Art is meant to be hard, isn’t it? At least that’s the impression I always get when I walk into a gallery. It’s a bit specialised, a bit clever, esoteric even, way way above my head. I always get the feeling I’ll never quite get to belong to that gang. It’s not the stuff as such, the pictures, installations, material objects, the bits and pieces that you bump into and occasionally get told off about when you venture a sly stroke or curious prod (and I’d like to take this opportunity to unreservedly apologise to each and every art gallery in the North for the occasional smudges on your precious collections; it was me, sorry.) I like looking at all that stuff, mostly. I can stand and gawp at it for hours, scratching my head, wondering what the heck possessed anyone to make that mark, choose that colour or spot weld that donkey’s head on the back of a tricycle (did I just make that up, or has someone actually done that? Modern art, eh! Marvellous.) Partly I love art because I know I can’t do it. Art is infinitely mysterious to me. My only credentials for walking into an art gallery is that I quite like looking at fascinating things people have made and I’m not shy about sharing my ignorant speculations with anyone within earshot.
Problem isn’t the art, really. I’m quite happy in my state of incomprehension, that’s part of the pleasure of being an amateur. But I can do without the explanations. You know, the stuff that’s written in that clunkety clunk style that seems to have been cut and pasted from the latest edition of The Journal of Imponderable Nostrums and Impregnable Prose. Unfortunately I can’t help but read the explanations. Words on paper have a fascination for me and I can’t turn away. Bad writing spoils everything though. It can ruin my whole day. My eyes roll, steam hisses from my ears, there’s a low grumbling sound like a tectonic shift as I grind my teeth, and my cheeks flush a hectic red. It’s really not good for me. Sometimes I wish galleries would put a little curtain over the art blurb with a kind of advisory notice for anyone who has a feel for the beauty of words. Read responsibly. Too much art blurb can seriously damage your aesthetic health. I’m absolutely uninterested of that kind of intellectual exertion (I had to restrain myself in choice of word then – I think you know what I mean) and I tend to shy away from anything that offers ideological correction. Who goes into an art gallery to be edified anyway? I’d much rather someone told me a story. Just engaged me with a bit of enthusiasm for what someone has made. Simply had a normal conversation about the stuff that was on show.
So it was a proper treat to go into Leeds Art Gallery last Thursday for the behind the scenes event for the Northern Art Prize. Usually all most people get to see of an exhibition is its finished state, looking all fine and polished, in its Sunday best. We don’t normally get an insight into how the particular artists were chosen and how exactly an exhibition is put together practically (there’s a lot of glue and grunting involved, apparently.) There were about thirty of us, bloggers and social media types, invited to talk to the director and curator over a glass of wine and a slice of pie – I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen pie in an art gallery, but it seemed to be a big hit with everyone. Pippa Hale, Director of The Northern Art Prize kicked things off by giving a bit of background information, then there was a general free for all; questions about the technical side of art competitions, the use of social media in promoting artists, the relationship between curators and public, artists and buyers. For me probably the most interesting discussion was about why people buy art and how artists can better relate to the market, something that’s still seen as a bit of a dirty subject, or a little undignified to say the least. I think I learned more about how art galleries work in those few minutes than in years of reading exhibition notes.
We then had a tour of the (unfinished) Northern Art Prize Exhibition by Sarah Brown, the curator at Leeds Art Gallery. I really liked wandering around the place with someone who knew the stuff intimately and could talk humanly about it. And for once it was nice not to feel we had to creep about quietly and display all the signs of reverential awe and could just enjoy a normal conversation about what we were seeing. Possibly I’d partaken too much of the liquid largesse on offer earlier and couldn’t resist a couple of digs at some of the written explanations with a fellow hyper-critical blogger but that’s only because I was feeling quite relaxed in an art gallery, which is an unusual experience in itself. And probably by the end I was behaving insufferably but oh heck I was in the vicinity of a beautiful and utterly delightful lady of my recent acquaintance and consequently was feeling rather giddy . . . is that okay? . . . should I have said that? . . . I think it’s fine. Let’s face it, not always do we enter art galleries with the purest of motives and most delicate of intentions. Occasionally we may be there because it’s kinda fun and we can natter and appear to be clever and sophisticated. Or am I not allowed to mention that? Sometimes art is mating display (sorry, I’m an unrepentant, unreconstructed Freudian) but that’s a different blog post.
