Agora: Block336, Coldharbour, South London Gallery

"Institutions collapse from lack of funding, they do not die from lack of meaning. We die from lack of meaning." ~ G.B. Shaw via Dave Hickey

This Brixton trip was brought on by a tweet from Justin Hammond (@artcasual) about a new artist-run space opening up at 336 Brixton Road. Block336 is in the basement of an enormous Lambeth Council office building, set for rejuggification at some point in the near-distant future. It's a super cool space, despite a total lack of natural light, and a nice chat with co-founder Lucie Pardue gave me great hope that future programming will be interesting and varied. Their first show is called 1, which appeals to the no-nonsense-art-speak campaigner in me, though I don't think there are plans to title every subsequent exhibition sequentially. Since it's such an enormous space, they've been able to hang nearly sixty works without crowding. There's a room full of sculptural works by Andrew Hewish that I rather liked, and some lovely little paintings by Alex Virji that would have been more lovely had they not been on stupid canvas shapes.



Back on Brixton Road. Sun. Sun!  Glorious sun. More wandering, dithering, trying to decide whether to eat something at Brixton Village, but nothing appeals after a walk around, so carry on walking up Coldharbour Lane. Something about the sunshine makes everyone chatty. Or maybe it's just Brixton. One guy wants me to go back to his place; someone wants to give me directions; an old lady wants to know why I'm taking pictures of the hideous Fabrik apartment building on Coldharbour Lane; and a car pulls up next to me outside of Loughborough Junction station: a teenage girl wants to know where I bought my boots. In Italy. She looks unimpressed and drives off. I know how she feels. I've just been from Coldharbour London Gallery. Boring, boring, boring. Cowardly. The exhibition press text lettered onto the gallery wall is full of rubbish art speak which puts me in a foul mood and makes me less generous than I otherwise might have been. Why did the curator put the works of Keke and Kate together? Why did she give the exhibition such a stupid title: "The Inception of Line". What line? A Platonic Line? No, that's ridiculous. What does "The work of art exists within a trajectory or line, marking a point of communication between viewer and work that refuses to repeat itself." mean? I wish the curator would have at least had the courage to go with just one artist - Kate Terry - and fill the entire space with neon-coloured string. A sort of happy Chiharu Shiota. That would have been nice.





Thence to South London Gallery, which I'd especially been looking forward to given that I hadn't eaten any lunch and was ravenous. It was 4pm and the cafe wasn't serving any food until 6pm. What is this tyranny with prescribed meal times? It's like being on the continent. I'd come all the way there, so I thought I'd better at least have a look at the exhibitions before fainting of hunger. Alice Channer in the main gallery. No, no, no, no, no. Artists, please learn when to stop, when to say no, that's enough, this show doesn't need any more crap. The enormous drapery, printed with stretched images of classical statues, dripping like candle wax from the ceiling was quite appealing. Intriguing, even. But the mirrored stainless steel and marble pieces scattered all over the floor looked like something someone might buy in the housewares department of TK Maxx. I know the "dangers" of beauty in art, but I love it and long for it anyway. Not beauty exclusively, but political and cultural criticisms can still be delivered via a beautiful vehicle. I want more than anaesthesia offered by "the therapeutic institution". More than "mirrored stainless steel".



Luckily, I had a look in the first floor galleries before stumbling out to find food. It was a video piece called Inside. I heard song. Great. I hate video pieces, especially ones with contrived soundtracks. I sat down. I watched the video. I waited to feel the bile of dislike rise up, but it didn't. My mind whirred with all the delicious sensations of a struggle to decipher the stimulus. This is nuts, I thought. It looks fantastic, the narrative is mental, and I LOVE THE SONG! Edward Thomasson, you bloody brilliant person. Your video is awesome.

