Vision Thing

This blog's become a bit like an unkempt garden hasn't it? Once it was all flower beds, neat and tidy with herbaceous borders, now it’s becoming neglected – there’s grass poking through and I can hear the neighbours looking over the fence and tutting.

It’s not for lack of things happening, in fact I managed an impressive ELEVEN consecutive nights out over my birthday, which I’m quite proud of - life in the old dog and all that ... No, it’s down to an unshakable bout of apathy.

I’ve been considering acupuncture to get me out of this reverie, have you ever tried it? There’s an article about it in Gay Times and it sounds very impressive – it can help you overcome depression, illness and lack of focus by unlocking 'blocks' that are preventing your mind and body from working in harmony. It’s a bit pricey mind. Maybe one of you could fashion a voodoo doll of me and stick pins in it, see if it has the same effect?

Anyway, yesterday I got up early for a Saturday and went Walking Down the Kings Road, as Squire once sang. I had decided on a cultural trip to the Saatchi Gallery. I wanted to see some Grayson Perry exhibits as I’ve just started reading his autobiography and thought it would be fitting to view some of his work at the same time. In council speak this is called "taking a joined up approach", supporting the notion that most people who work for councils are barely literate.

Sadly, despite featuring him on their website, the Saatchi Gallery is not currently displaying any Grayson Perry, instead they have a marvellous exhibition of Middle Eastern art that was more than worth the visit.

Sometimes I think I prefer photography to art, because at least then I know what I’m looking at. This was the way I felt in a few galleries where there were picture with lots of flashes and sparks and colour. All very nice, but how the hell are you supposed to know these represent the Gulf War or a car crash in Baghdad until you read the brochure?? It makes me feel a bit retarded.

In amongst the portraits and scenes from Middle Eastern life, there were a few homo-erotic images. I particularly enjoyed the fact that the exhibition brochure makes absolutely NO REFERENCE to this. I was enamoured mostly with a gallery of transsexual imagary, it combined works by Ramin Haerizadeh and Sharin Fakhim. Ramin uses computer generate pictures of himself to produce stunning portraits of what I personally regard as Tranny Bears. His lips are full and his eyes are shut as he is revelling being clad in glorious fabrics and rubbing up against other equally blissed out versions of himself.



What on earth do you think these mucky pups are up to?



Sharin Fakhim’s works are figurines of prostitutes - some female some pre-op trannies - constructed from fabric, clothing, kitchen utensils and anything else she could get her hands on. The works sit with their legs open, waiting. Old pieces of rope make up penises and in one case there is a small bowl of pearls used as a vagina. There is a strength to the works, but their bent, twisted limbs also make them appear vulnerable.



My other favourite was the final gallery, where 13 life-size sculptures of old men in wheel chairs move slowly around the room, occasionally banging into each other. Withered and toothless they make a sorry sight, but their dress suggests they were not always so helpless and they are meant to represent former world leaders or military figures. The reaction of the small crowd gathered in the room was interesting – the younger people found it all very amusing, but a couple of older people seemed to think it was a little offensive.



On a final note, can we have a show of hands on this one? The brochure claims that the rough shapes in this picture are “evocative of aeroplane or theatre seating”, whereas I see a load of people rimming each other. You?



See the full exhibition on the Saatchi Gallery website.