Amazing Grayson.....

Delusions. Of Grandeur?

Marlon Brando as Regulator Robert E Lee Clayton
in Arthur Penn's The Missouri Breaks

Q. When is a National Treasure not a National Treasure?

A. When it doesn't know who it is.

Grayson Perry as Shirley Smith
in Madge Gill's The Wallace Collection

The dress Grayson Perry designed for Marlon Brando
[Are you sure?  Ed]

Amazing Grayson, How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I am found,

Was blind, but now I see.

And the first thing I see, on regaining my sight, are London rooftops, which conceal the life within.  Layer upon layer of obscurity, through which I attempt to spy something relevant.  

And so, in search of reason, we attend Her Madge's show in the underworld of the Wallace Collection, within the dusty confines of Hertford House.  Here she is. Lying in wait.....

The exhibition, on the occasion of Grayson's 65th birthday [Only a year or so to the Bus Pass. Ed], is one masked by a plurality of personae, where Ms Perrin [Shome mishtake? Ed], sorry, Grayson Perón. [Shtill not right. Ed] OK. Where Grayson shelters under a plurality of alter egos, starting with Shirley Smith, an outsider artist who believes herself to be The Honourable Millicent Wallace, rightful heir to Hertford House and its collection, including the Armoury.

Gun for shooting into the past

I have to declare something of my ignorance here. Apart from hearing that he won the Turner Prize in 2003, catching snatches of Perry's 2013 Reith Lectures, seeing some knitted bicycles and floral pots in the Arnolfini in Bristol, learning that in 2014 he was elected to the Royal Academy of Art, and that in 2019 he was appointed a trustee of the British Museum, I have not been a Grayson Perry groupie. But he is an articulate, and skilful creator and his ideas are considerable. Initially a potter,

What a Wonderful World - Glazed ceramic
(When I first came to London I was poor.  Forty-two years later, as a successful artist, I am fairly rich.  But I never take it for granted.....  Try being poor and you soon find out how all-consuming anxiety about money can become - Grayson Perry)

He has mastered many materials, such as textiles,

I Know Who I Am 
Cotton fabric and embroidery appliqué bedspread
(I imagine Shirley making this bedspread as a talismanic protection for her body and her sense of identity - Grayson Perry)

AI designed tapestries:

Modern, Beautiful and Good
(I imagined this tapestry as a seductive logo-wall, in front of which virtue-signalling aesthetes could advertise their good taste and their munificence - Grayson Perry)

Multi-media productions:

Wall paper:

Furniture:

The Great Beauty - Oak, brass and ceramic
(A shrine to friendship - No one knows what Shirley actually kept inside the cabinet, for it was found empty upon her death - Grayson Perry)

And various styles of portraiture:

The Honourable Millicent Wallace - Woodblock print
(This portrait is how Shirley Smith saw herself; it is a mirror to her self-soothing delusion.  Millicent is the essence of regal elegance.  She is desirable, stylish, rich, confident and a crack shot - Grayson Perry)

Magical Thinking
('Magical thinking' is when we believe our thoughts and feelings can have an effect on the world - Grayson Perry)

This show is dazzling, and is great fun. It has had some interesting reviews, not all of them five star. The Week UK reported thus in April: The trouble is that Perry's heart just isn't in it, said Alastair Sooke in The Telegraph [Perhaps they would?  Ed]. Indeed, "his irritation with the project is palpable": in his captions, he expresses his dislike for the Wallace and its contents, even its West End location; he describes an intentionally crude new pot he has made for the show as "a grumpy outburst in pottery form", its rough edges hewn in response to the museum's trove of exquisite 18th century Sèvres porcelain. "OK, so he hates French rococo style – but, given that this is a speciality of the Wallace Collection, why take this exhibition on?" Perry's teasing provocations are usually offset by his "famous wit", but here he comes across as stroppy.....

I am not at all sure that I agree, but that is my dilemma.  In his first Reith Lecture, under the title Playing to the Gallery, Grayson offered a mathematical formula for art in the twenty-first century:  What you do is you get a half-decent, non-offensive kind of idea, and then you times it by the number of studio assistants, then you divide it with an ambitious art dealer and that equals the number of oligarchs and hedge-fund managers in the world.....

There is an underlying cynicism in this, but perhaps it should not be disregarded. Grayson also once said: If you want to be successful in the art world you've got to look to the art world; you don't make it for the bloke next door and then hope the art world is going to look at it. That's one of the big mistakes people make.  I think that Duccio probably knew that.  And isn't that what drove Van Gogh to despair?

A Tree in a Landscape - Etching
(The tree stands in a landscape of potential causes.  We all exhibit some traits that could be pathologised - Grayson Perry)

'Twas Grayson that taught my heart to fear,

And Grayson my fears relieved.

How precious did that Grayson appear

The hour I first believed.

