[John Whitworth]

No. 2770: the masque of art

In the mid-Eighties, the art critic Robert Hughes wrote ‘The SoHoiad’, after Pope’s ‘The Dunciad’, skewering the contemporary Manhattan art scene. You are invited to submit a response (16 lines only, I’m afraid), in the style of Alexander Pope, to the recently announced Turner Prize short list or to the contemporary art world in general. Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 24 October.

Popean couplets eh? Anyone know what ghastliness is in the Turner Prize short list?

[Brian Allgar]

Spartacus Chetwynd



Nominated for her solo exhibition at Sadie Coles HQ, London. Combining a broad spectrum of historical and cultural sources,

Chetwynd makes paintings, carnivalesque performances and sculptural installations utilising handmade costumes and sets. Chetwynd confuses the boundary between performer and spectator, creating an atmosphere of joyful improvisation. Tweet #SChetwynd
Performance runs from 12.00–17.00, every day
Artist Talk: Spartacus Chetwynd Wednesday 3 October
Luke Fowler

Luke Fowler, All Divided Selves 2011
Courtesy of the artist, The Modern Institute/Toby Webster Ltd, Glasgow and Galerie Gisela Capitain, Cologne
Photo
© John Haynes

Nominated for his solo exhibition at Inverleith House, Edinburgh, which showcased his new film exploring the life and work of Scottish psychiatrist, R.D. Laing. Fowler interweaves found footage and new material into accomplished and immersive films that evoke the atmosphere of a particular era, revealing how the relationship between individuals and society changes through time.
Tweet #LFowler
Luke Fowler All Divided Selves, duration 93min
Screening times:
10.30; 12.10; 13.50; 15.30
Additional screenings Fridays:
17.30; 19.30
Paul Noble

Paul Noble
Volume 3 2006–7
Courtesy Gagosian Gallery
© Paul Noble

Nominated for his solo exhibition at Gagosian Gallery, London, which brought together the painstakingly detailed and engrossing drawings of the fictional metropolis Nobson Newtown. Undercutting the precise, technical drawing is a dark satirical narrative which unfolds in the micro-cosmos of these monumental works.
Tweet #PNoble
Elizabeth Price

Elizabeth Price
still from The Woolworths Choir of 1979 2012
© Elizabeth Price 2012

Nominated for her solo exhibition at BALTIC, Centre for Contemporary Art, Gateshead, in which she presented a trilogy of video installations. Price reanimates existing archives of imagery, texts and music to explore our complex relationship to objects and consumer culture. Her carefully sequenced films guide us through immersive virtual spaces, derived from the cultural debris of the material world. Tweet #EPrice

[Nigel Mace]

The late great Robert Hughes was a much more worthy antagonist than such dross actually deserves! I'm afraid that as a lover of the plastic arts all my life, I take it as axiomatic that the 'art world' lost the plot a long time ago and that the missing trousers are all that is left - in most, if not all, cases. Hence the starting point for one of my recent (and oh so sadly neglected!) sallies in the Light Verse bake-off, which, on that slender excuse, I'll give an outing now!

THE SONGS UNSUNG

Most people find modern art’s missed its
direction, while chasing its tail,
yet prophets grow gross on its profits
with concepts too gaping to fail.

But poetry scarce pays its piper -
no fortunes are rung on its till,
for verses form no rich man’s cipher –
their codes free to wander at will.

Dead words need no tank to preserve them
and, unmade, they make little sense –
no pronoun repeated’s an anthem
and white space is simply absence.

So why are there poets who seek to
obscure vague conceptions and, worse,
lame language with feet that are too few
for metre that’s merely perverse?

Can’t they see? The public’s not buying,
big money is bent on big works,
the unmemorisable’s dying -
for their lines vacuity lurks.

So where is the verse Vetriano?
A Hockney of popular odes?
There’s futures today in guano
but none in most poetry’s modes.


Perhaps this just needs turning inside-out - if anyone sees what I mean - to refit it for the Speccies pet-hates, which I am mildly alarmed to find that, in this case, I share!

[Brian Allgar]

This Day, the Judges’ Verdict shall be known.
The Stage is set; upon his modest Throne
The patient Arbiter awaits his Cue.
Beneath the Curtain, hid from public View
Until the Moment of Unveiling, lies
The Painting that hath gain’d the Turner Prize.
The Arbiter steps forward to announce
The winning Name; expectant Feeling mounts.

Shall Beauty triumph, scenes of Land or Sky
To ravish the Beholder’s gazing Eye,
Or shall the Public groan to find the Winner
Less appetizing than a Lap-dog's Dinner?

An unseen Hand now lets the Curtain fall,
And universal Laughter fills the Hall.

[John Whitworth]

On the button, Brian. For some reason I'm no good at this.

[George Simmers]

In serious conclave now the lords of Taste
Compare the tenuous charms of works ungraced
By any touch of wit, or sign of craft,
The null, the dull, the preening and the daft;
This lady plays charades; this man draws turds
Those two film videos too crass for words.
The judges huddle to evaluate -
But soft! A moaning echoes through the Tate!
Great Turner’s shade howls out: ‘Is this some joke,
To link my name to such dim tawdry folk,
Oh who ordained this handing of my bays
To artist-fools by critic-popinjays?’
Sweet ghost, these are not worthy of your rage;
Think them the flotsam of a half-mad age
When gulls pay millions for the worst of Hirst.
Fret not. This is a bubble. It will burst.

[Nigel Mace]

This will surely provide the pin required. Excellent.