Blind men and black cats

If you want quirky and thoughtful modern art, the ICA always delivers. A huddle of teddy bears in a corner, thirty four small photographs of different types of strawberries, and a large structure built out of so many materials - from wood to wool - that it looks like it could be an entry in one of those mad-cap flying day competitions. Somehow all these random pieces are related too. By the longest exhibition title in the world.

"For the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat which isn't there" is the show's name. It's from a quote attributed to Charles Darwin. He was mocking the mathematician's inability to describe the physical world in anything but abstract terms. Taking that as its basis, the exhibition is dedicated to the playfulness of being in the dark. The not knowing. Anything goes basically, which sounds like fun.

As Alan, the smiley Scottish gallery assistant pointed out, the exhibition is what you think it is. How very ICA. Everyone sees something different depending on how curious and playful your approach, he told me. I, for instance, didn't notice the google map image embedded in the flying structure (unnamed by Dave Hullfish Bailey) until Alan drew my attention to it. While the heap of teddy bears shows how animals relate to each other.

Perhaps I wasn't feeling very playful as I'd just been drenched in ice cold rain. A visit to the ICA rarely disappoints though. Slightly baffled and bemused, I headed to the cool cafe (one of my favourites) for a cuppa. It may not be very abstract, but you know where you are with a cup of tea.

For the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat which isn't there is free and runs until Sunday 31 January at the Institute of Contemporary Arts.

Arty whores at the National Gallery

I've known there were whores at the National Gallery for ages but only got round to visiting them today. Seems plenty of eligible men also had the same idea and even better it didn't cost a penny.

Girls, if you want to spend a Sunday afternoon observing groups of gorgeous men in twos and threes (you know the sort - tall, well turned-out, bearded/stubble, probably designers) observing eleven mannequins dressed as prostitutes in a faux red-light district, then head to Trafalgar Square. I can only think that they're reliving a stag do. I'd like to think they're curious about the Amsterdam red-light district on which the installation is based, having never visited. In reality it could be a mixture of the two. And who am I to point a finger as I myself have wandered through said district out of curiosity many moons ago on a weekend trip to Amsterdam with friends.

The Hoerengracht (Whore's Canal in Dutch) took American husband and wife artists Ed and Nancy Kienholz five years to complete in the eighties.The National Gallery's curator has compared the installation with the Old Masters which surround it.

There's something surreal about ambling down the narrow, dimly lit brick alleys suffused with red and neon lights from dusty doorways and cracked windows, knowing priceless Caravaggios and Titians are only a room away. The abundant attention to detail from tatty red wallpaper with small white hearts to a discarded condom in a bin, creates a seedy, realistic atmosphere. As my friend noted, the scantily clad mannequins (cast from real women) look like they're just about to turn round or look up to catch your eye.

I think this installation is a brave move for a traditional gallery. Especially if it encourages people to visit who might otherwise have headed to Tate Modern or somewhere else they consider less stuffy.

The Hoerengracht runs at the National Gallery until Sunday 21st February.

Hunting for crystals

I found myself acting like a Jones at the weekend, all in the name of art. No, I wasn't chasing a hot man round a gallery à la Bridget Jones. More hunting for art in the shape of crystals, Indiana Jones style. I accidentally commando-rolled off a bus and skidded on ice round a corner such was the freezing temperature in a dark and disorientating Elephant and Castle.

And when most people were Christmas shopping or drinking egg nog round the fire what had I braved the cold for? Seizure, that's what. An installation within a 1960s block of derelict flats by recent Turner-prize nominee Roger Hiorns, Seizure is a fairytale flat built of blue crystals.


Crystallised copper sulphate to be exact. When I finally located 159 Harper Road, off New Kent Road, it wasn't quite the magical grotto I'd envisaged (too brightly lit in places) but spectacular nevertheless. Not least because it's a blue jewel in the middle of a grim and grey old council estate. Even better, you could touch all the glittering crystals which makes a change from most gallery exhibitions. I was in there on my own at one point and it is really eerie, almost like being underwater.


Hiorns changes familiar objects by introducing chemical materials to add an element of chance. With Seizure, 95,000 litres of copper sulphate solution were boiled to 100 degrees and pumped into the bed-sit (which had been made watertight) and left for three weeks to cool down. Once the flat was drained, the crystals began to form on the walls and ceiling. Cool, eh?


The Birmingham born artist was the favourite to win the Turner prize because of the inventiveness of this particular work (the prize is judged on work exhibited by the nominated artists in the past twelve months). Alas he lost out to Richard Wright's gold leaf embossed design currently on show at the Turner Prize exhibition at Tate Britain.

I visited the exhibition before seeing Seizure and I was really impressed with the concepts behind Hiorns' work. As he often experiments he doesn't know what the end results will look like because the materials are unpredictable (he's used fire and detergent foam in previous works).

