I'm pretty sure that landlords dislike artists... I was thinking in the studio after having received a notice to quit the apartment we were living in.
An hour or more passed during which time I had unconsciously torn a piece of paper and continued to roll it back and forth between my fingers. I suppose it is a sort of nervous reaction to a familiar sense of desperation.
How many times have I been asked to leave the multitude of run-down apartments I've occupied - I suspect - once the landlord finds out I'm a painter? Since I was 18 in my first rented flat on the quays in Dublin, I've had nothing but problems with the owners.
It's not that I ruin their property - I've never had the money to have a separate studio from where I live, and the sight of the mounting objects makes them highly uneasy, I guess.
Anyway, after a couple of hours of not very profiltable wondering what to do next, I glanced down at the thing in my hand.
I seem to recall musing over the tiny paper roll in my palm, and deciding to keep for another day. I placed it by itself in a metal box, sealed it and left it at that.
It wasn't until a couple of years later that I found the box again and opened it in a new space I was slowly establishing.
And so I'm thinking of basing a new work on this. It's little to go by, I know, and may not lead anywhere. I'm presuming the contrary however as I've clearly kept it so carefully for a reason.