Dear Me, Scott King

I am looking for collaborators to work on a project. The project is going to be a series of proposals that are intended to improve Great Britain. 

I particularly need the help of anyone who:

- can draw (in the very traditional sense)

- can paint (in the very traditional sense)

- are fashion illustrators/designers

- uses CAD to make architectural drawings or similar

- uses or has access to a ›helmet / action camera‹ and has the facilities to edit (London only)

There will be no payment but all work work will be co-credited.

If you are interested please email me at info@scottking.co.uk.

»Untitled«, 2009

Click image to enlarge

In early 2006 I made a series of posters called »Stalky«, the posters were what you might call ›method design‹. When I was growing up there was this punk lad (Storky), he was a few years older than me and he was always in bands. He was a funny character, first of all he was still a punk in 1983/4/5/6 (and he probably still is). Secondly, I’m not sure if he wasn’t a bit backwards, either that or he was just very addled by booze and drugs. He was an unfortunate character in many ways, but also quite heroic. I started thinking about him and I realised that I admired him – I admired him for at least TRYING to do something, for trying to be different, for trying to say something.

So, in 2006, I imagined I was Storky (renamed Stalky), I tried to put myself in his place. I imagined that Stalky was still living by his punk ideals and was about forty years old. I imagined he was still trying to get and keep a band together. I designed a poster to promote ›my‹ gig at a pub in Goole – the first gig for many years by »Stalky & The Reprobates«. So, Stalky had got his old band back together – but the band were obviously a bit reluctant, they all had cars, mortgages, kids and jobs. Nevertheless, in my model, the gig happened ­– and of course it was a total failure. Undeterred, Stalky booked the band to play at the same pub a month later. The rest of the band became unwilling, not turning up to rehearsals, challenging Stalky’s authority and refusing to wear the clothes Stalky thought to be ›punk‹. As Stalky, I designed twelve posters all for the same venue, all taking place month after month thus taking up a whole year. As leader of the band and speed fuelled, drunk and increasingly furious designer of the posters, Stalky decided to change the name of the band each month, every month/poster illustrating his increasing dissatisfaction with his band mates as well as his own spiraling paranoia and isolation. By the end, in December, his band have left him and Stalky is forced to play a solo acoustic set of old punk standards.

That, in brief, is the story of the Stalky posters. They’re intended to work as an illustration of the final death throes of The Punk Dream for a middle aged man in a small town.

»Stalky«, 2006, courtesy Galleria Sonia Rosso, Turin

»Stalky’s Revenge« is the second part of the work. In this series, using the same ›method design‹, I imagined being the members of the band that had deserted Stalky. I imagined being the blokes who no longer believed in punk, who wanted something completely different… and who desperately wanted to get away from the paraniod, megalomaniac Stalky. So, Steve Worswick and Daz Tether, formerly of The Reprobates, relaunch themselves as DJ Cosmic Tentacle and DJ Astral D, respectively. Cosmic and Astral start a trance night called Flowtation, it’s run from the back room of The Steam Packet pub (where Stalky and endlessly renamed Reprobates had played their year long residency). Goole is the last place you’d imagine a trance night; being as far away from Goa as it is possible to imagine. Nevertheless, the night was a big success and it looked like Cosmic and Astral had created something positive. However, they made one fatal mistake. If you look at the poster for the second Flowtation night, you’ll see that there was a short solo set by Stalky. Cosmic and Astral allowed this only out of guilt and pity, they thought it could do no harm. Unfortunately for them, Stalky believed his short set to be the best thing about the whole enterprise and used it to muslce his way into the next Flowtation night. Then, disaster begins to unfold… over five posters you can see that Stalky regains his power over Cosmic and Astral. Eventually, Stalky takes over both the design of the Flowtation posters and the night itself. Finally, he forces Cosmic and Astral to rejoin his band and revert to their real names, Steve and Daz… so everything is back where it started. Nothing has changed. Stalky has won, but his victory is a crushing defeat for all concerned.