It is hot.  London is not cool, though across the royal parks the shade makes us welcome.  I am grateful to Grayson for his interaction, for his interest in offering tools to understand and appreciate art.  Autobiography is a narrative, I think to myself, as I try to understand my fears.

And then, returning from cross town perambulations, I am driven to quench my thirst in the Mercato Metropolitano, a cultural and foodie hub in the deconsecrated church of St Mark’s, a Grade 1-listed building on North Audley Street.

It is cross-dressing in stone, an expression of the ongoing confusion of human endeavour.  Built as a temple to thought and faith, it is now an office for the pursuit of epicureanism  - but no matter: we are used to multiple personalities. 

And then, sated, it is time to follow the sun down through the quiet streets,

Past the Phantom of Liberty (remember the wallpaper?) where - according to Luis Buñuel - chance governs all things......

To stand with eager devotees to hear Pallas Athena [You mean Evita? Ed] intone her heartfelt imprecation to the people of her country as she faced her untimely death [Remember that we need not cry because (a) Evita got everything out of life she dreamed of, and (b) Argentina should cry for itself...... Ed]

Rachel Zegler as Eva Perón (Grayson's sister?)
on the balcony of the London Palladium
{Avenida 9 de Julio}

So many duplicates.  So much duplicity.  The tenuous links between film and art, between life and imagination.  Which is real?  Which is true?  It is all part of the game.  That sparkling game that is life.....

Oxford Street, early

Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them - that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.

Lao Tzu

All the world's a stage

Starry Starry Blade Runner.....

The year is 2049. The Tyrell cooperation has collapsed decades before in the wake of violent revolts involving their Nexus-6 through -8 Replicants, forcing Tyrell into bankruptcy. After the world's ecosystems collapsed, famine swept the Earth. With his invention of synthetic farming, Niander Wallace ended food shortages and acquired Tyrell's remaining assets. The Wallace Company has reinvigorated the Replicant industry by producing the Nexus-9 Replicants, a new generation of artificial humans with modified behavior to make them more obedient than the older models. These Replicants have implanted memories and open-ended lifespans, and are still used for slave labor on the off-world colonies, but some are also used as Blade Runners, hunting down and 'retiring' the few remaining older models that are still at large.

Agent K, one of these Nexus-9 Replicants, travels to a protein farm outside Los Angeles in his flying Spinner, where he has tracked down an older model Replicant called Sapper Morton who was part of a group of Series 8 Replicants that had gone AWOL. After a brief but violent fight, Morton tells him that as a newer model, K cannot come close to knowing what it means to be human. He implies that K would never help humans kill his own kind if he had ever witnessed the kind of miracle that he has. K retires him and is ready to leave, until he notices an old dying tree next to the farm. An investigation reveals a chest buried in front of it.....

Whatever....

I once had a friend whose biggest problem when he woke up in the morning was deciding which car to drive.....

Others have to decide at which end of the rainbow they are going to start digging..... 

I'm in the Arnolfini, looking out at an intergenerational jam session....

I'm in the Watershed....

I drop into the Small Bar....

Next thing I'm in L’Auberge Ravoux in Auvers-sur-Oise.....

And then, suddenly, as if by Spinner, I am back at the Bag of Nails, keeping the cats company....

Time to leave town.  I head for the countryside.....

But I cannot help but feel I am being watched....

Even in the back of beyond, looking up the valley of the Usk, towards the Black Mountain,

There's always someone.  

Like charming Geoff, with his black cat, who has rented here for twenty years (and I apologise if I misremember his name)....

And then, atop of Table Mountain, having lost my bearings, who should I have the pleasure of meeting?  Yes, it's Dickie and Lindsey Bellringer, from Salisbury.....  Who are really nice. 

In such a brief encounter it is impossible to be sure which of us are Replicants, but there's me trusting holographs, again.....

Then, on my way down again to the abandoned remains of Las Vegas [citation needed] I come across a couple of of feral scavenger people who live among the ruins of the old Satellite Dish Array.....

And narrowly avoid being retired by one of Wallace's Replicants....

But, passing my baseline test by the Sugar Loaf,

I manage to get through the gate, 

And deposit the wooden/stone horse/effigy in the furnace/niche.....

And I return to LA.....(?)

And relax for a moment, with a pie and a beer,  in The Three Tuns, 

With Loving Vincent.....

Which just about rounds off the weekend quite nicely.

Except that I had forgotten about bloody Deckard.....

Who is still just a little trigger happy (after all these years) and insists on knowing what I want to know (as if any of us knew).....

The End....

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages.....

The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; 

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange eventful history, 

Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything......

[For f's sake..... Where will any of us be in 2049?]

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can't help falling in love with you

Like a river flows, surely to the sea 

Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be

[With apologies to all the people whose pictures I have taken, in good faith....]

Really the end.