Anyway, I digress. I’m really looking forward to going back next Thursday for the very special private viewing (if I’m invited back after that last confession . . . maybe I should censor myself a little more, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t work, my super-ego is faulty and could be accused of severe dereliction of duty . . . and there I go getting all psychoanalytical again.) And the artists talks are always fascinating. I went to a couple last year and heard some brilliant conversations. The exhibition of work by the shortlisted artists starts 26 November at Leeds Art Gallery. I’d encourage everyone to get along and see the exhibition . . . and take a friend!
Photo Credit Monica Tailor
Art is meant to be hard, isn’t it? At least that’s the impression I always get when I walk into a gallery. It’s a bit specialised, a bit clever, esoteric even, way way above my head. I always get the feeling I’ll never quite get to belong to that gang. It’s not the stuff as such, the pictures, installations, material objects, the bits and pieces that you bump into and occasionally get told off about when you venture a sly stroke or curious prod (and I’d like to take this opportunity to unreservedly apologise to each and every art gallery in the North for the occasional smudges on your precious collections; it was me, sorry.) I like looking at all that stuff, mostly. I can stand and gawp at it for hours, scratching my head, wondering what the heck possessed anyone to make that mark, choose that colour or spot weld that donkey’s head on the back of a tricycle (did I just make that up, or has someone actually done that? Modern art, eh! Marvellous.) Partly I love art because I know I can’t do it. Art is infinitely mysterious to me. My only credentials for walking into an art gallery is that I quite like looking at fascinating things people have made and I’m not shy about sharing my ignorant speculations with anyone within earshot.
Problem isn’t the art, really. I’m quite happy in my state of incomprehension, that’s part of the pleasure of being an amateur. But I can do without the explanations. You know, the stuff that’s written in that clunkety clunk style that seems to have been cut and pasted from the latest edition of The Journal of Imponderable Nostrums and Impregnable Prose. Unfortunately I can’t help but read the explanations. Words on paper have a fascination for me and I can’t turn away. Bad writing spoils everything though. It can ruin my whole day. My eyes roll, steam hisses from my ears, there’s a low grumbling sound like a tectonic shift as I grind my teeth, and my cheeks flush a hectic red. It’s really not good for me. Sometimes I wish galleries would put a little curtain over the art blurb with a kind of advisory notice for anyone who has a feel for the beauty of words. Read responsibly. Too much art blurb can seriously damage your aesthetic health. I’m absolutely uninterested of that kind of intellectual exertion (I had to restrain myself in choice of word then – I think you know what I mean) and I tend to shy away from anything that offers ideological correction. Who goes into an art gallery to be edified anyway? I’d much rather someone told me a story. Just engaged me with a bit of enthusiasm for what someone has made. Simply had a normal conversation about the stuff that was on show.
So it was a proper treat to go into Leeds Art Gallery last Thursday for the behind the scenes event for the Northern Art Prize. Usually all most people get to see of an exhibition is its finished state, looking all fine and polished, in its Sunday best. We don’t normally get an insight into how the particular artists were chosen and how exactly an exhibition is put together practically (there’s a lot of glue and grunting involved, apparently.) There were about thirty of us, bloggers and social media types, invited to talk to the director and curator over a glass of wine and a slice of pie – I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen pie in an art gallery, but it seemed to be a big hit with everyone. Pippa Hale, Director of The Northern Art Prize kicked things off by giving a bit of background information, then there was a general free for all; questions about the technical side of art competitions, the use of social media in promoting artists, the relationship between curators and public, artists and buyers. For me probably the most interesting discussion was about why people buy art and how artists can better relate to the market, something that’s still seen as a bit of a dirty subject, or a little undignified to say the least. I think I learned more about how art galleries work in those few minutes than in years of reading exhibition notes.