Dieppe, 21 September 1854

The world was not made for man. Man is the master of nature and is mastered by it. He is the only living creature who not only resists, but overcomes the laws of nature and extends his authority by energy and force of will. But to say that the universe was made for man is a very different matter. All man's constructions are as transitory as himself; time overthrows his buildings and blocks his canals, it reduces his knowledge to nothing and obliterates the very names of his nations. Where is Carthage now? Where is Nineveh? They say that each generation inherits from those that have gone before; if this were so there would be no limit to man's improvements or to his power of reaching perfection. But he is very far from receiving intact that storehouse of knowledge which the centuries have piled up before him; he may perfect some inventions, but in others, he lags behind the originators, and a great many inventions have been lost entirely. What he gains on the one hand, he loses on the other. I have no need to point out how harmful to morality, and even to health, many of his so-called improvements have been. Some, by removing or reducing the need for exertion and hard work, have diminished our patience to endure evils, and the energy that was given to us to overcome them. Others again, by increasing luxury and an appearance of wellbeing, have fatally affected the health of generations to come and have brought about a general decline in morals. We borrow from nature such poisons as tobacco and opium and make them the instruments of our gross pleasures, and we are punished by loss of energy and the degradation of our minds. Entire nations have been reduced to a form of slavery by immoderate use of stimulants and strong drink. No sooner do nations reach a certain stage of civilization than they find themselves growing weaker, especially in their standards of courage and morality. This general loss of energy, which is probably a result of the increase in pleasure and easy living, brings them to swift degeneration and to the neglect of the tradition that was their safeguard - their standard of national honour. In such circumstances it is hard for a nation to resist conquest. There will always be peoples ready to enrich their selves at the expense of degenerate nations, either because they are essentially barbarous, or because they still retain their courage and spirit of adventure. This easily foreseeable catastrophe sometimes turns out to be a source of new life to the conquered peoples. It purifies the air like a storm of a hurricane and brings fresh seed to an exhausted land. Sometimes a new civilization rises from the ruins, but centuries must pass before the arts of peace can flourish again. Those arts which in their turn are destined to lead to softer ways of living and the corruption of moral standards bring about once more the eternal succession of greatness and misery, proof of man's weakness, but also of the astounding power of his genius.

~ I have developed quite the soft spot for Eugene Delacroix since reading his Journal last year. I love this entry, where he borrows the Tacitean/Juvenalian argument that luxuries lead to civic corruption and remixes it with the Polybian view of the cyclical nature of governmental forms, all the while struggling between despair and admiration toward the capabilities of his fellow humanity. Wonderful.

So Far, the Future

Though So Far, the Future is probably the same size as a broom cupboard in the new Bermondsey White Cube, its aims are sizable indeed: to showcase the process and materials of design. It's always been something of a mystery to me that, given the size of London's design industry, there are so few dedicated design galleries in town. The best London-based design curators - Libby Sellers, DesignMarketo, and Faye Toogood - have always tended to exhibit in pop-up installations often coinciding with the London Design Festival. Before Sellers opened her new gallery space on Berners Street last year, I don't think it really occurred to anyone that collectors could be persuaded to buy design pieces as one-off or limited multiple editions from design galleries that weren't studios or showrooms. The LDF exhibitions were primarily directed towards press and manufacturers, just another part of the trade-show hoopla.

Perhaps the success of Sellers & co has inspired other young and would-be design curators to concoct more public-facing galleries. Or perhaps it's only now that a new generation of curators, who have been educated in a more interdisciplinary fashion, are realising that there may in fact be a market for design-technology-material hybrid gallery spaces after all. So Far, The Future, for example, was set up by Rebecca and Andreas Pohancenik: Andreas is creative director at Practice + Theory, which explains the gallery's apparent obsession with typography, and Rebecca has degrees in biology, philosophy of science as well as an MA from Kingston in curating contemporary design. The gallery's exhibition programme reflects the diversity of their backgrounds and feels largely driven by their educational and practical experiences. The exhibition I saw, Plastic Alchemy, didn't strike me as a complete success, but the ambition is certainly there and I look forward to seeing how the So Far, the Future programme develops. It's very exciting to see a dedicated design space set up by inquisitive and intelligent young curators who actually care about the process of design and in communicating that process to an audience wider than top-doller buyers.

Top photo copyright Duncan, bottom photo copyright So Far, the Future

Phoebe English

Last February in a tent in the courtyard of Somerset House, perched behind Daphne Guinness' bouffant, I tried to sustain interest as one hideously ugly confection after another marched out on model after model while the 'curated soundtrack' blasted out from corner speakers.

Suddenly, a swishy, twitchy black pony tail of a dress flicked past and my interest was piqued. I couldn't help but fixate on these Amazons strutting past in their man-killing, frenetically-fluid goddess dresses. I wanted a faux-hair and black rubber number of my own! I flicked through the 21 pages of student details in the Central St Martins MA fashion show catalogue to discover the person responsible for the apparitions before me: Phoebe English.

I tried getting in touch to see if I could buy one of her creations to wear as my wedding dress. Alas, she never replied. Probably for the best.

By that September, after winning an award at the February show, you could already see the giant paws of commercialism working their way into English's designs. No bad thing, everyone has to make a living, but the shift from materials to fabric didn't entirely seem to suit her. The hunter Amazons turned into gatherer Betty Rubbles drowning in smocked linen. Not sexy. Or wearable to anyone under 6ft5.