One untitled work on show at Tate Britain is a heap of grey and black dust which turned out to be an atomised passenger jet engine. Eventually everything turns to dust. Another was a latticed steel frame holding soap-size bars of blackish yellow powder blocks. These turned out to be made of "brain matter". Whose brain (human, pig, gerbil?) I'm not sure but the work isn't displayed in a "look at what I'm made of" type of way (like Marc Quinn's Self made out of blood for instance) but is far more thoughtful and subtle. I like the way he integrates things which were living or are living with man-made structures to form art.

Tate Britain has put up notice boards (great idea) at the exit of the Turner Prize where people have written hundreds of comments. While many of them praise the prize winner Richard Wright (whose work is beautiful and made even more so by its ephemeral nature - everything he paints is destroyed as he believes art is for the present not the future), an equal number were in favour in Hiorns. As one commentator said "Long live brain matter!".

Seizure and the Turner Prize at Tate Britain both run until 3rd January.

Happy Christmas everyone!

When Perry met Self

* Turner prize winning artist Grayson Perry was in conversation with the inimitable author Will Self last week at the British Library and, as a fan of both, I couldn't wait to hear the informed banter between these two opinionated characters. Neither I nor the packed audience were disappointed.

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.

Boom boom

Not being able to take pictures in galleries sucks. Especially when I've paid good money (a hefty £12) to get in. What is the argument against non-flash photography in galleries anyone? I'd really love to know.

So begins my visit to sculptor Anish Kapoor's show at the Royal Academy. With a rant. Luckily the Turner prize winner's work is captivating enough to distract me.

What I called "that giant red trumpet thingy" (real name Marsyas) in the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern is the only work of his I've ever seen. It's a testament to its impact that I thought the red trumpet showing was a couple of years ago (turns out it was seven).

Part retrospective, part new work, this exhibition is dramatic, subtle, ambiguous and sometimes disorientating (in a good  way).

The mirrored silver balls,  Tall Tree and the Eye (2009), seemingly floating in the RA's courtyard (left) give a flavour of some of Kapoor's central themes: reflections and perception of space.

There are heaps of detailed reviews, The Guardian and The Times for instance, so I give you my highlights.

First up has to be "the pimple" so named by my silver-tongued sidekick, who surreptitiously took indoor pics for me on her iPhone (I thank you Mrs Macro). As "the pimple" looked like a shadow on the wall to her and a mucky wall to me, we were unable to obtain an image. Its real name is When I Am Pregnant (1992) and it was only when we looked at it from the side that we realised it was a protruding oval about as large as a torso. There are no signs or explanations on the wall, just a leaflet to carry round, which makes for a very fluid exhibition.

In another room, a variety of mirrored objects causing our reflections to invert, elongate, quadruple in size or disappear altogether depending on where we stood were fascinating.We were like children in a hall of mirrors. In contrast, a roomful of what can only be described as grey cement intestines (below) rather freaked me out.

What's really refreshing is seeing Kapoor's ultra modern sculptures in such a classical setting. Non more so than the 30-tonne lump of red wax slowly lumbering through five galleries on a mechanized rail track, squeezing its way through the classical doorways. Its movement is almost imperceptible. An assistant informed me that he'd timed it to within the minute - two hours to cover one length of the building and two hours back. It's called Syayambh (2007) which is Sanskrit for "self-generating".

The highlight for me though was Shooting into the Corner (2008) involving a cannon, some blood red wax and a white wall. A loud, messy spectacle infused with anticipation (the two minute silence as we watched the man prepare the cannon was palpable, the unexpectedly loud boom of the cannon (I know, I know, when are cannons ever quiet?) and the splodge of wax on the wall were gloriously satisfying.




If you're reading this during the day head to the Royal Academy's live webcam of the cannon. It fires sporadically - we saw it at 3pm - until the show finishes on 11th December.

Putting the "L" back into play

The irony of the faded "L" in this artwork - Play by Ulrik Weck - was not lost on some of us who attended a charity night at Play, a fringe off-shoot exhibition from last month's Frieze art fair. Especially given the glut of gallery owners and dealers showing round potential buyers. The buyers seemed to avert their eyes from this piece near the entrance. Someone pop out for neon bulbs pronto!

Curated by East London gallery Paradise Row and Prakke Contemporary, Play features 50 works and performances scattered over four storeys in a disused Georgian mansion in Mayfair. And I must say I had the most fun I've had at an exhibition in ages which may explain why its run has been extended.

