When I was in art college, the hardcore group of reprobates that we were, we used to snort sherbet and citrus polos. I’m not sure if the result was purely psychosomatic or not but it appeared to make us all very hyperactive.
Dip dabs made up a massive part of my childhood in that I used to drag my Dad round Bath city centre to various shops full of fluffy animals that must have been exasperating. He got his revenge by dragging me into Dixons and HMV to compare the prices of packs of 25 recordable CDs. The aim was to find the best deal, no matter how small the difference in price. The packs of CDs were never purchased, just looked at as if part of some sort of ritual, in the same way that I had to go into every chain of Clinton Cards. Just in case….
Next was John Menzies, which later became WH Smith and then even later, demolished as part of the Southgate Shopping Centre redevelopment. Dip dabs were purchased from here for the grand old price of 0.19p and I got the penny change for a twenty pence.
It’s these sort of memories that act as an anchor of detirmination when making new soft sculptures. They are very particular and require materials that are “just right” in accordance to the reminiscence.