So it was a welcome relief to see less smocking and more body spring back in her A/W12 collection, even if some of the layers were almost Costa-esque in their simplicity. And the design mind that closes a show of all black with a pop of beautiful bubble-gum pink separates certainly warrants bookmarking. If you want to investigate for yourself, English is now stocked in Dover Street Market. Pretty impressive after only one season.

All photos © Phoebe English

Lately I have been...taking a lot of pictures

of Elephant and Castle
of Hackney Marshes

of Hackney Wick

of Newcastle

of Sunderland

of art!

of Walthamstow

of the City

Good times.

Campaign for the Rehabilitation of No-Nonsense Plain Speaking in Art Gallery Press Releases

Few things make me happier than the launch of a new art gallery in London. If the gallery happens to be run by go-getting young artists or curators, all the better. I want them to do well; I'm rooting for them, I really am. But Jesus Christ on a Bicycle, do yourselves a favour and take a three day break between the writing of and the emailing of your breathy press releases.

I wouldn't normally pull on the razor-blade nail edges for a newbie gallery run by youngsters, but Peter Templeton ain't a newbie and really ought to know better than to send out a press release about his newest endeavour, the Red House Yonder, that somehow manages to take a lot of things I believe in - artistic excellence, art for everyone, the integration of social activities into gallery spaces, collectivity and community - and comes out sounding like a trumped-up convolution desperate for attention from the art-world's big hitters. I mean, come on! When the first sentence of your PR shtick is "Like Charles Saatchi they feel a lot of today's art has moved away from its true essence, from being something emotive and instead is often appreciated simply for the status it carries" something is so really very wrong. What! Charles Saatchi? Feels today's art has moved away from its true essence? Really?

The press release says that Red House Yonder fervently believes in the notion of art for everyone before Templeton effectively follows that up by saying that the real art will be made as one offs for the actual collectors, while some crappy digital prints will comprise the affordable offerings for the "art lover on a more limited budget."

Templeton also reminisces about his prior artistic "public outreach" project, the Salon des Arts, held at "the prestigious Palace Gate address in Kensington". Templeton feels it's important that the Red House "challenges the prevailing obsession with celebrity and sensationalism" by replicating the "interesting, provocative, and fun" events held at the Salon which included the likes of artists John Hoyland, Patrick Caulfield, architect Willy Allsop [sic], critics Mel Gooding. Aaaaarrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhh! Even if Templeton really does believe in some of the things he spouts off about in the press release, the whole thing is so totally contradictory that it's impossible to tell whether Templeton is genuine or totally full of shit.

Anyway, decide for yourself. Read it in full below.

And to all you gallerists out there, please think twice before sending out your press release. Get a friend to read it, hell, get your mother to read it. If she doesn't understand it, there's no hope for the rest of us.

***

A new art collective has just launched in London, called Red House Yonder. Founded by a group of international artists including St Ives artist and RA member Liz Hough, Spaniard Gabriel Granados, emerging young artist Samuel Bassett, deceased Tony Smith and London artist and collective founder Peter Templeton.

Like Charles Saatchi they feel a lot of today's art has moved away from its true essence, from being something emotive and instead is often appreciated simply for the status it carries. They are keen to create art that "talks to the senses not sensationalism", art that tells the artists' story and is loved for what it is not just because it is a status symbol or brand.

“It’s time to move on from the notion of the art gallery and the collectors having this elite status. Yeah, we should be doing work for the collectors, because we also need to be represented in the art world and as a strong voice But it is about the larger world. We live in a very uncertain but exciting time. A phoenix, it is the time for a new kind of order to arise. This is a microcosm of that. It is about sharing, not about being anal and possessive about your own commodity in this case art. But wanting to work together to do things that are considered worthwhile. To me it is an enduring kind of art.” Said founder Peter Templeton

Peter explains that “The name came from an old blues song: I love the lyric “there’s a red house over yonder, that’s where my baby lies”. For me it was like going into a wood when you are little; you are a bit nervous or scared, but you know there is a house there or a place with lights and you want to go and find out what it is. That for me is the red house yonder. It’s a destiny, something you are drawn towards. To me there was the red house and the yonder.

The Red House Yonder project is an extension of the Salon des Artes, a creative space set up in the 90s by Peter Templeton with co-founder Danielle Dodd. Located at the prestigious Palace Gate address in Kensington, the Salon hosted social evenings, events, and exhibitions which included the likes of artists John Hoyland, Patrick Caulfied, architect Willy Allsop, critics Mel Gooding and thinkers like Charles Handy.

