Was The Black Death Really the Start of Modern Art!

As I continue to contemplate on how to make my fame and fortune another avenue has opened up for me recently. Celebrated Artist!

I have in fairness considered this option several times before.

What inspired me this time was a couple of articles that recently appeared in the 'Times' newspaper. The first related the story of the late British artist Robert Lenkiewicz, apparently he died at the age of sixty in 2002 with huge debts, nine homes and eleven children from seven different partners. No wonder he died relatively young, I find huge debts, one, two and one hard enough.

However his estate and works sold after his death for over two million pounds. His speciality subjects were green linoleum, metaphysics and death. The latter taken to extreme by the discovery, during the clearance of his home, of the embalmed body of a tramp named Edwin Mackenzie, in a chest of drawers. You see Damian Hirst with his embalmed cows is a mere amateur.

I must say that the image of the unfortunate tramp occupied my mind for a little while. I had just been searching for a very old but well loved t-shirt which I found in some unused drawers and could imagine a similar scenario with the artist and the corpse of Mr Mackenzie, “Oh that’s where I put it!”

Then I read about a German, prize-winning artist, named Gregor Schneider looking for someone with only hours to live, to actually die in a public art gallery whilst he experimented with the way light plays on the flesh of a person in terminal decay. Whilst not wishing to be a stick in the mud I do have to admit to finding this a bit macabre.

I experienced the same feelings some years ago when two writers were interviewed on television about a play they were hoping to put on in London’s West End that required an actual recently dead body as it’s main character, not embalmed like our sock drawer inhabitant Mr MacKenzie, but an almost warm corpse. As with our German friend they asked for terminally ill people to apply, because at that stage they weren’t quite ready to go into production.

I don’t think that this play ever got off the starting blocks but as I had at the time just come out of a two decade retirement from playing football and every part of my being cried out in pain and protest, I was sorely tempted to apply for the leading role. What put me off though was the prospect of a long run like “The Mousetrap” and me becoming an embarrassment to my family as I began to smell and bits of me fell off.

Around about the same time as this artistic offering was being muted a fire broke out at a warehouse storing millions of pounds worth of modern art, destroying hundreds of exhibits.

As one who dabbled with modern art I obviously took a keen interest in this story. I had recently placed a frame around a damp patch on my kitchen wall, signed the corner and invited friends around for a viewing and drinks. Biddercome who by this time was into the theatre and the arts, thought it an interesting concept and showed a depth of expression. I took this as a compliment from a learned critic. Simcock also liked it, but he is just stupid.

The multimillionaire marketing mogul Charles Saatchi was one who lost a lot in this blaze, however I always maintained that if he had got someone to just sweep up the debris into a nice interesting pile then he could have at least recouped a couple of million pounds back by marketing it as “Art turns to Ashes” or failing that we could have played the Australians for them, at say cricket or something.

This fire was serious though as it deprived the Nation and indeed the World of masterpieces like Tracey Emin's tent that featured hundreds of names of her ‘lovers’ inscribed upon it, two piles of rubbish (literally) on poles that were supposed to represent peoples heads, some plastic toys and a pile of un-moulded clay.

This then, was one of the previous occasions when I decided that art was the “boy” for me!

My youngest daughter was then thirteen and at that time was away in Paris with school on one of those educational “the teachers need a few days away paid for by parents” trips. So I decided to search her room for some modern art exhibits that I could offer to the grieving Mr Saatchi, at competitive prices obviously.

I enlisted the help of two burley workmen who were repairing a gas pipe in the front road to help me push the bedroom door open against the piles of clothes, books, CD’S and general teenage requirements that occupied pride of place in a four foot mound across the floor. Their work done, they departed and I was in.

Now I am a graduate of Art College so obviously I have a trained eye. I came up with a broken hockey stick complete with blob of dried blood (I assume one of her victims not hers), a ripped Halloween hat with green hair, a toy rabbit minus one ear and half it’s stuffing and an unmade bed (I think that ones already been done). I allotted six figure prices to each and e-mailed Saatchi and Saatchi.

I never got a reply. Not from Saatchi or Saatchi.

I am actually encouraged though to give it another go. Han is two years older since my last foray into Modern Arts black hole and her sister has just returned from university, surely their rooms must now have nurtured some undiscovered postmodernist creations that would make "Damien Hirst eat his heart out”.
Sorry back to death and bodily parts again well that’s art for you.

A Suitable Subject for a Best Seller!

The following article is about the strong desire to begin writing but agonising over the subject matter that actually gets you started.

Everyone has at least one book in them so it is said. I myself have several which in the past have been so deep in me they have failed miserably to get out.
The closest I have yet come to producing my masterpiece was when several years ago I researched thoroughly the 1902 Cricket Season during which Gilbert Jessop crouched his way to a lightening hundred against the Aussies and Wilfred (Rhodes) and George Herbert (Hirst) "got em in ones". Strangely enough when I mentioned the subject matter to my friends few shared my enthusiasm for that particular cricketing year, which I found odd. So the writing was shelved.

My literary ambitions were stirred again some weeks ago however when during post match analysis and recriminations which take place every Friday afternoon following our weekly tennis doubles one of our number announced that he was writing a book.
The subject of his book is dear to his heart. The very heart that will soon stop functioning because of the subject of his book i.e.; "The Full English Breakfast" .His remit is to eat the said meal at every establishment serving it from the small Yorkshire Dales Spa town where we reside up the A65 to the Lake District. My spread bet is that his arteries will clog up somewhere between Gargrave and Austwick.

