I can't believe this is actually happening. I feel
as if someone is on life support and we've been told that we have to pull the
plug, except we don't want the person in the bed to die and it's the doctors
telling us that it's inevitable. I was hoping so so much that it wouldn't be
irreversable, that it was just a bad dream, but this week it's become a reality.
Cornerhouse will die. Our last night together is Thursday, and I’m sad to the
bottom of my heart.
I know I’m not alone, and that is heartening, but
not heartening enough to know that she will soon be gone out of our lives.
I know the maintenance was expensive. I know the
roof leaked in Cinema 1. I know Screen 3 was the daftest space to watch a film
ever. I’ve seen enough arty French films to keep arty French films in business.
I’ve come out with a crick in my neck so many times I’ve written a story about
it: Everyone Has A Favourite Spot.
Last night, I got my favourite spot: the front row
in Cinema 2. I love the symmetry. You do crane upwards to see the movie on the
front row, but you also get loads of leg space, and, thankfully last night, no
men took off their shoes and socks after a downpour. Although someone did leave
an empty coffee carton (what is it with you people? There’s a handy bin just
outside the door. This isn’t the chuffin AMC, and let’s not make HOME like
that).
HOME, we’re told, is going to be better. I don’t
disbelieve this, but nothing says arthouse and behaveyourfuckingselves as a
lovely wee cinema with three screens; one in an Art Deco building and the other
two in a red brick flat iron. C’mon.
Anyway, back to the main feature. Cornerhouse holds
so many memories to so many people. I just posted on the Scribbler project site
about one of mine. But it’s only one of many. I’ve met so many people in
Cornerhouse: people I’m supposed to be meeting; people I’m not supposed to be
meeting; people I know and just happen to bump into; random, lovely people, from here or travelling through.
Then there’s the art: I’ve made friends with
artists through this blog, who have been showing work in the bar, in the
galleries. Talented, amazing folk. The bookshop has always been a place to buy
unique cards, magazines and pamphlets by local writers. And Cornerhouse has
supported my own work; for which I am much indebted. I loved doing my Flyer
Fiction Micro Commission project at Cornerhouse – logging bike passages past
the building and engaging with fellow cyclists.
Cornerhouse has always been an artistic hub. For
years now.
I came to live in this great city of rain in 1990,
and Cornerhouse has always been my rock.
I will miss that rock. I know others will too.