Stalky, as I said above is based on a real person called Storky, someone told me that he now lives in a hostel in Hull, but I can’t verify this. Daz Tether and Steve Worswick are also real people. I was at school with Steve Worswick, he was a very nice lad who was the classic old- fashioned ›university type‹, someone who might have gone to study accountancy or perhaps engineering – but he never did, he stayed in Goole and became a local trance DJ/remixer. Steve Worswick works under the name Square Bear… he has a website if anyone wants to look him up: www.square-bear.co.uk/

»The Flowtation Story: Stalky’s Revenge«, 2006, courtesy Herald St, London.

In 2005 I started writing a long story, in my dreams it would have become a novel. One of the chapters was set in The Steam Packet pub, and I described some of the posters on the pub wall – all for local, long forgotten bands. I got quite excited about the idea of bands and characters that I remembered and wondered if I could actually design these posters – the idea being to use the posters to tell a story: the ›rise‹ and fall of the band. I wondered if I could convey the positivity and excitement of a new band and track that band through a series of posters until they imploded or drifted apart. So, I suppose, I stopped writing the story and started designing it. Trying to tell a story with this limited vocabulary was very enjoyable, I mean there aren’t a lot of elements to work with: the name of band, the nature of the image, price of admission, number of support acts – that’s kind of it. With »The Flowtation Story: Stalky’s Revenge« I devised the story around the clash of two contrasting sentiments and graphic styles, I wondered if I could convey the whole sorry episode using only the promotional posters. If you like, it was an attempt to combine graphic design and pop cultural cliches in order to create fiction.

MH: Would agree with me when I say that Goa Trance is the worst genre of all music genres?

SK: Yes.

MH: What’s wrong with the Goa Trance people’s taste for design?

SK: They’re all on drugs.

The (real) Reprobates rehearsing in Goole circa 1983. Storky: vocals, Zander Burton: lead guitar, Bones Hutton: drums, Sneady Snead: bass.

»Halt! Im Namen der Liebe«, 2008, courtesy of Herald St, London

Below are two examples of things I’m trying to do lots of: »Infractions« (see my previous postings). I’m not sure if they are going to become new work – they might just be the research for something else. I don’t know yet.

»Kicked to Death« was first and is a survey / map of people who were kicked to death by drunken youths – it’s colour coded by year.

»Kicked to Death« (working title), 2010

»Takeaway Tragedies« came out of »Kicked to Death« when I noticed how many people were killed outside takeaway restaurants… It’s colour-coded by the nature of the restaurant: Indian, Chinese, pizza etc.

»Takeaway Tragedies« (working title), 2010

SK: Also attached is a rough of something I’m going to try – which is putting images and more detailed words on to the work… I’m trying to do stuff ›by hand‹ in a DIY kind of way – printing the dots with stencils and handwriting the texts.

MH: Why are you now planning to do this? I always thought the ›normal‹ infractions were so strong because they didn’t have any images or words that went with them…

SK: Mmm. That’s a good point – maybe it’s wrong of me to include images and additional words – as you say, the original point of these kind of works is that they’re deeply impersonal and matter-of-fact… while dealing with events that are sad and horrific, events that have effected people in the most brutal kind of way.

»Rough (Mock-up for revised »Kicked to Death«)«, 2010

MH: Is there a reason for you now ›painting‹ the dots ›by hand‹? We’ve discussed this before: You’re not really a painter… What do you like about DIY? Do you want your these new infractions to appear more natural or personal?

SK: I’m not a painter by any stretch of the imagination! What I’m trying to figure out is the balance of several issues.

I wanted these works (»Infractions«) to be a composite of information design and ›pure‹ abstraction… but at the moment they’re still very much ›design‹ – in that, they’re largely generated using the tools, premise and logic of information design.

It’s important to me to try and find a way of generating, in its entirety, work that comes out of THIS ROOM… the room that I sit in all day. This could be a mistake. It’s perhaps ›truer‹ to the idea, the basic tools that I’m surrounded by and to the 21ST. CENTURY that I simply research this information, design it and then email it to the digital printers (or even better: email it to you to put on this blog… then the blog becomes the gallery… and then perhaps I’m having a mini one-man-show from this afternoon until next Monday on this blog). A part of me feels that this is correct – that this is conceptually absolutely the right thing to do. However – another part of me is deeply frustrated and, dare I say, alienated by this process. This whole process, this conundrum, has been bothering me for years! I use methods that I feel to be conceptually correct – I work on the premise of reduction (of how much I can strip an idea down to only its necessary content), I make it, then I declare it finished. The main problem is – I get no enjoyment at all out of it.

