lunch in margate
Two women were talking at the table next to Victoria’s. “To start with it seems quite new, and you think ‘how exciting!’ and everything,” one of them said. Her voice trailed away. “But then–” The other woman said something about raised paving and they talked over one another for a few sentences. “Anyway,” the first woman said, “I’ve rather given up on it now.” She thought for a moment then added: “I’ve done it in a sort of grey.” Outside the gallery, the art students trudged past, burdened by their need to be wearing the right thing at the right point in the cycle. Art has only two processes, Victoria thought: how to become perfect and how to smash the plate. How to just about cling on, she thought: that was for everything that couldn’t be art. That morning she had read a sign saying “Mannings Seafood” as “The Meaning of Seafood”.