of my relatives were buried together, nine days apart, over a hundred years ago.

 

burial1

 

However, the main reason that all of this paled into insignificance during December was because the proposed trip to New York was put into serious doubt ahead of the planned strike by BA cabin crew during the period our trip was booked. Days of uncertainty, waiting for contradictory press statements, were nightmarish, given what was in store, but all the while I kept a secret security inside myself that told me everything would be ok.

 

You see, whilst most of the fortune tellers had foreseen me crossing the waters and having a good time, others had seen the year ending on a high, and a couple had suggested I consider living abroad, one in particular had been adamant that I would receive very good news on December 17th.

 

Lo and behold, an announcement was made on December 17th that the strike ballot was illegal and we would, after all, be going to New York…

 

dsci0315

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December – Part 2

January 5th, 2010

The flight was a little late, but the bad weather meant we had had another couple of days filled with concern and uncertainty, so an extra hour was irrelevant.

 

dsci0002

 

The first thing that many of us do is check the films that will be shown: I flicked through the inflight magazine and found a lookalike of me and Lise before turning to the film listings. Anyone aware of the new procedures on BA transatlantic flights will know that such excitement is ameliorated by the ‘on-demand’ service, offering about forty films to choose from. My appetite was whetted when I saw the listings, particularly one movie I’d been waiting to see for ages following a recommendation from the highly skilled builder of this very site, who knows me better than most people on this earth, and said that 500 Days of Summer could have been written about me.

me and lisa looking for muppets compilations

me and lisa looking for muppets compilations

 

It didn’t disappoint – the central character Tom’s Joy Division t-shirts, hopeful romanticism, love of The Smiths, and basically his whole personality, was reminiscent of me, and the narrative jumped back and forwards as well as any of my stories. But what really stuck was a quote towards the end of the film, something that stuck with me and was to resonate loudly later on during the trip.

 

                        “If Tom had learned anything, it was that you can’t ascribe

                         cosmic significance to an earthly event.

 

                        COINCIDENCE – That’s all anything ever is. Nothing more…

                        Nothing less.

 

Coincidence.

 

                        Tom had finally learned – there are no miracles.

 

                        There’s no such thing as fate.

 

                        Nothing is meant to be…”

 

Now this knocked me a little, as events such as the proposed strike and weather problems plus the fortune teller’s predictions, made me more certain than ever that this was all meant to be, but I watched the heartwarming UP instead of worrying about what I’d just been told by the narrator of an Indie flick.

 

We were on our way.

 

Suddenly, things went wrong upon landing, however. Our bags had not accompanied us on the journey, and so we travelled to the hotel ‘light’ but safe in the knowledge that at least one would be joining us soon enough.

 

Times Square was its usual buzzing self, and aside from the bags balls-up, everything was looking good. At Planet Hollywood we were even sat under Sly and Slimer, having noticed memorabilia from Big and Ferris Bueller (two of my favourite films) and West Side Story and Grease (two of Lisa’s) on the way to the table.

 

 

dsci0031

 

The following day brought with it some amazing experiences – The top of the Rock for the most amazing views, the sun was shining, a bus tour, then a fantastic Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. The biggest coincidence of Christmas Eve was that our tour guide on the Downtown bus, looked a little like me. Albeit a lot cooler, with the necessary knowledge and accompanying Queens accent. Then, one of the old Rockettes was a great lookalike for Lisa’s mum, and, after the show, we had our photograph taken by the spit of Barbra Streisand.

 

After a wonderful meal at the Grand Central Oyster Bar, we returned to the hotel, still no luggage… but It’s a Wonderful Life! was on TV.

 

(Note exclamation mark)

(Note exclamation mark)

 

No luggage meant no presents on Christmas morning, so, wearing pretty much the same clothes as the previous two days, we set off for the Empire State Building nice and early.

 

Now when I said that things were meant to be, every hope was pinned on us getting to the top of the Empire State. If you’ve seen An Affair to Remember you’ll get what that means, if not, go and see it. Sleepless in Seattle is, in my opinion, a little less relevant, however, both could be said to have relied heavily on chance, destiny, fate… and both inspired what happened next.

 

 

the entrance

the entrance

 

 

 

 

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December (the third of three)

January 7th, 2010

 

 

So, we descended the Empire State and began planning the wedding. No date or definite plans as yet, however here’s a sneak preview if you’re interested… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0ChbqaTIs8

 

Then a hot dog for breakfast, before a horse and carriage ride around a snowy Central Park. Our horse’s name?

 

Chance.

 

 

horse!

horse!

 

 

 

Following Christmas lunch at a McDonald’s, and buying a Barack Obama woolly hat, we decided to visit the Central Park Zoo to share our good news with the animals, a la Rocky and Adrian…

 

Jon and Lise share the good news with the animals at the zoo

Jon and Lise share the good news with the animals at the zoo

 

A walk through the park followed, reading the bench plaques as we went towards Strawberry Fields and the Dakota but more importantly the San Remo, where Sigourney Weaver’s apartment was in Ghostbusters, plus some streets full of Brownstones that also looked strangely familiar. The rest of the day included a few celebratory drinks, a visit to Madison Square Garden, and a cracking Chinese meal including… you guessed it, fortune cookies.

 

Boxing Day, still no bags, and off we went to the Statue of Liberty – a dream come true for me. Especially wearing the foam crown. Ellis Island was also an incredible experience, I searched for my forefathers on the database to be avail, but the coincidence to beat all coincidences came on the boat back, as we boarded ‘Miss Liberty’ with the real Miss Liberty in the background.

 

look closely

look closely...

 

The World Trade Centre was a surreal experience – not because of the eerie life losses or rebuilding taking place, but because we saw the same French couple that had been sat next to us in the McDonald’s and stood by us at Liberty Island.

 

French couple (she looked a bit like Grotbags)

French couple (she looked a bit like Grotbags)

The rest of that evening was simply brilliant, we got soaked on Wall Street, had ten beers at the Heartland Brewery at South Street Seaport, and the most perfect meal at Les Halles, the Brasserie owned by one of my heroes, Anthony Bourdain. The steak tartare, made tableside, was especially good.

 

Then, we returned to the hotel to find a bottle of champagne had been sent by our families, plus one of our bags had finally been delivered. Although, a couple of things, including two of Lisa’s Christmas presents, had been stolen. Unbeknownst to me, William (http://www.jonathangreenbank.com/archives/57) had been employed as a baggage handler at Heathrow.

