An artist should either speak through art or not speak at all. How come? When I was returning from a walk on the beach, while passing the gallery in Castlegate, I noticed through the window that inside there was a group of people sitting on folding chairs, listening to a conversation between a slightly tense young host and a relaxed artist. The gallery walls were hung with images of roosters, which I assume were made by this very artist. I stopped, wondering whether to enter, but not wanting to cause unnecessary commotion, I decided not to. However, I stayed there to watch this gathering through the window for a moment, like a TV programme with the sound muted, especially since the glass reflected everything that was happening in the square behind me, so together it created an interesting composition. And then I saw her.
Her teenage face was marked with such obvious boredom that it was astonishing. I could see her because she was sitting at a certain angle, clearly not interested in the meeting that her parents sitting next to her had dragged her to, and playing with the pile of wristlets on her lap. At one point, she noticed me too and freaked out. The show was over. She pointed at me and whispered to her parents, who, of course, immediately turned towards me, but seeing that I was interested in the artist, they also went back to listening to him. To keep up appearances, I stood there a moment longer and finally decided to go my way.
But let’s return to our artist and the whole setup. I must admit, I have never understood this kind of gathering. Their artificiality seems so obvious that I cannot shake the impression that the only reason for taking part in them is snobbery or habit, like attending Sunday mass, even though the faith has long since faded and doesn’t rise above the façade. And isn’t it demeaning to the work of art if it requires the artist’s crutches in reception, assuming, of course, that the artist actually has something more than a handful of platitudes to say?
hidden pilcrow 