![]() ( Is that all we’re allowed to think?) Sad girls with balloons, rioters chucking flowers, a child with a single plant: walls are placards to this man. So, says The Telegraph’s Mark Hudson, Banksy has monetised the public’s wish to feel a little, but not too much, thrill: “His success is a good example of the British ability to make just about any form of visual subversion feel cosy.” It’s now, he says, “greetings card art, heritage art – his classic works protected by local councils.”īut thrills are temporary, and the experience of a Banksy work curdles fast. It must be a little visual joke, though hard to say on whom at least the five seconds you spend with it, absorbing the half-point about aestheticised violence, are longer than you can give to the Venice girl, where the emotion is approved on arrival. Take a classic work such as Pulp Fiction, the one with Vincent and Jules toting bananas instead of guns. Note, however, that he was never worth too much of your time. His work hasn’t changed materially for at least a decade now if anything, much of its spirit has ebbed away, just as (coincidentally) its value has soared. Elusiveness is a spur to expectation, and Banksy has always kept us waiting for more of the same. The charade has lasted 25 years, somehow retaining its edgy air despite being a marketing ploy. Banksy’s real name is probably Robin Gunningham, he was probably born in 1973 and probably grew up near Bristol. Will Ellsworth-Jones, who wrote the 2012 biography Banksy: The Man Behind the Wall, tells me that its accessibility is what appeals: “It’s almost too easy to understand. His work, ignored by critics, is a familiar aspect of British visual culture. He’s recognised by normal people with no other knowledge of art, and of minimal interest to the (decidedly non-normal) art world itself. The Venice work was a better example of how complacent his shtick can be: it was a broody stencil work that showed a child in distress, spray-painted in black on a drab urban wall, and offset by a colour that telegraphed poignancy.īanksy’s profile has long made him an oddity. This spur to activity, however, is rare for him. The Birmingham work is harmless, and with its bench and homeless occupant, it has a useful physicality: the passers-by are prompted to engage with real wood, real flesh-and-blood – and they did. He has poked fun at the Venice Biennale, too (not necessarily such a bad thing) with a satirical mural that he left in a different part of town. In October, he stole headlines during Frieze London when Devolved Parliament – a painting devoid of artistic or ethical merit – sold for £9.9 million. (A man, according to reports, was seen shouting: “Shall I tag it?”) The Jewellery Quarter Business Improvement District, with one eye on repeat offenders and another on the bottom line, will be employing “round-the-clock” security to avoid a repeat. The reindeer sit behind perspex now.īanksy has had a busy year. One reindeer gained a red nose, spray-painted fuzzily on. Soon, local artists – in their way – engaged. The artist filmed a homeless man, “Ryan”, settling down in the winter chill, and thanked passers-by in the Jewellery Quarter for the generosity they quickly showed. ![]() His latest work is a pair of stencilled reindeer, hooked up in a trompe l’oeil trick to an actual wooden bench. Banksy is back again, this time in Birmingham.
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