 

Our final full day took us uptown on a bus tour to Harlem, Bloomingdale’s, and Serendipity – although it wasn’t meant to be, the three hour wait put paid to our lunch plans, instead heading for Katz’s Deli which unfortunately is best known for the scene from When Harry Met Sally (please don’t think that Meg Ryan was omnipresent on this trip) when instead it should be best known for its amazing sandwiches and the overall experience of eating there.

 

Walking through Little Italy, then Chinatown, I found a business card for the Good Luck Car Service and we walked the Brooklyn Bridge as the sun was setting and everything was right with the world. We even found the Ghostbusters headquarters – now a fire station – before arriving at the Spotted Pig, a wonderful gastropub serving offal and fine ales, owned by Jay-Z amongst others. There we were served by a lookalike of my old flat mate Doug.

 

Still, the best was yet to come.

 

After hours of searching, Lise found the ring of her dreams at a jewellers in the Diamond District, next to the exact phone box from which we’d rung our parents three days earlier to share the news. Eddie made the ring, Seymour cleaned it, and I sang Beatles songs with Reginald Dollar, the coolest Coolio impersonator you’ll ever meet. He tried to sell me a wedding suit before divulging the details of his lawsuit against WalMart.

 

Hey Eddie! I got a ring needs fixin'

Hey Eddie! I got a ring needs fixin'

 

 

You had to be there.

 

But we weren’t for much longer. With a heavy heart, and a missing holdall, we returned to JFK, to be upgraded and be offered $100 compensation. On the plane back I watched Julie and Julia, a great reflection of what it’s like to write a blog you think nobody reads, and upon return the second bag turned up – with more stuff missing out of it, therefore BA are currently dealing with our complaint.

 

Jetlagged for the remainder of the month, enough of the Fortune Tellers’ tales had proven true – seeing an engagement ring on my hand around thirty; crossing the water and having a good time; coming into money, and getting good news on December 17th.

 

New Year’s Eve brought with it an entirely new chapter…

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January

February 4th, 2010
Following New York, a new year, a new me?
 
 
Still in a post-engagement bliss (lest we forget that, during this month, not only did my second-cousin-once removed Russell Brand propose to Katy Perry, but Lise was bizarrely likened to newly-engaged Katie Price – I know – who starred on Alan Carr’s chat show, to whom I myself was likened the very same day), the year got off to a surreal start with all that snow, and a few extra days off. A real god send, fateful almost, allowing as it did some quality time on a neglected assignment, walks in the snow, drinks in the pub, and preparation for a fancy dress party.
 
Growing up I had always wanted to be Sylvester Stallone. Well, more specifically, Rocky Balboa.
 
A Seventies fancy dress party offered the chance to become my hero for the night, and even better, with Adrian Pennino and Butkus (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1331332/ ) by my side. We recreated the ice skating date, apt given the frightful weather outside, but even more appropriate when I realised that Sly and I had, in recent years, exchanged roles actually, given that he has become an Evertonian and a painter of some repute. Here we are at the party, Butkus is whispering to me the proposed plot for ROCKY 7, in which our pugilistic pioneer even becomes a teacher!
 
 
All the while I had become embroiled in the ultimately disappointing Africa Cup of Nations. I have written elsewhere, my reasons for supporting Algeria ( see http://www.englishfootballpost.com/news/2010/01/28/the-desert-foxes-on-our-boxes/ for a full explanation, but more will come on here soon), however, the next interesting example of synchronicity came when I gained a role on ITV’s fascinating new show, Soapstar to Superstar, when I even got to meet the woman of my dreams about ten years ago, Myleene Klass. And the very next day I was at a workshop, unbeknownst to me until arrival, led by an artist whom I cooked for two years ago. She has even recently been researching tarot cards.
 

This weekend was rounded off with a trip to Manchester – by chance we sat on the train carriage’s seats 27 & 28, our dates of birth – to the Strictly Come Dancing live show (long story) where another lookalike – Mark Ramprakash? – won the competition.

And that evening, an interesting twist in the elaborate eviction / escape process of Celebrity Big Brother involved the housemates’ opening of fortune cookies, each of which told that individual’s fate. The rest of the month buzzed by in a blur, with the only remaining stories of note worth telling involving my best mate’s finding of a flat having moved to Australia and a quirky landlord coincidence; my finding of a watchmaker named Jonathan Greenbank; my subsequent discovery that in Kent there’s an immigration officer called Jon Greenbank who made the news for deporting four members of staff in a Chinese restaurant there; and my meeting an artist who had created a work nine years ago whose title had stuck in my mind ever since:

“AS IF IN A DREAM, DREAMT BY ANOTHER”

I was overjoyed to be able to discuss the title with him, relating as it did to stories of… immigration. Moreover, its coming from a John Berger book about refugees encouraged the notion that many immigrants felt – that someone else was controlling their weird life. This I believed, was almost a replica of what I have been living through aswell, that is, should they so decide, others can switch off this fantastic adventure whenever they choose.

It is now six months since my initial visits to the fortune tellers, so next month seems an appropriate time to assess exactly what evidence we have of the predictions having come true – as you will have read, many have for me, with only three seeming to remain outstanding:

The L Plates… as I continue to avoid the contemplation of driving, a friend just passed his theory… but could this mean hen / stag nights?
 
The twins / three children, one a gifted musician etc… One thing at a time, thank you!

The dying of something like a heart attack in my nineties… a long way to go, yet.

However, I am intrigued to discover if any of these have resonance with your lives in any way: if so, please let me know by e-mail (theartist@jonathangreenbank.com) or discussion on the forum.

The last day of the month I felt terribly ill after a Bourdain-inspired Lapin aux Olives. As I lay in bed, somewhere, a new facebook campaign was being conjured up. Doppelganger week, in which everyone involved was to use a lookalike of themselves as their profile photo.

These two apparently used one of me… Oh, the irony… and notice they must have met at some fundraiser for diabetes (remember the fortune tellers’ tales) organised by Specsavers.
 
