23/4/20 and 18/12/18 (Bucket Room)

23/4/20

Yesterday, I started looking at my winter footage again (again again), after a bit of a delay. Time seems to mean everything and nothing at the same time now. We’ve kept the same routine of sleep and food, which seems to just connect me to the world outside. When I wonder if I should have a coffee in the evening, I’m struck by a fear that to disrupt this rhythm will either cause all my activity to cease, or to never stop. I’m not sure which would be worse, or which would be better, so I’m sticking to tea for now.

Looking back at December 2018, when I returned to the factory after a gap of about six months, I had imagined before I went in there that I would get loads of footage of the spaces in a new season, and enjoy the light and the space in a new way, and perform and work in there. What I found in there was difficult to process. vandals, drifters, junkies? had been in, things that had stood still since 2016 were destroyed by people, and other things were being destroyed by nature.

The leaky roof, which was evident when I was there in the summer, had extended to what felt like most of the building, and this room, which I’d named the Bucket Room back in the summer, because it was full of buckets, and for ease of identification in photos and videos, mustn’t have been touched. Some of the buckets placed to collect drips had started to overflow; others were empty, placed where drips used to be, maybe. Some were rusted through, useless. I think there was a dead pigeon in there.

Woman stares at the ceiling in a room with buckets on the floor

18/12/18

I just feel really fucking despondent about it.
All of the rooves are now leaking. The water is dripping and dripping into buckets and puddles and bins and cardboard boxes, and I look and I see, I do, I feel like the place I was in six months ago is dead, or on the verge, There’s a last, long gasp that’s being drowned under drips of water.

Today is grey. It’s raining. Hawick continues, and Peter Scott is going to be dead very soon. I feel like any tiny thing I do by putting a camera in there is an attempt to bring it back to life, but I need to get over that, I need to catch the last breath and put it in a bottle.