Trudging along the damp, almost steamy park approach to the Café gallery I wonder what waits: creative anarchy, happy days or a sulky silence to match the palpable ennui of the hooded youth loitering nearby with a spade. The fab four have been in residence at Muscle HQ now for two days. I’ve heard very little of their progress, but gather there have been no fatalities as I have been summoned for a 10am Wednesday breakfast. Will they talk, will they walk, will they reveal anything at all?
Spirits are high after last night’s crash of Gormley’s opening at the Hayward. Despite rumours that they might not venture out or let anyone in – with the exception of vital supplies and trades people – a pact has been made that as long as the four do everything together, some downtime can be negotiated. This is not after all a reality project and there is the issue of some rabbits, home alone. What is that smell, a faint whiff of smugness amongst the collective vapours released before the birth of a creative act? For I gather, from the cagey verbal offerings reluctantly pushed my way across the breakfast table that much has been discussed. They are becoming ‘us’ and we are becoming ‘them’. There is talk of timber, the constructive restrictions of disabled access and the need to make this stark, rather imposing building – for each and every Muscle – a place in which they can and want to work.
A plan is formulating. Fully charged power tools twitch with pre-electrified tension in one space next to a sleeping bag on a foam mattress and opposite a desk covered with evidence of industrious activity. Amongst the gallery literature, a couple of biro floor plans and a humorously defaced private view card hint at future activity. On the floor of the foyer, some kind of architectural demarcation has been mapped out with masking tape – a new artistic territory, perhaps, or a sentry box, from which to frisk those that pry? Hand-written text on a black piece of paper tacked to the wall reads: ‘Metropolitan Board of Works’. Is this a tongue-in-cheek reference to the multiple concerns of the core-funded space, or simply a new title for this urban collective?
The Muscles are wising up to the financial and physical constraints of their temporary incarceration. Material costs are rising and there is the issue of food. They have come up with the genius idea of inviting applications from would-be cooks who fancy a night of fine conversation and a privileged peek into their exclusive art community. The brave and art curious should post their menu plans and reasons why they should be chosen to feed ‘the four-headed artist’.
