Jill Stephenson at Loch Duich
Quintin Jardine in Elie
Iain Macmillan in Gleneagles
Douglas Marr on Skye
Andrew McFadyen in Kilmarnock
R D Kernohan on Arran
David Torrance on Iona
Catherine Czerkawska at Loch Ken
Chris Holligan in Elie
Rose Galt in Girvan
Alex Wood on Arran
Andrew Hook in Glasgow
Alasdair McKillop in St Andrews
Sheila Hetherington on Arran
Anthony Seaton on Ben Nevis
Paul Cockburn at Loch Ness
Jackie Kemp in a taxi
Angus Skinner on Skye
SR’s remarkable growth as an independent magazine is based largely on word of mouth. Here are examples of our journalism:
* SR played a leading role in the successful campaign to save St Margaret of Scotland Hospice
* SR campaigned for greater transparency in Scottish public life and won a landmark judgement from the Scottish information commissioner which has led to a transformation in the information available about executive salaries and pensions in public bodies
* Having discovered elderly people still living in a near-derelict block of flats in Glasgow, sometimes without a water supply, SR campaigned to have them decently re-housed. With the help of Scotland’s housing minister, Alex Neil, we succeeded
* SR continues to campaign – so far without success – to broaden the range of appointments to national organisations beyond a self-perpetuating elite
Unlike many publications SR doesn’t have an online comment facility – we prefer a more considered approach. The Cafe is our readers’ forum. If you would like to contribute to it, please email islay@scottishreview.net
A sharp reminder
that art has never
been democratic
Tess Ferguson
One of the most awkward moments I have ever witnessed occurred in the art world. In the vast, open-plan restaurant of a landmark London arts venue, the world-famous Swiss curator, Hans Ulrich Obrist, stood up and screamed, ‘Valerio, Valerio’.
At first, it might have seemed that this curious man, with his Einstein hair and imperfect skin, was trying to alert the attention of a friend, but it soon became clear (to those around him and to the approaching security guards) that these shouts were addressed to no one in particular. Once his tourettism had subsided, Obrist told those assembled of the apocryphal Valerio – an Italian sound technician whose tardiness had delayed a stadium rock concert and given rise to a Mexican wave of Valerio-seekers.
The Valerio scenario makes an appearance in a new play written by the Scandinavian artist duo, Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, recently performed in Glasgow. Here, it has mutated into a form of call and response in which the appropriate reply is apparently ‘Ever, Ever’. Dragset’s avatar – represented by his Freudian initials, id – introduces the idea to Elmgreen’s (similarly psychic) me, along with the widely held supposition that, as Hans Ulrich had initiated this craze, it must be all right. This perfectly illustrates the hive mind of the art world, in which an act of presumed transgression is validated by and, in turn, validates its originator. Elmdrag – charming beneficiaries of the 1990s funding-inspired Nordic miracle – understand this only too well after nearly two decades of collective practice within its ambit.
Largely a two-man show, ‘Happy Days in the Art World’ sees me and id waking up in bunk beds, which may or may not be one of their sculptural installations, in a doorless room that could equally qualify as a museum, a prison or a mental institution. Their parody of the decadent cultural field is immediate, with id finding himself shoeless on the bottom bunk and softly calling for his shoes – Prada, Prada, Prada – while me cautions him not to wander in the dark and risk cutting his feet on the broken glass of a smashed iPhone. Dressed in identical suits, they fear themselves to be the Scandinavian Laurel and Hardy, Siegfried and Roy or – gasp – Gilbert and George.
As with Valerio, there are plenty in-jokes, with reference made to Marina Abramovic’s workshops and to Bas Jan Ader’s disappearance at sea (imagine the double dividends of not one but two collaborative artists being lost forever). As me theatrically amplifies the growling of his stomach, he rhetorically asks ‘Where’s that Thai kitchen when you need it?’, an allusion to the peripatetic cooking project of Rirkrit Tiravanija, who has been on the scene for as long as the scriptwriters. Given the near-constant giggling that accompanied this early staging of the piece, however, it would seem that there is plenty to keep non-specialist audiences entertained.
The subtext to Elmgreen and Dragset’s predicament is the thought of parting company after so many years of living and working together. Once joined at the hip, they ponder the value they would have – in work as in life – when thrust as individuals into the individualistic art world. What will be surprising to sideline observers of their partnership is the hierarchy that is revealed in an ostensibly egalitarian situation, with ego triumphing over id at every turn.
When speculation turns to the supposedly democratic nature of the
art world, we are rightly reminded that ‘art has never been democratic. Democracy is something world leaders talk about before invading
developing countries’.
