Art of Talocher
The Art of Fugue gave way this morning to the Art of 'Talocher'. Spreading the hemp and lime mixture on the wall was, well quite simply, sexy; a kind of white readybrek which made me hungry for breakfast; a creamy oatmeal face-pack coaxed in to the stones with a 'langue de chat' (trowel).
"You have to make the cat's tongue vibrate a little when you put it on" said one of the team.
The conversation moved on to Messaien (with whom the chef de chantier's once girlfriend shared a house) and Boulez and Stravinsky's Sacre de Printemps. Not your average builders. Meanwhile Yves worked as hard as everyone else whilst he held forth. He certainly practices what he preaches. And sometimes there was a still silence you could almost taste as we all taloched away.
"Don't masturbate the mixture" said Yves to his disciples, and, aside: "Men!They always think they have to agitate everything!"
Leila, Yves' nine year old daughter, is on a break from her Steiner school and is on the chantier with us. She, along with everyone else, took to her taloching with joy. She is a ray of light, and, when I showed her the pictures of her father later, she said, her big brown eyes gleaming:
"Ah, comme il est beau, mon père!". It's true, and every daughter should say that of their father. I know I do! (Are you listening, Dad?)
When you enter the gallery next month there is a small area to your right which is Leila's work.