a text (in deep charcoal, midnight navy, soft grass and elephant’s breath) in response to Room Pitch: a performance by Shona Macnaughton

                                                        elephant’s breath
                                                          Blackened                              by
                                                          Skimming stones
                                                          pointing:                       with my
                                                          slipper; satin (old white)
                                                          towards
                                                          Arsenic Archives
                                                          SAVAGE GROUND, Pigeon  on
                                                          dead salmon in mouse’s back
                                                          don’t be Churlish, Green
 

The sometimes estate agent is the between occupier of this bright and welcoming accommodation. The permeating stink of fresh coffee is unequivocally redolent of 90s marketing ploys. Enticed? Not yet? You will be.

Viewers will be met outside of this splendid stone built flat located in the second floor of a traditional tenement building. The viewers will not hesitate in being led into the property, through the dank, badly lit stairwell. On passing through the secure wooden entrance door they will perhaps not notice the glazed insert above. It is, yes, it is essential to point out these features that are not at the eye level of scrutiny because they are (although you may not yet know it) crucial in portraying the character of the property. Do not deviate from occupying this place as if it were your own, but do not let the viewers think that your role is one of duplicity; you must be clear in your description of your surroundings, but it would be helpful to remain as impartial as possible. They can feel what they feel and we don’t need to know what they feel but we should acknowledge that they might think that they are (i) your friends (ii) a client (iii) invisible. It is not your job to tell them that they are something other than this.

soft grass

lying down propped up by elbows; laughing, head thrown back, denim, gingham, layered skirts, chewing straw. soft grass

Excerpt from WANDERINGS OF A HOUSE SELLER (a blog dedicated to the ups and downs of house selling – or the rants of a lonely housekeeper)

I am aware that I am essentially invisible in this process and my self-conscious attempts to step into the shoes of seller have directly contradicted my initial assertion that I am merely an unseen door opener. However, we are persistently reminded of the success of the seller in all other visible areas of life, but still my own skepticism will not allow me to believe that by gesticulating and spouting that the two way opening newly installed fully cleanable windows are just what any new house purchaser needs will sell this small corner of building. REAL ESTATE more like GET REAL ESTATE

Throughout the last (however many years) when property became what felt like the only thing worth investing in there has been a massive surge in related media. From the original doyens of this genre; publications that for years have been offering advice about matters of the home, through to the constant drip feeding of asspirational property crap in its multifarious forms that has become a staple of all tv channels.  I shall not name any of these programmes, publications or their parasitic presenters or publishers (ppppppiss) here – but you know the type; velcroed on gothic headboards to walls of glass imported invariably from Germany; from (poor) city types who only have another two hundred thousand left in their budget before they have to sell the crash pad in some bloody new waterside complex development, to the entrepreneur who took on the job himself and now is the proprietor of an unstable worthless pile of bricks and bloody mortar (please never ever use your initiative). This towering heap of property stuff has allowed too many people to believe that anyone can be a fucking developer or interior designer or architect or, back to the point in hand, a seller. I have never had matching cushions. I have never had a superb finish. I have never had bespoke handmade Cotswold’s wardrobes. I have never had self-shutting unit doors. And do you know what? I have never had a white suite with power-shower. Gasp. Yawn. Sell.

Or not, as the case may be.

SAVAGE GROUND

Jennie Temple 2012

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