An Artist Smiled at me Once
An artist smiled at me once
Today the Observer magazine had a feature about a great British art institution that moves me to the pose the question: Are Gilbert & George the Terrence & Phillip of art? Two cohabiting scatologically obsessed men in more or less identical attire. If you need any further persuasion then read the following passage:
Here they are talking about the long struggle they had to persuade the Tate to give them a retrospective:
George: ‘We said: “If you won’t do the show, simply write us a letter saying no” - which they wouldn’t do.’
Gilbert: ‘They wanted us in Tate Britain, but we said no.’
George:’We believe it is wrong that there is a Tate Britain and a Tate Modern. You can’t judge artists by their passports. It’s an apartheid. An apartheid in art!’
Gilbert:’Then they said: “OK, half in Tate Britain and half in Tate Modern.” So we said: “Oh, yes! And then we will have a ship [they mean going up and down the Thames between the two galleries] with a big shit round it!”‘
Cue uproarious laughter.
When in London recently I bumped into George (originally from Plymouth), in the street. The artists live near Brick Lane and it’s almost impossible not to run into them at some point if you are there. What a peculiar yet distinguished looking man I thought, and then I looked away. Then, on realising who it was quickly looked back. George had clearly registered that I had recognised him as the famous artist and seemingly then favoured me with a very sweet and benevolent smile, though I fancy somewhat suggestive at the same time. From what I gather I should in way feel myself to be particularly privileged by this encounter, by all accounts both of them are friendly and popular in the community, but it was edifying all the same. It’s not often a living sculpture looks right back at you.