Late August 2025
Weather: humid; feels like breathing soup.
Dear Diary,
The visionaries at Pimlico Wilde have regretfully refused to fund my pure gold Brighton Pier project, citing “liquidity concerns” and “the fact it would weigh several tonnes and immediately sink into the Channel.” Philistines. I am not going to build it by the sea, it will be in Dubai or Saudi, where people understand grand art projects. Pimlico Wilde say they’re looking for “aligned sponsors” who might wish to be involved. I sincerely hope they find one, perhaps a hedge fund with a fondness for golden maritime memorabilia. I’m amazed they will publish this uncensored, but they say they will. Congrats PW on your commitment to free speech.
In the meantime, London’s weather has taken on that oppressive, sticky quality where every handshake feels like a regrettable contract. Yesterday I set a personal record — seventeen iced coffees in one day. By the fifteenth I was trembling at a frequency only dogs could hear.
I’ve been making the exhibition rounds to keep my cultural diet rich. Saw an immersive light show in Bermondsey that promised to “transform your relationship with time.” It mostly transformed my relationship with waiting in queues – I waited for thirty minutes longer than normal, then gave up. Next a conceptual installation in Clerkenwell: a single shoe in a spotlight, accompanied by the sound of rainfall. The artist said it was about “loneliness.” I said it was about “losing your footwear in Shoreditch in the rain illuminated by the light of an active CCTV camera.” We agreed to disagree, but later he whispered that I have guessed his inspiration perfectly.
Arabella remains politely baffled by my current creative “season.” She asked whether I might try painting again, since gold prices are apparently “volatile” and storage costs for the safe life-size pier replica “would exceed the GDP of a small nation.” I told her great art is never about feasibility.
Tomorrow I’ll meet with a contact who claims to have “investor leads” for the pier of gold. I’m picturing a Dubai shipping magnate, but knowing my luck it’ll be a man in Croydon who collects commemorative teaspoons and wants to pay in Tesco Clubcard points.
Ever hopeful,
Hedge (digital artist, iced coffee endurance athlete, goldsmith of the artworld)