The greatest – i.e  worst ever example of this – was when I did »Art Statements« at Art Basel in 2005. I totally fucked that show up by reducing every idea and thought to a black line on white paper … not only that, some of the paper was wrinkled. It was a disaster.

SO… Although I’m no painter, and although I’ve lost confidence in doing things ›by hand‹ – I’m forcing myself to try and do things this way. It might not work, but I have to try – the primary reasons being – I want to make work that is totally DIY and I want to enjoy doing it*. Years ago, I always made very rough work – all photocopies and rolled on ink, that was at college, before I went to i-D. I started doing diagrammatic and reductive work because it seemed like The Truth… it seemed true to my situation, but I’m kind of sick of it. I want to make work that’s more immediate… ›visceral‹ is the term, I believe.

I don’t fucking know, Martin – I’ve got all sorts of things on the go – this is just one of them… I’ve got a bit hung up on ›The New DIY‹ so I might do something else this week. Tess keeps trying to make me paint our living room… so maybe I’ll have to do some real DIY… that’ll give me something to cry about.

* I am aware of the hideous irony that I’m complaining about my lack of Worker Satisfaction while researching incidents where people have been kicked to death / committed suicide / blown up in Afghanistan.

SOME LIGHTER NOTES:

The Greatest Record Ever Made:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epYwOfM3oMA

The Greatest Band That Ever Existed:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7YA-frg2tw

BY THE WAY:

Below you’ll find a photograph of a Mondrian-style umbrella – does anyone know where I can buy one – or can anyone sell me one? If so, please email me on: info@scottking.co.uk.

Man and Desk, 2010

The Table and Chair at Which I Will Write the First Year 10 Manifesto, 2010, ph. Mark Walker

MH: What do you like about manifestos?

SK: I like the the bravery of them. I love the idea that an individual or group can attempt to instigate a series of rules or outline a set of behavioural codes – then try and adhere to them. Most manifestos seem to end in abject failure, don’t they? I like that, I like the idea of idealism – and the seemingly inevitable failure of that idealism when it’s put into practice. Almost all the great 20th century art movements were built on manifestos – or manifestos were very quickly written in order to define them.

Historically the French avant-garde have created the best manifestos – I suppose they have the unashamed seriousness that a great manifesto requires:

A) Excerpts from the Lettriste Manifesto

http://www.thing.net/~grist/l&d/lettrist/isou-m.htm

B) The Situationist Manifesto

http://www.infopool.org.uk/6003.html

C) Yves Klein – The Chelsea Hotel Manifesto

http://www.yvesklein.de/manifesto.html

MH: What will your manifesto be about? Do you really think you’ll be the first artist writing a »Year 10 Manifesto«? I bet a lot of artists are sitting at their desks RIGHT NOW!

SK: I’m not going to write »The First Year 10 Manifesto« – I was going to write it this afternoon. Unfortunately I expelled myself from ›The Year 10 Group‹ earlier this morning. This is very common – not self-expulsion perhaps, but unexpected and unwarranted expulsion was commonplace in many of the 20th Century avant-garde movements (the Situationist Internationale particularly).

MH: Tell me about that Nabokov documentary you saw on TV recently. And what are your thoughts when you look at all those powerful men at their powerful desks (see above)?

SK: Well it was just a documentary on BBC4… a kind of populist arts TV channel in the UK. The documentary was called »How do you solve a problem like Lolita?« and, from what I could gather, was essentially about the paedophilic nature of »Lolita« – and more importantly – did »Lolita« suggest that the author had paedophillic tendencies? Anyway – the presenter of the documentary was a journalist called Stephen Smith; he went to the Montreux Palace Hotel where Nabokov lived in his later years. Smith went into Nabokov’s room and sat at his writing desk. Smith’s excitement was palpable as he caressed Nabokov’s desk while speaking to the camera… as I remember he was wondering if the desk had somehow been imbued with Nabokov’s literary talent. He seemed to think that if he sat there long enough, maybe The Great Author’s talent would somehow rub off on himself.

