And out of The Approach and up the Approach Road itself, out of that just opened Hold Still group show with Heidi Bucher, Hana Miletić and Rachel Whiteread. Out past the latest graff or is it more statements in terms of ongoing gentrification? In truth the graff is nothing that interesting or anywhere near even touching an a planet somewhere near cutting edge, generically tedious same old same old if the truth be told, well in terms of the actual art made if not the sentiment. There is that Palestine-related wall of red hearts that has appeared during this Summer of utter frustration on the wall around the building site over the road from the gates of Victoria Park.
A quick glance down the canal from the bridge and there’s Score open in the Saturday afternoon sunshine. Came across Score a couple of days back, it was just there, an exhibition on a canal boat tied up on alongside the towpath where the Regent’s Canal passes the park, back in almost the same spot the Canalboat Contemporary boat was occupying a couple of months ago (they’ve ventured over to West London in the last few weeks hence not so much coverage on these pages, the Canalboat Contemporary shows have been worth walking to when they’ve been on this side of town…).
Split Riviera is another art gallery on a canal boat, quite a big boat this time, one you get to clamber aboard of and go inside (rather Canalboat Contemporary’s rather impressive box on the side) and there it was by Victoria Park on the borders between Hackney and Bethnal Green, blue flag flying, noticeboard out, wanting to engage. A show called Score and an artist called Eva Dixon, an Australian-born London-based artist who surely isn’t as old as the pin up of West Ham’s David Cross (signed from West Brom in 1977 for a then West Ham Record of peanuts compared with now) torn from the pages of Shoot or Goal or some such teenage glossy football magazine (wasn’t Score another football magazine from the late 70s?). There’s a lot of torn pages or bubble gum cards, football, a 1991 WWF card, some reclaimed timber, a whole load of gathered bits of media, throwaway material, but of dare it be called rubbish? All of it put together to kind of (positively) haphazardly make pieces of assemblage. early 80s Football, late 70s soft porn, wrestling, pop art imagery, a scatter gun here and there hang that comes with a wordy essay/exhibition statement that tries to tell us about the vague extremes of culture both male and female (or is it all just for the male gaze? Something about fandom or did go deeper than the colour of their hair? And well really, what was it all about in the sunshine on the canal not that far from West Ham’s ground (although not where David Cross would have played)? Are they extremes? Was the hang deliberate or just careless? Deliberately careless? Not quite careless enough?) A boat load of found objects, bits of magazines, pages torn out, tart cards, you know, from the telephone boxes, Lisa and marie? bubble gum cards. mostly Ipswich Town players (possibly on the run from Escape to Victory? Is Pele in here? Is Vic there?) Is it a Boat load? Not far off minimal really? Is it desire? Are we/you gonna score? Plexiglass, badminton racquet frame, Holsten shirt and pine trim? What was it? Did any of the Palm Tree regulars drop in? The Palm Tree, a proper East London boozer down by the canal, a survivor, cash only, don’t even think of puling out a card to pay in the Palm Tree! They’ll know all about David Cross in the Palm Tree. You couldn’t score in a brothel, score in a brothel, you couldn’t score in a brothel, Interesting show, not sure if there was a point, not sure if I want to know?
Never mind canal boats or West Ham journeymen, back up past Auto Italia where the same show has been on for months, whenever I go in there they follow me around like a shop security in a supermarket, not sure what they think I’m going to do but it really doesn’t make for a friendly viewing atmosphere so I;ve given up bothering now. We’re cutting back through Vyner Street where there really are no signs, other than an old phone number still stencilled on a long-since closed down art space, that anything ever happened down that once legendary art street (good to see the taxi garage and familiar face or two). We’re heading for the not very often open Grey Gallery (that is mostly artist Jock McFadyen’s studio or is it his bike garage?) back up by London Fields just beyond those two much improved by all the tags and whoever keeps the black part of the wall black Zabou pieces. Zabou’s street art has evolved rather positively since those two not brilliant pieces went up quite a few years ago, it has been an ongoing perfeormance, the tags and then the black paint. We’re heading for Grey Gallery where Cedric Christie’s solo show Make Your Own Manifesto has just opened.
As we said the other day, Cedric Christie is another artist we’ve rather thanklessly covered more than a few times over the long life of this Organ thing, a “London-based artist who originally trained as a welder. Christie uses found materials to explore the boundaries of modernism and minimalism”. Here at the modest pair of white cubes that make up Hackney’s (occasional) Grey Gallery. The front cube mostly features more of the artist’s playful artist/car logo (or insignia) pieces – playful isn’t the right word either, that kinds of suggests the pieces are throwaway, mere fun when they really are serious pieced of pop art statement and anyway who doesn’t want to drive a Basquiat or for that matter hang a DeLorean on their wall? James Bond driving an Agnes Martin? It is kind of fun, Cedric Christie’s work never feels throwaway though (there’s nothing funny about art). Here’s what The Grey Gallery have to say on the matter…
“Who is Cedric Christie then?
An artist who was born in 1963 in Harlow and has exhibited in Belgium, France, Germany, Spain, Croatia, New York and London.
