Why are we Artists? |
Jonathan Monk — The plan for the book is to have two or three interviews: you and I, Richard Wright, if he answers my first question this year, and Thomas Demand . . . perhaps? Then some unanswered questions from Ed Ruscha, John Baldessari and Daniel Buren. It is starting to sound over complicated already and I have yet to mention Frédéric Paul’s text. We should approach it very simply, quick and easy as my grandfather would say . . . And maybe I should start with a question: Why are we artists? We should continue so. David Shrigley — I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Why are we artists? Perhaps because neither of us was good enough to become a professional footballer. Though I seem to remember you were more into athletics. Do you think you could have made it if you’d just played football and not done all that cross country running? J.M. — You are really supposed to be asking the questions and you can start again if you’d like . . . I am pretty sure I would not have made it in any league. In any case I would have retired now and be managing non-league. D.S. — All things considered I’m glad I’m an artist. Footballers are a bunch of morons. J.M. — I was never convinced by what I painted and perhaps I didn’t believe in it when I got to Glasgow? We were young and restless . . . and not footballers! It is difficult to say what would have happened if I continued to push color around and around. I now think the only thing that stayed with me after art school was the idea of context. What and where things are placed in relationship to other things in the world. And I am not sure painting can deal with this thought over and over again. Funnily enough this interview will appear in a publication that presents a series of paintings that were made for me by professional sign painters. The paintings state their ideal position in the world, where they could or should end up. ‘Opposite’, ‘to the right of’, ‘above’, ‘below’ works by other artists. Most of them have found the correct home, which is in fact, hard to believe . . . When you make something for an exhibition are you interested in where it might end up? On someone’s wall or under the bed or on top of the wardrobe, etc. What happens to all the stuff we (artists) produce? D.S. — In terms of where my things end up, one of the things that has started to concern me is what is art and what is me just messing around. It seems that every creative thing I do has the potential to be art, doodling on the phone, graffiti on the wall, etc. It seems to spoil the fun somehow. Once I’ve decided something is art I guess there are another set of decisions to be made as to how and where to display it and then perhaps who might purchase it and where they might put it. Your work has always acknowledged it’s position as art and has often had fun with that position. One of my favourite works of yours was a piece you made at Nicolai Wallner’s Gallery in Copenhagen, quite a few years ago now, where you spilt a glass of red wine on a light-colored expensive carpet. I loved the idea that if a collector bought this work you would just go around to their house and spill a glass of wine wherever they liked. Did you ever get to do that? J.M. — I agree, it is sometimes difficult to understand where it (art) all begins and ends. It is probably our job to make these simple decisions and I am always interested in this factor . . . Is it or is it not or can it or can it not be? This is something that has been dealt with within the art world for some time and I guess the unanswerable question keeps us all going . . . I am trying to guess the name of a collector’s grandmother. This process may or may not be art. The work is complete when I guess correctly, a possible life time of incorrect attempts at finding the name. It is strange to be involved directly with a collector in such a (personal) way. I have made a number of things that can only be realized when someone else decides they want them to be realized. The red wine piece may have been made a number of times by accident, but never on a collector’s living room floor. I’ll speak to Nicolai about it again, maybe it is time to re-invent the work . . . Maybe we just see things a little bit differently than other people, or we believe we do? D.S. — How do you feel about being involved with collectors? Whilst I’ve met people who I like who collect my work I wouldn’t go out of my way to meet them in the first place. For me it’s too much exposure to the business end of the art world which is something I’d rather let others deal with (as most artists do, I’d imagine). You acknowledge the business of buying and selling your work as the subject of some pieces. It’s as if you like getting your hands dirty? J.M. — I actually try and avoid getting my hands dirty, but I know what you mean. My involvement with collectors, etc. is minimal and it is only important to me when it becomes part of a piece. I am trying to guess the name of one collector’s grandmother and this is a strange and even personal relationship, but still quite distant and abstract. I send a letter each week with a new name a new attempt and it is probably a life time of failure . . . Who knows? Similar projects involve sending postcards to various places from various other places. I recently met a Mexican collector at Piccadilly Circus as an art work@. Most of these pieces are straight forward. Their