Skip to content

Kenneth Price

May 19, 2019

Letter From the Tate: No 2

Advertisements

Dad

April 19, 2019

Paul King

Born: Dumfries, Scotland 07/08/31

Died: Torquay, Devon 21/04/10

July 1993, he drove me from Torquay in a black Sierra with a big hotel laundry bag full of my possessions to a rehab just outside of Bristol.

Over ten years previously he stood my bail for robbing a chemist in a north Devon market town. I was in a paper forensic suit while a solicitor explained the situation down the phone. I heard my dad say: “Of course I will…”

It didn’t get any better for a long time, but he never turned his back on me. He gave me money when I was down on my luck and took me for a haircut one day saying “Come on son look like you’ve got something about you…”

I miss hugging him and kissing his medicated shampooed head.

Letter From Tate

December 24, 2018

Christmas Time

December 24, 2018

‘The Clock’ is an art installation created by Christian Marclay, a Swiss American turntablist. It is a magnificent 24-hour montage of 10,000 individual television and film excerpts featuring clocks synchronized to real time. Apparently, the hardest hours to source footage were between 4 to 5 a.m.

John my best friend was the illegitimate son of a successful Torquay bookmaker whose convent educated daughter would do very well by marrying a famous game show host. John had a made-up double-barrelled surname and shocking ginger hair. He lived with his mother and her boyfriend in a flat with dazzling white net curtains, above a fruit shop exhibiting night-time empty greengrocer display grass.

Christmas 1971 sleighing into 1972, I’d go from Johns to the nightclub where my dad worked. There I experienced waitresses in hot pants and tootie fruity ice cream in polystyrene boxes and helped the Hungarian chef who sold my dad an Omega watch.

I held on like a sailor going over the equator for the first time as the hands of clocks revealed hours on this my maiden voyage. Earlier than paper rounds and later than owls and all my classmates slept while I was somewhere I shouldn’t be – somewhere that filled in the night and never left me.

Christmas Time 1971.

xmasbauble30_18

Time

September 25, 2018

watch&map1

Considering time, there are certain combinations of numbers that are not striking in a visual or a spoken manner; for example, 3.39 a.m. does not command attention. However, 2.30 a.m. has a certain ring to it. As for midnight it doesn’t even have to try – hands up like a numerical ballet performed by Merce Cunningham, praising the darkness for all manner of possibilities, trysts, tricks, trauma, black taxi travel and an hour over the late rate.

 

Inside Job

June 21, 2018

ch

Placed throughout the Tate Modern at Bankside in various galleries are a number of black and chrome high chairs. These chairs denote sitting positions for the gallery assistants who are there to help the visitors with art and comfort-related requests. The high chair experience is preferable to the lower conventional chair as it offers a far superior dangling opportunity – the elevated position enhances daydreaming capacity, erotic fantasies and possibly murderous revenge scenarios involving snub nose pliers. The high point of the low chair is perhaps the image of the raven-haired 1960s icon Christine Keeler posing naked on a snide Arne Jacobsen chair or maybe the Los Angeles warehouse ear lopping scene in Reservoir Dogs with Michael Madsen’s malarkey involving a Steelers Wheel soundtrack, nifty dance moves and gaffer tape. As a low chair purist I must go with the Ms Keeler photograph by an Australian whose first name is Lewis.

The high chair of my focus is located in the Boiler House on Level 4 West in the gallery displaying the work of the Polish artist Magdalena Abakanowicz. Dwelling on this particular chair for a moment I do acknowledge there is some gunmetal grey gaffer tape around one of the bottom struts, compensating for the loss of a stabilising grommet. Viewed from this high chair the work of Abakanowicz covers an area of approximately half a tennis court. The work consists of varying forms of stitched burlap sacks from potato size to huge single wardrobe shapes. Scoping this scene you might get the impression of fusty mailbags of the swagman or Father Christmas. With this in mind I’d like you to consider a photograph taken by a visitor assistant who also happens to be called Lewis, of an old pre-plastic fiver someone had dropped under the gallery high chair. I saw this photo and for some reason it lodged in my cognizance.

“Jury we need a title for the exhibition…” My colleague Tommy Douglas is from Northern Ireland and when he says my name Gerry, it sounds like Jury. Late January early February 2018, we were walking over the bridge on Level 4 between the Blavatnik building and the Boiler House. Tommy was telling me about a proposed exhibition by Tate employees to be held in Tate Modern sometime in the coming April. It was Tommy’s accent, the proximity of the Abakanowicz work, the image of the fiver, all of this washed up and rinsed through my esoterically oscillating mind. The Great Train Robbery of August 1963 was allegedly made possible by inside information supplied by the mysterious ‘Ulsterman’. The robbers took numerous sacks containing old used banknotes from a mail train travelling between Glasgow and London. The money was going to the Bank of England to be incinerated and ironically these would have been prison-stitched mailbags. The title hit me like a speedball in a Bubble car: ‘Inside Job’!

There is a story in my family about Uncle H. He was learning his craft as a publican in a south London boozer back in the mid 1960s. The local he worked in was near Wandsworth prison where the wardens drank, and Uncle H always told the story of how he remembered some chaps coming in over a particular lunchtime and generously buying drinks for the prison guards. When I describe ‘chaps’ in this context I am alluding to characters or ‘sarf’ London ‘faces’ such the bookmaker Johnny Shannon who starred in the 1969 film Performance, well-suited and booted wide boys. This was back in the days of ‘lock ins’ when afternoon opening times were 10.30am to 2.30pm. Ronald Biggs, a Great Train Robber, escaped over the wall at just after 3pm. Some of the best stories start in pubs.

