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CHEEKY-CHAPPY artist Joby Hickey was like a jumping bean at the Warren Gallery's group show in the Gresham with works by Kevin Sharkey and Mike Fitzharris. His paintings of cars in the Dublin and Manhattan gloaming (that's a little Beckett in-joke) flew off the shelves. (At the Apollo, if you buy a �?�4,500 Joby, the owner will buy it back in five years for �?�9,000.
Guaranteed. ) "There are 50 things I need to do today from cleaning my room to calling my agent, " Jobster told me.
"I've done the work in my head. I went to see the worst film today, Inside Man."
We were interrupted by a 171 message on my mobile phone. "There are four Beckett plays at the Project, " the caller said. "If you want to come?" DELETE! I'm happy to wait until the next centenary for stream-ofconscious Beckett. I prefer stream-ofconscious Joby: "Have you seen any black-and-white movies recently? The photographer has already left. He had 1980s Levis, deck siders and no sideburns. Did you see him? His name will come to me."
The photographer's name hung precariously in the gloaming, just out of reach. Joby fell silent and gazed Heaven-ward. The crowd murmured.
I sneezed, took out my handkerchief, looked out the window and watched a seagull go by.
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YOU ARE HERE: 19 March 2007 / tribune.ie / 2006 / 04 / 16
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