Art for Art's Sake

Anne was bored. It had been fine, in theory, agreeing to take her niece to the Art Gallery, she liked spending time with Izzy, it was free to get in and she would get cool Aunty points for indulging Izzy’s ‘artzy fartzy’ phase. However, in reality, it was exhausting. She’d oo’ed and ah’ed and generally put in an Oscar worthy performance as “Art Appreciating Aunt” but they’d been here two hours now and Anne felt like they’d walked a marathon at a snails pace.

Her feet ached and she really didn’t think she could bear to stand in front of another idyllic landscape or Botticelli-esque nude, nodding her head and trying to look as if she had any clue about what she was looking at. She had exhausted her art knowledge by recalling that ripe fruits had some sort of sexual symbolism in paintings and Izzy had spent a good twenty minutes checking portraits for strawberries.

Anne had to swiftly swerve them into the Modern Art Exhibit after Izzy had excitedly shouted to her across the gallery that she’d just spotted a huge banana on “Gentleman with Horse”. Anne had quickly grabbed her niece and smiling her best “aren’t they funny at this age” fake smile she’d shoved Izzy towards the next room.

Anne was relieved to note this was the last exhibition space and then they would be in the gift shop and would soon be out of the gallery having purchased some arty postcards to put on the fridge door. The purpose of these, of course, would be to let everyone know she was a cultured, intellectual human being and that her fridge was full of fresh organic vegetables, homemade pasta sauces and fruit instead of left over pizza, two bottles of white wine (ok three, but one was already open and didn’t count) and half a pint of milk that you would need to risk a cautious sniff of before adding it to your coffee.

Modern Art was definitely not to Anne’s taste, she was never quite sure if what you were looking at was “art” or just someone’s unwashed laundry. Last time she’d brought Izzy here she’d spent 20 minutes “appreciating” a small plastic bench. She’d convinced Izzy it was a statement about the loneliness felt within society and how we were all just really searching for a place to form friendships and find love. Anne was just explaining how the artist’s choice of colour was indicative of the individual’s search for warmth and acceptance when a well dressed couple sat down on it and stared at the wall opposite. Anne quickly realised that now she thought about it the bench was identical to many placed around the gallery for the purpose of spending time viewing the pieces on display and that actually the “real” art was the cluster of black and red dots on the wall opposite it. Apparently they represented the duality of birth and death, or at least that’s what the couple on the bench said.

Izzy had tagged herself onto the back of a guided tour and Anne was left to amuse herself or find a, non exhibited, bench to sit on and wait. Anne idly bent down and picked up a discarded chocolate bar wrapper. Placing it in a nearby bin she tutted slightly under her breath annoyed at the disrespect for the environment shown by whichever litter-bugging lout had discarded it. The Wombles of Wimbledon Common would be horrified, she thought. Straightening up she was surprised to see that every eye in the gallery was on her. Assuming she was stood in front of a major exhibit Anne stepped aside looking over her shoulder to see what it was that had everyone’s attention.

“OH GOD NOOOOO Aunty Anne!” Izzy exclaimed her hands to her face as she presented the perfect teenage live representation of “The Scream”.

“What?! What’s happened?” Anne felt jumpy and uneasy, she knew something bad had happened, everyone was staring at her, Izzy was distraught and Anne was starting to suspect that whatever had happened had happened to her or worse because of her.

“Aunty Anne, how could you? What is wrong with you? That was ART!”

“What was? Is this like the bench thing?” Anne asked cautiously.

“No Aunty Anne, it’s much worse than that” Izzy stated as she came to stand by her beloved and favourite Aunty. “You’ve just scrumpled up and binned a piece of Art worth £3 million.”

“Everybody remain calm.”

The Security Guard had arrived. Anne did not think this was the time to point out that everyone was calm and that this was an Art gallery and the closest anyone in here would probably get to violence would be swopping passive aggressive comments punctuated with the occasion pointed look.

“Come along with me ma’am” continued the Security Guard as he grabbed at her elbow to guide her out.

“What? Let go of me, what are you doing?” Anne squirmed out of his grip.

As she struggled her handbag swung and caught a ceramic bowl of clown noses that represented that the hungry can’t eat laughter. The bowl teetered as Anne, Izzy and the guard all made a snatch for it. The guard stood on Anne’s sore toes just as she caught hold of the precarious bowl. She howled and threw up her arms throwing the bowl up unto the air. The whole gallery held their collective breath as the bowl gracefully arced through the air and into Izzy’s waiting arms. Unfortunately, Izzy had the same athletic prowess as her Aunt and fumbled the catch. There was total silence and then the sound of smashing crockery as the bowl hit the tiled floor and broke into pieces, ceramic red clown noses rolling in every direction.

“Erm… It represents that laughter is best spread wide and far and not confined?” Anne put forward with a nervous giggle. Again all eyes turned back to Anne and she heard Anne morosely proclaim “Add another £450,000 to the bill Aunty Anne.” This time Anne did not protest as the security guard took hold of her arm and steered her towards the Manager’s office.

Anne and Izzy were politely asked to sit down in front of the Manager’s desk as the Security Guard reported Anne’s misdemeanors to the Gallery Manager. Before leaving the office the Security Guard gave Anne a glance as he left the room that said “you’re in trouble now lady.”

