Karlology (15 page)

Nora has still got hers. I as
k
e
d
i
f
it’s cause
d
any pro
b
l
ems over t
h
e
y
ears, or i
f
s
h
e’
d
e
x
p
erience
d
an
y
weir
d
h
a
p
p
enings. She just said, “My
feet
h
a
v
e
bee
n
a
b
i
t
s
w
o
ll
e
n
r
ecentl
y
”. Har
dly
t
h
e curse o
f
Tutankhamun is it.

T
h
ere were
l
oa
d
s o
f
p
aintin
g
s in t
h
e Tate, to t
h
e
p
oint
wh
ere m
y
e
y
es
g
ot
b
ore
d
. I wan
d
ere
d
f
rom
fl
oor to
fl
oor
and room to room whilst being watched by the arty-look
ing Tate Modern security staff, each with floppy hair and sty
l
e
d
b
ear
d
, w
h
o were rea
d
y to pounce on anyone t
h
at
d
are
d
to tr
y
an
d
ro
b
a terracotta
d
war
f
. M
y
b
ac
k
starte
d
to ac
h
e. It
d
oes t
h
is w
h
en I’ve
b
een wa
lk
in
g
f
or a w
h
i
l
e (it’s cos I tried to kick my height when I was a kid and landed
o
n me arse
)
, so I went into one of the video rooms that had com
fy
seats. I was t
h
e on
ly
one in t
h
e room
.

T
h
e vi
d
eo starte
d
. It was a
p
iece ca
ll
e
d
M
eat
J
o
y
by the
artist
C
arolee
S
chneemann. Half-naked women started
r
unning around with half-naked men, then they started
w
rest
l
ing. It
l
oo
k
e
d
l
i
k
e o
ld
60s
f
ootage. Next some
bl
o
k
e comes into s
h
ot t
h
rowin
g
d
ea
d
,
pl
uc
k
e
d
c
h
ic
k
ens an
d
fi
s
h
o
nto t
h
e ot
h
ers w
h
i
l
e t
h
e
y
’re wrest
l
in
g
. I
h
ear
d
someone
b
ehind me. It was a young kid. His dad then followed. At this point there was a load of close-up shots of the chicken, t
h
en it
p
anne
d
out to revea
l
t
h
e c
h
ic
k
en
d
own a
b
ear
d
e
d
man’s un
d
er
p
ants, w
h
ic
h
were
b
ein
g
y
an
k
e
d
by
a woman.
“Come on Matthew”, said the dad with urgency. I felt awk
w
ard about watching the video, a lot more awkward than
wh
en I was
l
oo
k
ing at t
h
e pot mi
d
get
h
o
ld
ing a c
h
ess set. I
w
anted to say to the dad that I’d only popped in cos I was a
b
it sti
ff,
b
ut I
d
i
d
n’t t
h
in
k
t
h
at was wise. I
l
oo
k
e
d
b
ac
k
at t
h
e screen. T
h
e men an
d
women were now wrest
l
in
g
w
h
i
l
e
p
aint was being thrown around. It was like a porno version
of
Tiswas
.
I left before any other people came in
.

I
t
h
in
k
art
h
as gone weir
d
l
i
k
e t
h
is cos everyt
h
ing norma
l
h
as
b
een
d
one. Turner
p
ainte
d
s
h
i
p
s, Monet
h
a
d
ima
g
es
o
f the countryside covered,
R
e
mbrandt did good portraits, Dali did surrealism. So what’s left? Naked wrestling with
b
ald chickens. I think that’s what art is about: just comin
g
u
p
wit
h
somet
h
in
g
t
h
at’s
d
i
ff
erent, an
d
i
f
y
ou can stic
k
a
f
rame roun
d
it t
h
en a
ll
t
h
e
b
etter.

I’d had enough so I decided to leave the Tate.
O
n
t
h
e
w
ay out I passed a donation box. “If you have enjoyed your visit, p
l
ease
d
onate £3”, it sai
d
. I
d
i
d
n’t
b
ot
h
er. Instea
d
I
g
ave a
p
oun
d
to t
h
e
h
ome
l
ess
f
e
ll
a w
h
o was sti
ll
outsi
d
e singing Christina
A
g
uilera’s “I am Beautiful”. The eyes
t
h
at
w
e
r
e
stuc
k
o
n hi
s
c
h
ee
k
s
ea
rli
e
r h
ad
n
o
w f
a
ll
e
n
o
ff
.

A
f
ew mont
h
s a
g
o I met an artist ca
ll
e
d
Davi
d
S
h
ri
gl
e
y
.
I
as
k
e
d
h
im i
f
h
e
h
a
d
an
y
art t
h
at sums u
p
art. He sent me t
h
is
p
icture
: