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| Trickery Brick-by-Brickery |
EXTERIOR: “From the knees of my toes… to
the belly of my nose”, I thought as I walked. No -- not that, not quite. “From
the knees of my… nose to the belly of my toes.” There, that was it, its proper
title. I turned it over in my mind again as I walked past the end of Godwin
Road where it stood, sloping. It stands and it slips, but it doesn’t all
together move. Within the shot of one quick glance, if you are not looking,
there is a chance, you might not see. I glanced and walked on to the Walpole
Bay Hotel. It was here that I was to meet its creator, Alex Chinneck.
INTERIOR: Alex had just finished
breakfast when I arrived. He sat comfortably in the centre of a puckered, dark
teal sofa. He greeted me warmly; we could have been in a living room, someone
else’s living room of course. Alex deals in exteriors. The characteristic
clutter of The Walpole had arranged itself, a silent, unassuming audience. I
perched opposite, a plate clean of breakfast loitered on the table between. A
splodge of ketchup and stirrings in the grease remained. “I love this place”, he grinned.
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| The door, I saw, was somehow on the floor |
First
off, Alex had a question for me: “So,
what’s the general gist of your project?” We began with an excursion into
the conversations that had preceded this one. I told him about my first conversation
and of Ron Scott’s expansive emporium of junk and treasures. This elicited a
confession from Alex. “I’m sink-less” he
said, suddenly shamefaced, “do you think
they sell sinks?” “He might have a sink, I’m not sure, he specialises in
the unusual…” I said. By way of background to my obvious bewilderment at his
‘sinktuation’, Alex explained (referring to his home in Hackney): “when I
rented out one of the studios downstairs, […] I promised them a sink and then
they were moving in that afternoon, so I ripped out the sink from upstairs and gave
it to them.” This was just the beginning of Alex’s tendency to give away
the fabric of buildings. However, exteriors, as I said, are his speciality.
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| 'art to enchant' |
An
exchange of who we knew and how we knew them in Margate led to an excursion to
Hackney, where, for Alex it all started. Hackney were the first of many, many,
many councils he approached about the sliding house; the structure that now
stands and slips but doesn’t altogether move at 1 Godwin Road. And yet, Alex
stressed, “with all due respect to them, they
had no interest in being involved.” Alex’s frustrations with the
infrastructure that public art has to correspond with frothed to the fore. Exciting
public art, in Alex’s view, was that which wasn’t “knocked around and refined and polished for what people believe the
public will feel relatively comfortable with.” The notion of relative
comfort seemed to sit uncomfortably with him. For an artist who unsettles and
challenges expectations, this was unsurprising. In order to enthral and excite,
there was a sense that the artist must work outside of public expectation and
hence outside of its infrastructure. Yet, for Alex, working in cooperation with
its infrastructure is an imperative, and something he does dutifully. The
extraordinary nature of his work was only just beginning to emerge. He
relented, “I sound really angry, I’m not
– it’s the sausages, I think.” I laughed.
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| Stand and Slip: SHOWS DAILY, a non-ticketed performance |
The
journey from there to here intrigued me. Alex, living in London, had stressed
that his instinct was to start close to home, hence, Hackney. Spanning to
London more broadly was an obvious transition: “I’m so conscious of this kind of energy within London, and there being
such an audience in London […] As an artist who makes public art work, you
know, I’m not a show off – but my practice is a bit of a show off, and so
London provides the perfect […] the perfect home for this pieces…” As a
result, he had written to “every single
regeneration officer slash cultural officer” and every planning officer of
every single borough across London – “I
think it's 33 boroughs” he said. “So, why Margate?” I had asked, beginning
to feel that from the exterior, looking inwards, his choice of location was
surprising and perhaps, a little accidental. Alex’s explanation was not a
straightforward one, primarily because his journey to Margate hadn’t been. ‘The
ask’ of wherever he was to situate his structure, was only one of many layers
of its out of the ordinariness. He said frankly “You know, I needed a house, and that was the hard thing. Someone had
to give me the building for free, or at least the temporary use of the building
without charge, and also, we had to rip the front off of that building […] and
that was a really big favour to ask.”
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| Gathering crowds |
When
I said the sink was just the beginning, I meant it. Having designed the artwork alongside a structural engineer, the next stage was procuring the
materials. Alex made a shopping list. “I
went to hundreds of companies across the UK to get donations, so every single
material…” “What so, like bricks?” “Bricks.
I mean that was about £15,000 of bespoke brickwork.” “Oh my god!” “That was made for me and given to me for
free. Every single material, every single service was donated by British industry and Construction.” Stage
one was complete: he had all the means to build the sloping house, but nowhere
to build it. As weeks went on, rejection letters began to stack up. Offers of
various buildings also mounted, but nothing was quite right. Not interesting
enough. Not surprising enough. Not tall enough. Not short enough. Mainly, not
surprising enough. “It felt like, if I
did this in London, it would just be another one of those things in London…”
Responsibility weighed, with the extensive donations that had been sent his
way, Alex stressed “the package began to
feel like a potential gift to the area, you know, whatever it was – people
write £100,000 – it wasn’t that much, but it wasn’t far off.” Suddenly,
there was the potential to situate his work in an area where it would really
mean something, where it would be culturally exciting and relevant and
stimulating. This is where Margate came in.
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| Passing for observance (defined) |
“Margate, was really on the tip of
everyone’s tongue in terms of cultural regeneration and momentum, and in
regards to that momentum, I was excited by the possibility of contributing to
it.” From an aesthetic point of view, Alex’s sliding house had to keep
company with a selection of fatigued buildings. Alex’s work has a tendency to
surprise, to spark a reaction, or in the very least a quizzical face from its
audience upon the drawing of the curtains. Hence, ‘an audience’ was essential.
The Turner Contemporary had galvanised and afforded Margate a crowd of
spectators. So he came, for the third time in his life, for a tour with a local
historian. Up and down many Margate streets they went - until they found it. The
one. Looking from the outside inwards Alex found ‘love at first sight’ at 1 Godwin
Road. It was a house which was hoisted by an intrinsically negative history:
derelict for 11 years, fire damaged, vandalised, home to drug users, but Alex
saw something else. “It was located close
to the sea […] the road was a wide pavement so it allowed for spectators. It
was the next stage along from the station […] There’d be a journey to it, like
a kind of mini pilgrimage almost […] it was all kind of fatigued and not quite
polished and relatively eclectic […] I mean it was just it, it had to be it.”
Needless to say, situating his work in a different place meant a whole new
level of responsibility to a whole new audience. Alex confessed, that going
back to the drawing board after his visit to Margate meant he had to ask
himself new questions: “Months of
searching had come to that moment […] but I had a whole new challenge to think
about, as to whether it was a healthy contribution.”
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| Spectacle |
Alex
creates work to be seen, whether you elect to or not. The likelihood is, if you
are passing, you will see. That the Turner Contemporary and insurgence of culture
in Margate had brought him an audience, led me to ask “What do you think the
relevance is for taking art out of the gallery, particularly for somewhere
that’s regenerating, in as much as it's relevant to have a gallery?” Alex’s
interests in theatre, in spectacle and in the construction industry, mean that
for him, his work is less likely to ‘belong’ in the white space of a gallery
and more in the exterior, in the outside world. Not least because of the size
of his imaginings
– “I’m guilty I suppose
of using size, and physical spectacle to provide real simple pleasures”, he
said earnestly. In this sense, by taking his art out of the gallery and
acknowledging his responsibility as a public artist, a multitude of audiences
were to be considered.
“Lots of people
choose not to go to galleries […] and there’s so many residents of Margate that
are unquestionably aware of Turner Contemporary but that have never been in
it.” His excitement at the potential of getting public art ‘right’, and
encouraging people to look at art, and walk through the door of the gallery was
manifest. Alex stressed the power of culture as a tool for regeneration and a
particularly powerful one for Margate:
“I
think ultimately it will save Margate,” he said. Public art and getting it
right is Alex’s forte. 1 Godwin Road, and the resultant dialogue and daily
street-side spectators that it has invoked is testimony to that.
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| An interval |
I
had been from the beginning, but was now even more curious about the title and
its role in the fabric of his work. “Ok, with the title of it, which is quite
intriguing… what’s the thought behind that, and did that come after or before?”
“From the knees of my nose to the belly
of my toes…” Alex pronounced it effortlessly.
“Kind of during” he said. The administrational responsibility when
undertaking this level of construction is huge. Pre-planning is essential,
boxes have to be ticked. In effect, Alex’s titles are an opportunity for
abstraction amongst the essentials. However, the way the title hangs together
is not empty of construction:
“I really
like the rhythm of it, you know […] nose and toes worked nicely. But its this
idea of I guess […] a distorted figure, I don’t know it was like a sit-up you
know […] originally the title was something like the kind of ‘drainpipe to
the…’, it was architectural components.” Directing people to what they were
seeing, was not appealing to Alex. Encouraging them to think outside of what
they saw was. He, openly, added more layers of construction to his idea
: “So, I started thinking of this idea of
you know, all art starts with a pencil, all artists begin with a pencil.”
Alex held an imaginary pencil out, as if his innate practice were to get the
better of him, in the end.
“I started
thinking about the process of life drawing [...] and I thought it would be nice
to link this structure to the human body.” I confessed, that I had become
more absorbed in the ‘playful’ element of it and that seeing the work and
learning of its title had directed my thoughts towards childhood stamps and
shouts of ‘head shoulders knees and toes’. Alex, receptive and enthused;
“heads, shoulders, knees and toes? That’s
lovely. You know its that kind of thing, that kind of rhythm you know – almost
like a song.”
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| Applause rose, resounded: the curtain fell. |
Our
conversation had to come to a close at some point. Breakfast had lingered a
little too long. In chewing over the multiple receptions that the sliding house
had received, one thing that came to light was the criticism so often levied at
artists who do not stich every stitch or lay every brick of their work. Who,
then, is the maker? “Do people ever say that to you?” I asked.
“Yep, I’m constantly under attack,” said
Alex, we laughed. The main criticism is that he doesn’t make the work himself,
the problem is that he physically and legally cannot, and the answer:
“you shouldn’t limit the freedom of your
imagination to the realms of your physical and technical capability, that is
ludicrous. We’re so beyond that now.” He is on site, every, hour of every
day of construction:
“I work seven days a
week – 15 – 18 – sometimes 20 hour days – I’m 28 and my body hurts a lot”.
His position on site, allows him to tweak where needed, as a painter might a
painting. He acknowledged a level of discomfort in churning art out,
repeatedly, mechanically – when it becomes a factory line. Though, he conceded
“I get it when making is used to facilitate
bigger projects – so I don’t mind making 5 sliding houses – if it allows me to
make a spaceship – there – that’s the strategy.” Watch this space. It is
unquestionable that Alex is a giver of constructions, he is also a giver of
himself: relentless in his making, pursuing perfection in its finish. He
conceives and executes the perceivably impossible. That the work stands, or
indeed slides, as testament to this, somehow seems apt for Margate’s
regeneration: determination proving worthy opponent for the seemingly
impossible. Alex’s sloping house has undoubtedly been a ‘gift’ to 1 Godwin
Road.
EXTERIOR: 1
Godwin Road, its creator had returned, armed with a paintbrush. His work was in
need of a touch up.
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