Eyes now fixed firmly on the floor Anne fidgeted feeling every bit as though she was a teenager again and sitting in front of her old school headmaster, only this time it wasn’t going to be a weekend detention for being caught smoking behind the sports hall. This time she was in serious trouble. She risked a peek up and was surprised to see the uber stylish manager crumpling his designer suit as he tried to curl up into the fetal position in his chair. His on trend designer glasses were at an angle and he was trying, in vain, to run his hands through his solidly gelled hair. He looked like he was trying to rearrange his face into a Picasso masterpiece.

“Oh my God, I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… I can’t…” he hyperventilated. Izzy jumped up, “It’s okay” she soothed. “Is it panic or asthma?” she asked as she pulled an inhaler and a paper bag from her oversized tote. The manager grabbed the paper bag and placed his head between his knees and started puffing into it. Anne watched the bag inflate and deflate while her niece patted the distressed man’s back.

“It’s okay, Aunty Anne, I’ve got this. I always come prepared for any eventuality.”

“Have you got a double vodka in there for me?” Anne asked hopefully. Izzy just scowled and looked away. Clearly it was too soon for humour.

The manager had his breathing back under control and was calmer though he had been left with a bad case of the hiccups. Between hics he managed to explain that they were in worse trouble than Anne had even realised. His distress had not been an overreaction, budgets had been tighter than ever this year and he had taken a risk and not renewed the gallery’s insurance.

“I don’t suppose you have a spare £3 million you could give us?” he asked.

“£3.5 million” corrected Izzy, “Don’t forget the broken clown noses.”

“I have a lottery ticket for Friday’s Euromillions draw.” said Anne. “Its a double rollover so it’s potentially worth 96 million euros.”

“I don’t think the artists will accept that in payment.” the manager shook his head and hiccuped sadly. “Their art may be conceptual but they are hard wired realists when it comes to finances.”

Silence settled on the three of them as the enormity of the situation sank in. The only sound was the occasional hiccuping of the manager. Anne passed him her bottle of water which he gratefully accepted. “Try holding your breath for 30 seconds” she advised. After a few attempts at breath holding the hiccuping stopped.

“OH MY GOD!!” squealed Izzy causing Anne and the manager to nearly have simultaneous heart attacks. “LOOK!” she thrust her mobile phone in their direction. On the screen a video played out of the precise moment the bowl of noses smashed, broken ceramic noses rolling between the feet of the horrified gallery visitors. As the video drew to a close there was a close up of Anne proclaiming, “Laughter is best spread wide and far and not confined!”

“Oh good god.” said Anne, “It looks like I broke it on purpose as some sort of statement. No one’s ever going to believe it was an accident now!”

The manager grabbed his own phone. After a beat or two of frantic finger swiping and screen tapping he started to smile. “It’s great news.” he said, relief palpable in his voice, “Someone posted an edited video of the accident. The world thinks it was an art installation. The art world loves it. It’s going viral. I’ve already got collectors contacting me to purchase the broken pieces for quadruple what it was worth.” The manager beamed, “I can sell off the individual noses. We’re going to make a killing.” He fistpumped the air in triumph as an incoming call vibrated the phone in his hand. Looking down his face fell.

“It’s Sandy Parks.” he announced.

“Who?” Anne asked.

“The chocolate wrapper Artist” the manager replied.

“Oh” Anne felt this was not as dramatic reaction as the manager expected but it had been a long day and in all honesty this was all she had left.

Trepidatiously the manager answered the call and put the phone to his ear. Anne and Izzy watched as he apologised, answered questions they could not hear and uh huh-ed as he paced up and down the office. “Why do people nod their heads when they talk on the phone?” Anne asked Izzy, “We all do it but the people on the other end can’t see us. And there he goes again with the hand gestures.”

“Aunty Anne?” asked Izzy.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

The Manager put his phone down and turned his attention back to Anne and Izzy. If anything his smile was now even wider and he was fully back in uber stylish Gallery Manager mode: hair slick; suit crease free; on trend eyewear and a general air of superiority. “All sorted” he said, “It turns out that the “bin” you deposited the wrapper in was another piece of art by the artist of the moment, Damian Banks. One of his friends was in the gallery today and contacted him about the whole fiasco. He then contacted Sandy Parks and they have decided to announce that his bin containing her wrapper has evolved into a new collaborative piece that celebrates ‘perfect union in a throw away society’. There’s already a lot of buzz being generated about the possiblity of it gaining a nomination for the Turner Prize.”

Anne breathed out a sigh of relief “Can we go now?” she asked, “Of course” he replied “I’ll call you a cab. Do you want to have a look around the gift shop while you wait?” It was clear to Anne that crisis averted he wanted them out of his office and she was definitely ready to go home. “Thanks, we’ll wait outside.” she answered. The postcards could wait: Anne no longer cared about creating the illusion of a fridge bursting with organic, homemade delights. She was more than happy that her fridge had cold pizza and white wine chilling in it ready for her return home.

Once outside Anne and Izzy leaned against the wall of the gallery as they waited for their taxi to arrive. “Where shall we go next weekend?” she asked her niece. “We could hop on a train and go visit the Art Galleries and Museums in the City Centre” She suggested. Izzy gave her brief look of incredulity. “Or the zoo.” Anne persisted. “We could visit the ‘lions and tigers and bears - oh my!’” This drew a very small smile from Izzy and Anne could tell she was on the verge of being forgiven for being the centre of yet another ‘Aunty Anne kerfuffle’. Izzy’s smile widened, “perhaps we should just stay in and watch Bob Ross on Netflix instead.” she said.