Dear Me, Scott King

A Homemade Cenotaph

November 11 is Remembrance Day or Poppy Day. So there are lots of people selling poppies, lots of marching bands and a huge memorial ceremony in London – all organised to show a mark of respect for those who have died in various conflicts across the ages. It started after World War 1, and the poppy was chosen as an emblem because of a poem called »In Flanders Fields« – the poem makes specific reference to the red poppies that bloomed across some of the worst battlefields in Flanders, and consequently the poppy became a symbol of remembrance.

Anyway, I was in Whitstable on the Kent coast when I spotted this improvised war memorial outside a church – people could buy a ›cross of remembrance‹ from a local shop and plant it on the memorial… unfortunately, the nearest shop was a butcher’s, so with no intended irony, someone from the church had made this sign:

A Homemade Cenotaph, 2009

MH: It all does look like a piece of art, doesn’t it? It somehow reminds me of photos I saw in Jeremy Deller’s »Folk Archive« book.

SK: Yes, as soon as I saw it, it reminded me of Jeremy Deller and Alan Kane’s »Folk Archive« – but there’s lots and lots of this stuff in Britain (as I’m sure there is in Germany), especially in towns like Whitstable. For example, I was in Faversham near Whitstable in September. Faversham is famous for it’s brewery and has been for hundreds of years. Every September they have the Hop Festival… so consequently you see things like this:

Faversham International Hop Festival, 2009

Anyway, enough of all that - Deller and Kane have cornered the market in Folk Art Re-Presenting… it’s not something I’m that fascinated by – I just liked the sad poetry of the homemade cenotaph.

While I’m talking memorials and re-presenting, here’s the bar chart I did called »The Dead« re-presented as a war memorial – I’ve called it »Proposal for a Transparent Monument«, it could go anywhere in Britain, any town. The chart only documents the deaths of British soldiers killed in Afghanistan up to 23rd September 2009, so it’d be out of date before it even got past the planning stages. Even if it was constantly redesigned to include the most recent deaths, it’d always and instantly be out of date until British troops left Afghanistan.

Proposal for a Transparent Monument, 2009 (Illustration by Matthieu Cortat)

I don’t know why I keep going on about war all the time. Let’s talk about something else.

Justin Yesterday

I bumped into an old friend yesterday – I said: »Fancy a quick pint?« He did, so we went to the pub five yards away. Now, I have to confess, I’d already had quite a few but I wasn’t drunk, I don’t think. Anyway, I bought us both a pint and we sat in the corner – as usual I asked him what he was up to: he’s a musician and was once in a funk-type band that did quite well. Then I asked him about our mutual friends, more his than mine, which is why I had to ask how they were.

Then I started talking, strange because I don’t know what I said, something utterly unmemorable probably. As I was talking I noticed that his eyes started to look skywards, and that he started guzzling his beer, eager to finish it.

Then something happened, he said: »Why do you always have to do this?«

I said: »What?«

He said: »Talk about the past, talk about yesterday«.

I said: »I don’t know«.

Actually, I did know, I only see him once a year, so the past seemed like a perfectly appropriate subject – in that I mean, we have no mutual tomorrow.

Then he said: »I can’t stand it, sorry, I’ve got to go«.

I said: »What you on about?«

He said: »You always call me a failed pop star and that«.

The thing is, I’d never mentioned him being a failed pop star – or perhaps I had, perhaps I’d said that last year when I bumped into him. Either way, I certainly didn’t say it yesterday.

He carried on swigging at his pint until the glass was almost empty – half standing up as he gulped it.

He said: »I can’t handle this« and looked towards the door.

I said: »Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll never speak to you again… if you prefer?«

He didn’t say anything, but slammed down his glass and walked straight out.

Then I thought: »Am I going mad… ? Do I say things without knowing it?«

I sat and finished my pint and tried to run through what had just happened, what I might have said to offend him. I talked about Percy, I talked about Tim, I said how much I liked Dave and how it’d be great to see him again. I said: »He’s an accountant now isn’t he… , Dave?« He probably said »Yes« – because Dave is an accountant, but he’s not an accountant ›now‹, he’s been an accountant for the last twelve years. Is this what upset him? Did I snarl or spit the word ›accountant‹ like it was comparable to being a War Criminal Child Molester?

