I shit you not, today they have taken the Christmas tree out.
It’s in the garden as I walk by with my latest export of cardboard. Today I carry it in an IKEA bag.
At the studio, the artists extol the virtues of cardboard. There is good cardboard and then there is better cardboard. Stains can be painted over. Creases add character. Paper skin, it’s called in Cantonese. It is low-stakes and freeing. They greet my IKEA bag like an old friend, a favorite aunt.
The artists are remarkably good at knowing how to make you feel welcome and knowing when to leave you to it. No ripples. No white lies. No one-foot-out-the-door lingering. None are British.