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'Glider' is a piece of short fiction commissioned by WHATIFTHEWORLD for Michael Taylor's exhibition, 'In the End', 2021



Glider

Handel darts off just as the man with the face like a puppy approaches. You’re disappointed by how easily he’s willing to abandon your conversation about cultural appropriation at parties, where to draw the line etc. You value Handel’s insights, generally. This feeling is soon replaced with a different kind of disappointment as the man with the face like a puppy begins to tell you about the feature film he hopes to make this year, how he has come to know the Bransons and that he has no regrets about spending his youth seeing the world instead of revising in windowless halls. Thomas (Tommy), who swears you’ve met before, understands better than most that there’s no better teacher and no better tonic than the unknown but he does sometimes wonder whether his career might have taken a different turn had he accepted the Fulbright all those years ago, whether this may have made it easier for him to find a producer for his film etc. Handel had obviously been subjected to this or some related monologue before. Still, as you glance over to where he is now, huddled in a corner with a groaning, be-sequined mass, you wonder whether he is any better off. Tommy pinches your arm, says he has to speak to a man about a horse, and leaves you, alone. You cast around for a drink and are relieved to see a hand appear with something cool and cloudy. Wade, who you know only by name, says nothing but moves to stand alongside you, looking out across the room. Camilla (small, angular, shy-by-day) is trying to get onto the shoulders of a taller, tented figure you don’t recognise. She scampers from chair to bookcase and finally, shrieking, finds her post. The tented figure is unruffled and continues her conversation with the barman throughout. The barman (Ray, ancient) is tired and bored. The be-sequined mass into which Handel has been absorbed, is now pitching out of the corner and into the centre of the room to writhe with other, miscellaneous bodies. You picture yourself in the glider, above the sea, and suddenly can’t remember if it was you in the glider or someone else, who then described the experience to you.


Last One Standing, 2021, Michael Taylor (image courtesy of the artist)