Arriving in Berlin at the end of a summer's thumbing around Europe ('92), I had to think of a means to make cash if I was to stay. Visiting a couple of model-making studios only made my stomach turn; deadlines and perspex dust were what I was escaping from. Bob K. had made the move in '89 and was working with the Spielmobil - a travelling activities group for kids - making musical instruments and enjoying life. Others made hats and jewellery to sell at the weekend markets. At Spielmobil's H.Q. I started carving the first puppet and soon had a workspace set up in my tiny basement flat. Still too much the model-maker and perfectionist, I decided to mould them using silicon rubber and other materials pilfered from hobby shops. Friends were encouraging, some loved the puppets as much as I did. The masters were a Frankenstein, a Michael Jackson and a Love Lion, variously painted, some decorated with poems (below). At one time up to twenty of them would hang silently about the flat awaiting market day. But they did not sell well. People were curious, sometimes fascinated, but the things were dark, even ugly, and ultimately not designed for children to play with. Later I produced one-off specials from fired clay; dinosaurs, goblins, witches, which were larger, very heavy, to my mind precious; while a new moulded series of miniature comic characters were more appealing to youngsters. But my own head was not made for business. When at last they were gone (I gave lots away) I halted, disillusioned, and sold instead stainless steel jewellery for an acquaintance at the same markets.

When I fell in love with one of the girls to whom I was teaching English (another disastrous escapade) I typically had a breakdown on rejection. I had to get away again. I found myself the next Summer at a beautiful commune in the mountains of southern France. I wrote to Uta, another of my 'students' and girlfriend to be, and by the time she joined me I was working eight hours a day bent double, picking blueberries for a crook on a fruit farm. I had overstayed my welcome at the commune. The only person I hadn't been able to get on with (an influential and longstanding member - I thought she was a witch) decided that after two months I still wasn't jumping out of bed with a spring in my step. Perhaps I had not contributed enough, but L'Arch (the Ark) had healed me. If the witch had not thrown her broom in the works I could quite possibly still be there now, killing potato bugs, arranging flowers, folk dancing, meditating, making bread, scrubbing flagstones, bringing in the harvest and smuggling in wine and chocolate for late night fireside rendezvous... Anyway, I was now in a tent with Uta. I began to write down the ideas and make sketches for a strange story about underground insect colonies and an army of evil marionettes. I don't know where it came from but it developed into the first of many drafts for 'Ark of Colours' - a story which has haunted my dreams and inspired me with grand ideas of film, animation, paintings etc., ever since.

Returning to live at Uta's flat in Berlin, the story developed alongside the Animal Pain figures I was now making - until she confiscated my key and threw me out. It was deepest winter and of course I was penniless, but I quickly moved into the flat of the sister of a friend - a jammy stroke of luck and another story entirely. Uta allowed me to pick up most of my stuff, but she still had my last couple of marionettes, including a Michael Jackson who might have been an African voodoo doll. However, it was a tricky time. I left various messages then phoned one day to hear the answering machine say "I'm not home now, if you want to reach me at blah, blah; and if that's Paul, fuck off: forget about your puppets." And so I did.

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I BE THE BLOOD PUPPET
COME TO SUCK YOUR DREAMS
MY SOUL IS IN YOUR PILLOW
MY VEINS RUN THROUGH ITS SEAMS
(THIRSTY, SO THIRSTY)

I WATCH YOU FROM MY HANGING PLACE
AND WAIT FOR YOU TO FALL
I'LL FILL YOUR BRAINS WITH NIGHTMARE TASTE
SOON YOU'LL HEAR ME CALL
(SLIP AWAY, SLIP AWAY)

I'LL DRAIN AWAY YOUR TREMBLING
I'LL FILTER OFF YOUR FEAR
I'LL EMPTY YOU OF EVERYTHING
THAT YOU AND I HOLD DEAR
(GO TO BED, GO TO BED...)

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WAS I THE FOOL-SEARCHING, SLEEP-YEARNING LOVE LION
TOO LAZY TO MOVE 'N TO CATCH YA? (ROAR)
OR THE FAKE-HUGGING, KISS BURNING BLOOD LION
TOO STICKY TO LIE 'N TO SCRATCH YA? (SNORE)

THE ANSWER I FOUND IN THE BACK OF A CART
ONE EASTER - I THOUGHT I WOULD EAT OUT HER HEART
BUT SHE OPENED MY CAGE - I HAD NO PRIVATE PART
SO I ROARED UP A POEM AND ATE HER JAM TART...

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