Mosaic

I have installed the show, as Matt has been on a research trip in Europe for the past fortnight. Intermittent texts document his travels:

‘Stuck in snowdrift. Have to turn round. V. hard to manoeuvre’. Or

‘The Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna is staggering. Dozens of Titians, Veroneses and Tintorettos in room after room, and the rooms are all enormous.’ Or:

‘On way to Brussels.’

He didn’t return to days of empty idleness. There was plenty of work piled up for him. Writing frantically for the past couple of days, he was keen to come to the gallery and have a look at the show. He phoned yesterday afternoon. He was on his way. ‘I’ll be there in a minute’ he said. ‘Where are you, exactly?’ I asked. ‘I’m just walking down the Holloway Road.’

Two hours on, he still hadn’t arrived. I rang him. Eventually he answered. ‘Where have you been?’ I asked. ‘It was cold’ he said. I had to have a rest.’

I would have liked a rest too. But tolerance is a wifely virtue.

Matt was tired and depressed. Things had been difficult.. He’d like to have a cocktail, he said. ‘Yes, and something to eat’ I suggested. ‘Hmm’ he replied.

‘If it’s raining like this, no one will come to our show’ he said.

I woke up today and the rain was still pouring. Matt groaned. ‘I’ve been vomiting all night. I have food poisoning.’

‘Oh dear, how terrible! What a bad day for it. But why haven’t I got it? We ate the same thing last night didn’t we?’

‘I can’t say. I feel ill thinking about it.’

‘What could it have been?’

‘I rested at Crystal Kebab.’

Posted under: Mosaic by Emma Biggs