Anyway. Happy Valentine’s. And heartfelt thanks, as always.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

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Previously…

February 9th, 2010

Do you know what? I love it when those American TV programmes start with one of the actors doing a gravelly voiceover that says, “Previously on…” (insert random US serial here, Friends, LOST, ER, etc) and nothing did it better than V. It gave the chance to reminisce the previous week’s entertainment, or catch up if you’d been sent to bed early / been out drinking / forgot to bother. In terms of this site, you’ve got nearly a year to catch up on.

Therefore, and in no way linked to the tutorial I have this week, I have decided to give a short recap to anyone new to this blog – or my tutor, whoever reads it first.

It started with a fortune cookie.

A seemingly random opening which led me on a journey of thought, discovery, reflection, and ‘synchronicity’ of my story, my recent and distant past and my near and distant future, and involved my attempting to make sense of it all and perhaps, change my fate in the process.

“HELP! I’M LOCKED IN A FORTUNE COOKIE FACTORY!” said it, and I couldn’t just ignore it. It felt like a sign, like this was meant for me, and for a while, I was obsessed with the gimmicky snacks. I even set up an installation in Liverpool city centre to someone I made out had been killed by one.

he died ten years ago for you

This took me to Chinese philosophies and fortune predictions, good luck messages, and the I-Ching. Lottery numbers consumed me for a while. The idea of serendipity and fate was exacerbated however by my discovery that this message had been sent to me by the very lady whose photos I had found under my bed ten years previous, then the realisation that other (fortunate and unfortunate) events in my life had been caused by other people linked to my past somehow… so I decided to get some closure by sharing my stories with you. Thankfully my best mate on the other side of the world built me this platform for them.

http://www.jonathangreenbank.com/archives/9

In order to prevent such events happening in the future, believing I could control my fate, I began to visit fortune tellers. I chose  the seaside towns that they forgot to shut down, where I had enjoyed large chunks of my childhood, going undercover to document my discoveries.

This experience had a profound effect, not just on the narrative my work embellished but on my life as a whole: I feel these seven visits changed the course of my life somewhat. It was all very seductive, and quite exciting going in ‘wired up’ with a dictaphone, and then filming my response, but as time went on, I became rather sceptical following others’ disbelief bordering on cynicism and so was determined to prove them wrong and the ’seaside seven’ ‘correct’.

http://www.jonathangreenbank.com/archives/120

Every month I shared a diary of life events whilst my life story developed, before your / my  / our eyes. Moving flat and adjusting to changes at work – which several women had told me would occur – meant my studies took a back seat, yet if anything this brought my thoughts even more to the forefront than ever before. And, as the realisation that this could all just be a coincidence slowly dawned on me, so several stories came to light that suggested more was at play. For example, as I researched Sophie Calle and Paul Auster, I discovered the artist had just undergone a vast project involving fortune tellers, whilst many of the events described to me during the tellings, came true for me or those near to me in dramatic  circumstances. None more so than the drama surrounding my trip to New York for Christmas, already booked in secret but foretold by the fortune tellers, and culminating in an engagement to be married, again, as predicted.

A friend we met in New York. really good eyesight

On the way to NYC a film that had been recommended to me multiple times, told me in no uncertain terms that 

“You can’t ascribe cosmic significance to am earthly event.

COINCIDENCE.

That’s all anything ever is.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Coincidence.

He had finally learned…

There are no miracles.

There’s no such thing as fate.

Nothing is meant to be.”

Which was a kind of relief – I took it as read that this be the case, so shifted my interest areas once again, choosing instead to look at my very distant past, potential events further down the line, and my parallel existence.

In terms of my ancestry, specifically my negro gums and their links to Nice in France, where I will be undertaking a residency in the near future, there are several links to immigration and name-links which offer exciting opportunities for future investigation.

And, as for my future, the evidence in recent months would suggest that the fortune tellers’ soothsaying is more true than not, and therefore, I should be able to pretty much plot out my life until I die of a heart attack at age 90ish, especially given that I must already had an interaction with some of those people who will be involved in my future in some way. 

Potentially, the most interesting narrative at present involves the whole notion of lookalikes, yes, Dave Gorman had an influence when I thought for a while about my name-a-likes, but I’m more interested in the visual and that’s why my current line of enquiry lies with people whom I am seen to resemble.

All of this suggests convergence in some way, and that all of this diverse strands will magically fuse together in an act of synchronicity to beat all others. This will need to happen before August, of course, so I’ve started reading Jung and others to fully appreciate this phenomenon. I’ve watched the films already, now I just need things to start happening even more frequently than they have done over the past few months.

Time moves on though, and I feel like Peter Blake, “clinging to [something] slipping away”. I need to get things together, in the words of Joseph Cornell, “before it fades”. therefore, I have decided to

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February

March 3rd, 2010

It is now six months since the ladies told their tales.

With a delicious flashback, February started with our opening fortune cookies from New York. Mine said: If you do not have a plan for your life, someone else will and this month, once again, that seemed to be the case.

Despite a slow start, with only the father-in-law-to-be’s eerie trip to a psychic and a re-visiting of Dave Gorman’s Googlewhack in any way stimulating amidst the mundane flotsam and jetsam of modern life, February 12th really got me thinking.

This was the day that was. On it, one hundred and one years ago,  The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) was founded. More of that to come. But this year, it was the day that was the anniversary of the passing of my grandma and my friend’s father; I heard on the radio a request for a taxi driver whose birthday it was, he was 48, it was also his elder brother’s birthday – who was 49 – and his eldest brother’s, who was 50; and a couple won the record Euro Millions Jackpot. That same day, the local paper heralded me as Crosby’s ninth most romantic person.

And then, belated proof that those ‘giant rabbits’ I’ve been talking about for so long, exist. They may even be re-incarnations.

http://www.metro.co.uk/weird/813208-the-pet-rabbit-so-large-they-thought-he-was-possessed

Fast forward a couple of days and, despite all those pints of Guinness that led to an impressive rendition of Halfway to Paradise on the karaoke, I was warned by a doctor that I could lose no more weight – numbers, in particular my weight and BMI – were significant once again, even more so now.

The next day, I got up early, to watch a programme about van Gogh: “not a madman whose madness produced his art… an educated, highly intelligent, talented individual, who suffered severe mental breakdowns, and art was sometimes a way through that, or triggered it, we don’t know.” Either way, I then discovered he had painted a Zouave, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zouave ) a French Algerian soldier, and I wondered if this might have been a relative of mine?

