I wrote the following short texts in 2003, as a way to start to write about contextual narratives of my experiences in exhibition making, culture, and the world around us. They mention certain artists, their artwork, my work and tasks, and my memories and interpretation of the moments. Looking at them now, there is a naïve enthusiasm, and even wonder, that I was even connected to any of this.
Max Ernst T-Shirts
I’m getting on a long flight plane to LAX and there seems to be a general lack of other passengers. I find my seat and try to relax, but it all passes amazingly quickly and suddenly were banking into a neon cityscape, looking down on the streets and moving cars, just like a movie. I arrive in LAX at 11pm, now what? I’ve got to get to Newport Beach, and that’s at least 30 miles south. Every time I travel, I’m amazed that you always find your way to your hotel, even when you have no idea of where you’re going. I scout around the main exit where there are hordes of people all doing the same, jumping on and off the right and wrong buses, but it seems I don’t need a bus, it’s a van taxi. Orange County? And were off, I hope he knows where he’s going, then it seems he doesn’t and he pulls out some huge street manuals and makes some calls, eventually we’re at the Marriott Hotel, very late and its 90º., I check in. I get to my room and there’s a large basket of fruit and a bottle of South African white wine from the museum as a bit of a welcome, which is nice, and three round chocolates on my pillow. I’m looking at my map, do I walk or take a taxi? the museum doesn’t seem far, in fact it’s just along the road. So, I’m down in the lobby with my large bag of Max Ernst t-shirts, merchandise for the exhibition, on my way out, the concierge wants to get me help but I’m ok, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. It’s only 8am and I’m sweating and walking, which seems to be what everyone else isn’t doing. I’m the only walker with a heavy bag, and I’m getting looked at by the passing traffic, what is he doing? In this heat? I get to the museum and there is a slight earth tremor, I’m sure, but I drag in the t-shirts which are quickly displayed in the museum shop. You carried them all this way? Why not courier them? We did, by me.
The exhibition installation team welcome me with smiles and questions, these guys could be anywhere, it’s the same routine, but these guys are very polite, all have tans, are relaxed and as I find out at lunchtime, all have air-conditioned cars with those seat belts which go over you automatically. We go to Laguna Beach for lunch, a small Mexican café. We see some surfers, my guys don’t do that stuff, never have, it’s just for rough guys they say.
Basquiat Painting
In 1985, The Fruitmarket Gallery held an exhibition of the young NY artist and friend of Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat. The show was all his new paintings on canvases, wooden panels and doors. The show was a coupe for the gallery and the director Mark Francis, who always had his finger on the art pulse, and regularly pulled off these unique ‘time is right’ shows. Basquiat came over to Edinburgh for the show, and while he was there, he was asked to paint some paintings right there in the gallery. I think four stretchers were bought in each approx. 100cm x 60cm. He proceeded to get to work, using some photocopies of his drawings and squeezing full tubes of acrylic over the surfaces. He got it everywhere even up the office wall in his enthusiasm. He then went out to Jenners and got a full tartan suit made for himself as he was in Scotland and had the cash.
I missed the opening. I was meant to meet someone on the corner of Cockburn Street but they had already gone in and I missed the whole thing so we just went to the pub and I never ever saw him or met him. At the time my sister was running the Fruitmarket café and all week had been serving him up with various concoctions and choice homemade product. He seemed to love the food and the attention, so in thanks he left one of the Fruitmarket-made painting to her. The artist and his entourage moved on but the painting remained. She didn’t really like it, not her thing. So, it was left to the gallery to do with whatever.
Time went on the gallery put on lots of shows I was involved in many. The directors changed and moved on, the gallery needed cash, there was yet another crisis. “Where’s that Basquiat painting? asked someone, ” Isn’t that now worth something now that he’s dead? It should be but who would want to buy it?, I’m sure there is a market for it , probably in the USA”. So, I was asked to package the thing up, as it had been in one of the offices all this time. I got it down to the gallery store and started building a strong box and packing for the painting to be shipped over to Chicago, there was someone who knew someonelse who might be interested. So, it was crated and labelled to go, but before I did this and never saw it again, Brian wanted to be photographed with the painting, posing in his own imitable way, we had a bit of fun with that painting. Then off it went.
Thomas Schütte’s Chocolate Cake
Nicola White gave me my breakthrough curating opportunity some years ago, she had had an idea for a German sculpture show, which worked on the concept that romantic ‘childlike’ work also has a darker side, the show became ‘The House in the Woods’ and it toured round a few art venues. I wanted to do it but the artists weren’t selected, never mind the work or the catalogue so lots to do, a research trip to get the artists involved was needed. The trip started in Munster at the Skulptur Projekt with Rachel but I was soon on my own on a train to Cologne in search of works for the show. I eventually find the Johnen and Schöttle gallery to meet up with the gallery assistant who probably wonders who I am, but she is extremely pleasant and helpful, pulling out various works and slides of artist’s works for me to consider. They could lend me some older Martin Honert pieces but nothing new as they are too expensive, what about these Pia Strumberg works? their possible, not sure, maybe another show.
Later the next day, I’m wandering about outside the main station in Dusseldorf, home of Konrad Fischer Gallery, which still exists, Kraftwerk, and the dodgiest group of druggy types I’ve ever seen hanging around in a public space, so I quickly shoot off in the opposite direction, only to find I’m going the wrong way on my map, so I turn around, get my bearings, and off to find Thomas Schütte’s flat. He’s friendly but cool, maybe not sure who this guy from Scotland is. I can sense Schütte thinking, “Does he know anything about my work?” “What does he want?” “Can I get rid of him, although he seems to have a sense of humour”? After some time, the ice was broken and a good sign seemed to be that he got his housekeeper to bring through some coffee and chocolate cake. All seemed well, he starts offering me work to use for the show, giving me catalogues and a bit of his opinion on his next guests to his flat after me, Marion Goodman and entourage; that was real business, I was an interesting distraction to business.
I was to meet up with Schütte again on a couple of occasions in the next few years, for the opening of ‘The House in the Woods’ show in Glasgow and also in London for his big solo show at the Whitechapel, that was great, also getting to go to the after-show meal with Mariele Neudecker but she wouldn’t come into the restaurant, too intimidating, so I’m on my own. But not for long, in I go and up to the far end of the very long table where Schütte is holding court, he generously welcomes me and I get settled in for the mindless banter which seems to happen at these things, Callum Innes was there and his Frith Street folk, all very pleasant, nice bit of payback for my hard work.
Iain Irving 2003
Iain Irving 