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MULLET, MR. T AND BALLOONS

Christmas came and Christmas went, the goose fat was drained, the pudding ignited, the rogue Christmas tree light that temporarily froze the proceedings was replaced. I’ve awoken after dozing off to the Best of River Cottage and I’m back home with little Ari looking at a snowy dusting over everything. His first Christmas was magical.

2009 was no doubt a harsh wake-up call for most; whilst it’s been tough, perhaps in a strange way it was called for. Even though the economic situation hasn’t made it easy, I’d like to think the last 12 months on the whole have been pretty good for the arts, well creatively speaking anyway. Art and culture are resilient
- under pressure they adapt and they change. As for me, well I had my usual share of scrapes and adventures last year and in the process I got to see some incredible work.

Mat Collishaw’s project at the Freud Museum was absolutely incredible, the little tree stump with a record spinning, its vinyl grooves retelling the history and age of the tree like a fading subconscious memory protruding non-obtrusively through the carpet next to Freud’s fabled couch. On the stairs technicolour
insects vibrated with an intensity and beauty on an epic scale, and in the bedroom a zoetrope came to life animating childhood’s cruelty. Freud’s home lived and breathed again as something from the other side subtly intervened in the space in an intimate way. I knew Freud, Collishaw and myself better. This for me was by far the best exhibition of the year.

Shortly after Bernard Madoff literally made off with the lot, another scheme seemed to tumble. The great contemporary art pyramid fell, the undeniable truth is there are only so many multi-millionaire buyers in a market and once they’ve got a fill of a niche artist, they have no choice but to move on, leaving a lot of people without a seat when the music stops. Hirst made a dash to the garden shed and knocked up a series of paintings that almost everyone agrees were dreadful, yet his all-pervading influence resonates through a new generation dealing with the macabre. The new gothic, faux-Poe, Victoriana aesthetic is set to hit big in 2010, with most of the art powerhouses putting their chips down on it. This isn’t cool Britannia 2, it’s let’s talk about death because it’s easy to attach a deep meaning to it, and that way it won’t look market driven. That way we can avoid being political because death doesn’t change. After all we are now unshockable as a public and resentful towards art about money. Post-recession, anything bling is out, anything humble, authentic or makeshift is in. To find the authenticity, we need to look always to the intention tied up within the act of making. I fear the success of this new trend will bring out more than a
few wolves in sheep’s clothing ready to ride a stylistic bandwagon.

I think critically the show that highlighted art as cultural product better than anything else was Pop Life at
Tate. The trajectory from Warhol through 80’s New York to Murakami via Hirst and Koons is self evident of
course, but together, the Tate became a temple of consumerism. With the initial ‘business art’ of Warhol
reaching a crescendo with Hirst’s golden calf, solid gold bought to the market for slaughter, it did of course
fetch millions at auction as the financial world started to crumble. However its power seemed negated by
the museum environment, and if anything it appeared tacky. I learned it’s not wrong to enjoy popular art.
Pharrell Williams’ collaboration with Murakami, all his favourite things made out of pink diamonds being
swallowed by a Murakami monster, was incredible as was his video to end the show. Why not just embrace
it? Art as entertainment, art as surface, is fun.

Later that evening the Yeah Yeah Yeahs ran through Zero on the TV, Glastonbury was in full swing. I didn’t
know that hot and sticky summer night would turn into one of the most important of my life and nothing
could really have prepared me for how it would feel to pull my son from the birthing pool 8 hours later. I
know after that, no creation will ever live up to him, in my eyes.

Of course this year has had its share of losses, two of which were huge idols of mine. Michael Jackson and John Hughes. Jackson has been with me my whole life; from the first time I popped a vinyl on the record deck in the form of ABC by the Jackson 5, all the way through my teenage years. I love more than anything that he is being remembered for his brilliance as an artist. If anyone has proven that popular art doesn’t have to be rubbish, it’s Jackson. Thriller is the biggest selling album of all time, and that’s purely and simply because it’s good. If anyone was a genuine pop artist and idol it was he. He’s left the world with an enormous void.

Student wise, Nicky Carvel left the Royal Academy on a high note, having firmly pocketed the converted prize of a huge studio slap bang in Oxford Street. A prize deserved in every possible way. I’ve been in love with her work for years now, but it was at her end of MA show that things really clicked. Nicky’s obsession with East 17 and in particular Brian Harvey, transported us to a parallel space of celebrity worship, the doorway - Nicky’s nostalgia, and a powerful rekindling of our own childhood memories. Stars we looked up to, the height and reign of our own heroes. She has an ability to take the detritus of pop and elevate it, without fundamentally distorting it, into a sort of religiosity that I’m not sure anyone has managed this effectively before.