So then what? I re-read Dave Gorman’s Are You Dave Gorman? and immediately created a Facebook for my alter ego, I’ve befriended 4 Greenbanks so far. I found a branch of my family tree I never knew existed, on ancestry.co.uk. I met Landon Donovan, a supposed lookalike. I also visited a restaurant owned by a chef I admire greatly WHO JUST SO HAPPENED TO BE SAT ON THE NEXT TABLE TO US (“it’s an honour to meet you” etc) which was next to a potential wedding venue which we loved (and were shown around by the lookalike of my arch nemesis, strangely) and then Darius Campbell / Danesh won Opera Idol before we watched a film in which the lead character is proposed to via fortune cookie.

And, just when I was beginning to think that nobody reads this blog, I was contacted by a complete stranger – an EVERTONIAN and LOCALLY BASED TEACHER – who had happened upon my site whilst trying to detect who had been sending her strange texts.

http://www.jonathangreenbank.com/archives/44

You couldn’t make this up. And then, I saw twenty magpies at school, which nobody seems to have any explanation for other than the opportunity for magpie pot pie… and the same night dreamt about breaking glass dishes, which is said to mean the end of employment pursuits, the night before the ‘dreaded phonecall’ that effectively signalled the end of normal life for a while.

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In Deed

March 15th, 2010

At the weekend I was fortunate enough to see a cracking new band, The Smiths.

Indeed, they actually played a full set of the Meat is Murder album, and as if by coincidence, I was visited by three ducks this morning. But, more of that later.

So the  band, what a performance, what an atmosphere, as a combination of young scenesters – including a gent who looked like he cut his monk-style hair with a knife and fork and wore milk-bottle-bottom glasses akin to those sported by the secret lemonade drinker – and elder statesmen and women, one of whom was in pyjamas.

You had to be there.

Led by their charismatic frontman Morrissey, he with the outrageous quiff and affinity for flowers, who sashayed around the small stage as if his life depended upon it, the band played said album in its entirety before returning for another hour of their more famous tracks. Meat is Murder was especially haunting as the love I feel for steaks was called into question by The Smiths: indeed, the entrecote I’d devoured before hand sat a little uncomfortably as I danced the night away, whilst we were reminded of the confit de canard enjoyed by my better half only this morning when three ducks sat serenely on the wall outside our flat as we left for work, then flew off, briefly reminiscent of Hilda Ogden’s dining room wall, a particularly Morrisseyesque heroine.

The band’s encore was perhaps the highlight of the evening, classics all three, and the rousing finale proved beyond doubt that there is a light that never goes out.

This is a performance from  a couple of years back:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnLhEO9RbgU

Ok, so if not already, now you’ll realise that I haven’t been able to re-align the flux capacitor and go back twenty five years, and all it was was a tribute band here in Liverpool.

Lise had got us the tickets as a consolation for the debacle that was the Arena gig last November.

But, without even closing your eyes, this could have been the real thing. The youtube clip will highlight, to those familiar with Steven Patrick’s musings and movement on stage, that the impersonator of the frontman was an impressive performer.

It wasn’t just The Smiths Indeed though. The crowd, and atmosphere, was exactly how I would have expected some of the original concerts to have felt. Unfortunately, I was too young, and just like Everton’s halcyon days, I was born ten years too late to immerse myself fully into the experience of ‘being there’.

So, gigs like this are the next best thing, apart from DVDs and dodgy phone recordings on youtube, and this one in particular, really got me thinking.

The whole scenario of Friday night could be termed uncanny, postmodern, surreal, and that’s without the meat references or repeated ‘indeed’ jokes I made earlier. The idea of swinging gladioli around whilst watching someone who just so happens to sound and sing and look very like one of your idols is a strange, but hugely enjoyable, one.

It forced me to question not only my carnivorous nature but the idea of lookalikes and identity theft, to such an extent that Friday felt like it could easily have been part of my overall project, what with the suggestions of time travel, reliving events which could never have happened, the creation of an alter ego and the existence of shared experiences for those who have things in common but didn’t know it. Indeed, other artists and fans have had similar thoughts, such as Harry Hill (who also won Stars in their Eyes singing This Charming Man):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k37wZRwtD08

Bernard Manning and a Brookside extra: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=224-7FzXZn0&feature=related

And the wonderful Smiths karaoke project by Phil Collins (not that one): http://www.michica.org/phil%20eng.html

Now, I try to sing like Morrissey on the karaoke, but the fact that my fiancee’s father does a better job of it than me, despite hating the bequiffed one, suggests I couldn’t develop that into an exhibition piece of synchronicitous proportions, but it’s food for thought at least.

But the notion of developing a crossover character, not just a lookalike but a different person who shows similar and opposite characteristics to the original version of themselves, as portrayed in the films Being John Malkovich, Adaptation and Dead Ringers (which by chance is on this week – remember the fortune tellers talking about twins) is currently engrossing my thoughts, whilst my facebook double is gaining friends, despite a few probing questions.

Whilst you’re waiting for the next instalment, go and see The Smiths. Indeed.

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March

April 3rd, 2010

This was the month I gained ten pounds and fifty friends. In weight and a side project, respectively.

It was also the month that I experienced a series of strange musical coincidences, was stalked by different creatures, became increasingly obsessed by lookalikes and aliases – most specifically, superheroes – and visited yet more fortune tellers. 

All of this will be explained, in time.

I decided to wear this t-shirt again for a friend’s birthday party, which had been the inspirationnfor a single cover I helped design a couple of years ago. I hadn’t worn it for at least a year, but after putting it on, heard the actual single on the radio for the first time in months, and then at said party, the DJ strangely played the song once more. The next day, as we were leaving the classic English resort Southport the radio this time played ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ – which again I hadn’t heard properly since God knows when, although a busker had attempted a version recently when I wandered past him – and whilst driving along and singing we stopped at a roundabout behind a van advertising Nippon KUNG-FU classes. And then there was the whole incident with the Smiths Indeed, which you should have already read about.

This of course brought in the ducks, who have been paying frequent visits to our vicinity since that day. However, I failed to mention that I also met either a large frog (Kermit?) or a toad that day, who was sat precariously on the wall outside a house around the corner. I picked him up to make him more secure, and refernces were obviously made to perhaps the second most famous toad of all time, Danger Mouse’s nemesis Baron Greenback, and I thought nothing more of this event until in the week I received not one but two letters of different people, addressed to a Jonathan Greenback.