Peter explains: “The Salon was about generating social events which were interesting, provocative, fun and a place to chill out. People loved coming. It became a part of their weekly life and I have always fancied the idea of resurrecting the Salon but as part of a wider movement reflecting the digital age we now live in. One which, gives us the opportunity of producing original art at affordable prices. The Red House should also challenge the prevailing obsession with celebrity and sensationalism. Striving instead to create enduring Art which has something meaningful to say.”

“I have always been a believer in the collective and in community rather than just art as a sole pursuit so I wanted to do something which involved other artists. Working individually can be very isolated. I like the idea of sharing and working with other people; the excitement of invention, exploring the unknown, taking on challenges, having fun. A playful adventure in fact!”

Affordability of art is also central to the Red House thinking. The Red House will produce one-off pieces for their serious collectors, original customised digital prints and affordable print editions for the art lover on a more limited budget

Peter Templeton: “Affordable art can be achieved by looking at how things are done in the other creative domains like music, publishing or fashion. For example in the fashion world, there are different levels, from designer haute couture to High Street. All thoughtful and creative in their own right. Although haute couture, like the one off original piece of art, can be exclusive and expensive, a level also exists that is accessible to everyone which is still special, valid and a symbol of the artists and the originality of their work."

Moving into the present world has seen the creation of the Red House Yonder as a virtual collaboration, online and via a blog in which artists can share and engage, producing digital work and prints (The website will go live on 8th March 2012)

What better way to celebrate their launch than a party? It is happening on 25th April at 20th Century Theatre in Notting Hill from 6.30 - 9pm and they'd love for you to come.

“We see it less as an exhibition and more as event, as the art will be displayed in a more organic way than you might find in a traditional gallery. Our aim is to make art more accessible, fun and engaging and we believe this begins with how it is viewed in public. There is general perception that Galleries are intimidating and unwelcoming places to enter. Where you are expected to tip toe around in reverential silence. We have asked the question why is this case and isn’t there a more user friendly way of viewing and appreciating Art? Art is not appreciated in this way at home, so why does it have to be in the public sphere?” Peter Templeton commented. “It will be an evening of creativity, not just static art. A journey which we invite you all to join. We have a lot of surprises planned.”

Bodies Electric: NDT2 at Sadler's Wells

Great expectations are a curse. 

I seem to somehow unthinkingly operate under the assumption that everything will be fantastic; that everyone is a genius; that this is going to be amazing. It hardly needs said that this isn't a unique quality - I'm sure everyone has their own peculiar set of assumptions - so I don't understand how it always feels like news to me when these assumptions are regularly shattered. Yet, instead of learning from shattered assumptions, I always manage to twist round like a falling cat to land back on my own status quo of high expectations. I'm pretty sure a GP would diagnose psychosis. 

 

Apart from the mental gymnastics of the roller-coaster of high hopes and disappointment, I suspect I find an enormous amount of pleasure in the surprise of something actually being incredible. It doesn't matter if my default state is to assume incredibleness; if the thing turns out to actually be incredible, the delight of the incredible translates into a wonderful surprise, usually accompanied by a deliciously physical response.

I went to see one of my most favourite dance companies last night at Sadler's Wells, the junior company of the Nederlands Dans Theatre. They're the kind of company that validates having high expectations. I know they are going to be amazing, and so they are. The only problem is that I simply don't have the vocabulary to describe what it is that they do. How to describe something beyond description? I'm definitely at risk of being hyperbolic, but I don't care. I see so much opera, theatre, ballet, art, stuff, stuff, stuff and it's probably only once a year that I see something or experience something that makes me feel electric. There's something about watching these dancers that makes you realise what it means to have a body, what it means to move. Not to move gracefully or in ways that push the body to its limits of endurance or flexibility, but to know what movement is to the body and to know how - in an almost primal way - to move in space. When you watch them move, it often happens that it stops looking like dancing and looks only like bodies releasing in space. It looks like making the body free.

It's also nice to see NDT move on a bit beyond Jiri Kylián, whose Gods and Dogs piece came out, surprisingly, as the weak link in a perfectly pitched programme. Young Swedish choreographer Alexander Ekman's Cacti piece was hilarious, poking fun at contemporary choreography's tendency to ooze significance and meaning through oblique staging and bizarre movements - in parts, it reminded me of the brilliant Bongo Bongo Nageela-section of William Forsythe's Impressing the Czar. Ekman's genius is that he's been able to do what do many artists try and fail to accomplish: a synthesis of all that's come before into something new and fresh yet still intelligible, no matter how strange. It's not often that you see a string quartet and cacti share the stage with 16 dancers, let alone that it works so wonderfully well.

Also, how amazing does Philip Glass' String Quartet No. 5 sound in this piece?