Fired with enthusiasm and a spirit of competition engendered by my friends undertaking I ruminated over the subject of my own best seller. Obviously obscure Cricket Seasons were out as were slow suicides in greasy spoon cafes (that's been cornered).
What about an epic built around the Friday doubles; it has everything drama, passion, a cast of unusual characters. However the potential sales figures of four were a little off putting. It could be five as Leverite fills in when Spicer is away in Dubai, Hawaii, Thailand or for the weekend in Rome or Barcelona or when Simcock is on his cycling holiday to Sheffield. Spicer is a Dentist and Simcock is a Teacher, which is a career note for any youngsters reading. Another week went by and Friday arrived. After another high energy, exciting and skilful display of tennis, the group before us left court and we trudged on. Three tardy sets later we maintained our incredible fitness levels with several pints of John Smiths Bitter and some reassuringly expensive imported lager for Spicer, the name of which no one can pronounce.
Biddercome our intrepid author brought us up to date with his battles with the eggs and bacon and the riders of a tandem that ran over his foot with both wheels as he emerged from 'The Naked Man' caf in Settle.
I determined to sort out my own literary venture before the next Fridays tennis encounter, why should he have all the fun. A subject, I needed a subject.

Monday I was back at work but was distracted by the thoughts of my literary subject requirements. However as the days tasks consisted mainly of reviewing horse racing matters on various websites and scrutinising the Racing Post with At the Races' on the TV in the background my wife didn't actually realise that I had gone back to work. My job often takes me into the world of horseracing and my stupidity often takes me into the bookmakers maybe this could be a subject matter. I added it to the list. Well, in fact, I started the list with it and subconsciously gave odds as to where it would finish.

Tuesday and I was still struggling for that elusive subject. I spoke to Canute, my business partner on his mobile .He was somewhere in the West Indies, he holidays almost as much as Spicer. Amongst other things we do marketing for various racecourses and trainers and manage a couple of racing clubs. He is Barnsley born and bred proud as punch of his native town and South Yorkshire roots. He buggered off and bought a mansion in the heart of hunting Leicestershire at the earliest opportunity. We met over twenty years ago when he joined the company for which I worked. I was given the responsibility of training him. He tells everyone that I taught him all he knows. He is now a multimillionaire and I am in hiding from the milkman. He suggests a book about Barnsley Football Club. One rum punch too many I suspect.

Wednesday. I still needed a subject. I was a bit distracted by having meetings on and off most of the day. I did manage a quick visit to my accountants though. Fred Done (turf accountant) I often tell people that I am at the accountants as it gives the impression that I take business very seriously. Similarly Spicer's patients think he must be the best-informed Dentist in the country as he instructs his staff to explain to them that he is on a course every Thursday. The course in question is Shipley Golf Course, Otley Golf Course or Headingley Golf Course. There was a thought, a golfing book perhaps a possibility. I added it to the list. All had been sports orientated thus far perhaps this was the route to go, after all my wife insists that I am so sports obsessed that I would watch kids playing tig. Which is ridiculous, however grown ups playing tig is different and surely I'm not the only one to miss Kabadi on Channel Four.

A drive to Scotland on Thursday gave me time for more contemplation on the elusive subject of my literary debut. I like going to Scotland. My good friend Fat Al is from Glasgow though he has lived in England for about thirty years. Like all Scotsmen however he hates the English when it comes to anything to do with sport. This is something that myself and many of my other friends cannot understand because if Scotland or a Scottish team are playing in any game not involving England then we always support them. Obviously I have to admit that none of us had an ancestor slaughtered at Culloden or Bannockburn but my father once almost choked on an Arbroath kipper and an excess of Dundee cake made Spicer's uncle obese. What about a book on Scotland or Scottish food '32 Recipes for Battered Mar's Bars'. Catchy title added to list.

Friday arrived and my target of having a subject for my entry as a published author was no nearer. The feeling of frustration was not helped by Biddercome's book having entered the critical stage of Sausage evaluation at the Little Chef' in Kirby Lonsdale. Still my determination was not dashed and if no other subject sprang to mind then the new book would have to be about the frustrations of having nothing to write about. Now there is a challenge four hundred pages of nothingness but I suspect that that has been done many times before.

My Introduction to Blogging!

I have been writing for quite some time through my work and in my dotage have decided to increase my output. I want this site to work on three levels. My business is sport, especially the horseracing industry, travel and business/marketing consultancy. If I can get any work from my efforts on these pages that will be a bonus so I will endeavour to make my content of interest and quality to prospective clients. My hobby is also sport and horseracing so I will also write as a punter, unfortunately one who normally backs horses with slightly shorter necks, in a photo finish, than their rivals. My main output however will be about my life and the view of it from a querulous and slightly cynical perspective. I look forward to any feedback from any insomniacs that might accidentally stumble upon these pages but hope not to attract the vitriolic comment from the many obdurate who seem to monopolise some Blog sites. If my views are not theirs it's nothing personal, if I have a comma in the wrong place or my grammar is not perfect no one will die. My intention is to enjoy doing this and hopefully someone may enjoy reading it. Let writing commence