I’m no good at flying, that’s an absolute fact. With projects in New York, Hong Kong and Milan to contend with, there was no way I was getting out of it this time. It was however Barcelona that nearly finished me off. I left Bread and Butter, the trade show where I was launching my clothing company, to find bits of street signs literally flying through the air, like a tornado from Wizard of Oz. Quickly my Mr. T “I aint goin on no plane sucka” slogan shirt became a lie. The pilot was mental enough to brave the conditions, all I have to say is that I was extremely lucky to embark on the white-knuckle ride on an empty stomach.

Once on terra firma I discovered the best paintings of the year, Justin Mortimer’s. The honesty in their loneliness was chilling and the technique of application was wholly unique. The works became totally about the barren environments that he situates his figures within, totally rejecting their inhabitants. John Lennon once said
that artists shouldn’t live on the edge of town and lecture us on how we should feel, they should get in there and describe how it feels. Mortimer does exactly that - his paintings ‘feel’.

However it was a freezing cold day in February that would quickly change the course of my year. I decided to use a bizarre eco friendly cloud making device to float a load of pink smiley faces filled with helium from the Tate towards the financial district. The plan was to try and cheer the bankers up a bit, what really happened was the giant pink things nearly took several of them out on Millennium Bridge. Anyway people seemed to like it and before I knew it I was doing the same thing in the Blue Peter garden and then in front of the Scala in Milan with their Mayor and Franca Sozzani. It’s strange what catches on. Whilst out there I presented some works in the Moncler boutique, and I was joined by my duck sculpture who was back from his world tour. The little quacker has been to more top spots than I could even dream about.

I got back from my trip as Danny Sangra got back from his trek to the Bahamas to open his show that would prove to be another highlight. After his sabbatical he was back on form and his Calvin and Hobbs line work mixed with Raymond Pettibon’s punky directness caused his exhibition Season of the Witch to be a total gridlock of excited attendees. Rightly so, it was absolutely brilliant. With what sounds like a pretty exciting year ahead of him, I’m
certain 2010 could have a lot of Sangra action about it.

One of the funniest points has to have been getting busted at the British Museum with my make up artist Clare Elizabeth. We had broken away from the Black Tie Charity Ball in order to try and shoot Night at the Museum 3 on our phones. Only problem was, security didn’t take lightly to us two trying to bring the animatronic t-rex to life. Luckily we managed to talk him round and escaped with our freedom.

Somehow after that, I managed to make it across the Atlantic in one piece where I had a really great time in New York. We found a restaurant with a “no balloon” policy. My advice, always ring ahead if you have a group of balloons with you, they may well get turned away! I visited all the tourist spots and a heap of galleries and exhibitions too. Robert Longo at Metro pictures, was absolutely breathtaking, I’ve never seen charcoal do that before. I’m such a
fan of those Picture Generation artists; it was a total treat for me. The rest of the time I was running round trying to find a power converter to make my installation light up. In the end I pulled it off and my show was all ok.

It seems that every area of popular culture moves faster than the public’s concept of visual arts. After all it was 1989 that Hirst and co launched Freeze. That’s 20 years! Imagine if the world still looked like it did two decades ago, we’d have poodle mullets, torn up jeans, we’d be listening to Bon Jovi and considering retiring our leg warmers, we’d be gearing up for Everything I do I do it for you and coming to terms with No Limits by 2 Unlimited. The fact is all
that stuff feels so dated it’s almost irrelevant. Why then was the mass, general public view of contemporary art paused at that time? My prayer for 2010, and in a way my hope for the best out of this economic blizzard is that a new sound will come to the fore, and prove that contemporary art can be relevant and popular without having to be dumbed down. Ultimately, the public will have intimate and meaningful access to it.

My friend Anthony d’Offay’s Artist Rooms project has given this nation access to works that otherwise would have been hidden, not just at Tate where no doubt they are an impressive and important addition, but regionally. Thanks to him kids are going to grow up with the opportunity at least of understanding the relevance of great contemporary artists within their own lives. Let’s have some more of that please.

Anyway as the world wakes up from its holiday and the snow starts to melt, it’s time to embrace the New Year and get back to work. I’ll do my best to avoid the plane, and promise I won’t fiddle with the dinosaur controls.