We then had a tour of the (unfinished) Northern Art Prize Exhibition by Sarah Brown, the curator at Leeds Art Gallery. I really liked wandering around the place with someone who knew the stuff intimately and could talk humanly about it. And for once it was nice not to feel we had to creep about quietly and display all the signs of reverential awe and could just enjoy a normal conversation about what we were seeing. Possibly I’d partaken too much of the liquid largesse on offer earlier and couldn’t resist a couple of digs at some of the written explanations with a fellow hyper-critical blogger but that’s only because I was feeling quite relaxed in an art gallery, which is an unusual experience in itself. And probably by the end I was behaving insufferably but oh heck I was in the vicinity of a beautiful and utterly delightful lady of my recent acquaintance and consequently was feeling rather giddy . . . is that okay? . . . should I have said that? . . . I think it’s fine. Let’s face it, not always do we enter art galleries with the purest of motives and most delicate of intentions. Occasionally we may be there because it’s kinda fun and we can natter and appear to be clever and sophisticated. Or am I not allowed to mention that? Sometimes art is mating display (sorry, I’m an unrepentant, unreconstructed Freudian) but that’s a different blog post.
Anyway, I digress. I’m really looking forward to going back for the very special private viewing (if I’m invited back after that last confession . . . maybe I should censor myself a little more, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t work, my super-ego is faulty and could be accused of severe dereliction of duty . . . and there I go getting all psychoanalytical again.) And the artists talks are always fascinating. I went to a couple last year and heard some brilliant conversations. The exhibition of work by the shortlisted artists starts 26 November at Leeds Art Gallery. I’d encourage everyone to get along and see the exhibition . . . and take a friend!
4 comments
This takes me back! I remember endless discussions with artists and curators about translating artists’ statements and curatorial denseness for the casual gallery visitor during my days as an arts marketeer.
Arts council research, backed up by my own research with visitors, told us that the feeling described by Phil – of all this stuff being meant to be over his head – was the biggest barrier keeping people from coming in to have a look (and a prod!). Whether or not the art would speak to them when they were in front of it, it stood no chance of speaking to people who simply passed by outside the galleries.
It turned out that for people who were not regulars, or who did not follow a particular artist or genre or period or whatever, the answer lay in brochure copy that gave them an idea of what to expect; of what they might experience. I got my curators into a routine of answering my ‘dumb’ questions:
How much of the art is there? (How much time will people need to give it?) Physically, how big or small is it? (Are we talking intricate detailed work or are you going to be wowed by the scale of it?) How’s it been made, and what from? Can we show people an image to whet their appetite? What does/did the artist look like – do we have any pictures of them at work? (Don’t know why, but that’s what lots of people wanted! Like putting a picture of a string quartet on a CD cover…who cares!!) Is the work like anything else people might have seen? Can we get a simple short quote from the artist or someone else that intrigues – perhaps sets up a question that the art might comment on? Think about how we ‘sell’ theatre or film – and let’s try that with visual arts.
By giving potential visitors a range of information (you don’t need all of it for every show)you can take away a great deal of the mystique while retaining the intrigue.
After all, it’s just stuff. Made from other stuff. By people.
Of course I was being a tad disingenuous. I can blather on about Badiou and descant deconstructively till the bovine diaspora is resolved (see, I can do big words too!) but I don’t think it impresses anyone. In fact there’s lots of evidence that people who talk and write in simple, short, declarative sentences are considered much more intelligent and listened to more attentively than academic wafflers. I’d love to see art galleries take your advice and give some practical sensible pointers. What’s wrong with saying “Cheap glass ashtray containing small diamond,” which was my favourite piece in last years NAP show, because it had a fabulous story behind it. A story that didn’t emerge till Pavel Buchler related in in his artist’s talk . . . one more reason to go hear the artists talking. They tell some great tales. About stuff.
Phil
I don’t know if this is my brain working overtime. It usually does, so I guess so. Should your friend reveal her identity? Was there a parallel with your piece? Well if so I couldn’t resist either. An occupational hazard. Tsk, tsk.
That was a very sweet description of me in your piece. I’m flattered as you know. Another lover – of your work! Ahem. But hold the copy where’s the editor? Your home page opener could be easily misinterpreted! Surely more accurate would be: “the perfect venue for meeting friends”!! Tsk, tsk.
For the detectives (if any) among you, I was very late (apologies). I had the lovely sneak preview around the gallery but the NAP explanations riled me too. Sorry to whoever wrote them but I’ve just met someone who could do it much better.
Everyone knows modern art has massive accessibility problems. Not helped by the overly intellectual explanations. And like John says, this has been considered by galleries for years. Maintaining the intrigue without giving the game away seems to be the problem. But this can be done! Gorgeous stories, poems if you please, sentences that inspire and relate the artist to his audience, questions, visual art? Yes, lets embrace not alienate. And I like the idea of photos too. Good ones. Human interest sells. Tsk, tsk.
