As I was walking over the Millennium Bridge this morning I noticed work being performed on the outside of Tate Modern. At long last the gigantic pieces of childish art that have adorned the exterior of the former power station are being removed.
The Graffiti Busters were on site with their ladders, sprays, special solutions for dissolving and various pointy scrapping utensils. Overall adorned workmen were resplendently consigning expensive art to the rubbish bin of history.
Gone is the man holding a video camera like a rifle. Gone is the cross section of a head, showing some bizarre internal workings. No more is the giant standing on a severed hand. The chopped up comic strip native American has been erased.
The Busters were in the process of scrapping away at the naked giant yellow man, holding a bag of CCTV cameras and proudly displaying his oversized yellow member. Ladies seemed to take pleasure in standing directly below this huge monument, mouths agape and a sparkle in their eyes.
The Olympic talking box display on the South Bank was also being dismantled. Transparent perspex boxes containing running shoes and constant looped sports personality monotone babbling were being hammered to smithereens.
It just goes to show that one person’s art is another’s junk . . . . or vice versa.
3 Comments
You are lucky to see so much art though, Nelson.
Audrey and I saw a sheep yesterday. That was good. Then she angered a crow behind the sportsground for fifteen minutes. That was fun.
You should try expressing these wonderful rustic moments in one artistic medium or other. Maybe mime - you’d be good at mime, in a leotard and that. Retard in a leotard.
I’ll give it some thought, Nelson.