How to gaze: Not in these four galleries

I am so angry. Last night I went for a little wander along Consell de Cent to see what I could see in the art world of Barcelona. I would challenge any free thinking, art loving, vaguely spiritual person to do the same and not be choking on the cheap white wine proffered at Nou Art Milleni. Really, there is no excuse for it, is there? Art which is wholly derivative, art which is wholly based on aura, art which is trendy rhetorical bullshit, art which is commodity, art which is just really, really bad.

I started at Marc Calzada, just a block from my house. For a start the door was locked, which is an immediate barrier (art is for everyone?) but apparently I passed the sartorial test and he let me in. There were some eye catching bits and bobs around, but the raison d’etre seemed to be “very small works and scraps of paper by well known artists”. Miró, Tapies, Barcelo. Some of the works were lovely, but some were there simply because the famous artist had touched them, leaving his (sic) aura on them, like a true piece of the real cross on which Our Lord was crucified. A scrap of paper, with a recognizably Miróic scrawl, had been framed quite beautifully, and the label gave the provenance. Did Miró really think it was worthy as art? Or was he just playing with an idea? And who would want to buy such an object? And who would have the money? Collectors, apparently. Calzada spends most of his time courting them at art fairs around Spain. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Picasso museum here in Barcelona simply because it tells the story of the man, the artist, through his working process, and doesn’t glorify any one artwork beyond its place in that story.

I know, that sounds very egocentric, but I’m the one who has to look at the work on the wall for the rest of my life. Why else would I be looking at art, if not to decide which piece I want to take home?

And here is another reason to be angry. Art is not about the process. Well, Ok, it might be about the process for the artist. But I’m really not interested in art as therapy. You want therapy? Go to a therapist. You want art? Go to a gallery, a museum, an artist’s studio. I like to know the “how” as much as the next man, but I want a finished product that will move me, challenge me, make me feel something, and hopefully something positive. I don’t really care about the artist’s personal struggle with her relationship with her father, her feminism, her OCD. Unless she has something to say that will touch me too. I know, that sounds very egocentric, but I’m the one who has to look at the work on the wall for the rest of my life. Why else would I be looking at art, if not to decide which piece I want to take home? The work at Galeria Joan Prats was irritating in precisely this way. Lola Lasurt was trying to look at life from a psuedo-psycho-sociological viewpoint, but what she produced was really only about herself. The blurb with the show was created by the ACME Artspeak Randomising Bollocks Contraption, which, unfortunately, spewed out one of the many nonsensical musings available to gallery goers everywhere. There was nothing of substance for the viewer, nothing to hold the gaze. In contrast there were just a few repeated still photographs flickering around the screen. I need an art that will transfix me.

But in a good way. Mr. Brainwash, at 3Punts Galeria was transfixing in the “I made that when I was 9, at school, in an hour. No, really, exactly that” kind of way. But what did you expect from a self-confessed money grabbing bull-shitter? Though if you watch the movie, maybe I am being hard on him. (Banksy’s “Exit through the gift shop”, if you must). This was work that we know is entirely made by assistants who are left to their own devices using appropriated images and an “urban” style. And it sells. In the last 8 years in Barcelona, I have never seen a show with so many red dots. (In fact, red triangles. 3Punts. Geddit?) Hopefully, we only have to put up with this stuff because even LA can’t cope with the vacuity any more. Of course, artists need to sell their work, if only to buy the materials to make the next work. But, please, spend an afternoon with your niece, buy a big canvas and make you own collage to spray paint over. At least that way you won’t have to redecorate the living room to match your brand new Banksy rip off.

nothing to hold the gaze…

After that a drink was needed, and what better place than a gallery opening night to grab a glass of cava, or at least a free bottle of Moritz (sponsored link here)? Unless you are unlucky enough to end up at Art Nou Mil.lenni. And what would make me even more angry would be if, as a contributing artist, I had had to fork out serious money to show my work here. Vanity galleries are absolutely my least favourite thing about the art world. I would rather have my work rejected a thousand times than have it accepted simply because I can pay someone, whose opinion I have no respect for, to put my work on their walls. And serve nasty, nasty wine. Give me a cheap bottle of cava, any day. The work was entirely derivative, poorly executed and terribly named. Some marbled sperm titled “Birth”? Maybe we have to wait 9 months for the real work to show itself? Portraits that would look good if done by the folks at the retirement home. And please, don’t try and sell me your own work with a mouthful of sandwich and some law of minimising returns. Is this painting too big? Let me show you a print. Still too much money? How about an unframed print? I don’t like black frames either. How about I tear this work in half, and you buy the unsigned part? Tell you what, take my napkin and frame it yourself. It might be the best investment you’ve ever made.