Art Somehow I've now contrived to miss Raymond Pettibon's video piece Sunday Night and Saturday Morning three times.
The first was on press day, at around lunch time. Not really knowing what I was looking for, I walked the length of Wood Street before stumbling on one of the wolf signs, which sadly was pointing in the wrong direction and led me up some stairs into what turned out to be the back end of a restaurant, almost bumping into a waitress who was just setting up for the day.
"Hello." She said nonchalantly as though it was usual for people to almost bump into her in this way through the service entrance.
"Oh hello." I said, "I was look for something Biennial related."
She regarded me blankly.
"The Biennial. Liverpool Biennial?"
She shook her head. I produced my catalogue and prodded the cover probably more emphatically than was required.
"This is a restaurant." She said simply.
She was right. It was a restaurant. Not a garage.
I made my apologies and left and told the Biennial staff at the visitors centre about the sign which they promised to check.
The second was at the close of a very long day visiting Biennial venues, the day of Liverpool Cathedral. I was very pleased to have finally found the place given my at best amateur approach to a sense of direction, but less so when I realised just how much I'd lost track of time, that it was closing and there wouldn't be time to watch the hour long film what with the palpable sense of people wanting to go home.
The third was today, when I headed up the gravel footpath with plenty of time and well fed, focused, keen. I sat in one of the directors style chairs in the space daubed with pictures of animals, only for a loud drilling noise to appear from somewhere. The volunteer explained that the "venue" had been closed for health and safety reasons, the racket presumably the work being carried out so that garage will stay standing until November. Not able to hear the film, I left. Again.
Thank goodness the Biennial is so long. Still plenty of time. Edging ever closer.
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