only problematic is their undefined duration. Most of the collectors I have met are very creative and enjoy working with me on various different projects. I avoid the dirty part of the transaction that is generally in the hands of others. It is interesting to see how things have changed for me. Certain ideas have only become possible in recent years. This, I guess, is the same for you too? I guess our lives as artists have changed a great deal since we lived on Bentinck Street. There are a lot more possibilities now. I’m trying to make the most of it. D.S. — I think these widening possibilities are a lot to do with self-confidence. I think to make ideas-based art of the kind that you make requires a lot of self-confidence. There seems to be a lot of risk involved, or at least a great many variables. The artwork reveals itself in public. This is something I’ve never felt comfortable doing myself. I always like things finished when they leave the studio. J.M. — Glasgow in recent years has managed to sustain the careers of quite a number of artists, this though is a recent development in the city. When I left Glasgow in 1997 there was all but nothing happening in the private gallery scene. When we studied at the art school there was no pressure from the gallery system and I think this was a great relief for us, even if we were not aware of the situation. I entered art school with no thought of what I would do afterwards and am still surprised today how everything worked out. Have things changed a great deal in the last few years? D.S. — I think you’re right when you say it was a relief. Whilst the growing commercial scene is obviously a good thing, it does create some very powerful players whose opinions have a large impact on the kind of art that gets made, or at least what gets shown. I think that artist-run spaces have become a lot less important for people from outside the city, and this isn’t such a good thing. Artist-run spaces are important because they are democratic. It’s good to have five young artists on a committee deciding an exhibition program rather that one professional gallerist. I guess people coming out of art school today are a lot more aware of the opportunities out there. When we left art school I don’t think either of us really thought we would ever be in the position we are in now, or that such a position was possible? J.M. — Let me know if you think we are heading in any kind of direction and if you think any of this is interesting . . . D.S. — I think this interview is going OK. We shouldn’t think too hard about going in one particular direction. It’s better to just chat. There should be some interesting stuff to edit down at the end. The only problem is I’m not sure who is interviewing who. Anyway . . . J.M. — My mother mentioned that she had seen you on TV taking pictures with your mobile phone in and around Leicester. She is always happy to see that we are able and allowed to be artists . . . Still not sure she understands how and why it is possible. I have involved my family in the production of a number of projects and try to fully explain the meaning and ideas behind the work, but still it is unclear as to whether all or only part is misunderstood. This normally only adds to the (complex) relationship between my art and my family. Is what you do understood and appreciated by your family? D.S. — God, I can’t believe so many people saw that show. It was on BBC4. I thought I was the only one who watched BBC4. I had a documentary made about me on Channel 4 a couple of years ago (very embarrassing) which proved to be a real turning point in my folks appreciation of what I did. The documentary answered a lot of questions for them (who I am and what I do). I think they are proud that I’m famous enough to be on the telly. I guess you have to find your common ground in getting along with your parents. Our common ground is certainly not Contemporary Art, but at least now they know what it is. It must be quite a strange thing for your family to have been so directly involved with your work. I imagine it really forces them to take it onboard. J.M. — It does seem strange that TV or film tends to captivate the eye of the viewer and their respect much more than a painting hanging in the local museum. Fine art does appear to have lost its grip on the mind of the public, which is not such a bad thing. What might be interesting is the crossover between art and the other arts . . . film, music, fashion, design, etc, etc. I have not been involved directly with the film or music industry in my work, even though I have used both in one way or another. I am standing outside of this more mainstream cultural vernacular. You have been involved directly with music video and TV, what has your experience been and how has it made you think about what you really do/make? You have also been involved with artist book publishing for some time. You became interested in spreading ideas via the printed page almost immediately after art school. I think more and more artists are finding cheap and simple ways of making there work available to a wider public. Recently I have also made a number of small publications, books, postcards, badges, bookmarks, etc. and am always interested in finding new ways of getting the ideas out there. One easy way of opening up a world to millions of people is the Internet, have you made anything on www? I did once and hated it . . . It