|You are the voice of the pavilion|
steam blowing cutter tapping
distant engines laughter echoing
half conversations shoes shuffling
feet stepping whispers and murmurs
doors opening and doors closing
chairs sliding phones ringing
Bob whistling cafe musicing
Voices are mingled, confused and co-mingled; an oasis of coherent conversation sits around a table on the top floor. Isolated snippets of conversation on genuine and antique 'cassette tape recorders' lie and wait for you to slip on headphones, rewind, fast forward, play, eject and stop.
The names of the interviewees mean nothing; once-beautiful, once-intimates of Warhol umm and err as a starstruck interviewer simpers.
Elsewhere, the din and thrum is never ending.
And the last word goes to four year old - Orla.
men talking to ladies
cats in my head