The Guardian was a bit harsh I thought, designed to provoke like the art itself of course. Yes some walls are overloaded, yes the colours are bunched together rather crassly, yes there’s repetition – too many Full English breakfasts – but the sheer variety at Royal Academy summer exhibition is surprising, impressive, divisive. What about some recognition for the curators and crews who spent MONTHS agonising over what went in, and then more months scrapping over how the objects would be displayed. But, to provoke in my turn, I think it would be interesting to see online the rejects, long and shortlists. Who are they to tell us what we need to buy.
There are a number of games you can play as you walk around. The obvious one is to find something you want to take home, or to photograph for your upcoming autobiography, or at least to send to a friend with a quippy one-liner. All publicity good. Another, devised by my cousin Mat, is scanning for the orange blobs signifying a sale, to gauge what the audience is queuing up for, and admire/scoff at their taste. My favourite however is getting dressed up in something flamboyant and finding a picture I blend right in with. One year I went wafty, another leaden, and this year hippy. You become an extension of the artwork, a sculptural homage.
My RA comrades have always been arty; UJ, a school friend with a fash-pash, my son’s partner Poppy (ditto), and this year my cuz Mat Neave, a sculptor. As in, the one who actually makes the art which is then attributed to some ‘artist’ whose only contribution was a sketch and a few tweaks at the mock-up stage. They pay Mat’s workshop 10k and charge clients 1mill. ‘That’s sickening’ I say. Mat looks sympathetic and worldweary. ‘It’s how it’s always been. The artisans lived in poverty while their clients made history and were feted by royalty’. I think all labels should include ‘Designed by: and Made by:’ information with workshops, makers and contributors all listed, like at the end of a film.
Mat Neave relates to the rugged
I loved a bunch of things that glorified the mundane. In my allotment, I have two free-range frogs which I encourage with two Ikea-box frog ponds, complete with fly-overs and 360-access. So I was charmed by the 3D ceramic frog plaque, his head peeping out from under the pondweed. The massive textile savoy cabbage was fab in its meticulous wrinkliness as was the boxy still life wall sculpture of a bucket filling with water. Pet lovers also have lots to get their teeth into, such as the painting of 8 cats sitting primly down to a sashimi dinner, each waiting for the others to tuck in first.
Majestic cabbage on its own plinth
It wasn’t all fwuffy. There was the political ‘Art is your Human Right’, the feminist (a scrawly Emin nude) and an embroidered Monopoly board with prisons instead of properties and symbols of the 4 world religions, called Prisonopoly. I loved the touching letter in ceramic of a gay son coming out to his mum, begging her to love him all the same. My daughter had to break the same news and although she felt she could say it face to face, it still came out in an anxious whoosh.
Thus, lots to identify with and chew the cud over with your carefully curated RA companion.
Hi! I have a ‘portfolio’ lifestyle, jumping between mum, journalist, curator of my own museum, chauffeur, French tutor and carer. I love music, dance, theatre and dancing in the evenings, and helping others to enjoy life. I’ve been through the mill healthwise, along with my family, and am grateful for every day.
