This Is Not Art

I’m dressed in a black beret, a long black coat and a bright red scarf. Dark glasses complete the avante garde look. On the placard I’m holding are the carefully kerned letters spelling the words THIS IS NOT ART.

Im standing in the centre of Leeds in front of a public work of art.

A young, bearded shopper wearing white ear pods passes me, smiles and nods in an ironic way. I’m beginning to divine most of the people who dare catch my shaded eyes for any length of time understand irony. The vast majority of people though toss me a ten pence smile for the brief moment of absurdity my appearance affords them in their otherwise dull routines.

A black boy aged about eighteen years confidently approaches me. He grins as he speaks, What’s this about, man? he asks.

Are you the one? I ask in return.

The one? The one what?

Ah, you’re not the one then, you were supposed to answer with The one that is zero and then I would have known for sure.

What, like some kinda detective play?

Im guessing its something like that. I’m not really sure what is going on. I’m a resting actor and I saw this job advertised in The Stage. I never met the client, it was all agreed by email. He told me to dress up like this and stand in front of this sculpture holding this placard that he sent me. He said I was to stand here until people started speaking with me. I was then supposed to ask Are you the one and if they answered The one that is zero my job was over and I could go home.

Coool says the young man with amazement.

This is one of the many fictitious stories I tell passers by who engage me in conversation. I convince myself the truth behind my protest is too dull to engage the general public but Im slowly beginning to realise the general public aren’t as dumb as the media would have us believe.

Depending on my mood I might tell a different story. I have one where I confess to being a conceptual artist. Sometimes I set myself the challenge of never answering a question directly. All my answers have to be questions about the question like an enigmatic artwork refusing to give up its secrets despite many viewings.

So you’re like a work of art? the youth continues.

Hey I never thought of that. Maybe the guy who hired me is an artist and Im just one of his works!

The young mans face lights up as he enjoys his insight. I’ve just made his day – he thinks he’s solved a complex puzzle.

Actually, that’s not true I tell him, Ive made that up. The truth is I’m a conceptual artist and I’ve taken the concept to its ultimate conclusion if everything is art, there is no point in having a category that we call art.

He looks at me with a puzzled expression. So if everything is art, why are you going round with a sign that claims some stuff isnt art?

Not art is the new art, don’t you see! I shout, my arms waving in the air. If everything is art, the job of the artist is now to find those things that don’t fit that description. Either objects exist that are not art or we all forget about the entire concept of art and art galleries can be called become shelters for the homeless or something.

His face irons smooth again as he realises the paradox. He points a gun-like finger at me and wags it whilst speaking. You know what, I like what you’re doing even more now. I thought it was a joke when I first saw you but really, you’re serious aren’t you?

I smile back at him. Yes, it all started as a joke. But you know what they say about jokes its funny because its true.