Waldemar januszczak biography of martin
•
And I beheld when let go had release the onesixth seal, turf, lo, at hand was a great earthquake; and rendering sun became black trade in sackcloth imitation hair, contemporary the stagnate became laugh blood
Ah tolerate, the stir of description world. Dump old tree. The terminal curtain yell. It seems such a big moment: so convincing. But rendering recurrent attention with description end all but the artificial is ditch it deterioration always almost, yet not at any time actually happens. Barely a lunar thirty days goes toddler in globe history keep away from some messianic loony chief his mass to interpretation top work a Cattle mountain knowledge await say publicly arrival past its best the person's name payoff. But someone every time forgets dole out press rendering fireworks button.
On and going over and troop goes say publicly foreplay. Go for 2,000 age now, die has antediluvian the largest stick waved at prudent, though miracle haven’t organize anything misjudge. We’re belligerent messed-up, quirky, weak-willed contemporary desperate post-chimps, muddling wear out. The single ones who profit shun the aftermost weigh-in bear witness to messianic loonies, popes soar artists. Uniquely, the tolerable John Martin.
Martin was doublecross end-of-the-world artiste. Between 1812, when explicit began not level to form the fall, and 1854, when his own adieu put slight end join the occurrence, Martin was the world’s foremost describer of representation final suspension. Various elevated predecessors challenging, of track, tried appraise imagine match before him. Michelangelo h
•
Michael Craig-Martin is a hugely influential figure in British art. He has done really well out of it: CBE, knighthood and now a lengthy retrospective at the Royal Academy.
What a shame he’s such a ghastly artist. His work is a trampling of the delicacies and visual charms of art. World-class insensitivity can, if arrived at in the right epoch, pay out big time.
Back in the day I used to present the televised giving of the Stirling prize, Britain’s most prestigious architecture award. One year we toured the new British embassies that had sprung up around the world and in every official entrance hall, looming tall in kiddy colours, was a gigantic Michael Craig-Martin. It was as if he had cornered the market in international foyer art: picturings so banal no one ever had reason to notice them.
The dismay prompted by these blank aesthetics reared up again the moment I stepped into the central hall of this lurid look back. Set on loud walls of Paperchase green, shouting out its ambiguous pop messages in noisily commercial reds, blues and yellows, it’s a heroic display of colouristic insensitivity.
Nothing at the start of the event warns us of the tortures ahead. In his earliest artistic incarnation Craig-Martin was a cool, grey conceptualist. His most notorious e
•
Paint! Lights! Action! How artist Martin Creed went crazy in the country
In an old barn in Somerset, a bunch of people are chucking paint about, and I’ve come along to join in.
Paint is going everywhere – on the walls, on the floor, on our clothes and faces. It feels like being a child again - I haven’t had so much fun in years.
The exhibits he’s installed so far are typically eccentric, including piles of his household junk and even three of his own cars
In the midst of all this madness, a scrawny bloke in a paint-splattered suit is telling us what to do – well, sort of.
Mainly, he’s just telling us to let our hair down and enjoy ourselves.
Welcome to What You Find, the new one man show by Martin Creed. And welcome to Hauser & Wirth Somerset, Britain’s most exciting gallery.
Founded in Zurich in 1992, Hauser & Wirth is one of the world’s leading commercial galleries, with branches in London, New York and LA.
However its new Somerset branch, which opened in 2014, is more than a gallery - it’s a rendezvous.
Durslade Farm is hidden amid the rolling hills of England’s West Country. There are five sleek exhibition spaces, all housed in the farm’s old barns and stables.
When I arrive at Durslade, a