Having a quiet drink one evening in the local I recognised an older version of myself across the bar, wearing a very similar outfit and the exact same four year old Ben Sherman. Imagine my surprise when I later went the toilet and  found myself stood next to the same guy, in uncomfortable silence. The following week, I decided to watch a film about someone due to be married who people sometimes wrongly presume is gay, and starred an actress who had been in a series I loved when it was on eight years ago but hadn’t seen in anything since, plus an actor I strangle recognised but wasn’t sure why until I remembered he played the Las Vegas casino dealer in an episode of Friends that had always stayed with me for no reason other than that Joey followed this guy around, believing he was his ‘identical hand twin’, and this always sounded like the sort of weird thing I would do and resonated with what I’d been told in Blackpool about twins… After watching the film, flicking through the channels, what should be on that very but that exact same Friends episode.

I did spend most of March considering where things were going. I accumulated potential collaboratoes – all has now been revealed to them so we will see what happens next. But as the month went on I also became aware of the existence of the synchronicitous opportunity I have been patiently waiting for – the identity of which – whom – will remain a mystery for now.

I said at the start I have been to see more fortune tellers – these were the mechanical kind, at the end of a pier. However, they seemed to be just as ‘correct’ as the ‘real’ ones I encountered last Summer. The cards the machines spat out at me included the character description ”… you’re inquisitive about the world around you and life’s mysteries”, a palm reading told me I am ‘romantic’, advised me I am “too  secretive about little things, and too open about personal problems” whilst another told me I should me “morecautious and secretive… and prone to look too much on the serious side of life” and perhaps in an attempt to encourage this, gave Lise a picture of her future husband:

It's like looking in a mirror

Even the arcade machine versions tell the truth…

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What’s in a Name?

April 15th, 2010

WEEKLY REPORT – WEEK ONE

NUMBER ONE

Responded within an hour of receiving the survey.

Both his parents were teachers, like me (they’re now retired).Donnie Darko is one of his favourite films, just like mine. He is allergic to cats, as I once was. He considers himself to be superstitious only occasionally.

NUMBER TWO

Got back in touch the following day. An ex-colleague of his was born on September 27th. He is allergic to dust, just like person one. He once opened a fortune cookie with a curious message within it – “Be patient and the universe will guide you…” which could have applied to me also.

NUMBER THREE

She lives in New Zealand,  and someone close to her is a teacher. One of her favourite films is Amelie, just like me and person number five. The other is Whale Rider, which I haven’t seen yet, but simply must now – it is apparently about a twin who confronts the past, changes the present and determines the future…

NUMBER FOUR

Person four sent me her responses then asked not to be involved any further. I can though exclusively reveal that she knew a teacher and believed in ghosts, however.

NUMBER FIVE

Now this guy shared several interests and experiences with me. Born on 27/9 he’s a teacher, with a serious allergy, who thought he might have relatives in Nice. He had films in common with persons 1, 3 and 6. He saw himself as the alter ego of person six too. very superstitious, he’s visited fortune tellers and was also told that twins ran in his family!

NUMBER SIX

Would you believe, he lives in the very same small town as me. His brother is a teacher and his one and only family holiday abroad was taken in Nice. one of his favourite films is American Beauty, the same as one of mine and one of number five’s. The alter ego of number five too, he supports Newcastle, the team close to the heart of many of my relatives. Concurs with Derren Brown when it comes to superstition.

Keep them coming.

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What else is in a name?

April 22nd, 2010

WEEKLY REPORT – WEEK TWO

NUMBER SEVEN

Strangely he chose the most famous superhero not to be blessed with any special powers. He has two close friends who were born in September 1979, whilst his two grandfathers were teachers. His favourite film is Once Upon a Time in the West, which I admit to having never seen. He suffers from hayfever, and whilst his gums are perfectly normal, Kate Lawler once made a negative comment on his teeth. He has a deep interest in astrology and has got a birth chart. Meanwhile he recalls an indecipherable fotune cookie message about trains and his girlfriend recently got TWO different fortunes in a cookie, on her birthday no less, which read as follows:

1. Is knowledge knowable?
2. Laugh at yourself before others laugh at you.

NUMBER EIGHT

My most recent participant’s brother was also born in September 1979., and is also a teacher, while she herself has a teaching qualification. She thinks she might have a relative from nice, and there are definitely twins in her family. One of her favourite films is It’s a Wonderful life, as is mine, which I last watched in New York the night before my Empire State / Affair to Remember-themed proposal, which it just so happens is another of her preferred moving pictures. Like Number Six, she chose Superman, though this time the 90’s TV version. She admits to being a fellow Evertonian, and is superstitious around Magpies, whilst she once got a fortune cookie message predicting a surprise for her when she got home.

The surprise was that nothing happened.

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, no other friends have been in touch this week. This is a shame, as I feel I am beginning to recognise several comon themes across them. Perhaps they are patiently holding their breath to see what unfolds. Perhaps they were also influenced by David Bond, who discussed  his recent ‘disappearance’ project in The Times Magazine last weekend.

Bond deliberately went missing earlier last year, testing his concerns that there was too much information easily available for him to be able to disappear. Detectives set up a Facebook page with his alias in an attempt to find him as they traced his ‘data-wake’ and, as he outlines in upcoming documentary Erasing David, ultimately committed ‘data-rape’ easily. One of the detectives who did eventually find him, Cameron Gowlett, stated:

            A lot of people are giving information away voluntarily… giving

            up their whole lives on Facebook and Twitter  – everything, their

            date of birth, the names of relatives and friends, where they live,

            when they’re going on holiday and what their political views are…


However, this much we do know.

Half of us were born in September 1979, or know someone who was.

Only one of my new found family has no teaching relatives.

The only links with Nice we share are a couple of potential grandparents and the one foreign holiday.

1,3,5,6 and 8 have a same favourite film as me, there is common ground between 1 and 5, 3 and 5 and 5 and 6. 5 obviously likes his films.

Three do not disclose allergies – whilst 1 and 2 are both allergic to dust.

A different three chose a different version of Superman.

Two support Everton, like me.

The majority are superstitious, whilst half have had a memorable fortune cookie message.

