If, like us, you have always wondered what art is then prepare to find out.
What is art? Is it a feeling? An act? A desire? Or something deeper? In order to find out The Stylist magazine team decided to convert ourselves into an art exhibition this week by doing our work in the Saatchi gallery and carrying out spontaneous art acts.
The week was a whirl of brainstormings and other arty things. Thousands of you looked at us. Me in particular.
We decided to start the week by carrying out some random terror artacks. First stop the National on Monday!
The goal was to become an art exhibit so we all painted ourselves blue and walked into the gallery hall.
Sitting in that gallery, covered in blue paint, I felt an overwhelming sense of pain wash over my body. I think it was the consciousness of a millennia of art weighing down on me. Or perhaps it was the acidic pain burning into my skin, I don’t know. In this artistic expression I too had joined the long ranks of the artists, from Picasso to Van Gogh to Mona Lisa and was now sharing in the multifaceted telepathic brother-slash-sister hood of art. I had become a cultural terrorist.
Later that day we went into the Tate and I took a piss in the corner. I was loving this freedom of artistic expression. Eventually a black security guard came up to me and shouted at me to get out. I shouted back at him, that he was an oppressed slave like me, and to let me continue my protest, or even better, join in like he would have done in the Motherland. But he didn’t and soon the police came. I told them that it was his fault and it was all smoothed over as he was taken away in handcuffs.
This successful protest made us even more determined to do something arty. I devised the SHART! movement on Tuesday which involved Sally from HR having a dump in public places as a sign of art. My crowning moment came in Westminster Abbey. I crept into the church and told Sally to have a crap in the pulpit. I termed this movement pulpshit. A crowd of people came and watched it was so successful and Sally was led out in handcuffs and TEARS!—another success!
On Wednesday I got Susan the accounts woman to dress up as a rat. She didn’t like it and at lunchtime started to complain about feeling hungry. So we told her to go outside and forage in the bins for her food. At first she refused but then we stood around her in a circle chanting “Art, Rat, Art, Rat, Art, Rat,” and rolled her down the stairs. After lunch she came in with some kind of white sauce on her whiskers and covered in rubbish. We made her sit in the corner in the name of art.
Then later that day I decided to have a masturbate-off with this girl who I have had my eyes on who works in the filing dept. At first she refused but then I told her a story. I said if she didn’t do it she would be fired. So we sat facing each other on these revolving chairs and had a wank-off. I won, covering her in my love spray from head to toe. This was called an ARTwank.
On Thursday I noticed the gay guy who works in subs. I’ve always disliked him. He just sits around working all day. So we, me and Simona, decided basically to sellotape him to his chair. I attached a bit of tape to his arm and then spun him around really fast covering him from head to toe in tape. We then painted him blue and called him “Mummy”. And you thought art was boring!
As I sat around brooding on my next challenge I was suddenly inspired. For there, passing before my eyes was none other than the wispy-haired clitoris, Brian Sewell.
He was being quite sneaky so I told the girls to shed his clothes and staple him to the wall in a Christ pose. Someone put a pope’s hat on him and we all had a really good laff. It got a bit serious later when he passed out due to a lack of sugar in his blood system. But anyway you can’t sue art.
Later I suggested to Sue, the woman in accounts, that she cut her ear off. She refused. Apparently I was told that it could be considered an illegal offence if I forced her to do it, so we compromised and shaved off all her hair instead. Later Will Gompertz came around and we did the same to him. He kept crying to us saying “No I was growing it for Meryl, please, please, please.”
I just said chill Will its only a bit of art.
The week has been a t’riffic success. I hope you agree that we now know what art is. It’s you and its me. Infact its all of us.