The last of the Riot Slut chairs has been nailed and stitched, the satin soldier chairs stand tall against the wall – two are naked still awaiting black linen bags to cover them. The glass hammers have arrived sleek from the kilns and word has it that a perfume is on its way from the furthest island of the Empire. It is rumoured to smell like bonfires of summer flowers. It is to be called SNATCH.
The sisters are in the workshop clearing out the detritus of months of hard work makings- repainting walls where ideas were taped and drilling holes to make a new space for the creation of the Headquarters. From studio to gallery and back again. Blurring lines is another act of defiance.
Is it art? Is it craft? Is it real or is it myth in the making? Does it really matter?
If you think too much you can forget how to play and all potency and laughter is lost in studied art school self-consciousness. All those crippled chairs that never made it out of the studio.
If you don’t think enough its fashion – a fluttering of hysteria that exists to please. A chair that says nothing but how rich or tasteful you are or are not but makes it to the cover of every interior magazine in town.
Between two stools we will triumph!