Only one has had his palm read in Blackpool.

And, quite aptly, two have twins in their family.

NEXT TIME…

The ‘Caledonian Antisyzygies’ of Stevenson’s Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Hogg’s Confessions of a Justified Sinner; The Talented Mr Ripley, Billy Liar, even Frankenstein’s Monster. 

 Wish me luck.

 

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April

May 4th, 2010

Dead birds, blind dogs and doppelgangers, in short.

The month brought some good news, the fortune tellers were spot on once again, not just with predictions of pregnancies and warnings of the bottle and glass, but the two face-one. And, as if by magic, the month was largely spent researching the alter ego, the dual identity, the split personality, culminating in an amazing development in my investigations.

I have documented previously the findings of my research into what is in a name, and since sharing them with you there has been only one addition to the family.

NUMBER NINE

Has two teachers in her family, just like numbers 7 and 8, and like number 3 she has no interest in football, like the majority of  participants she has normal gums, despite her favourite film being Zulu (which I’ve never seen all the way through), no links to Nice or Blackpool, and has never found an unusual fortune cookie message. However, her choice of superhero representation was somewhat controversial – picked because he ‘has stood the test of time.’

Having presented my findings at a conference-style presentation, I launched an off shoot project with my fellow students, the findings of which I will outline in the near future…

All I will say for now is that throughout this journey I’ve been amazed at how many participants are superstitious about black and white birds. But, that so many people seem to share an obsession with saluting magpies might have meant nothing had one not started to visit the flat this month:

This fellow of course succeeding the ducks and rather less entertainingly, the two dead pigeons I discovered within a week of each other this month. Not just birds, mind, this month I also spotted a dog with no eyes on the beach. He would obviously never see his own lookalike…

Which is what the characters of a sitcom also attempted in April.

The day before the event at Uni I saw an episode of The Brittas Empire in which Gordon’s doppelganger came to town with the circus, and predictably hilarious consequences ensued.

It reminded me of the age-old theory which you will no doubt be familiar with:

In the vernacular, the word “doppelgänger” has come to refer (as in German) to any double or look-alike of a person. The word is also used to describe the sensation of having glimpsed at oneself in peripheral vision, in a position where there is no chance that it could have been a reflection. They are generally regarded as harbingers of bad luck. In some traditions, a doppelgänger seen by a person’s friends or relatives portends illness or danger, while seeing one’s own doppelgänger is an omen of death. In Norse mythology, a vardøger is a ghostly double who precedes a living person and is seen performing their actions in advance.

Think Back to the Future (Part II).

Anyway the night of Brittas, we went for some drinks in the ‘local’ and spotted fantastic lookalikes of Patty and Selma, Larry David and Steptoe. You had to be there. Upon coming home, we watched another of my own lookalikes, the comedian Mark Watson, performing miserably on Marco Pierre White’s Kitchen Burnout, this only a couple of weeks after I myself had been served an overcooked steak at the chef’s restaurants (I got a beautiful substitute – and recently learnt that in the Pokemon series, the move Substitute creates a doppelgänger of the Pokemon that uses the move.)

Whilst the following evening, a re-imagining of The Prisoner launched on our screens, this time about a guy who has spent too long studying people and how much information they easily give away before becoming his own numbered alter ego. And, in the week after our presentations, where I had begun to explain the links between my lines of enquiry and those involved in Frankenstein’s Monster or  your favourite Caledonian Antisyzygies* and mine, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Colin Murray, the rednosed version of me, was on Heston Blumenthal drinking and eating a feast inspired by those very same characters.

And it was about this time that I finally admitted there were two of me, too.

*Syzygy refers to a yoking together of opposites in which two elements remain distinct but antisyzygy would be a pairing in which distinctions are lost.



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What’s in a Room?

May 12th, 2010

When presenting my findings last month I decided to overcome a somewhat fallow period in my participatory investigations with a side project: namely, to involve the audience to a presentation I was giving, in a small scale version of the existing residency, in which they would be asked the same set of questions, but this time with the aim of determining what the artist had in common – not with people sharing my name, but those who were in the same room as me, involved in the same course and mostly in a similar occupation.

Let’s start with A.

 

A, like the artist, saw themself to be like Kick-Ass, this time because of his/her blind confidence and little ability. Strangely, I have only seen one of Kick-Ass’s favourite films (The Vanishing, the others being Suspira, Audition and Irreversible) and even more strangely, we seemingly had nothing else in common.

B

Was also born in September (1976) and like me, also loves Amelie and Lars and the Real Girl. Whilst they, and lots of their family, are teachers, they found it impossible to choose a superhero for their alter ego. Like C, D, H, and I they supported Liverpool – like G they count and salute magpies. Like me, B has lucky and unlucky clothes, notices patterns and number sets, and has lots of twins in their family.

C

 

C was another Liverpool fan, whose choice of films was interesting, consisting as it did of two New York movies (Manhattan, Man on Wire) and Rear Window – presumably not the Christopher Reeve version – plus Ken Loach’s Raining Stones which again, the artist hasn’t seen. Those were the only connections we shared.

D

 

D chose two superheroes because “they are lovers and have a great house” and the film The Lovers – again, never seen – and has gums like an eighty year old, apparently. We seem to have little else in common (and yet another Liverpool fan)

E

 

E had another September birthday, two years after mine, whose wisdom teeth apparently grow inwards. Chose Superman (like me) because they “always wanted to fly” and is superstitious, especially when it comes to ghosts, which perhaps explains the choice of The Hours as a favourite film, which has the familiar story of a narrative connecting characters across different time periods. Oh, and this teacher’s mum is a twin.

F

 

F is allergic to antibiotics, just like the artist. Loves Empire Strikes Back, too. Would be Iron Man, a character with whom I have developed an affinity. Like E, believes in ghosts, though most intriguingly, is left-handed, which they maintain means they were a twin as an embryo…

G

G and SIX of their cousins are teachers, and they once found a fortune cookie in a second hand car they were test driving apparently – after buying the car, the message came true! And, like B, worships magpies, even though their favourite film is The Rebel, and even more weird given that they have an allergy to shellfish, quite surprising given the cat’s love of seafood.

H

Also a teacher, though could not offer an alter ego, like B, so will be known by a character from their favourite film, which the artist has unfortunately not seen. Still, allergic to lactose, and a Liverpool fan just like B, C, D and I.

