blog

CLARK KENT, LUCY & CHEESE

Milan was sunny, and as I got out of the car in Piazza della Scala I realised the conditions were perfect for some of my soapy, floaty smiling faces. The Salone del Mobile was in full swing with the whole city being engulfed by what must be the world’s largest design fair. I was here to team up with Moncler and release some of my 'HappyClouds' with Vogue and the Mayor. I'd been worried on the way out that the weather wouldn't be right; happyclouds don't like heavy rain or big winds. Luckily it all went to plan, the Mayor was lovely and Franca Sozzani was lovely too. I always felt like the power behind Italian Vogue was a bit austere and tough, in reality I think she's pretty cuddly!

We left the clouds dissolving into the still blue Milanese sky and strolled, like a school party, with Oscar as our guide through the fashion district of Milan towards Via della Spiga, where Moncler handed over their flagship store to me to create an installation of new paintings. Once inside, the first thing on my mind was to check all the work had arrived okay, but all the paintings looked fine! So I took a moment to do what I had been dreaming about, I was re-united with my larger than life size resin toy duck. He'd finished his world tour and arrived back at Moncle the pride of place in their big window, spot lit on a revolving platform. He'll soon be auctioned for charity to raise well needed funds for the Child Priority Foundation, a fantastic cause that helps back young people's creativity in economically deprived situations.

From the look of the streets of Milan, each shop front temporarily given over to design, one would never have guessed we were in the middle of a recession, the like we've never seen before. From the surface at least, design seemed to be booming, thousands of people engulfed Zona Tortona, every company pulling out their very best. Even Ikea's 25 year exhibition felt like a museum show, filling a giant space and elevating their pieces to design classic status. Whilst some perhaps earned such stature maybe not all were worthy. Still there's no disputing the Swedish company bought the concept of affordable modernist living to the masses, releasing as they did, a Bauhaus fueled agenda to the world. Whilst Milan was dizzying in it's over saturation of furniture and graphics, overindulgent even, it would only be a few days until the hammer failed to pick up some funds in New York on a high profile Picasso, leaving the press with more reason to doubt the buoyancy of the art market. I'd like to set something straight with that; good quality modern masterpieces surface very rarely, most resting comfortably in museums or collections. This Picasso was particularly awful, but many of the other lots did indeed sell and sell well. Yes the quality is thin on the ground, only because people are sitting on their works, however where the quality made an appearance, people certainly weren’t sitting on their hands. I feel that things are better than we are being told. The awful musketeer painting that Christies were touting in their sale did sell but only because someone had promised the funds before the whole thing started and one only has to see the Musketeer series that's being shown at Gagosian in New York to guess who the might be associated with that third party guarantee. Anyway enough of the market. My last night in Milan faded all too quickly as I grabbed Marilena who had put me up and jumped on a plane with her for Southern Italy, home of the Burrata, the best cheese I've ever tasted and I'm convinced, the best I am ever likely too.

A couple of hours later I found myself in Bari, the sun was out and the palm trees were swaying in the breeze. It was most defiantly idyllic, but I wasn't here to enjoy the beach. I was here to work. The shipping terminal building in Bari is a gigantic metal, glass and concrete cube, that has sadly been rather ignored since its conception some five years ago. The Bari terminal itself is a thriving port, so the local government decided to produce an exhibition of ten years of my collected works on the top floor. The paintings hung from especially commissioned metallic frames, spot lit and reflected in the marble floor below them, the whole experience surrounded by a panoramic view of the sea, shipping crates and giant ships. However tonight I'm tired, I've been working so hard and things are starting to blur. I had no clue what was going on at the press conference because I don't speak a word of Italian. It all seemed all right though thanks to Carlo the curator and translator. I'm at the side of the stage giving one on one interviews for various TV stations when I'm asked what I think is really important. "Love, truthfulness, compassion. . . " I mutter into the microphone. The film crew and presenters mouths drop, their eyes seem to pop out and they freeze on the spot. What have I done. . . ?

Carlo nudges me and explains, they asked you what you hated! Not what you liked. You just told everyone that love and truthfulness weren't important. It's okay, we found the crew on the roof terrace tucking into some delicious Southern Italian cuisine and re-shot the segment. All’s well that ends well.

A day later and I’m in London feeling like I'm trapped in my TV. I'm stroking the dogs in the Blue Peter garden! Everything looks like my childhood, accept the presenters have changed. A lovely guy appears with treasure! It's my Blue Peter badge, he pins it on me. Wow! My whole life I've waited for this, an actual badge. Before I know it I'm conjuring ways to make myself look under 15 so that I can get into all the 'badge holders admittance is free' locations. If only the badge had come 15 years ago! We've run through the show 3 times, most have gone smoothly except for Lucy the retriever trying to retrieve a pen full of sheep during a live shearing competition. Lucy has been here longer than most and commands an air of respect wherever she roams, it's like she has her own law and dutiful servants to fill her with dog treats and ice cream at every available juncture. I explain to the kids how my clouds are made and before I know it, I have my bountiful badge safely in tow as I head for the Brixton Academy.

Before I know it the whole balcony is bouncing. The security guards seem very agitated about its safety. I'm in the guest’s enclosure with a seat and everything but below me thousands of people swell to the beat as Keith Flint storms through 'Fire Starter'. The Prodigy are back! And it feels like the biggest most banging rave you've ever seen. The world outside may be crumbling but inside, people are here to let off steam. Yasha, the Berlin gallerist places her hand on my shoulder, she can see I'm scared, not only that the balcony will fall off. I glance over to Maxim's wife, it's all okay, she's seen this a million times before.

Maxim is gentler than you would expect from his performance as the front man, his dressing room is filled with bottles of water and cereal. His scented candles flickering off his face as he relaxes, his wife telling me all about their beautiful kids. I'm here to see the show and have a natter with him about a collaboration we're planning. Very few people have seen his art side come out, but there's something very genuine and accomplished about the work he makes, different from the usual rock star come painter clichés. Lets face it Marilyn Manson is better on stage dressed as a twisted pope than a painter, the same could be said for Peter Doherty accept with a standard issue pork-pie hat rather than a mitre. No, Maxim's art is genuinely interesting! Tomorrow he'll see what I've been up to in the flesh at a small little space tucked behind Carnaby Street.

Whilst I've been on my adventures a team has been transforming it into a pop-up gallery. Paul’s been building walls, Fay, Lydia and Audrey have been planning drinks, staff and painting everything in eyeshot white. I've spent night and day during the last year and a half making a new series of paintings and installations, and decided that it would be a good idea to preview them in London before they disappear for my show at Anna Kustera in New York. People are arriving at 5. 30 and there are still piles of mess in the middle of the room and I’m not even sure if all the white is dry. Let alone having time to change, I must smell like a Blue Peter sheep! Anyway, magically with one last push we finish everything off, and people start to arrive. I dive round the corner for a Clark Kent style quick change, minus my prized hair straighteners, which I left in the back of an Italian car. Wavy forelock in tow, I got back in time and chatted the night away with some old friends I'd not seen for a while, and showed Maxim some examples of what I thought we could do together. The mark of a successful night for me is being tucked up by midnight and having digested an episode of Lovejoy or Quantum Leap. Tonight was no exception;my body could at last rest knowing that the onslaught was nearly over. There's just my bag to pack for New York and a transatlantic flight to survive. Lets hope I make it back next week without the swine flu.