Back at the beginning of 1999 I was approached,
and asked to take part in a project call ‘Spare Time.’ The
project had sprung from the Mass-Observations in and around 1939. I was
asked to make a piece of work which could be produced in an edition of
500 on the subject of heritage. The work I produced was called "
In-Heritage " and was a pamphlet about me, and the history my Grandfather
had left behind.
By the time I was standing on my second traffic island of the day I could
feel people’s eyes upon me. By this time I could see the gates to
Downing Street and my speed was faster as I moved down the pavement towards
my 12 o’clock appointment with history. The blackness of the clothes
I was wearing ( in homage to my grandfather’s Hiroshima vigils)
stood out against the multi-coloured day-glow and summer wear all around
me. Though I was aware of the curiosity of the crowd I moved straight
through it at speed with no hint of a collision, or a foot out of place.
I felt like I was on some kind of predestined auto-pilot. At the moment
I reached those big and black gates two things happened at the same moment.
First I was surrounded by puzzled faces, to my back tourists and to my
front a small line of policemen. And second, an old friend of mine shouted
my name and took a picture of me as I turned to look his way. I introduced
myself to the policemen, who informed me that though my name was on his
list my photographer’s was not. So I found myself, like my grand
father before me, walking up Downing Street alone.
At 9 pm every night the lights went out. But Laurence liked to read before
going to sleep, so he re-wired the light in his cell and blew all the
lights in the prison. It reminded me of the suitcase and all those vulnerable
spheres of breath held in the air tight case. And what my grandmother
said "It was never boring living with Laurence."
By the time I was standing on my second traffic island of the day I could
feel people’s eyes upon me. By this time I could see the gates to
Downing Street and my speed was faster as I moved down the pavement towards
my 12 o’clock appointment with history. The blackness of the clothes
I was wearing ( in homage to my grandfather’s Hiroshima vigils)
stood out against the multi-coloured day-glow and summer wear all around
me. Though I was aware of the curiosity of the crowd I moved straight
through it at speed with no hint of a collision, or a foot out of place.
I felt like I was on some kind of predestined auto-pilot. At the moment
I reached those big and black gates two things happened at the same moment.
First I was surrounded by puzzled faces, to my back tourists and to my
front a small line of policemen. And second, an old friend of mine shouted
my name and took a picture of me as I turned to look his way. I introduced
myself to the policemen, who informed me that though my name was on his
list my photographer’s was not. So I found myself, like my grand
father before me, walking up Downing Street alone.
So Tony Blair has this suitcase in his entrance hall, it is so much heavier
than you would expect .In fact the policeman who took it on Tony’s
behalf and placed it on the entrance hall table decided to turn back to
it almost immediately and place it on its side on the newspapers there.
Then returning to me he asked whether there were any documents to accompany
it. I said that they would follow later and handed him my card which has
a picture of me on the front grinning, with the words MY ART, YOUR FACE
running round the top edge of my head, with my name; BENEDICT underneath.
I presume that Tony will have to declare my gift ! I will be most interested
to know what he will say it is!
I said to Mr. Blair in my letter "I am writing to enquire whether
you have yet had a chance to examine my gift to you". (As well as
asking" How far we have come? And how far do we have to go?")
And Tony said "Dear Mr. Hislam,The prime minister has asked me to
thank you for your recent letter and glass case. Mr. Blair is most grateful
to you for your kind thought in writing."
A bayonet is a weapon with a worker at both ends.
I will finish this story of suitcases and similarities with something
Duchamp said " I breathe".
The In-heritage of Laurence by Laurence 1939 - 1999
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