by Cameryn Moore
I’m sitting here at eight in the morning, on the couch of my fourth-floor flat in Edinburgh, watching the grey rain clouds roll through. They move fast, a visual reminder that things can change at any minute.
What else remains? Oh, the usual: pounding the pavement and flirting with people.
So I sent my releases out seven weeks ago. Today, right after I send in this column, I will post a photo call for the filming of an artist mini-talk show I’m pulling together for Sunday, and another photo call for the first installation of Sidewalk Smut next week. Tomorrow I go to the media cattle call, where artists line up for hours to pitch their shows to reviewers for three minutes. And that’s about all I can do for that.
Some patrons do sit down and read their program books out on the curb; that makes them an easy target for people flyering. Ditto for other signs I look for: standing in front of a venue schedule, or eyeballing the posters on the wall. I spent some of my time yesterday watching the street-promo teams, seeing what they do. In the end I decided that I don’t want to spend too much time in that environment. I could do, it’s basically my exit-flyering approach, that is to say, carnival barking, and hope that the percentage of response is worth the wear and tear on my voice. I don’t think it would be; mostly those rapid-fire flyering corridors are in areas with a high concentration of comedy or circus/variety shows. Not necessarily my demographic. Today and tomorrow I’m focusing on the more theatre-rich venues, with passage through the Royal Mile, that most famous of flyering haunts. I hear it’s dense with families, which is a tricky space for me to flyer in, but we shall see.