Suture

'So,' she said with a sway, as she surfed the Zak-line. 'I was right, can't you see, when it came to eBay? Just auction your stuff, and all will be fine. Abandon materialism; just live for the day.'

'But, don't you regret that you're selling your past?' He was drinking again; he'd forsaken his fast. He'd forsaken the regime that ensured he stayed stable. He was downing the vino and feeling less than able; to maintain his equilibrium in meetings and crits. If he were honest, he'd admit he was losing his grip.

'Losing my past, well there's certainly something to ponder. But my family history's so dysfunctional that I'm tempted to wonder. To wonder if I need to dwell on what's done. In terms of our surname, I am now the only one.  My father is gone, and so is my brother. My mother remarried; swapped our last name for another. So I'm thinking of choosing a name of my own. A name that I like; one that has a nice tone. A name that reflects what's essential to me. You can do it by deed-pole, for a nominal fee.'

'Yes, you can change it by deed-pole, I've seen the brochure.  But, listen, if you don't have a past, can you hope for a future?'

'Yes, you can if you take on the notion of suture. A psychoanalytical term, but it seems to make sense, whether you're inhabiting the past, present or future tense. Suture's about failing to notice the 'seams' that stitch together one's belief in certain realities and dreams. I guess you could call it a suspension of disbelief. Now, if you steal someone's name, are you considered a thief?'

He was no longer listening; was uncorking some wine. As for her, she had just stepped off the Jibline. And, quick as a flash, she jumped onto the Chill. As with suture, maintaining one's balance on a slack-line was a matter of will. For a second she wobbled, and looked ready to fall, but she lifted her arms and suddenly stood tall. The tension was perfect; the line was quite still. Like eBay, this slacking was proving a thrill.

The Point of 0.6 (8)

eBay

So, finally her unorthodox views had held sway. The change had occurred since that carnival day. Within 24 hours they had all quit the fray. Cast off their masks, thrown those damned piccolos away.

And, the weather had turned; the sky was now blue. The blossom was out, and the daffodils, too. Little baa lambs frolicked on the hillsides nearby. (It would be months before they were turned into shepherd's pie.) Daylight took longer to turn into night. Her colleagues now embraced a sense of well-being, that all would come right.

But this change of heart, she knew for sure, was because they had reached the end of their tether; they cared no more. They were no longer prepared to fight the good fight. They sensed they could change nothing, try as they might. The might of the senior management team would always succeed. For managerial matters were driven by greed. (If managers can't get what they want they at least get what they need.) By acknowledging this, the workers were suddenly freed; from any obligation to compromise or please. They were sick of genuflecting, being brought to their knees. Not caring was starting to feel like a breeze.

At which point she suggested they all go 0.6. But for some this would result in a financial fix. They had mortgages to pay and cars to run. (These material concerns ensured life ceased to be fun.) So she suggested that rather than work, why not play? How better, she suggested, than to start selling on eBay?

It wasn't easy, it took quite a while, before they all got it and started to smile; at the thought that while they sat at their desks, instead of sorting emails they could dismantle the domestic nest, by auctioning on-line all the clutter they had accrued. She put it to them thus: 'you will feel re-newed. Re-newed and relieved to rid yourself of clutter.' (She ignored the guy in the corner who'd begun to dribble and splutter. He was evidently not worth saving, he was too full of dread, too scared to see his bank balance shift into the red.)

But the majority was game, the majority saw the light. Her colleagues regained their passion for their subject: their pleasure, the delight. They had looked into their souls and understood what they stood for. It wasn't Higher Education; that's not what they'd studied for. They had all turned to art because they believed they were creative. That they needed a visual medium to express themselves with. They needed 'Art' in order to negotiate how to live. Teaching was but a by-product, a generous impulse to give. But teaching had recently become about something other. They were now of the opinion, 'why should we bother?'

So, while senior management continued to plot and scheme, ensuring that all they did would serve only their team, the workers sat at their desks all day (and in doing so they ensured they would get full pay), but they no longer cared what the students had to say. They were too busy engaged in their own form of play; tracking the value of their belongings at auction on eBay.

'THE END'

As Seen On eBay (or, What's It All Really Worth?)

Lined Linen Jacket, Boden, Size 14.  Friday 18 November 2011.  £21.24 excluding P&P