Dear Me, Scott King

Earl Brutus promotional poster, 1998 (rejected by Island Records)

Tubular Bells 6, oil and acrylic on canvas, 2009

Self Portrait as a Pie Chart on the Verge of Collapse, 2004

»Dan’s ›Lego Ronald McDonald‹ crucifixion piece can go… there. Tim and Sarah’s ›BOMBS KILL‹ neon text piece should definitely go… here. Mathieu’s bronze ›Estate Girl with Pushchair‹ statue will look fantastic… by the door«.

Lol was whizzing around his gallery, pointing at various empty spaces, »Has the ›Estate Girl‹ piece arrived yet?«

»Yeah, well… no. But it’s coming this afternoon.«

»Excellent. Did he do it life-sized in the end?«

»No. He couldn’t afford to.«

»Oh shame… how high is it then?«

»Twelve inches.«

»Oh dear… does it work at that size?«

»Yeah, it looks err… amazing.«

»Brilliant! So, then… really… Annabel’s tampon wedding bouquet should go right here, on a plinth. A black plinth of course.«

»Yeah, that’ll look good.«

»Has she got a title for it yet?«

»Yeah, ›Lil-lets of the Valley‹«.

»Oh gorgeous. She’s so facking smart. That’s it then, finito! That’s everything, right?«

»Yeah, that’s it.«

Lol and Anthony paused for a moment and looked around the empty gallery. Each imagining what the new show would look like.

»Oh, fack!«, Lol slapped himself on the forehead, «I thought that was too easy… we’ve got to show that guy’s film piece.«

»What?«

»The film piece… that awful documentary thing about the minimum wage… or whatever it is.«

Anthony looked at Lol blankly.

»GOD, ANTHONY!… that facking bore-fest by that moron, James? Justin?«

»Erm… Julian. You mean Julian. Oh, shit… oh my God.«

»Don’t panic Anthony! We’ll squeeze it in… much as I’d like not to… It’s facking coma-inducing.«

»Oh, fuck. Lol, I…«

»Anthony… darling… calm down. We’ll put it in the bathroom if we have to. God, you are so melodramatic!«

»Lol. I’m sorry… I forgot all about him.«

»Yes, me too, but we’ll squeeze his bore-u-rama in somewhere. I told Amie to order the smallest monitor she could.« Lol giggled. »People will hardly notice it. It can go behind the bookcase or somewhere.«

»No, I mean. I forgot all about him.«

»What?«

»Lol, I completely forgot we were showing him. I haven’t put his name on the invitations, the press release, the website… anything.«

»Oh.«

»I’m sorry.«

»FACK!«

»I’m really sorry, Lol.«

»You know why we were showing him, don’t you?«, Lol could barely contain his fury. He gripped onto the back of an Eames Eiffel Tower chair and started to hyper-ventilate. »YOU FACKING IMBECILE, ANTHONY!«

»I’m sorry Lol. I know…«

»We were showing him because Max James recommended that we show him.  Which is as good as saying that we had to, IF we want to stay in his favour. HELLO! Max James. HELLO! – The most powerful curator in London – HELLO ANTHONY! ARE YOU IN THERE?«, Lol rapped his sweaty white knuckles hard on Anthony’s forehead.

»Lol, I’m…«

»… a facking useless POT ADDICT! Jesus Christ. Where are the invites? We’ll have to re-do them. Are they still at the printers?«

»No. They were sent out last week.«

»YOU CANT!« Lol laid down on the floor, closed his eyes and started doing the relaxation exercises that his therapist had taught him. Eventually he calmly replied: »Then, I have no choice. I simply can’t show him. Thanks very much, Anthony.«

»But, we can still show him… can’t we?«

»NO. I am not about to risk my reputation by sending out invites that are not absolutely representative of the show. It’s unprofessional. I’ll have to drop him. I HAVE dropped him.«

»Please… Lol… what about Max James?«

»FACK HIM, TOO!« Lol started to hyper-ventilate again.

»Lol. Please, you don’t want to upset Max.«

»OH FACK HIM! I’m sick of being told whom I should or shouldn’t show.«

»But… this is suicide.«

»FOR FACK’S SAKE! This is a show about political art. About fighting back.  About standing up to THE MAN. About standing up for what one believes in. If Max can’t see that, then… HE’S A FOOL!«

»Lol. I don’t think you should say things like that«.

»I’ll say what I bloody well like.« Lol wiped his dribbling nose with the back of his hand, »My decision is MADE. You’ve made it for me, ANTHONY! That’s the END of the matter. Now come on. Get to work. You’ve got a lot to do before the opening: which IS tomorrow night, in case you’d FACKING forgotten that as well.«

An Unfortunate Alignment (Version 1), 2009, courtesy Herald St, London (Photography: Neil Drabble)

MH: Why is Lenin wearing a Devo hat?

SK: Well, technically he’s not wearing a Devo hat – it’s a Devo hat (or ›Energy Dome‹, if you prefer) turned into a lampshade. Then, as you can see, the Lenin bust is placed below it… the height of the lampshade suggesting it is a hat… but it isn’t. It’s attached to a cable that has a light bulb on the end of it. So it definitely was a hat, and is definitely now a lampshade. I was originally going to call this »An Unfortunate Arrangement« or »An Unfortunate Alignment«… but it seems to have become called »Revo/Devo«. ›Revolution‹ and ›De-evolution‹: An immediate and dramatic change in power structure, and the (Devo) concept of the human race regressing, respectively.

So, in some ways the ›unfortunate alignment‹ is accurate: two seemingly contrasting acts or concepts almost coming together as a unified object: Lenin almost in a Devo hat… or Lenin under a Devo lampshade.

You know what? I’m going to call it »An Unfortunate Alignment«. I prefer that title, I’m sure people can work the ›Revolution/De-evolution‹ part out for themselves.

MH: Where did get the Lenin bust from?

SK: It’s one of many that litter my house… I’ve stopped doing the ›re-branded‹ Lenin and Marx busts.

MH: How did you make the Devo hat?

SK: Well, the hat/›Power Dome‹ is a piece of flimsy junk that I bought on eBay from LA… It cost about £40 including postage and it’s the most badly made shitty thing you can imagine. It was made in China. I waited in London for a replica »Devo Power Dome« that was made in China to arrive from LA so I could turn it into a lampshade and place it above a once meaningful plaster bust that I also bought on eBay from the Ukraine. Is there a term for this yet? It’s a modern type of ›junk art‹, isn’t it? Unlike Robert Rauschenberg heroically searching the streets of Manhattan for stuffed goats in the 1950s: I sit here on eBay ordering utterly worthless shite from all over the world, paying for it on PayPal and collecting it from the postman at my front door.

Scott King, Airmyn, nr Goole, East Yorkshire, August 1986

Scott King’s school report, February 1987

There have been times, when I’m doing quite well, that I look at this school report and laugh. I think: »Mr Thornton, you fucking tit… How wrong you were«. Then there are other times, like now, when I’ve just had a show cancelled and it seems I couldn’t even give my work away, that I think: »Mr Thornton, I’m sorry. I should have listened to you when I was seventeen«.

All in all, however you see it, Mr Thornton’s words were horribly prophetic.

The ginger twat.

Outsider Heroes, 2009

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 will be co-credited.

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

»Untitled«, 2009

Click image to enlarge