click on the blog link to see what's going on in the Suburban Pavilion
“I'm going to go do something productive. I'm gonna go watch television.” - The ‘burbs (1989)
Coming soon. Papilio. The pavilion of suburbia. An object of pleasure. A space of infinitive artistic and creative and leisurely active prowess. An arena where the space is the accommodator and you, the human, the extractor of its fertile floor, roof and four walls.
Suburbia. The ‘burbs. The green fringe of society. The edge beyond the bright city lights. The embankment of an identifiable community. Rustling in the bushes. Beckoning beneath the contorted blades of grass and the leafy hands of rampant trees here the pavilion glows with broody carte blanche and tingly anticipation to whom gets their hand on its door knob first. The pavilion as a staunch member of the community. A stronghold. A blank page eager to be drawn or scrawled on with a crisp sharp 5H pencil. Shush! A blender ready to blend a ripe piece of fruit into a delicious smoothie. Splat! A remote control ready to be handled with unforgiven care. Zap! A paint brush oozing with potent paint eager to attack the canvas. Slap!
Come forth with your ideas, thrills and hobbies. Art is merely one action that can be pursed in the pavilion. The pavilion invites all to come forth and take haven within its warm bosom.
A game of chess. A tea party. A video club. A watercolor class. A Women's Institute meeting. A party. A studio. A confession booth. A gym class. A cricket pavilion.
Paint a self portrait. Build a house. And you?
Or perhaps you would just like to lock yourself away from the clatter of everyday life and tune into Women’s Hour on Radio 4 with our gal Jenny Murray and have some tea and hummus? No questions asked. Jeff Koon’s might pop round if you’re lucky to borrow the mower!
The labels and tags are endless. They are ready to be peeled off and stuck on. And then taken off again. Replace. Replace. Keep moving. Keep going. Stop. Play. Record. No rules. No exceptions. The pavilion is the savior of suburbia. A wooden cave of whimsical vagrancy.
Get your paint brushes ready. Your rolling pins. You VCR’s. Your DVD’s. Your spandex. Your Connect Four set. Your knitting needles. Your slicer and dicer. Your blender. Your fold away chairs. Your Reader’s Digest. Your tea and biscuits (or hummus). Your cement mixer. Your hacksaw. They said build it and they will come. I hope you will come. It certainly ain’t Iowa but it sure is hell Fairmilehead!
There’s no password. No key. No logarithms. Just a pavilion. Lights, camera, action! A pavilion where the mind is free of rule! You are cordially invited to the Suburban Pavilion.
You can make neeps and tatties if you want. Man’s reach can exceed his imagination.
Benjamin Newell is a freelance art writer and artist.
Before insulation and plasterboard: 18 metre squared of potential!
Dressed up gallery style
Panic and Picnic in the Pavilion: performance, poetry, painting
7@7: artists' meeting place, every: first Wednesday of the month.