Billed as "a festival of fun", the exhibition is liberal in its approach to its theme. Rooms of random curiosities included Jake and Dinos Chapman's Fucking With Nature. Stuffed animals hump on either side of a mechanized see-saw as a wee mouse runs between the two. It's overlooked by another Chapman piece:

featuring Ronald McDonald of whom they are so fond and who has subversively featured in previous work. Then there is Conrad Shawcross' Axiom reminiscent of a child's playground:

I enjoyed the frivolous lamps with feet:

 and I reckon my driving instructor would love this one:

Douglas White's Moon Cabinet (using wax and pigment to create a luminous orb) would look amazing in my bedroom:

But it was the fun performances which make this exhibition so inventive. From the Fucked Off Frog standing by a paddling pool giving passers-by the Vs to the Word Orchestra on the stairs, conducted by artist Ian Giles, creating unexpected and sometimes profound sentences.

You'll see different performances, depending on when you go. I ended up playing in a tiny room filled with polystyrene balls (entered through a trap door in what was made to look like a bunk bed in an eerie children's bedroom).

Immersing yourself in tiny balls is a pleasant but odd sensation especially when the trap door shuts out the light. It was the float experience all over again (see earlier post about darkness).

When we came across a room full of feathers - part of a performance piece called Kinder Heaven - there was nothing for it but to dive in. Much fun was had until we could no longer breathe. We also paid for it later (my most expensive coat still looks like a half plucked chicken and my favourite black jeans could be ruined).

That might explain the shocked gaze of Trudie Styler on the arm of Guy Ritchie (random I know) as they caught sight of our haute couture be-feathered look when they swept past us into Ritchie's pub Punchbowl a few streets away. We were attempting to have a one-for-the-road Amaretto but it seemed there was no room at the celebrity inn. Styler looked extremely startled, her eyes as wide as a raver's and her mouth formed into a pouty "o" shape that for some reason made me want to pop in a golf ball sized polystyrene ball (can she blink I wonder?). But I digress. Back to the feather plucking....

Play runs until Friday 13th November.Contact the gallery for a viewing appointment.

The darkness

"Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light," said the blind and deaf American author Helen Keller and I think she was right...certainly as these autumnal days draw in and it's nearly dark by 4.30pm. Brrrr. I need all the friends I can get. 

So it happened that I trundled off with two such lovely persons to experience the relatively new steel chamber devoid of light in Tate Modern's turbine hall. The three of us held hands as we gingerly walked up the big wide ramp to be wrapped in a silent blanket of blackness with only a vague green hue from a faraway light. Even more scary than the dark unknown were the occasional ghostly figures looming into view and then just as suddenly vanishing again. Shuffling feet, giggles, the odd "where are you?" and yelps of surprise are all part of experiencing the huge 13m high x 30m long installation on stilts How It Is by Polish artist Miroslaw Balka.  

Being inside the black box is disturbing and nerve-jangling for the first couple of minutes. But then a strange thing happens. It's like someone found the dimmer switch and gradually turned the light up. After five minutes your eyes adjust so that you're confident taking big strides from one wall across to the other while circumnavigating everyone else. And when you reach the far material-clad wall and look back to the entrance it's almost sci-fi in a Close Encounters of the Third Kind shadowy way.

The serious message behind How It Is is its reference to the cattle trucks used by the Nazis to transport Jews to death camps. Balka explains this concept in The Times and how he wanted to create "a photographic black hole", the opposite of Olafur Eliasson's popular light sculpture The Weather Project shown in the turbine hall six years ago.

Yet for all that, the dark is fun and makes you briefly think in a different way. And I'll bet a frisky couple will chance their luck before April rolls round and it's dismantled. Whether they're caught and we get to hear about it remains to be seen (no pun intended).

Talking of thinking in a different way in the dark, I experienced my first float a few days ago. Lying in salt  water for an hour in a confined, coal-black room relaxes you, detoxifies you, makes you more creative etc. It was a belated birthday present so I went with an open mind. However, rational thoughts such as drowning in ten inches of water and running out of oxygen with no one to hear my last gasps kept bubbling to the surface.

Death by float seemed like a distinct possibility for at least quarter of an hour. I spent the remaining 45 minutes silently concentrating on the filmy aqueous sheet on which I was buoyed, trying not to succumb to any violent arm flailing that might hinder my chances of survival. So I was indeed reinvigorated by the time I left and grateful for the wondrous world in which I was still alive.

Might try that dine in the dark restaurant next. Unless I choke on an unidentified object, I should be safe.

Affordable Art Fair

Stacks of hula hoops outside, huge cerise bean bags inside, Pieminister pies in the cafe and an ice cream van made out of cardboard.

The Affordable Art Fair in Battersea Park this weekend is far from pretentious. Set up ten years ago, its aim is to be "approachable, affordable, interesting and fun and to show that you don't need a doctorate in fine art to buy it," according to its founder Will Ramsay.

