And another thing…

TO A RECEPTION this evening at the Royal College of Art in Piccadilly, courtesy of hosts, NedRailways.

Modern art really isn’t my bag (despite my unsuccessful attempt to have this blog nominated for the Turner Prize) but it was a terrific venue and much of what was on display was intriguing, and some of it quite beautiful.

But what struck me as soon as I saw it was a piece by Tracey Emin which purports to be a piglet. But it’s not, as those of us who remember Oliver Postgate’s immortal work will testify: it’s a Clanger. So maybe a portion of the £90,000 the painting was bought for (no, seriously — ninety grand! Iknow! Me too!) should go to the estate of the sainted Postgate?

A Clanger yesterday (left) and Emin’s "piglet". Yeah, right…

THE BROTHER of a friend of mine once told his grandfather that he intended to go to art college after leaving school. The old man looked at his grandson suspiciously and replied: “Art? That’s a’ done wi’ computers up north!”

Not sure, but I think I know what he meant, or at least where he was coming from. Art’s reputation has been tarnished in modern times; once seen as the achievement of geniuses whose skill one could only marvel at, it is now more often perceived as a confidence trick perpetrated by smart young graduates “expressing” themselves all over the place.

I confess to being a philistine (or should that be “Philistine”?); I don’t “get” most modern art. I apply a similar criterion to the definition of art as I do to the definition of sport. When embroiled in the familiar pub discussion about whether or not darts is a sport, I make the point that an activity should only be considered a sport if being fitter helps improve your performance. Ergo, darts is a game but not a sport. Okay, it’s not a perfect rule, but it works for me.

So with the question of “what is art?”, I ask: “Could I, as someone who has never received any training as an artist, physically produce that piece of work to the same technical standard?”

I look at an unmade bed, or a room with a lights witch in it, or, at a pinch, a collection of bricks, and I have to answer “yes, I could do that.” It may be whimsical, or represent a profound concept to the “artist”, but when I look at some of the classic paintings in Tate Britain or Kelvingrove Art Gallery, I see genius, and I marvel at how any human being could be so blessed with such an incomprehensible level of skill. I see Tracey Emin’s unmade bed and I see an emperor’s new clothes. Not only could I have produced that, I have done on many occasions, and not been paid for my trouble.

As I say, I’m a philistine/Philistine.

Nice work if you can get it

So here’s my proposition: nominate this site for the Turner Prize. No, seriously.

It’s innovative – how many other candidates for the prize have nominated themselves? It’s interactive – you can leave a comment and the author/artist may even respond. It’s about self-expression, both of the artist and of those who visit it. Visitors to the gallery could become part of the exhibit even as they viewed it (provided I was available to moderate comments at that time). It’s democratic – anyone can participate. 

Plus, my plugging it as a contender is itself a totally post-ironic and avant garde act: how cutting edge can anyone get, dahling?!

And, most important of all, it doesn’t deserve to be nominated for, or to win, any major artistic prize. So, a sure thing, I would’ve said.

You can just see it, can’t you, on the news reports of this year’s Turner Prize shortlist: a lonely, isolated iMac sitting in the centre of a gallery in the Tate Modern. The camera pans slowly round to reveal: my big baw face looking out at you. Genius, yeah?

No.

So get on the phone/web/email to the Turner Prize people and get lobbying. Now’s our chance people – our chance to claim one of the art world’s most prestigious prizes for the blogscape*, while exposing said prize as a delusionary irrelevance. And let’s face it: what could be more irrelevant than this blog? 

* © Bryan Appleyard