just seems impersonal and lacks any of the quality inherent in books and or similar . . . D.S. — I think that being involved in the mainstream is both good and bad. It’s good because it’s flattering to be asked and a lot of people get to see what you do (and hopefully like it) and it’s bad because there are so many constraints, so many people telling you what you can and can’t do. Do you think you would do a pop video or something like that if you were asked? I think a good artist can work in any medium. My experience of the web is perhaps similar to yours. The first few things I was asked to do I hated. I hate that ‘new media’ tag that gets put on it. It’s like when artists play music or football it’s somehow seen as different from when other people do it, or at least the intent is seen as being different. Once I got my own web site I started to appreciate the possibilities of the Internet. Having a web site is very practical but is also a great environment to place and create work. The important thing is to do it on your own terms. It begs the question “why don’t you have a web site?” Even my Dad has a web site. I’d imagine a lot of the things that you make to do with direct interactions with people would work really well on your own site. I guess that the ‘ephemera’ that you produce and send through the post serves the same function as disseminating things on the Internet. I agree with you that it’s vastly preferable to get something through the post rather than an e-mail. Objects are nice, but as our friend David Bellingham says ‘Ideas leave objects standing’. Speaking of books I still have that book we made together at art school about James Dean. You bound it in blue denim. I still play music with Martin Young. He has become a master of ‘Logic Pro’ so he can put sounds to my rambling spoken word nonsense. Changing the subject I have a question that I really want to ask you: Most of your early work was very sarcastic, perhaps ‘punk rock’ in its attitude. You were quite irreverent to the world of art, which was mostly your subject matter. Then after your Dad died you suddenly started making work which very sincere, using images of your family. It seems that the two very different strands still exist in your work side by side. They are like Jekyll and Hyde almost. I’m sure that after you are gone and your œuvre is complete the art writers of the future will devote many chapters to this event in your career. I’m sure you are very aware of this and how it makes an overview of your work quite complicated. J.M. — There was a giant switch in ideas and attitudes when my father died, it was also a time when I was living in Los Angeles without the escapist pursuits that Glasgow had on offer. The memory of my father became a way of dealing with the loss, Farewell to Faraway Friends 1. My fathers things (photos, slides, drawings, etc.) became a way for me to look at my past (directly), and at once I realised that almost everyone has images hidden away in an old box that trigger emotions of one kind or another. It became possible for me to work with this close related personal history in an open way. Hoping that it was accessible to wider audience, but also understanding the full possibility of misunderstanding what was being presented. The viewers misunderstanding of my ideas have never really been an issue for me. Most of what I make requires a certain amount of added information and this is often told by a different teller, the stories are sometimes made easy and other times more complicated. The art I encountered on the West Coast also seemed more personal and poetic. My life changed completely . . . But punk rock never dies. It just gets tired and finds another way (visibly less aggressive) to attack the system . . . stolen post cards sent to you without postage. Would I make a music video if asked? Probably, but I can’t imagine it would be very exciting. Maybe a boring video could have functioned some years ago, but the market has changed a great deal and I am pretty sure what I would propose could sell not music. Perhaps some obscure Japanese punk band, but that is your territory. I made a small project recently for a web site, you clicked on my name and the page displayed the sentence “Jonathan Monk is not available, please try again later”. I never did become available. As a structure to pass on information quickly it can not be beaten, but I think I missed the www boat, I prefer to queue at the post office with the other old timers. Did you see or hear of a puppet show called Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty by Dan Graham, Rodney Graham and Tony Oursler? If you didn’t see it, you should try, it is something you would like. D.S. — I guess there is a tendency to want to see an artist’s œuvre (I don’t really like this word but I can’t think of another one) as something very reasoned, the evolution of which can be understood and explained. The evolution of your work is not so easy to explain other than that something happened in your life and you responded to it. I can imagine that I am not the first person to ask you about it. I know this is a pretty lame journalist-type question, but what do you think you would have been if you weren’t an artist? Also, do you feel you’ve made any of your most important works yet? Or are you still building up to it? By this perhaps I mean is there a piece that you would like to make on a much larger