I

 

I, another Liverpool fan who is averse to fairy liquid. This person’s favourite film is Marley & Me which again, I’ve not had the pleasure of watching, so it would seem their qualified teacher status is our only other connection.

J

 

J teaches at my first ever school, where their dad’s cousin also once worked. Very superstitious – in fact, there was a programme about Stevie Wonder on earlier this evening – he / she finds new habits and beliefs all the time, and is currently into magpies just like B and G. Also like G, is allergic to seafood, and loves The Truman Show, as you should know, all about a guy whose life is uncovered as an elaborate ruse, his narrative pre-determined by scriptwriters until he finds the way out.

K

 

K is a lover of classic movies – my lookalike Dustin Hoffman features, The Graduate and Midnight Cowboy (like L), A Clockwork Orange and BACK TO THE FUTURE (just like the artist) – this teacher has no allergies but sees themself like Hit Girl, the eventual companion of Kick-Ass, who was picked by A. An Everton fan like myself, too…

L

 

L, another Midnight Cowboy fan, as well as Indiana Jones (a childhood favourite of mine) who suffers from hay fever (like my fiancée and ex-flatmate) and follows the tradition of acknowledging magpies, just like J, B and G, as well as knocking the other elbow if they hit one first. I really like that they chose Ben 10 because of his ‘multi alien personality’ which I think I share.

M

 

M

The Matrix, featuring as it does the notion of an alternate reality determined by ‘others’ which is an intriguing concept to link to my own beliefs, is, along with Finding Nemo, M’s favourite. Allergic to sticking plasters, which I was for a short time growing up. They also claim to support the losing side ‘because everyone should have a chance’ which is the exact same reason I started supporting Everton all those years ago.

And, N

N, the only participant who might have family in Nice, and, like the artist and F is allergic to penicillin whilst also chose the real-life persona of F. Also very superstitious, supports Everton like K and myself, and shares films with B, F, K and me again.

 


 


 


 


 

That’s it for now.






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May

June 2nd, 2010

Ne’er cast a clout ’til May is out, I recall first reading in The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole. It took years for me to find out what this actually meant, and even though it has nothing to do with the focus of this post, I think of it every time the calendar reaches the fifth month.

This May was the month I was contacted by a weirdo on the other side of the world, and also by numbers ten and eleven, which means I now have a football team of superheroes just in time or the World Cup. Those two were responding to the What’s in a Name project that the artist set up recently via facebook. I had kind of given up on it, having heard nothing off any potential participants for over a month, until I got two in two days towards the end of this month.

NUMBER TEN

His mum was both a teacher and a twin! He had never even heard of Blackpool, but is into astrology and believes people do have psychic powers, and is intrigued by fortune cookies, fascinated that their messages are always positive and never negative. Like 7 and 11 he has hayfever, like 5 one of his favourite films is Fight Club which of course has resonance with my own situation.

NUMBER ELEVEN

His father was a professor in music – perhaps that is where my palm-reading-suggested-child’s-talent comes from? He likes films that make him think, including Baron Munchausen, The Meaning of Life and The Holy Grail which link to my story though I admit to having never watched all the way through. Allergic to pollen like 7 and 10, he chose this alter ego because he looks into the past to try to figure out who he really is. Most intriguingly, he is a Pagan and as a result is into ouija boards and palmistry…

Meanwhile, back in the real world, my sister completed a charity walk (for her chosen cause endometriosis) at a little place called Houghton-in-Ribblesdale where the guy signing the walkers in asked if she was local as there were a large number of Greenbanks in the vicinity. None of them have so far entered into my friendship field that I know of but there is still time.

Perhaps the phonecalls I have been receiving for the past three weeks were meant for one of those Greenbanks. Or, for Good Luck Jonathan, the new President of Nigeria, who was sworn in during May.

The lady I spoke to the first time the phone rang late one evening, said she was looking for Greg. I couldn’t tell where she was from, and she seemed quite upset that Greg wasn’t here. So upset that she has since rung us twelve times each in the early hours, between midnight and 4am, often around 2ish when presumably she thinks Greg would still be awake? My favourite call so far was at 3.16 which if I had been more awake, in hindsight, I could have recited the famous bible quote instead of sluggishly asking “What?” before whoever it was, hung up.

I instantly recalled Paul Auster’s writing that I studied so closely last year: “It was a wrong number that started it…” Quinn, a lonely, disaffected writer, is awakened one night by a phone call asking for Paul Auster of the Auster Detective Agency. Although he brushes off the initial call, he begins to reflect on the detective novels he writes under a pseudonym. Inspired by the spirit of Max Power, the narrator of his books, Quinn claims to be Auster the next time the unknown caller asks for the detective.

The wrong number turns out to be Peter Stillman, a man who speaks with a strange cadence and style, possibly mixing truth and fiction. (From http://www.curledup.com/cityglgn.htm)

The narrative develops an intertextuality and causes all sorts of confusion, just as it does in Synecdoche, New York, a movie I had watched last year and forgotten all about then remembered (when it was on E4 in May) that it was yet another great example of mistaken identity and dual personality leading to questions about what is real and what is fake, both in text and visual representation.

For years now, I have been known as having several doubles and, towards the end of the month I was sent perhaps the best lookalike for a long time. Thanks Doug!

These doppelgangers, such as Peter Sellers, Gok Wan, Colin Murray, David Tennant, and many more, even Harry Potter and Mr Muscle, all relied on thick framed spectacles for impact. However, not for much longer, will they be relevant, as next month I will embark upon a life-changing operation which may be the catalyst for the alignment of the teacher me and my alter ego.

As the Spice Girls sang, two become one… Or four eyes become two again.

A similar situation also happened in the Schizoid episode of The Prisoner this month, involving multiple personalities and replicas. Indeed, in their complex conversations, Numbers Six and ‘Un’Two said the following at various times:

“I am who you intended to be…”

“Who is who? Someone who looks like me.”

“If we are one then we can defeat two…”

Be seeing you.

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I, sight

June 19th, 2010

Yesterday I had sight correction surgery.

I’m recovering well but not yet up to a full recount of the tale of what happened.

