Shit just got real.

We’ve been lazy. We fell out with art for a while and got really lazy blogging. We also didn’t want this blog to become solely about reviewing what we see (especially when, in the case of Modern Art Oxford doing a review leads to their deciding to un-follow us on twitter. Ahem). Still, within the last week we ventured to Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery to see a show entitled ‘New Art Now’. A show in which three of the ‘new’ pieces featured in a show in the exact same room around three years ago. So... has art stood completely still within the last few years. We hope not. Especially when one of our pieces ended up in a show at BMAG not so long back. Luckily when we cleared out our handbag earlier and this small mountain of TROVE paraphernalia materialised

we figured it time to break our blogging abstinence and write something down.

So, at the risk of simply describing what we saw (as we are aware we have a tendency to do), and apparent growing obsession with the jewellery quarter space aside, the shows have quite simply been getting better since we started going. Within the space of a week TROVE has hosted two shows, both exceptional. The second of these shows was without a doubt the best to date, using not just the incredible science museum site we have lusted to go to at every opportunity but a courtyard, and two other buildings.

Usually, we quip and jape over what we see. We like to keep things light and find any humour or fun we possibly can in what we see. Our relationship with art is such that we show our love for it like an 8 year old boy does to a small girl in a playground, by poking, prodding, ridiculing and bullying it. And in that playgroundish manner of boys being boys, on the way home from TROVE last Friday, a member of our squad tripped down and grazed his knee. Typical.

One month on, we're still alive.

This blog post is presented based upon advice from our therapist.

She said that the best way to address the issues caused by last months ARC offering, Companis' Bawdyville would be to take them by the Mawashi and sumo them into submission.

The reason for this Japanese analogy is that the main cause for our anguish was that, as part of the experience, we were exposed to an experience beyond our most depraved and lurid imaginings. The time that we were exposed, in the name of art, to eating this

off of this

dressed as this

Ahem. We'd like to thank Companis very much for broadening our mind, for putting on a show of art that was not just engaging but entertaining, and wish them the best with their Bone Dinner coming up shortly at Eastside Projects. 27th of October sees the next ARC by the Institute of Meaningful Interaction. We're told we'll be psychologically ready for it by then. Fingers crossed.

Oxford. 2 Letters out.

Yesterday, Oxford. The city best described by changing the F for a T and the second O for a U. It smelled. And whilst the city itself honked rather unpleasantly of faeces, the shows we encountered within Modern Art Oxford, Manfred Pernice and the Bloors, had a nostalgic smell - fresh cut wood, our favourite, setting a high benchmark for our expectations.

The show was an odd one. Initially, we were confused, bored, flippant, apathetic. But these shows, in their combination of household junk, flung together on some sublime cubes as shown by Pernice, and shameless self promotion of the brothers Bloor, brazenly exhibiting a collection of posters for the show that we were already in, collectively, rung the kinds of bells we like to hear resonate. We like singing our own praise. We like stapling a bunch of what everyone would look upon as waste together. We like both of these things. And we definitely, definitely like both of these things within galleries. We like art when it is reflexive. And in the same way that we like it when we see wrestlers in films. Or rappers in films. Or both rappers and wrestlers in films, we liked this hotchpotch of shouldn't-work-but-it-does. Just like this winters sure to be blockbuster - Xzibit vs Stone Cold Steve Austin: A Space Odyssey*

(**)

So then, Modern Art Oxford. One question (if that kind of art is what you're gonna show) - When's our exhibition gonna be?!

*not an actual film.

**Illustration purposes only, neither the aforementioned rapper nor wrestler.

You sirs; busy.

We're overwhelmed. Our legs hurt, our ears hurt (thanks to one show in particular) and our 100% accurate machines are very much worse for wear. One of them, in fact, is no more. A sad day, I'm sure you'll all agree.

So many things happened, we've opted to limit our reviews to a maximum of 12 words. You know, keep it snappy. There shall be a maximum of 1 link/photo to accompany each review.

Last Tuesday was a pedestrian start to the week with a new show at Ikon Gallery. Which we missed. But we promise we'll go soon.

Wednesday was VIVID's new show, which, contrary to entering 'vivid' into google, did not yeild hardcore pornography.

Haroon Mirza's show The Last Tape was - Flyspray projection with added revolution of a radio-tacular.

Thursday was the opening to the latest TROVE (art galleries are loving the capslock these days), and a portion of the Coventry University MA Art Shows. We've seen these since then too and can safely say

Sing Silent Songs - Turn off your speakers and click on this. Very enjoyable.

Coventry MA - Opening to 'Enter The Void'. Words. Flashing Lights. Improvement = Dark.

