- Venue
- Prince Albert
- Location
- South East England
A key activity of the newly formed Doomsbury Set, based in East Sussex, UK, will be to take the kinds of imagery and artefacts which escape critical attention more seriously. Generally it is seen as acceptable to state whether one does or does not like a displayed crafted or manufactured object. Presumably it is also okay to consider them in more depth. The producer might see this interest, rendered in the form of a written review say, as complimentary or at least useful regardless of whether the content is patently encouraging.
For a variety of reasons the inhabitants of Brighton are spoilt for choice when it comes to such ‘overlooked art'. The Open House scene emerged in recent years for instance and has grown to the extent that now a person leaving their front door open risks inviting an immediate flow of polite intruders. Most cafés and pubs display paintings, prints and 2D material, usually for sale. As well as those that are considered the more serious art spaces, the city is packed with craft-oriented shops and (barely) commercial galleries. Graffiti, bill board improvement exercises and apparently more subversive street art decorates the urban, yet unquestioningly somewhat provincial (not meant in the pejorative sense) landscape.
A reasonable starting point for examination is the prominent portrait of deceased radio DJ John Peel which adorns the outside of The Prince Albert, a pub and music venue located close to the main rail station.
If Marcel Duchamp pointed out that "bad art is still art" then this image, really bad art maybe, worthy of Brian Sewell-style tirade, makes a fair subject for our attentions. What kind of canonisation is this: the employment of a cross between Stalinist Social Realism and unoriginal Fantasy Art technique to commemorate the avant-garde talent-spotter? Blatantly inappropriate. If he were alive John Peel might disagree, he was no muso-snob, happy to take the Eurovision Song Contest seriously for example. A first question is whether the picture should be judged at all by its sensitivity to the subject character in question. We could be obscure and ignore the fact that this is a Memorial but for the sakes of argument let us imagine that the image's suitability for this purpose is a key criterion.
John Peel once appeared on This is Your Life and seemed reasonably uncomfortable with the focus around his personality and history. Listening to, collecting, playing records and talking to an audience through the medium of Radio were what occupied him most. Glorification, of the Albert pub wall variety, surely acts to embarrass that simplicity or integrity. Peel is not around so these arguments are hypothetical but should such an influence, one who was heard primarily, be celebrated through a crude enlarged mugshot, the visual equivalent of Snow Patrol say, at their most anodyne? Or the illustration is like those voices on radio who, following his death, mimicked Peel's intonations and habits, as if repetition of originality is still originality. What this image does is to dilute, or pollute, the collective memory.
If satire were intended then the fresco makes some sense but that effect would have to be palpable. Completely unnoticeable irony is not irony. Unfortunately the artist who took it upon himself or herself to make this, to include decorative edges, pseudo-Celtic touches around the frame, a nauseating, meant to be subtle, saintly halo to the already boringly executed central zone, was intending to produce an earnest and appreciative statement of some sort. Nothing at all is left for the imagination here, the piece argues with no one, is not deliberately imperfect in any way. Not that this is crucial but Peel peppered his radio show with plenty of, more than whimsical, wit and enjoyed highlighting his own errors: some jokiness would have been apt here.
A sense of suspense, some excitement, is built up because of the exact location: the whole portrait is not immediately revealed to those walking downwards from Brighton rail station. Perhaps the positioning could have been exploited further to unleash more of these inherent dynamic effects.
If the work was commissioned (by the proprietor of The Prince Albert say) then that is no excuse for the artist, similar to the usual ‘I was only obeying orders' justification for collusion with the indefensible. To employ an inappropriate analogy the Renaissance painters took risks to incorporate their own conceits and surreptitiously challenge their patrons. Diego Rivera did it with Rockefeller. Bighting the hand that feeds you is an admirable artistic strategy.
Other graffiti decorates the same wall, firstly a famous Banksy image, amusingly now protected by Perspex, then a photorealistic depiction of George Best, as seen from behind walking off, and a comic-style character head. All the parts, including the Peel head, are interesting and odd in their own ways. The wall is certainly seen and looked at. In contrast to galleries, which give punters the choice, outdoor imagery, whether placed there for commercial or other reasons, is imposed on passers-by. This wall incites a response: occasionally the Banksy picture is vandalised, then repaired. Some unconscious and bizarre curatorial collaboration has taken place, or still is taking place: it will be curious to watch how the ‘Albert Wall Collection' develops.