However, the operation had to be carried out in Chester due to malfunctioning air conditioning at the Liverpool clinic. The company were kind enough to order me a taxi to get there, and who should be driving it but an ex Everton player, on the far right of the back row of the 1994-5 team photo:

I was able to watch the majority of the USA game in the waiting room, whilst also chatting to a guy called Greg. Remember those phone calls we were getting for someone called Greg? Didn’t happen for a month, until late last night, an African woman rang for him just a few hours after my surgery and a conversation with said Greg about diving for oil in Nigeria.

Eventually I was prepped and readied for the procedure, which was to be done by a team that included a guy called Chris who admitted he is “well into Superheroes” when he saw my tie.

I was extremely nervous, anticipating this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-fckxsFSVMU&feature=related

Or even this:

But the true events were even more surreal…


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Correction

June 23rd, 2010

So there I was, led into the operating theatre, iodine around my eyes, giving the ‘old’ me one last new lookalike.

 The events of the afternoon had raised certain questions in my head, and here was their catharsis. I genuinely believed, for a short while at least, that this was all an elaborate hoax, and the characters I had encountered were actors paid for their involvement in my incredibly complex narrative. It was like the Truman Show meets Total Recall or The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, especially the later two when scientific organisations are discovered to be set-ups, the smiling receptionist the happy facade of a more sinister network. It was more like The Prisoner – being driven to a strange location, other fellow patients wandering around wearing dark glasses, tests and torture and asking for information…

But I had to stay strong. They had, after all. asked my consent to film the operation – a bit like this, for those less squeamish amongst you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rW2wijHGVHQ&feature=related

At least, then, I knew I would have some documentary evidence of what they were about to do to me, and, they been very honest with me, the lady’s description of what was about to happen was realistic, quite graphic and at odds with how an evil scientist might have lied about the subsequent procedure. Still, I asked to be excused to the bathroom, and said receptionist looked peturbed when I came out and nipped upstairs.

I returned, and finally the time had come. I wore a hairnet and blue plastic bags over my shoes, but panicked a little when asked to take off my superhero tie – would this strip me of my special powers? – even though one of the surgeons said they liked them too. Anyway, I lied on the bed and shuffled up. It was like a CT scan combined with that bed that Goldfinger tries to get James Bond with via a laser:

Now, after all the anticipation and fear, the procedure was actually a little worse than I expected. I had cut short a viewing of one of the many youtube clips available so the lady’s explanation was all I had, plus the prediciton of the smell of hamburgers. The ’slight odour of ultra violet light’ was one of the worse aspects of those few minutes I spent in the theatre. She had mentioned this, and likened it to ‘when you catch hair in a hairdryer’ but it was worse than that, maybe just because my sense were compensated for the lack of vision.

Though I did see the dancing red and green lights which moved in sync with the crackling lasers, and I saw the pressure ring moving away, and the wash rinsing away the blur…. My relief was immense as the ceiling lights slowly became apparent. I instantly recalled the images by Mark Wallinger I had photocopied only a few hours earlier.

 there is a light that never goes out

 Only in my case, it had been reversed.

I sat upright, dizzy and unable to make much out. The surgeon tried to show me what they had recorded but I couldn’t see anything on the screen of his camcorder.

I was then helped up and guided to a darkened room, where I lied back and thought of England, playing the land of my forefathers later that evening. I wanted to text loved ones and tell them it was ok, I could see.

But I couldn’t, and spent five minutes trying to turn my phone on, desperately trying to work out how the battery went in.

 Finally, I managed it. Now I was ready to get up and enter the outside world.

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Post-operation

July 4th, 2010

The artist put on his £1 Primark sunglasses and opened the door.

He stumbled a little descending the steps.

He couldn’t see a taxi, only the surgeon starting his engine for a weekend getaway. Then the surgeon beeped his horn and gesticulated behind his car. The artist could make out another vehicle, a blur really, but a sign on the side suggested that this was his transportation home.

Off they sped, whilst he tried a few times to send a text, photographed himself, scrawled some notes in his journal documenting the previous couple of hours even though, in retrospect, this makes no sense and is almost illegible.

That journey was a surreal experience. He felt like Bill Murray’s jetlagged Bob from the start of Lost in Translation, when he’s being driven into Tokyo and can’t keep his eyes open but when he does, has to rub them to see he wasn’t imagining the sights.

Now the Dock Road isn’t quite as exciting as Japan, but the artist genuinely felt he had been on a long flight, drugged or something as he was going “goz”eyed and wanted to fall asleep but couldn’t rub them, no – no touching or wetting of the face for two weeks, he had been given strict instructions about that. Added to the fact that the driver did not know where he was going, there were a couple of wrong turns, before he arrived home safely, bumped into a neighbour who thought he had bad hay fever, and who has always wanted to have their own eyes lasered but was too scared.

The dark glasses stayed on.

That evening was uncomfortable, and not just because his loyalties were divided whilst listening to England play Algeria. The painkillers wore off and the drops were put in at regular intervals, in fact his hands had never been so clean (he had to use the sanitizer before administering every drop) but he was well looked after and after a couple of vodkas, slept tremendously. Despite the necessary night gear:

The following morning, and clarity.

He could see himself in the mirror. Read the time from the alarm clock. Even noticed this little reminder of the fortune tellers on the way into town:

It had all been worth it. The people at the clinic were impressed too, thought he artist was slightly dubious at the brevity of the test. 20/20 vision so soon?Had things really improved so dramatically over night? It seemed so, certainly.

He returned to work, and colleagues were fascinated by the new look. They didn’t seem to miss the old him. And as the days went on, images got sharper, but the eyes also got redder, which caused some concern, and for three days there was a fibre stuck in one, eventually removed during the second, more rigorous, follow-up check. 

This check-up brought really good news for him, and no more drops. Tonight he will sleep without the piratey patches too, things have really changed overt he past couple of weeks, well, changed back to normal. The thin, finewriter outline that was missing for seventeen years has miraculously returned.

Only it was not a miracle, and he now admits he has not become a superhero. If anything it’s a transformation to normality, and an everyday alter ego that he now celebrates dressing up as. The forewarning of the two-faced one has been dismissed, as the character disappeared as quickly as it emerged, or threatened to at least, killed off by laser technology in the space of ten minutes.

But, whilst the artist now sees clearly, he feels that his future is clouded with uncertainty…

Maybe it is time to revisit the fortune tellers.

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