I'm starting to feel i have too much audio material. Especially in light of the troubles i'm having with footage, which today became a little more problematic as i broached the subject of filming him. He said the very thought of appearing on film brings him out in cold sweats. He'd wipe his brow and say, "look, look, actual sweat! You have made me sweat with this request". I don't want to pressure him, but i did try to emphasise that this would mean a lot to mum and i in allowing us to preserve his methods.
He can be so perverse. So talks so frequently about how he wished he had exhibited for my grandmother, how he hopes some good comes of his work, and how he wished he'd taken opportunities which life threw at him, yet when opportunities arise he shuts them down so quickly. The conversation ended with him saying he needed a few months to think about. It's frustrating how uncooperative he can be. Hoping my mum can talk some sense into him. I haven't given up hope completely.
Unfortunately, that isn't the last of my emergent problems. I compiled a list of photographers and sent each an email. From there the list was whittled down to 6 or 7 with solid experience in photographing artwork to details and resolutions high enough for reproduction. They provided me with an outline of the conditions required to complete the job. My grandfather's insisted that no artwork leave his flat while he's still alive (i wouldn't be capable of carrying a single painting across London anyway), so i have to fork out extra for the home visit. However, all the photographers need a clear white wall and metres of space stretching either side of the artwork for an optimum set-up (they're charging £200 per hour for the first hour, then £100 per hour for each hour after that, so if i'm going to do this then it has to be done properly). This would mean i literally have to clear the whole living room of space (fuck knows where i'd put the sofa). Never in a million years can i imagine my grandfather consenting to this. The living room remains to this day exactly the same as it was when my grandmother died. It's cluttered to fuck but familiar, and he hates change. Last week he had a neurotic episode because i washed one of his 'poison spoons'. This was one of two spoons he uses for stirring his tea, and he takes a strange pride in the fact he hadn't washed them since 1967- believing the black residue which coats them is helping him build a tolerance to life's toxins. Fortunately he still has one more, otherwise i'm not sure i'd ever hear the end of it.
So anyway, lots of problems. Feeling deflated again. Can't decide which (if any) of my ridiculously implausible situations is most achievable.