Quilts

Hannah reminded me this morning quite how fabulous the Quilts exhibition is at the V&A. I went to it a few weeks ago, strangely enough, dressed as her, for a feature we are doing on swapping wardrobes. the usual skyscraper heels, 1950s dress/1940s pencil skirt and red lipstick and nails for that night was swapped for tweed plus fours, a stripey jumper (I'm allergic to stripes usually) woolly tights and clogs. I knew she would love it, and not only because i was dressed as her that night.

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It's not only the skillfulness and visual impact of the quilts on display which impresses, but the emotion that you can feel has been poured into them - whether they have been created as a means of creative rehabilitation (for contemporary prison inmates or 19th century injured soldiers), to maintain the craft (by 1920s W.I members), to make a political point (as Grayson Perry makes about abortion), to commemorate a historical event, or, practically speaking, to make a living. one of my favourites (above) sees a women sew historical scenes into her 19th century coverlet, into which she also sews images of herself - you can imagine she would be the sort of person who now might copy herself into a picture of Gordon Brown and Obama having a chat and hold rabbit ears over their heads. but cooler, obviously. some of the very old quits also seem incredibly chic and contemporary; this is about as far from twee as you can get, which, i'll be honest, surprised me.

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Surprisingly and utterly captivating. It's on until 4 July.

Mat Collishaw: Retrospectre

And so, it seems as if my prejudice against video installation is being attacked from all sides: i went to the PV of Mat Collishaw's Retrospectre at the BFI and it turned out to be a video installation. and, again rather shockingly, I loved it - or at least i thought it was pretty affecting and i didn't want to kill myself while i stood to watch it, despite the fact that i'd just walked through a hurricane to get there, wearing high heels and flimsy mac, which speaks volumes, trust me. Drawing upon themes taken up by the late Georgian/Armenian film director and artist Sergei Paradjanov (1929 – 1990), who i have to confess i know precisely zero about but there's a BFI season in honour of, it's an incredibly theatrical installation - it's emotionally claustrophobic and almost has the feeling of a ritualistic sacrifice unfolding in front of you, through the impactful, sharp and aggressive cacophony/melange of life, death, pain, sacrifice, nature's fiery temperament, fear, agony and beauty, depicted via a montage of images of animals being killed, birds of both prey and pride, volcanic outbursts etc. the above picture poorly indicates the sculptural composition of the piece, but it gives an idea of the architectural puzzle of ornate mirrors, gilt bird cages, Gothic window frames and grand altar pieces, the panes of which (be they mirrors, glass or opaque) make up the screens for the video projections - from the outset there's an idea of images being framed, the artifice of the project, and the poignantly visceral exhibitionism of it. am i becoming a convert to video? who can say. i'm rather unsettled by such a the prospect at any rate, but maybe i should just go with it. Hmmm.

Mat Collishaw in Conversation
Tue 13 April 18:10 (tbc), NFT3 £5

Paradjanov Symposium
Saturday 6 March 11:00 – 17:00,
NFT3 £15.15, concs. £11.15 (Members pay £1.40 less)

Jeff Koons

Almost called this post 'Jess Koons', which would have been appropriate as i went to the private view (which opened the show last night) with Jess. and THANK GOD i did, rather than going under my own steam with my paltry press invite, as the 'plebs' queue to get in was about 50 people long, and by the time i came out the queue to get into the park (BEFORE having to queue to get into the exhibition) would have been round the block - if The Serpentine was indeed on a block. anyway, with Jess, who has recently become a Future Contemporary of The Serpentine, and who is getting married in the summer pavilion there in August, we avoided the hoi polloi waiting thing entirely and went in the back door, which made for a very 007 stealth entrance. LOVED that. and i rather loved Koons' ironic celebration of tack, too. whoop whoop to the insubstantial, pop culture, the banal, the shallow, the naff. except it isn't entirely that, obv, as his sculptures aren't the actual things he's 'celebrating' at all, which obviously makes it all very... well, very. this time, his 'inflatables' (not inflatable at all, rather made from aluminium to look like plastic inflatables) are poolside blow ups - dog rubber rings and lobster lilos (above) doing rather jaunty things like being suspended from the ceiling and holding chairs, or supporting a whole forest of chopped wood. That so much work has gone into re-creating a plastic toy that costs about £4.50 down Asda, making it from something of substance, and thus into art, art that attempts to comment on our value judgements, aesthetic sensibilities, and materialism seems particularly interesting, somehow, given the amount of 'real' plastic faces wandering around the exhibition amongst these pieces. literally hundreds of plastic surgery freaks whose smooth faces were completely betrayed by their wrinkly legs. People = the art, i thought - shiny, plastic people who were made to look young and carefree - wrinkleless, like time has stood still and experience hasn't taken its toll. sort of walking, superficial works of art. probably worth less than a Koons, though. Koons, BTW, brought his kids along to the show. They were dressed like Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange in monochrome suits and bowler hats. Odd. Very odd.

PS. spotted: Stella McCartney sporting a v cool gold jacket with her husband Alasdhair Willis (such a dish).

Jeff Koons is on until 13 September at The Serpentine Gallery, London.

Image: Jeff Koons Acrobat 2003–09

Polychromed aluminium, galvanised steel, wood and straw

228.9 x 148 x 64.8 cm

Bill Bell Collection

© 2009 Jeff Koons