Dave was an artist, part of the fabled Goldsmith’s generation. Did Justin presume that I thought myself an artist-super-hero simply because I am not an accountant?

I shall probably never know because it looks like the failed pop star will never speak to me again.

MH: »Fancy a quick pint?« is a phrase you often hear in Britian. Why the »quick«?

SK: Well, believe it or not, Martin, that’s an interesting question – »Fancy a quick pint?« is a phrase I would have used a lot in years gone by. If I bumped into someone I knew in Soho, Islington or wherever, I would inevitably ask them if they wanted to have a quick drink. Not anymore though, because nobody ever does. It’s fair to say that if I bump into an artist I know it’s about 60/40 that they won’t want to go for a pint – you know? – they might do, they might be persuaded, depends on who it is – some of them of course will leap at the chance, but most won’t. If I bump into a graphic designer I know it’s about 90/10 that they won’t want to go for a pint – they really really really don’t want to. Of course, it could just be that they don’t want to go for a pint with me, but I suspect it’s not that. The reason they don’t want to go for a casual drink is because it’s unprofessional. And there, Martin, is why I never wanted to be a graphic designer. Who wants to be professional? If I’d wanted to be a professional person I would have become a fucking radiotherapist.

So, »Fancy a quick pint« is a phrase that once had currency, but is now pretty pointless, at least in my world – the only people who ever usually fancy a quick pint are either broke (and know that I’ll buy them a drink) or they’ve got nothing better to do… or most likely, both.

MH: I think it’s inevitable to talk about the past when you meet old friends. I wasn’t present when you met Justin but I’m pretty sure that you didn’t say anything about him being a failed pop star.

SK: Talking about the past – well, I don’t know. Maybe it’s boring to most people, but I probably talk about the past more than the future. I know if I meet my very old friends, then we’ll always talk about the past, it’s enjoyable isn’t it? Even the most humiliating and depressing incidents become funny after enough time has passed – and good friends love to remind you of humiliating incidents – well, mine do anyway. With Justin Yesterday, I suppose I could have offended him in the past, fuck knows – it might just have been his incredibly elaborate way of not having to buy me a pint back.

MH: Do you think that Justin envies you? This would be funny because you yourself don’t really think that you’re a famous, successful artist, don’t you? Maybe it would help Justin to read our blog?

SK: No, I don’t think he envies me at all, there is nothing to envy – I think he just thinks I’m an arsehole – a reminiscing arsehole at that. He can read it if he wants – I don’t care really – not in a callous way, I just don’t care for people being that sensitive, I can’t be bothered with all that, it’s too modern and pathetic.

MH: To finish this: the »fabled Goldsmith’s generation« - who were they, were you part of them and is there a new generation of young British artists now who you find interesting?

SK: Well the ›Fabled Goldsmith’s Generation‹ are the YBAs… the artists who came to prominence in the early 1990s: Damien Hirst, Sarah Lucas, Angus Fairhurst, Angela Bulloch, Gary Hume – there’s lots of them.

Good God, Man! No, I wasn’t one of them; I’m not even fabled in my own home. Also, I’d like to point out that they’re all a lot older then me. I’m not forty yet! They’re nearer fifty – so obviously, the YBA moniker needs to be reconsidered (and has needed to be for the last decade).

As far as younger British artists go who I find interesting, I don’t know really. Mathew Sawyer is a very interesting artist and quite crackers, I’d recommend people look him up and listen to his band Mathew Sawyer and the Ghosts – but mostly, I tend to prefer people who died some time ago, they’re easier to admire.

Before I go – I saw this the other day:

Two young people dressed in matching tops and in love, they had their arms wrapped around one another, they seem to have argued and then made up, they were surrounded by shopping bags from Tesco. When they began to walk home - I followed them… this was the ultimate in Convenience Stalking… it turned out they live on my street.

Young Vomit Inducing Love, 2009