After the show we go into the most underwhelming backstage I've ever seen, a quarter of a hot smoky canvas tent. I hate this stage of things, the act-worshipful-and-wait-for-something-to-happen stage. I decide to talk to the girl standing beside me. She must have thought the same thing because as I open my mouth she says "So what do you do in London." I say, "I'm an artist." She says "Oh really" with a cocked eyebrow and that look and tone that I fucking hate, the look and tone that says "Well, you're probably pretty shit aren't you." I must have successfully smiled politely because she tells me about her job, working for some gallery touring exhibitions. She also says that she was an artist until she was twenty-five, when she decided that the "art world was bullshit" and tossed it all to work in galleries. I pretend to be more impressed than I actually am - Exhibitions! Touring! Really! - whereas I think that anyone who decides to toss an art career at twenty-five before you actually get to any of the hard parts has simply identified a legitimate and graceful way of giving up. Congratulations. Oh, and fuck you for that "Oh really" comment.
At this point I realise that there are a lot of groupies backstage of varying ages, and not a shred of shame or dignity between them.
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