Agony Artist: Dear Monster

My long-term artistic mentor has started regurgitating increasingly wild conspiracy theories during our meetings. I’ve always really valued their support and ideas. How can I stop them falling deeper down the rabbit hole?

This makes me think of Tom Waits’s iconic phrase: ‘I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy. ’ I suggest watching some Adam Curtis documentaries, or revelling in the follow-up series of Cosmos (2014), presented by astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson. I am currently reading a book about maps and graphs and their ability to disseminate information. It’s called Atlas of the Invisible (2021) and it describes ‘our current age of rampant misinformation’. Is there a way to show your artistic mentor the merits of authoritative, informative research? I remember learning that Florence Nightingale was an early adopter of the pie chart and used it to prove that cleanliness in hospitals led to fewer deaths. Do you think some clear graphics could win through?

I began my art career with the deliberate intention of making money. So far, I’ve been relatively successful. Often, reading the pages of this magazine, I’m led to believe it’s more of a moral pursuit. I’m confused: what’s it all for?

If you make an art career just to make money, are you not playing with the idea of salesmanship and therefore still contributing to the discourse and commentary that art embodies? If your hero is Jeff Koons, and your disillusionment is that those in the art world are currently motivated to be (or seem) caring, righteous and interested in community-building, that is interesting. Whatever the dominant fashion in the art world at any given time, you have to remember that all types of art are welcome. Let me use the metaphor of a smorgasbord. If you prepared devilled eggs and someone else brought chilli paste while another made salad, this would make a complementary selection. However, if everyone brought the same thing, it would be a bland buffet. Artists should bring their unique dish to the table, understand that each is valuable and that difference is important. Even if you are motivated by a different ethos, just keep bringing your special dish

I have been put in charge of organising a stag do for a friend who has an interest in art. I’d like to include some culture, but I don’t want the other stags to feel short-changed by a lack of hedonism. Can you recommend any stag-appropriate art destinations?

So many ideas tumble into my head. If you’re in London, how about a striptease in front of Fragonard’s The Swing c.1767–8 at the Wallace Collection, or a trip to Victorian artist Lord Leighton’s house followed by a sultry, sumptuous belly dance? Or perhaps you could go to Edinburgh to see the beautiful portraits in the Scottish National Gallery. Joshua Reynolds’s The Ladies Waldegrave 1780–1 would be a good bet. Then you could go and sip wonderful whiskys. I don’t know how racy you need the activity to be or what your budget is… Would looking at a Beryl Cook book in the street before going to a strip bar be any good? There are companies that offer life-drawing classes as part of a stag or hen night, but I’ve always thought this an odd combination as life drawing is not necessarily sexy but something requiring concentration. It would be more fun to do something glamorous that is linked to art, and then lead on to the hedonism. I think a private group tour of architect John Soane’s house, including a viewing of Hogarth’s etchings of including a viewing of Hogarth’s etchings of A Rake’s Progress 1733–5, would be the most appropriate activity. Then, you can find nearby silliness afterwards. This feels like a win-win situation as the group won’t become impatient. A special moment, then a more predictable follow-up.

My daughter wants a backpack emblazoned with an ugly yet seemingly popular cartoon character, but I resent buying into the cultural imperialism of certain well-known franchises. I wonder if you have any suggestions for a new character – a new monster, perhaps – that children might happily show off in the playground?

When my son was six or seven, I sat him down and explained the concept of social conditioning. I taught him a sentence to protect himself from other kids who didn’t allow difference: ‘You are a victim of social conditioning!’ he would say. However, I did allow him to choose his own clothes and wear what he wanted. Between the ages of three and five, he wore a lot of commercial Spider-Man related T-shirts, but it was just a phase. You could set up a pocket-money system, so that your child earns her backpack. I made a pact with my son that we do our own housework and don’t eat out in restaurants, so that we can afford to buy Lego. Creating a new character to show off in the playground is ambitious. Are you suggesting a DIY alternative to massively endorsed, social-media-amplified trends? At home, we watch Sesame Street, Felix the Cat, Betty Boop, SpongeBob SquarePants, Futurama, Steven Universe and more. Maybe it’s a case of acting as an agent provocateur in what you watch with your kids.

I am a secondary-school art teacher, and I suspect my students are using AI to generate short pieces of commentary on their own work, which are always alarmingly astute. What task could I set to trip up my AI nemesis?

I propose a writing workshop on artist statements. First, make sure phones are turned off or set aside in a shoebox. Then, separate the group into pairs and ask each pair to take it in turns to discuss their artworks. After the discussion, ask each student to write up a review of their partner’s work. Once the texts are written, ask your students to read the text back to their partner , who is then given the opportunity to change one point – but only one. Then, sitting in a circle together , read out all of the reviews. This is an exercise to develop your pupils’ writing skills and help them to gain confidence in their own voices.

^{Send your problems to tate.etc@tate.org.uk for a chance to be featured in the next issue.}

^{Monster Chetwynd’s A Tax Haven Run By Women 2010–11 was purchased in 2017 and is currently on display at Tate Modern}