What, indeed, is the point of a row of cacti, a ball of bluetac, a tower of loo rolls, a car on a roof or a room full of balloons?
To entertain, to amuse, to provoke wonder, awe and disgust.
It's all here in Martin Creed's retrospective at the Hayward Gallery on the South Bank.
An artist who found fame by winning the Turner Prize for a room where the lights go on and off, is one I would usually write off and not bother with. But there was something just so intriguing about the idea of running around a room filled with balloons that I just had to visit. I didn't regret it. Each piece acts in harmony in this exhibit come installation. Every aspect is precision planned to ensure all your senses are engaged. There is a volunteer bashing the keys of a battered piano, toilet noises being played from an obvious speaker and even a cinema room playing clips of people making themselves vomit. Repulsive yet compelling.
The show, and indeed Creed's general line of enquiry, since his graduation from his Slade School days and throughout his career, probes us to answer questions of art.
Whilst this is a well-established trait of the avant-garde, I mean, Duchamp got there first with his urinal, it is the playfulness of Creed that makes his work so engaging. Ultimately, his coloured felt-tip drawings are simply quite beautiful, they have an unexpected yet genuine aesthetic quality.
"I don't know what art is"
"I wouldn't call myself an artist"
I don't think I would call him an artist either, and the show won't answer the eternal question of what art is. Creed is more a philosopher who asks his own questions in his own spectacular way.
A must see.