SO – this got me thinking – not new thoughts – it kind of reminded me of old thoughts. It reminded me of my own most precious possession.

I’ve hardly ever told anyone this, but I own a shelf from Martin Kippenberger’s studio. Years ago an old friend of mind visited Kippenberger in Cologne. Kippenberger was very welcoming and told him he could take anything he wanted from the studio – his exact words were: »Take anything from here that you consider to be great art… except the great art«. So my friend, probably showing off, pointed at the wall and said: »I’ll take that shelf, it’s the most beautiful thing in here«. About five years ago my friend was completely broke, so I bought the shelf from him. I never use it, of course, I keep it stored safely away in bubble wrap.

Here it is:

Martin Kippenberger’s Shelf, taken from Kippenberger’s studio in March 1984

So, in short, I’m very interested in seemingly inane and inanimate objects that may or may not have some kind of mystical power.

The greatest example of this I’ve ever seen is currently being safeguarded by another friend of mine. John Marchant, of Isis Gallery, has the original newspaper clipping of HRH Elizabeth II that Jamie Reid used for the »God Save The Queen« single sleeve. I’ve actually held it, it’s an amazing thing – as John said: »It’s perhaps the most simultaneously valuable and worthless artefact in late 20th century popular culture«.

I just got John to send me a picture of it, here it is:

MH: Did you paint the table and chair white? You used the word ›cleansing‹ when we spoke on the phone earlier on but you weren’t sure if it was the right word. Is maybe ›neutralising‹ more fitting?

SK: Yes, ›neutralising‹ is better – ›cleansing‹ has different connotations. I painted the chair and table white. I found them discarded near a skip in my street. They were tatty and filthy – deeply ›un-mythical‹ objects – so I took them home and repainted them white – if you like, I ›neutralised‹ them, I saved them – I wanted them to start again. I had every intention of not only neutralising them, but elevating them to semi-mythical status – if I’d have been allowed to write »The First Year 10 Manifesto« while sitting at them – they WOULD have attained semi-mythical status. But that was yesterday, and today I was expelled from ›The Year 10 Group‹.

Ludwig Wittgenstein (on Certainty), 2008, courtesy of Bortolami, New York

My Grandma died last night – last night being Friday, the 11th of December. I was at Nicky Verber’s flat when Dave called to tell me. Dave said: »I’m sorry ’coz I know you’re out… but you’d be mad at me if I didn’t tell you straight way… Nana’s just died«.

He’s very kind, my Dad.

And I know why he rang me straight away.

There used to be an old farmer who lived near us called Tom Barker… ›Uncle Tom‹ to us. He was this magnificent character: He always wore his old army beret and his gigantic chicken shit stained trousers were held up with orange twine… and his false teeth were never fully in his mouth. He was a local legend. A brilliantly funny man. When we were kids we used to go to his farm, he didn’t really want us to, but we loved hanging about there. He used to take us down the River Aire on his boat – the River Aire (when it gets to Goole) is a hideous fast flowing brown torrent – and Tom’s boat was always one leak short of being at the bottom of the river. When we went on Tom’s boat he’d give all us kids a pan or a bucket each and strategically position us near the leaks. We never got far, he’d usually do a couple of circles in the torrent then deliver us back to the safety of the muddy bank – declaring the voyage to be a triumph.

ANYWAY

When Uncle Tom died I was at college, I was away from home. Dave didn’t tell me about Tom’s death… I only found out two weeks after he’d been buried that he’d died (there’s a joke in there somewhere, but I can’t figure it out at the moment). I was mad at Dave for not telling me.

I think Dave remembered how upset I was that he hadn’t told me about Uncle Tom’s death, so he rang me straight away about Nana… knowing full well that I was at the Herald St Christmas Get Together.

Still, Dave did the right thing.

