Self, cloaked in trademark head to toe writer-black, was the perfect foil to Perry's peach and blue graphic print dress, to his curly boots with bells and to Shirley, the doll on his knee.
To some Grayson Perry is still an oddball, that artist who dresses like a woman. Thankfully he's become so acceptable in the UK that even he is unhappy about it. "Now when I'm out in the street I'm not that annoying pervert anymore," he half grumbled. "They say, 'oh it's Grayson Perry, he can do what he likes'. It's quite boring now, unless I go abroad." You have to respect a man who says his definition of a good outfit is taking a deep breath before he leaves the house.
What I also like about Grayson Perry is his refreshing frankness about the meaning of his art and how he goes about it. Not for him a puzzling pretentious riddle hinting at how his work is created. "Well, I started in the left hand corner and worked across," he said of the Walthamstow Tapestry, a major new piece namechecking well-known brands, which is a wry, modern take on the famous Bayeaux tapestry. "I really see a difference when I work. I get better." As Self pointed out, it's rare to hear an artist admit that their technique isn't perfect from the outset."I grew up in public," replied Perry. "My first ceramics were incredibly inept. But people thought they were ironic." You have to laugh but there must be some truth in it. In fact, much of what Perry said was a serious point made in jest. When Self highlighted this, Perry was very clear about how and why he uses humour. "My job as an artist is to supply electrodes, not the sparks. I don't necessarily want to kill my art with explanation. The jokes are me dancing around it. When I'm in the studio, I'm deadly serious." He's now put in 10,000 hours of pottery practice to prove it.
Much of Perry's art is inspired by revered classical work. So, while from a distance his vases may look Ming, up close they often portray disturbing images or provide a commentary on modern life. Consumerism, religious iconography and text are all regular features. He'll go round a museum or flick through an art book for ideas and then think how he can make a relevant 21st century version that isn't a horrible parody.
He comes across as extremely eccentric but matter-of-fact. He said he doesn't like art about airy fairy things (themes such as sadomasochism certainly prove that) yet he's created an artistic cult whose leader is Alan Measles, Perry's childhood teddy bear (so called because Alan was his best friend at the time and he had measles - how cute). But if that isn't airy fairy I don't know what is. Perry, as you might expect of a man whose alter-ego Claire famously collected his Turner Prize in 2003, is full of contradictions.
Picasso spent his whole life trying to draw like a child and in the same way Perry is interested in the psychology of childhood "Everybody has their own Alan Measles", he told Self, which is why he makes shrines to Alan and exhibits them.
Maybe I should reclaim and reshrine my childhood teddy bear, long since abandoned in the spare room back up North. "Karen Chickenpox" doesn't have quite the same ring to it though.
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* Poptart succumbed to the seasonal lurgy this week and has been sipping Lemsip and popping Beroccas under her duvet while feeling guilty about not writing this blog.
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