The Turner Prize

We went to see the Turner Prize finalists the other day. I was quite excited having heard great things about thumb prints in blue tack and messy beds; both of which had been finalists if not winners in previous years.

Don't get me wrong, we had a wonderful day out. We went with friends and the day was punctuated with regular coffee stops and chatter. But, as for the art, well, I was a tad underwhelmed.

Karla Black's creation just left me feeling envious, not of her artistic abilities, but of the fact that apparently she visits galleries with her technician, seals a room off and then gets to work for a few days with lining paper and stuff like squashed up chalk and smashed bath bombs. That just takes the concept of junk modelling to another level in my view. I'd love the opportunity to play like that. Who is getting most enjoyment out of this art? I can't help but feel she's having all the fun.

All in all, three out of the four finalists left me with a distinct 'Emperor's New Clothes' feeling. Is it that great or is it just that we say it is for the fear of being judged as unable to appreciate art?

George Shaw by stark contrast oozed talent and I sincerely hope he wins. I was shocked to learn that his painting were actually enamel paints and not photographs. He captures everyday change, growth and decay perfectly.