My Grandma was a television addict – I mean REALLY – she knew everything about television. She should have been the controller of the BBC. She would put the telly on as soon as she got up and she would sit all day watching every single programme until she went to bed. Once, when her telly was slightly on the blink, stuttering in and out of a fully clear channel, she got a second telly and sat it on top of the first. This meant she could watch them both together – PERFECT – she could watch two channels at once, even though one would flash up black static most of the time… she wasn’t bothered… it was bliss.

Nana didn’t just watch daytime junk – she, by accident rather than design, was a film buff of the highest order. If I went to see her and I said: »What you watching Nana?« ­ without hesitation or taking her eyes off the screen, she’d reply: »The Black Windmill… Michael Caine… 1974… directed by Don Siegel, I think… right load of rubbish«.

Just before she died, in the hospice, she had a bit of a revival – she had a bit of clarity. She woke up and said to my mum: »Put telly on, will you«. My mum turned on the TV and it was »Teletubbies«. My mum said to Nana: »You don’t want this on, do you?« Nana said: »Not really… but at least it’s a good picture… they can’t get ITV here«.

She was alright, Nana.

This is wrong of me and I hope my cousin doesn’t read this – but – my cousin Joanne has always had a bit of a weight problem, she’s always been pretty big. Just before Nana died our Joanne went round to see her. Nana mentioned Joanne’s weight.

It went something like this:

Nana: »Bloody hell! Have you put more weight on?«

Joanne: »Yeah… I can’t help it… it’s in my genes.«

Nana: »It’s not in your jeans, love… it’s hanging over top of ’em.«

Goodbye Eileen.

I grew up in a town called Goole – it’s a brilliant shit hole of a place – rough, nasty, poor… all the clichés of The North. But that’s not its defining characteristic – it’s really defined by the fantastic lunatics that live there. They make Goole what it is, they make it great. I left there when I was 19, but a part of me will be forever Goole (though I’d have preferred a part of me to be forever Manhattan or Biarritz).

Here are two examples that spring to mind:

FIRST EXAMPLE: E. FIRTH, WESTER RD, GOOLE

There’s an age eighty-something gentleman called Ernie Firth, who for the last fifty years has been writing a letter every week to the local paper (The Goole Times). His ability to mix world politics with the unfolding drama outside his living room window is quite remarkable – below are three examples of Mr Firth’s letters:

A. DISTURBING HEADLINES

Published on 28th December 2007

Sir - A rather disturbing headline: one fire crew for Goole! My late wife was rescued twice by fire crews, so I know how essential they are to the people of Goole. I wonder who thinks of these decisions. Who knows, probably fewer police next.

It seems millions of pounds are being spent on the inquest on the death of Princess Diana. Can’t they let her rest in peace?

E. Firth, Western Road, Goole

B. WELCOME BACK

Published on 8th January 2009

Sir – I’m glad to be back still, under difficulties, but I thought it was time to write a letter wishing you, your staff, readers and writers a happy and prosperous new year – hoping for better things to come.

Being out of touch for a bit, I was very surprised America had elected a black president.

E. Firth, Western Road, Goole

C. TIME TO BEAT THE TALIBAN

Published on 18th July 2009

I see two shops in Pasture Road seem to be re-opening.

Is that a good sign of the times?

But now to a more serious problem. More British soldiers have been killed by the Taliban in Afghanistan who now seem to be a big problem.

Where are the Taliban getting all their armaments from?

We beat the might of Germany twice, surely we can beat the Taliban.

E. Firth, Western Road, Goole

SECOND EXAMPLE: CUE GARY

In Goole there’s a well known lad called Cue Gary – it’s hard to describe Cue Gary without sounding insulting – so I won’t – I’ll just repeat a text message I received from my mate Simon the other day:

»AM STANDING OUTSIDE GOOLE TRAIN STATION – CUE GARY JUST WENT PAST ON A BICYCLE WITH NO CHAIN.«

P.S.: If you’re wondering why Cue Gary is called Cue Gary (and not just Gary) – it’s because for the last 25 years he’s carried a snooker cue around with him everyday. If I did a survey in Goole, I can can guarantee you that I would not be able to find anyone who as ever seen him without his snooker cue. On the other hand – neither I, nor anyone else I know has ever seen him playing snooker.