The Bells of Toynbee Hall
7am. In the glow of the computer screen I’m writing an article for The Times and it’sshaping up nice. It reminds me to uploadonto Global Poetry System a website inspired by my residency at Southbank Centre. At 9am Itake off to Southbank Centre, about 40 minsvia public transport, 30 by bike, threedays by car. At 11.30am I meet RachelHolmes and MartinColthorpe, the literature team. They have turned out to be quite the hermeticteam, contrastingly complimentary ofeach other. We finish at 1pm.
At 2.30pm in theRiverside Rooms I meet CorneliaGraebner from Lancaster university, in town to visit the British Museum. We firstmet in Holland. Cornelia is the editorfor whom I am writing a 3,000 word article finished earlier this week. At 4.15pm I meet TrishEdwards who implements the digital strategy for the SouthbankCentre. I want to know how to transfer this blog tothe literature blog. We talk about GPS.
Tonight is the Artsadmin Christmas Party. I have been with Artsadmin for about 2 years. It is where my projects are managedand has been a gratifying mutually beneficial working relationship. If youwere to ask me how I achieve the myriad of responsibilities the answer is thatI am surrounded by experienced good people.
Artsadmin is thirty today. It’s their party so I leave Southbank at 6pm for Toynbee Studios on commercialst, east London. A poem I wrote called“i Test” has been placed upon thesloping ceiling as you walk inside. It has been photographed and included as one of the artworks publishedin a 30th Anniversary book published today in celebration . It’s also in TheGuardian.
There’s hundreds of people here. I’m at home amongst artists. Always have been always will be. I spend the first part of the evening blowingthistle fluff into the air in a spookily lit rehearsal room called TheCourt then downstairs for the drinks andthe food and good conversation. I hadn’t eaten all day so food was good.
Later in the evening artist Graeme Miller walkedonto the stage and in his hand a large bell. He tried to ring it and get our attentionbut the tongue of the bell had gone missing. He looked at thebell and then at us, at the bell again and at us again. His tongue had gone too. He spurted out a word “Bell”. Then looked atthe bell again. “Gone” Somehow he hadlost his capacity to string a sentence together. This continued for twentyminutes in a seemingly unconnected stream of consciousness and rhyme. It is thebest speech I had heard all year.
At some point he resolved on the word Artsadmin. The audience cheered. He repeated “Artsadmin” and raised his right hand in the air. The one with the bellin its hand. He thrust his arm down and the bell rang solidly.“Arts admin” he shouted. And rang the bell again. As he did this someone else in the crowd ranga bell and then another and another (where did all these beautiful bells comefrom) until the whole hall echoed withthe unified clanging clatter of...well... peeling Christmas bells.
As this happened the fireworks (not candles) upon the gigantic 30thanniversary cake threw Fountains of hissinggolden sparks to the ceiling. Thebells continued ringing causing a mexican wave of goosepimples to ripple through the crowd and through me.