The Turner Prize shortlisted artists exhibition is on at the Baltic Centre somewhere like Gateshead, so wont get many visitors, but you might want to look on line just for a laugh.
21 October – 08 January 2012
The Turner Prize is an annual competition worth £25,000 and is awarded to a British Artist under fifty. (I didn’t think artists lived that long with all the drink and drugs and easel injuries) The winner will be the artist that has made the greatest contribution to art in the pervious year. Last year it was won by Susan Philipsz who, rather confusingly, doesn’t produce visual art at all but sings folk songs. I know what you are thinking, she isn’t a visual artists but a singer so why not do a SueBo and go on the X Factor. The problem is she isn’t a very good singer so has called her warbling a sound installation. So got you there. Her exhibition piece was her singing a dreary folk song, in an otherwise empty room at the Tate Gallery. Although she has been known to sing over public address systems, under bridges on the Tyne Rather like Delia did when she offered, the rather tuneless, ‘Let’s be ‘aving you,’ to Norwich football club fans at the ground before a match. I don’t think she won anything for that other than hearty cheers of her many admirers in the crowd. Sherbet dabs were involved of course.
Anyway back to the Turner Prize, where another previous winner was the ceramicist Grayson Perry. So good news here, Grayson, bless him, makes pots which are visual and can be looked at, judged, drunk from and peed in. So far so good then. But this is the Turner Prize and so Grayson has a quirk. No, not a quirk, as that implies judgement. He does something. He dresses in women’s clothes. More than that really he dresses like Little Bo Peep, make up as well. And he’s not good at make up, potters hands I expect, so he smears it on like slipper glaze. He frequently appears in public like this, often with his wife, (what a mind read that would be) not I hasten to add, in pubs in Pitsea on a Saturday night, where if he did, he’d probably get his kiln door roughly opened. No he appears, looking like Bette Davies in ‘Whatever Happened to Baby Jane,’ at functions associated with the art world where nobody sniggers and says, ‘What the hell do you look like mate,’ because of course in a world where everyone is doing something that is ridiculous, no one is going to break ranks. Once Grayson goes down as a ludicrous, attention seeker, with bad legs, who will be next? Chris Ofili who paints with Elephant dung, or Tracy who exhibited, her now famous, unmade bed? No, these people are not stupid and realise that one great belly laugh at the pretentious, bloated, carcass that British modern art has become would open the trap door and down they’d all go until the rope ran out. Snap!
This years shortlisted artists are;
Feminists soft furnishing, mostly rugs and curtains.
Scary face. Secret agent special killer glasses. He says his work is, ‘a collapse of the interior and the exterior world.’ Looks like a giant spiders web to me but I’m not going to argue. I’d run away first.
Mens underwear that I would not pick up off the bathroom floor without a Fukashima radiation suit.
He paints the everyday, the mundane, the boring, depressing and overlooked. I’d rather take the tablets.