But don't do as I did yesterday and spend three hours in one third of the place (there's so much to see and everyone is so friendly), leaving half an hour to scoot round the rest.

The stands inside a marquee, running from A-L, are occupied by galleries showing a healthy array of mixed media. While the gallery workers were informative (apart from one woman who couldn't tell me what type of music an artist listened to after making a beeline to tell me that was what made this artist so special - do your research love), what I found most interesting was talking to some of the artists who explained the concepts behind their work and their techniques.

I met the adorable Parisienne Aline Hercberg at Arlev Art gallery for instance who has been exhibiting at the AAF since it started. Her bright, colourful quartet of oil and metallic paintings "Planets" (above) caught my eye reminding me of giant smarties, some of them half eaten. "My inspiration was how we're damaging our world so while some of the planets are whole and beautiful, others are falling apart." So they're sad smarties after all.

Then there was Blackheath based sculptor Michael Speller  whose work I was drawn to when I saw this called "Squeeze".

Michael engagingly explained how most of his work contains very small text of say a poem which gives his elongated bronze figures their rough texture (check out his website above to see some of his stunning pieces.  "Squeeze" is different in that it's more conceptual. The sharks circling a UK composed of British coins are made out of Euros (my Northern Irish friend was miffed there was no sign of Ireland or the Channel Islands but let's not go there). Michael also kindly offered to give me a demo to show the difference between cold cast and foundry bronze. Bless! If only I'd had the time.

There were all sorts of other work that caught my eye, much of it witty and fun. Like these copper shoes by Triss Norman at the Interior Angle stand

Not to mention really punchy and strong screen prints at the Jealous stand (they were the ones who made the ice cream van, their stand had matching ice cream cones) and painter Alan Macdonald's imaginative take on the Old Masters, updating them with subversive humour.

 

Here's a colourful shot (I do like my bright colours) of pictures by Columbian photographer Willy Rojas (Villa del Arte galleries in Barcelona).

He photographs miniature figures next to every day objects creating funny and colourful pictures (like figures diving into an eye yolk or skating on a bowl of soup).

I also saw a few things I liked at the Rebecca Hossack gallery stand but it was so busy I could hardly get in. Managed this half shot of one of Phil Shaw's book prints (if you're fond of books you'll love his stuff).

And finally

I may not have bought any work but I did come home with my very own piece of art - a print of my favourite London bridge (Albert Bridge) which I made at one of Artichoke Print's ace workshops at the fair. Result! I think I have a long way to go before I'm exhibiting at the AAF though.

The blurb says that more than 22,000 people will visit the fair over the four days and the average cost of work sold is £700 (though I noticed some works going for a few thousand were available to buy on a 10 month interest free loan, hooray). The AAF is open until Sunday.

Free Art Fair

Art has never had my heart beating faster before (maybe I haven't come across the right art?) but yesterday it happened as I waited for the third and last ever Free Art Fair to be given away at the Barbican. Along with about 500 people-of all ages and a few different demographics-the thought I might soon own one of 50 specially commissioned artworks if my name was called had me buzzing. This must be how collectors feel as they decide if they'll bid another few thousand.

Sadly my name wasn't read out but it was fun watching the reactions of those that were (from some who punched the air with excitement to others who looked like someone had just crushed their foot with a stiletto. Honestly, some people need to lighten up).

It was a mixed bag of affairs from the more traditional huge oil on canvas paintings (like Jasper Joffe's below, accompanied by chairs)

to installations with marmalade jars (and hopefully nothing else) by Bob & Roberta Smith emploring us to 'Free Bob's Sperm'.

and blank sheets of paper signed by artist Peter Harris (yes really…touched by famous artists like Jeff Koons, apparently).

If I'd won, I would have picked Kong, a graffiti painting by James Jessop. He marries graffiti with fine art painting techniques using 1980s references I like (King Kong) which create really vibrant, action packed paintings.

The organiser Jasper Joffe looked rather frazzled, so big shout out to him for spreading the free art love on a Sunday afternoon. It seems this is the last free art fair, in London at least, because it was such a mammoth effort persuading artists and everyone else to give their time for free.

It's no accident that the fair took place in the same week as Frieze Art Fair, Pavilion of Art & Design and all the rest. Joffe started it as an alternative to the often cliquey, commercial art market. "I liked the idea of giving away art in an institutional or public space, so that someone can walk into a place you normally expect just to look or listen to something and go home with a piece of art," says Joffe. So for the past three years the fair has exhibited art for a week and then given it all away at the end.

Teachers, nurses, lawyers, students and a homeless person have all won art in the past (although the latter had nowhere to hang it so sold it to someone else in the queue).

Free Art Fair is an exciting and admirable concept. I do hope it continues elsewhere. Now I just need to find more art to make my heart beat faster. All ideas welcome.