scale than you have not previously had the means to realize? J.M. — Who am I and what do I do? I guess that has been a problem in the past . . . Where do I fit in to a curators/art historians thoughts . . . has the world changed or have I changed . . . Do I do this or that or everything at the same time, there is no ultimate plan or path that I follow. Circumstance is a major factor and sometimes half the work. My position in the art world appears to have recently changed and now I can almost fit in to any kind of show, which I like. I am generally pleased to be involved in interesting projects large or small. There has also been a change in what I produce, but I often rethink and play with ideas of my recent past, develop them slightly, focus on one thing. It is always interesting for things to be slightly confusing, is it even my work anymore? Next month I am presenting a book by another artist (Donald Burgy) in the Baltic Triennial each day a page will be turned and when the end is reached, we start at the beginning again and after the show I put the book back on the shelf. Have I made my best work or biggest? I hope not. Big work, I guess means important and I think that it is hopefully too early to say. Some of the things that are not shown might be more important than the things that are shown, but who knows? What would I do if I was not an artist? Difficult, because I am not sure I am really qualified to do anything. What I would like to do is nothing and that would quite quickly turn into something and what that something would be I am not sure. D.S. — I like the idea of turning the pages of someone else’s book. It would be nice to do the same thing with a porno mag. Circumstance is half the work. Is that the same as ‘the context is half the work’? I suspect it is a little different. Your work seems to always exist as art, in the context of the gallery or art publication. Have you ever made work which could be seen as something else? Something more interventional and public. Something without the art tag. Who’s your favourite artist right now? One of mine is Andreas Slominski. J.M. — I make a lot of work that is never seen and that does almost fall out of the art category. But I agree, it is, at times difficult to separate what I do from art and art from what I do. Who is my favourite artist at this time? This depends on the weather and today’s list reads so: Wilson, Boetti, Barry, Penone, Paolini. I was once at a small dinner party in Berlin with Slominski and he said he was a sculptor and he was introduced only as Andreas. I didn’t know he was who he was, which now makes his work appear even more appealing. I like the stupidity of it, washing the roof tiles of an entire house in it’s dishwasher and then replacing them. Do you collect or trade with other artists? I have managed to pull together a number of things in one way or another. Above my desk is a drawing by Sol LeWitt from 1971, a Boetti drawing from 1984 and a photograph of Ed Ruscha balancing six of his books on his head by Gerry McMillan. Collecting has become part of my project, mainly books and invites. You make a lot of books, do you collect other peoples books? D.S. — I met Slominski one time as well. He seemed like a good guy. I have fond memories of your ‘cancelled’ piece. It was brilliantly simple. Sometimes, I feel like I’ve exhausted all the simple stuff and most of what I make now is more complicated, maybe because I’m much more aware of the context in which it exists. Do you know what I mean? Perhaps you could have only made the ‘cancelled’ work when you were 22, because the context was new and exciting back then? I’m not sure I really believe this but I’m saying it anyway. The debate around what is art and what is not highlights one of the shortcomings of being an artist; that everything one does has the potential to be art. I find this annoying. Sometimes you just want to mend that bench and leave it at that. It’s only recently that I have thought about collecting things. I think it has something to do with being a homeowner. I have several of your paintings. I don’t really consider them to be part of my collection. They are more like heirlooms. I also have paintings by Keri and Katie (our old flatmates), nothing by Jackie though! When you moved away from Bentinck Street it always struck me how much you left behind. I think most of the stuff you took is still at your Mum’s house. You really started again at that point. It was only when I moved house a couple of months ago that I finally got around to throwing all your old art mags away. I kept the first edition of Frieze though. I don’t collect books but I have a collection of ‘found art’. One of my pals works at the Salvation Army shop and he finds notes and things in coat pockets and saves them for me. Do you collect anything that isn’t art related? J.M. — A new chapter . . . Do I collect anything that isn’t art related? Odd socks and old photographs of people I do not know. But it is a little scary when you think about not being able to escape the art world and everything that surrounds it. Moving house is one of the only ways to make a change and get rid of a lot of stuff that was just there for no reason or it’s reason had run out. I think we are getting there or maybe we have already. David Shrigley, Jonathan Monk 1. Title of a color photograph by Bas Jan Ader, 1971.
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