Well, I’ve seen some old toot classed as art before, but the piece in the Tate titled, ‘Sunflower seeds’ takes the biscuit!

We have, in the past, had a pile of bricks as an exhibit, and it won a prize, a cash prize!  And if that’s art, I’ve got a full head of hair, three knees, and a pair of exploding trousers!  Some arse was allowed to transport her bedroom from her house, and stick it on show.  Now, I can only guess what’s coming next.  Someone lawn perhaps, the contents of a wheely bin maybe.  One from a house in Kensington and one from a council estate in Edmonton.  And there will be all sorts of old bollocks talked and written about the piece by art critics and artists alike, and the artist concerned will end up laughing all the to the bank, when they go and cash their huge great Gregory Peck, knowing that they’ve got a way with it again.

I’d love to be at the meetings where they decide who’s toot will or won’t be commissioned and shown.  Can you imagine the waffle and oxyen-wasting that must go on?  “Oooh, a cow cut in half?”  “Mmmm, well it’s got my vote Triston.”  Wankers!  I mean, why stop there, why not fill up a house with concrete, and then knock the house down!?! F-e-r fuck sake!!  Or, let’s get people to stand on a plynth in London!  No, no, surely no one one would be daft enough would they?  One of my favourite exhibits was the guy that got paid to put a huge dark room in the Tate!  Now call me Mr Picky but, for a commission of 900 quid you can come and sit in my loft and achieve much the same result!  

So, you wake up one day with a blinding idea for a piece of interactive art, and the Tate takes the bait.  “What’s your idea Mr Wei Wei,” they say, all keen and eager.  “A 100 million hand-painted porcelin sunflower seeds.”  “Stupendous idea,” remark the Tate twats.  “And what are you hoping to achieve with this most interesting piece?”  The artist replies, “People can walk on them, interact with them, and pick them up.  And in the fullness of time, they will discover they are not real.”  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” say the twits at the Tate.  Why, they’ll be queuing around the block to see that, how much money would you like, an open cheque as usual?” 

The artist leaves the meeting saying, “See you in five or six years then matey-boys,” while smiling like a cat who smiles a lot.  He then heads home, some where in Asia where there’s a whole bunch of poor people in need of work, and an even bigger bunch of porcelin.   Thirty processes later, and an outlay of 10 bob from his huge commission fee, the raw product is ready to be put in molds and fired.  From there they are distributed to the lady folk of the town to hand paint.  Man, that’s gotta be a mind-numbing job hasn’t it?  Some years later, and after a futher outlay of another 35 bob, the workers are paid their wages, and the sunflower seeds are flown to London.   The arist arrives, pushes a rake about a bit for five minutes or so, and then retires shagged out but with just enough strength to count what’s left of his orignal wad.  And that’s art is it?  Well sit on my and call me Bernard!!!

I’m feeling a bit dismayed with my progress as a writer chaps, in fact I feel a bit flat.  Well, it’s coming up to ‘that’ time of the year for me, I just don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere.  So my post will be in fits and starts for a couple months I’m afraid. 

Yours, a bit pissed off, Spam Van Damn.    Hope you all have a happy Yule Tide…

Ooh, ooh, here’s a late no earlobes candidate… Ed Balls

This entry was posted on Monday, October 18th, 2010 at 2:26 am and is filed under Neils Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.