What’s with all the tutting? For once I am not responsible for the flippant comment. That Emma Bearman is stirring it (as usual) and trying to get me in bother (as if I needed any help.)
On a serious note I would like to see the words composed with as much care as the art. I never understood the disconnection; why can’t the words be as well made, intriguing, sensuous, disturbing, playful as the piece they describe? Wouldn’t that be a fun art project? I think I may apply for a grant . . .
Anyway, hope you’re not going to be so late this Thursday?
This takes me back! I remember endless discussions with artists and curators about translating artists’ statements and curatorial denseness for the casual gallery visitor during my days as an arts marketeer.
Arts council research, backed up by my own research with visitors, told us that the feeling described by Phil – of all this stuff being meant to be over his head – was the biggest barrier keeping people from coming in to have a look (and a prod!). Whether or not the art would speak to them when they were in front of it, it stood no chance of speaking to people who simply passed by outside the galleries.
It turned out that for people who were not regulars, or who did not follow a particular artist or genre or period or whatever, the answer lay in brochure copy that gave them an idea of what to expect; of what they might experience. I got my curators into a routine of answering my ‘dumb’ questions:
How much of the art is there? (How much time will people need to give it?) Physically, how big or small is it? (Are we talking intricate detailed work or are you going to be wowed by the scale of it?) How’s it been made, and what from? Can we show people an image to whet their appetite? What does/did the artist look like – do we have any pictures of them at work? (Don’t know why, but that’s what lots of people wanted! Like putting a picture of a string quartet on a CD cover…who cares!!) Is the work like anything else people might have seen? Can we get a simple short quote from the artist or someone else that intrigues – perhaps sets up a question that the art might comment on? Think about how we ‘sell’ theatre or film – and let’s try that with visual arts.
By giving potential visitors a range of information (you don’t need all of it for every show)you can take away a great deal of the mystique while retaining the intrigue.
After all, it’s just stuff. Made from other stuff. By people.
Of course I was being a tad disingenuous. I can blather on about Badiou and descant deconstructively till the bovine diaspora is resolved (see, I can do big words too!) but I don’t think it impresses anyone. In fact there’s lots of evidence that people who talk and write in simple, short, declarative sentences are considered much more intelligent and listened to more attentively than academic wafflers. I’d love to see art galleries take your advice and give some practical sensible pointers. What’s wrong with saying “Cheap glass ashtray containing small diamond,” which was my favourite piece in last years NAP show, because it had a fabulous story behind it. A story that didn’t emerge till Pavel Buchler related in in his artist’s talk . . . one more reason to go hear the artists talking. They tell some great tales. About stuff.
Phil
I don’t know if this is my brain working overtime. It usually does, so I guess so. Should your friend reveal her identity? Was there a parallel with your piece? Well if so I couldn’t resist either. An occupational hazard. Tsk, tsk.
That was a very sweet description of me in your piece. I’m flattered as you know. Another lover – of your work! Ahem. But hold the copy where’s the editor? Your home page opener could be easily misinterpreted! Surely more accurate would be: “the perfect venue for meeting friends”!! Tsk, tsk.
For the detectives (if any) among you, I was very late (apologies). I had the lovely sneak preview around the gallery but the NAP explanations riled me too. Sorry to whoever wrote them but I’ve just met someone who could do it much better.
Everyone knows modern art has massive accessibility problems. Not helped by the overly intellectual explanations. And like John says, this has been considered by galleries for years. Maintaining the intrigue without giving the game away seems to be the problem. But this can be done! Gorgeous stories, poems if you please, sentences that inspire and relate the artist to his audience, questions, visual art? Yes, lets embrace not alienate. And I like the idea of photos too. Good ones. Human interest sells. Tsk, tsk.
What’s with all the tutting? For once I am not responsible for the flippant comment. That Emma Bearman is stirring it (as usual) and trying to get me in bother (as if I needed any help.)
On a serious note I would like to see the words composed with as much care as the art. I never understood the disconnection; why can’t the words be as well made, intriguing, sensuous, disturbing, playful as the piece they describe? Wouldn’t that be a fun art project? I think I may apply for a grant . . .
Anyway, hope you’re not going to be so late this Thursday?