Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Adam Thorpe

Vanishing. Get it printed on Polabox for the Polaroid look. Square. One massive one, then ninety-nine times more. Or reduce the number. About ten would do. Don’t crowd it. The spaces as important as the fi l led-up bits. It would be immense. She’s excited, now. It’s all bubbling and rushing. She hardly knows herself, looking into the darkness and at her artsy face superimposed on top. So cool. So beautiful. Even though she is an actual potato. The new Suze. Ideas wild as white water, icy and burning, rushing through. Hard to breathe, almost. Bubbling up in her brain. A muddiness on her tongue. Vanishing .

Where does it all come from? ‘I feel like fajitas tonight,’ comes a voice belonging to throwback Thursday. His eyes are closed, so maybe he’s talking in his sleep. ‘Chicken with guacamole, yeah? I announce an official ban on pot noodle.’ It’s like old people: they’re fine until they’re driving. Jasper’s fine until he opens his blowhole. She’s coasting around her Berlin show, visually, like a camera on wheels, seeing the whole thing for real, as if it’s all done down to the final adjustments. Maybe everything’s running backwards and it’s already in the past, because there’s a certainty about it. It was a great show. The opening was packed. Ecstatic reviews in several languages. Suzie Fowler.

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