Ooh look is that Ai WeiWei over there? coo-ee
My loyal followers I am sorry that I did not speak to you last week. My secretary/bodyguard/ general-wuss-about-town Grayson was taking his daughter to university and he got all upset and I couldn’t work with him what with all that mascara running down his face and whatnot so I gave him the weekend off. When he got back he was recounting how it felt like she was being inducted into a tribe. ‘On arrival at the college we were met by a swarm of students ready to help carry bags and direct her to her room. It felt like south sea islanders in canoes coming out to meet Captain Cook’ he said. ‘The deafening rock music, the student dressed as the college mascot, the notice saying ‘PARENTS’ pointing to the exit, it all said ‘she’s ours now’, it is the nearest we have to a coming of age ritual for non religious middle class families’.
This got me thinking about rituals in our modern world. You humans like a ritual but here in the British Isles there don’t seem to be enough. One annual pagan festival is fast approaching, and I don’t mean the kitsch trash-fest with organized begging that is Halloween. No the festival I am thinking of is Frieze Art Fair, the nearest West London has to a village fete. Next week a better-educated breed of estate agents will lure in the world’s rich people who own all those big empty minimalist white houses used in DFS adverts. Everyone will parade round a giant plastic tent and look for something that will remind them why they fell in love with c’tempryar in the first place.
The ritual jig starts well before the official VVIP opening at 11 am on Wednesday. It is rumoured that some collectors disguise themselves as technicians or gallery staff to get a peek in and put first dibs on a choice piece, sweet! Once in full swing this Louboutin-heeled folk dance consists of a first wave sporting international tans and security details being whisked round by art consultants like Victorian specimen hunters and their native guides. This so-discreet-it-is-almost-bad-taste show of wealth is followed by various descending levels of art lover until the hoi poloi are let in to the shop at £25 a pop on Thursday. It all has shades of The Bath Pump Room in Jane Austen’s day mixed with an arms trade fair.
I am getting terribly excited because my voice will at last be heard on the BBC!!!!! On Monday I will be going in to broadcasting house to record a few snippets to be inserted into a radio programme Grayson made of our trip to Germany. I apologise in advance about my accent, I have humble beginnings. I will keep you posted as to transmission times.
Cheerio
AM