An artist with a celebrity guest list whose studio is a factory in Dagenham.
An artist who uses scaffold poles, snooker balls, tapestries, lightboxes and rally cars with the wrong signage.
An artist whose work has nothing to do with diaspora, colonialism or slavery.
An artist who exhibits in galleries, museums, cemeteries, biscuit factories, garages, hairdressing salons, and curates displays of other artists in falafel shops.
An artist whose exhibition titles are statements and sentences that get the head-scratching going (see above).
An artist who has the word fuck embroidered on his bottom.
There’s more of the artist’s balls on show, his snooker balls, do like Cedric Christie’s snooker ball pieces, the snooker ball chess board is particularly strong in the middle of the gallery, Snooker Balls as pawns, just set out there waiting with the chairs in place. His balls hang so well, they always look good however he hangs them. Another rather fine Cedric Christie exhibition, now as big an affair as the recent show down the road and around the corner at Rocket Gallery, well worth you searching it out if you get a chance (just along road and the railway arches from London Fields Station)
And on with the non stop exploring of art, the never ending documentation of art, recording at least a touch of the London Art Scene before we forget it all (without wanting to blow our own tarnished trumpets it does feel like the only records of so so many great art shows are to be found on these fractured pages). On with it all, who knows why? Is there any point still doing this? Was there ever any point? Why still bother with all this (mostly thankless, mostly positive) documenting of other people’s art? The documenting of shows, exhibitions, something that has gone on via the pages of Organ for years and years now when we really could have been doing far more rewarding things with our time
There’s a nine day group show happening at that ridiculously overpriced Space Studios Pop Up space on Mare Street by the Triangle, in that hrdley ever open small pink space right next to those hypocritical big yellow London Needs Artists window signs that Space have been mocking Hackney with for the last half a dozen or so years now – all that has been said here before, we not Space fans these days. The Martello Paint Club? A group of (somewhat half hearted? Or is that me or indeed the whole London Art Scene right now?), a group of artists based at Martello Studios so it seems, one of the Space places, this one found right by London Fields (Space does seem to be a long long way away from the original brilliant vision of Bridget Riley and Peter Sedgley now).
The Martello Paint Club are a group of artists who say they share a love of painting and a common geography, some kind of painter’s club set up by artist Polly Townsend. Saw something somewhere about it being about painters from the surrounding neighbourhood, does rather look like an exclusive to Martello House Studios thing judging by the names involved in this show. The hang once again in a touch scattergun and everyone for themselves rather then any considered conversations between the pieces, the art of hanging a show seems to have been a touch ignored here, it kind of looks like it might have needed one person to dictate and lock everyone else out and it is mostly just a case of standing in the middle of the relatively small room and waiting for attention to be grabbed by an individual, thankfully there’s a piece or two that does do exactly that. Actually I did drop in during the opening night, dropped in on the way back from Cork Street and Bianca Raffaella’s She Cannot Fade opening at Flowers, only to find the same old story of participating artists shooting themselves in the foot as they and their mates stand right in front of their art, backs to it chatting away, drinking the obligatory cheap wine so no one else can see that much of anything that’s hanging on the walls behind the,. Go stand outside and talk, it isn’t raining! Nah, I’ll give up and come back tomorrow…
And Tomorrow is now today or it was today early on the Saturday afternoon on the weekend after the opening, we’re a few days on from today now and yeah the review should have been up already, and yes the show is almost over already and if its and ands were pots and pans and well, better slightly late than never ever? And yes, it is a haphazard hang, a hang that, if it had looked like it was by design or delivered with a bit of attitude would maybe have worked a little more than it actually does. It kind of looks like someone almost flung it at the wall and of course, as is almost always the way with artist-led group shows these days, nothing is ever labelled, not even a simple number under a painting that might correspond to the printed list that probably can only be worked out if you’re already familiar with at least some of the artists. Thankfully there are a number of familiar artists and recognisable styles amongst the 23 participants (indeed a number who have featured in shows we’ve put on, we don’t just talk it here, we’re not just big mouths, we walk it as well…).
There’s a Polly Townsend piece that stands out, I do always enjoy the colour of Kelly Sweeney, although the rather pink piece in this show might not be her very best piece ever, there is always something good about a Kelly Sweeney painting. There’s a couple of Hugh Mendes trademark obituary paintings quietly hanging over there. There’s a couple of Cat Phillipps paintings, both called Men In Suits apparently, two pieces that stand out, but then a Cat Phillipps piece always does. There’s almost always something to be found in an artist-led group show, this one might be a touch underwhelming as one whole thing but hey, it was less than a minute away from the Organ bunker and more than worth crossing the road in my Cynical Smile t-shirt for a couple of looks (which isn’t always the case with than underused overpriced Space space). Let’s hope we see more from the rather secretive Martello Paint Club… (sw)
The Grey Gallery on this occasion is found at 4 Helmsley Place, London, E8 3SB. The Gallery is only open on weekends, midday until 5pm Saturday and Sunday. The show runs until 5th October 2025.
Previously
As always do click on an image to see the whole thing or to run the slide show…
THE ORGAN 