And then, Friday. Friday started with Eastside Projects, which had two shows, though we'll review them both in the same ten words. Then Ikon Eastside's + AVPD, followed by Grand Union showing Jamie Shovlin, and then Inside Out Festival on the other side of a road.

Eastside Projects Jennifer Tee + Elizabeth McAlpine - Fucking hell solid marble obelisk + some projectors + pots + rugs.

Ikon Eastside AVPD Hitchcock Hallway -Like climbing into our mind, stealing our thoughts and making them better.

Grand Union Jamie Shovlin - Like the bullets that explode your head on impact via horror + noise.

Inside Out Festival - The most inside out bit = shhhh-ing band trying to calm a party.

...

Ah crap, the bits where we were meant to include a photo/link didn't happen too well. And those reviews were pretty un-insightful. So here is a video of some probably endangered species getting pissed on fruit to entertain you instead.

P.S. How are all y'all beards?

Save The Arts (And Us!)

The last few days or so (how many days is a 'few days or so'? - we're pitching for about 11.4) have seen a load of famous, profound, influential, but most importantly famous artists pitch a case that the arts need to be saved from some evil monsters or similar. Why wouldn't they. If the arts aren't saved, they don't exist. Or their jobs don't exist, something like that.

We're in a similar position. Without the arts, the need to kick-art-ass dwindles significantly. (Or, due to a lack of funds, the quality of art drops significantly, more bad art exists and our job becomes all the more invaluable. But let's not take that risk)

This campaign started with David Shrigley, saw some day-glow texted posters, and most recently saw Mark Wallinger do a thing. Many more have signed a petition. We've never been one for petitions in the past. But seeing as it only takes a couple of seconds to do, even if (like all the petitions we ever did before) it doesn't mean a whole load nor go anywhere, it's worth the punt.

We've conjured up an idea which will physically demonstrate our love for the arts. Our contribution to the efforts. We're growing arts-cuts-protest-beards. And we suggest that you do the same. Pass on this information to everyone you know and love. Here are some celebrities who thus far have shown their support:

Zach Galifianakis

Santa Claus

Religion Man

Sadly, Joaquin Phoenix has shaved off his beard having heard the news due to his vast hatred of the UK arts scene. Though it is a safe bet to assume that everyone you see from this moment onwards wearing a beard has joined our fight against cuts in arts funding. We look forward to seeing your beards, compadres!

You need to see this.

What could be more a representation of artistic perfection than a shoddy painting of some famous celebrity chefs having a roadside picnic? You may spot a few familiar faces in this phenomenal use of the worlds resources. Look out for your favourite here, chilling out in this delightful scene available for the bargain price of about a grand. It's literally got all the greats. In the photo we managed to crop out Keith Floyd (which we promise isn't because he's dead) sitting in the corner as close to Nigella Lawson as we all dream of. Oddly, Jamie is the only one who seems to want to cook. Though don't think too hard about that, because what is truly amazing is how the artist has managed to capture perfectly the shininess of Ainsley Harriott's head.

These are all witty observations, naturally, and it's easy to poke fun at a playful picture. The serious issue here is why Gordon has been segregated and confined to the other side of the road. Why? Perhaps because he is Scottish. Perhaps because he so persistently swears. The constant clapping of his hands to draw attention to himself like an ADHD child full of lemonade and skittles. Maybe because as the artist seems to have captured, because he is having a stroke. His dreadful wig? We don't know. But we definitely, absolutely 100% love this painting. It's fun. Good fun.

Well, that is if you excuse the tree (which you may see if you squint hidden in the shadow at the left) which has an unforgivably straight bottom.

Martin Creed Vs. The Expendables.

Last week we got called in to check out a couple of things to see if they deserved to be in the world. Firstly, on Thursday we saw The Expendables by Sylvester Stallone. Then on Saturday we ventured up the UK to see Martin Creed's new show at Fruitmarket in Edinburgh. Both of these returned highly positive results on their respective testing devices (an art detector and our brand spanking new filmometer). This provoked us to have a little think. If you look at The Expendables as an expression of how one man wanted his work to be simultaneously ludicrous, hilarious, and riddled with moments where it undoes itself, it's sort of like how Martin likes to flow. Likewise, Mr Creed often describes what he shows as a collection of failures, attempts to make something like he used to (when he was a child), and doesn't quite cut it. The Expendables? A load of failures, nailed together, still not reaching either their goal to be an homage to the past, nor what the creator wanted them to be? Never.

Maybe.

Naturally, all of these coincidental similarities are ridiculously contrived (and nonsensical).

But we loved both The Expendables and the Martin Creed show at Fruitmarket. And in the absence of a real reason to explain why we like both, we'll settle for what we just made up on the spot right there.