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Gillian Wearing

centre, you go now you’re going to be talking to Kevin who is an ex-murderer who has suffered this, suffered that, been here, been there, done this, done that, put countless people in hospital, I wonder what their real idea would be, what they’d really think. And so, people at work even, there’s lots I don’t understand. There’s lots of things that have happened in the outside world, that I’ve had to try and keep up to date, like I’ve had to try and bring back a memory, I have to try and make up a past, a story of wherever I’ve been, of what I’ve done. And luckily people accept my story, they accept this persona that I’ve taken on. Someone turned around to me the other day when I was at work, and I was a bit depressed, and said: ‘Oh, come on, mate, it’s not good seeing you down, you’re one of the most cheeriest guys in work’. Which made me sort of smile to myself because, when I get away from work, I dread going home, because when I go home I’ve got a little bedsit that I sit in, that I do my hobbies in, that I play on the Playstation on. I don’t go out drinking with people, I don’t go out socialising with people cause the part of London I’m from is quite violent and, yes, I’ve been in one or two fights, I’ve been in one or two scraps –you get that in football. And, I know that if I ever get into trouble again, or if I’m a risk, what they deem as a risk to society, I could end up in prison again. So I’m scared to look for help, I’m scared to approach anyone, I’m scared to go counselling or anything like that because if the authorities get back that I’m having this kind of depression, that I’m this anguished or whatever it is, I could quite easily be called back to prison. So the real me right now, despite going to work and everyone thinking I’m friendly, happy, this jolly little character, the real me now is someone who sits alone –how I see myself this is– I sit alone, in a darkened room, I just look at myself. I’m like some twisted, deformed creature, with cuts, scars, wounds. I make noises like some animal that’s been wounded, that’s been twisted. I’m ugly, I’m covered in shit, I’m filthy, I’m dirty, unwashed, unclean. I am in a world of my own little excrement, I suppose. And that’s how I see myself. And the person looking in is also the jailer, is also the keeper, who keeps that, that horrible little monster hidden. He tries to pretend to the outside world that everything’s ok, that everything is fine. 76 Because he knows that if one person was ever to see that horrible little twisted animal in that cage, then his whole world would fall apart because he wouldn’t have a job, the people he talks to at work wouldn’t want to talk to him any more, he’d lose everything. And yes, what I’ve got, everything I’ve got is built on lies. Everything I have, is built on lies. But it’s only because of my lies, it’s only because I hide things that, really, at the end of the day, that I at least have a job, and I work, and I get to talk to people, because without those lies, without that false person that I am, I’d have nothing at all. És un poc irònic que hui aneu a veure el meu jo interior i no el meu jo exterior, perquè en el treball la gent només veu el meu jo exterior i no l’interior. Eixa és la part de mi que sempre intent amagar. Vos contaré part de la meua història. Vaig nàixer a Londres, els meus pares són anglesos. Mare anglesa, pare anglés. I així és com vaig començar. Vaig haver d’aprendre a mentir des d’una edat primerenca. La vida en ma casa mai va ser feliç. Ma mare solia eixir amb altres hòmens d’amagat de mon pare quan ell treballava a les nits, la qual cosa, com podeu imaginar, creava molts conflictes. Anaves al col·legi durant el dia, la gent et veia, la gent et mirava i tu intentaves amagar-ho tot, no volies mostrar cap dolor. No vols mostrar el que està passant. Així que simplement intentes fer coses en el col·legi. Intentes seguir com de normal. I llavors, en el col·legi t’acacen perquè els teus pares es gasten més diners en alcohol que en tu, així que la teua roba sempre és de segona mà, et donen la roba de mercats ambulants, d’això en diem “el voluntariat”, així que mai vistes tan bé com els altres xiquets. Així que quan anaves al col·legi t’acaçaven, i quan tornaves a casa no contaves als teus pares que en el col·legi t’acaçaven. I en el col·legi no contaves a la gent que a casa t’apallissaven els teus pares. Tot va arribar a un punt crític un dia quan jo tenia uns quatre o cinc anys. Ho recorde amb claredat, encara puc veure el gos. Mon pare va comprar un gos. Un pastor alemany gran a qui van anomenar Rex. I recorde que el van portar a casa un dia i jo vaig veure aquest gos gegant, enorme, i em va paréixer quelcom fantàstic. I encara recorde córrer pel corredor cap al gos, ma mare cridant-me que parara, mon pare intentant detindre’m, i jo vaig agafar el gos i li vaig posar les mans al voltant


Gillian Wearing
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