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Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
Martin Creed represents a new relaxed freedom and inclusion in art. We can now all include our childhood drawings in our art shows (but only in certain controlled environments.)
The naive is separated from its messy base and put on pedestals. Everyday materials and artless productions are ‘good’… they are ‘OK’ we can feel alright about them now. But look carefully and many everyday challenges are excised. Even his golden clenched fist is a childhood piece presented in a closed vitrine.
Base functions from making raspberries to sick & shit, and having an erection, do have their feeling qualities. The middle classes can now get used to their aesthetic dimensions. Creed’s exhibition will train them to be children again. A mother at the door of the Sick&Shit projections complained to me how her three year old son loves it so. She wants to leave but he won’t let her.
Pretence: there is not any longer a need for class separation in aesthetics. Anything we do has some aesthetic quality, lets all finally admit it.
BUT Creed’s ordinary does not include any ordinary things that might lead to liberation or revolt. There is no grief or crying. No post traumatic stress disorders. No displaced peoples. No homelessness. etc. List all the things that are missing rather than the plethora that’s included. And the missing things all share one characteristic – they all challenge capitalism in its current bullish and blissfully omnipotent mood.
It is about making the mundane aesthetically normalised for the middle classes. A bowdlerisation of all objects and activity. A disarming exhibition because I relate too closely to much of it. I did that stuff too. I made that poor joke but without the panache and confidence that Creed brings to it.
Creed is like a court jester, he plays in the margins of what is possible and possibly naughty. He’s naughty and knowing but does so in the pockets of the super rich. They can invest heavily in his silly and obvious ideas but that doesn’t mean you and I can now go to the Arts Council for tens of thousands to build a room full of balloons or a high prestige show of all your old paintings because that has all be ticked off. Sorry mate, you’re too late. Its been done.
I know there is one thing he missed – spitting. Maybe I can do a very well supported spitting piece straight away. If you don’t have too many aspirations you can still quietly hawk phlegm into the gutter. Middle class people would prefer to choke than be caught spitting. Spitting can be my ticket to fame and good fortune. Arts Council are you listening? This is my application for dosh. This is how we do it nowadays, informally on the social media.
Hair between lips, they all return
to their roots in the blinding fireball
I envision their return, until he moves his fingers
slowly, and although things flourish
takes on the well known mushroom shape endeavouring
to grasp while the multitude of things come into being.
…and I don´t know why
I had the feeling that I would die young
and when I listened to music in the afternoon
I cried for my family, my friends,
for the trees
and for my dog which never leaves my side.
So I started to watch this version of perfect day:
and thought, “if it´s such a perfect day… ¿why do I feel so sad?”
then I realized that everything is perfect and imperfect
at the same time,
like light and shade,
and in reality I was sad because
I was becoming conscious of my love for my family,
my friends, for the trees and for my dog.
And the masochistic notion of death
made me realize
how much I love them.
Mike Phipps charts the meteoric rise of Beppe Grillo’s Five Star Movement, which took a quarter of the votes in February’s parliamentary elections in Italy Continue reading
By burying my head in the sand
they tried to show me
the depth of the universe,
and the only thing I saw were bones
and ancestral excrement
and the remains of others
who like me
did not understand a thing.