The planning of Inside Job started in a pub at the leaving do of a Tate Britain long serving employee called Ron. The source of this information was Harry Pye, an old hand within the London art scene and long-time Tate employee and blogger. Harry put me right as to who was the ‘Daddy’ of this breakout endeavour, a certain Max Reeves. Amongst others present were Samanta Bellotta, Andrew Wyatt, who was to design the Inside Job poster, Jumpei Kinoshita and Michael Freer.

The sheer logistics of putting on this two-day show was hugely impressive and the roll call of individuals a heartening demonstration of creative motivation. Staff members such as Aimee Murphy who has experience of curation and Izna Bandey who helped choose images that were used in promoting the work on social media and posters within the building. All the things that are taken for granted such as the choice of fonts used on the labels was covered by Chris Browne, art handlers like Demelza Watts who had experience around similar exhibitions and not forgetting the painting of the plinths by the thespian Kenneth Price.

The effective division of skills was essential to the success of Inside Job. Some individuals worked on the funding while others were good at dealing with senior Tate staff. No holes could be drilled into the walls of the exhibition space, therefore free standing panels had to sourced and painted. The preparation and the very stylised environment of Level 5 the Blavatnik building, where the exhibition was held, put me in mind of Corbusier the French architect and painter and his phrase: Une Maison est une machin – a – habiter. The gallery space was a machine for art, for those two days it was living and extremely functional. Audio, performance, film, video, sculpture, paintings and conceptual art created by staff members; artists from all over the world. The exhibition was to be brilliantly captured succinctly and tastefully by the filmmaker Gordon Beswick with a beautiful Spanish guitar soundtrack by Miguel Zapata.

Artwork had been submitted by staff at Tate St Ives, Liverpool, Britain and Modern, but not all were successful in their applications. Just 24 hours before the show the work had come out of various homes and studios, travelling across London and from further afield. The unsuspecting members of the public brushing past carrier bags containing polar bears carved out of soap stone and bubble wrapped paintings deserving an outing. I thought of Magdalena Abakanowicz hiding her various sized burlap, sacking pieces – the Abakans – at different addresses in communist Poland because the authorities at that time would not permit her studio space let alone an exhibition.

Apparently, this idea – a staff exhibition – had been floating around for a considerable period of time. It is one of those things that are sometimes possible not because of … but in spite of. Several years ago there had been a meeting, I believe in the Starr cinema, where the staff were given the opportunity to address the then Director of Tate Modern. A voice from the floor asked the Director if it were possible for a staff exhibition to be held within Tate Modern and the staff member was told that their work probably wasn’t good enough. Now this might not be true but it makes a good story. However, over the years the idea gained traction and support. Perceptions and attitudes change, especially within world-class institutions like the Tate, which are constantly evolving, updating and staying ahead of the game.
On a recent visit to the Hamburger Bahnhof Berlin to see the Hello World exhibition, it was apparent to me the curatorial team of Inside Job had achieved what their German counterparts had set out to do and succeeded. Inside Job had contributed, in its unique fashion, to the acceleration of the deconstructruction of the Western cannon, something highlighted within the Hello World catalogue. It is about expanding pre-prescribed attitudes towards art and the individuals who make it. Inside Job achieved this quite organically due to the broad diversity, gender, ethnicity and socio/economic background of the Tate employees. While acknowledging what would have been an extremely difficult selection process, Inside Job can be seen as a superb example of contemporary cultural egalitarianism. This attitude represents the present Director’s passionate campaign of Art For All. Incidentally the phrase Art For All has always been a favourite of the east London based artists Gilbert and George who legend has it ran up the largest ever lunch time bar bill with a previous Director of the Tate Modern whilst ironing out the details of their hugely successful 2006 retrospective.

There are some members of Tate staff who through their mien, dress, attitude and knowledge represent all that is cultivated about the institution. During the closing hours of the exhibition when a number of visitor assistants were clustered around the entrance getting a little emotional, one such individual spoke in glowing terms of Inside Job. He applauded the high standard of the work, especially the excellent and sympathetic curation achieved in spite of tight time constraints … it was just one of those magic moments.

But then it was never about the money.
Gerry King 2018 ©

Clive the Poodle Faker at the Tate Modern

December 18, 2017

 

poodle_warhol_card28_11bThere was Clive standing by the Andy Warhol, I heard him before I saw him. The Warhol Marilyn diptych: a work of art that is two equal sized large panels – one in colour and one in black and white, depicting multiples of Monroe’s head.

Clive’s hands were splayed outwards, he was telling a late middle aged woman in red shoes proffering an iPad: Madam I have no wish to handle your equipment

He nodded an acknowledgement toward me and then went into the familiar monologue appertaining to fabulous esoterica. You are aware of the difference between analogue and digital, the pixelated and the painterly? Clive never waits for an answer. I simply adore Warhol, I can tell which way the painting should be hung.

When asked about his art Warhol said ‘Just look at the surface and there I am’. This was not entirely true. Warhol recognized you always have to keep something back – that’s life and nothing is what it appears to be…except in moments of tragedy and magic.

 

Gerry King 2017

Artwork: Louise Burston