It reminded me of the scene in Spaced when she's slaving away at the sink in a restaurant kitchen, declaring herself to be a writer, in other words, too good for that, when everyone else in the kitchen turns around and says so are they - good joke. The woman serving in the cafe today told me she'd studied Fine Art. Well, we all know that doesn't mean she's going to be a professional artist. Isn't art college just training for being a waitress? More tragically than her failure to 'make it', she doesn't even have the time to go to exhibitions because she has kids, so she informed me when I asked her if she'd been to the Paolozzi show at the Whitechapel Gallery. I should have congratulated her for not taking kids to exhibitions, from which they should all be banned, obviously. Along with tourist clutter (what are they doing in London? Why is this city so popular? Honestly, they have no more guilt about enjoying an environment populated by desperate peasants struggling to survive, never mind grow, in the shadow of gentrification, property speculation, high-rise corporate social cleansing and wage slavery than they would visiting a third world (sorry, 'developing' country)) squawking kids are a nuisance in galleries.
So she's an artist. So is the guy I talk to over a coffee outside. I was reminded of the time when I used to DJ, the joke then being 'Everyone's a DJ'. The world, never mind just London, is filled with artists. If any worry about not 'making it', they're mad, sadly deluded. Art first and foremost, as you know, is a hobby, a passion, to varying degrees. But I won't blather on about that. The internet's clogged with advice columns advising artists to do what they do for the love of it, without expectations. That's all for now. Ta-ta.