Free Gold, Anyone? No? How About Some Free Art Then?
NVA reporter faces art apathy in Lincoln head on
It was beautiful spring morning as I struggled onto the tram wearing as many layers as I could fit under my coat. A drunk tramp had cornered a nervous businessman, “Aye, Ah’m may be old but it's gonne be a sunny day all the same,” he shouted in a thick Scottish accent. I really hoped he was right; today I was going to be standing in the street trying to coerce members of the public into gold leafing a Lincoln City Council bollard. If it rained the whole project could literally be a wash out.
In order to gather opinions on what the public want from art, artist and curator Amelia Beavis-Harrison had commissioned three contemporary art pieces to stimulate discussion and encourage people to fill out questionnaires. At the train station I met Leila Al-Yousuf, an enthusiastic Trent student who had brought an army of helpers carrying buckets of black sand for her spatial intervention. Amelia was already there with a trestle table and a disproportionately heavy suitcase, which we later realised only had one wheel. Cutting it fine as usual James E. Smith, our photographer, finally arrived in his little red hat and dived towards the ticket machine.
At our chosen location in Lincoln, Leila’s army carefully arranged the gunpowder-like sand in satisfyingly thick lines to form concentric squares on an area of stone slabs. Amelia and James opened the table to reveal a banner saying “Talk about art” while I walked around pondering which of the eight identical bollards would be the best to attack with glue and gold paint. It’s a surreal experience to navigate the flow of shoppers carrying an open tin of industrial glue and a paintbrush before crouching down in front of a phallic piece of urban furniture in full public view to give it a good coat. I could hear people muttering about vandalism as they walked past. “It’s legal art,” I couldn’t help calling out in what must have sounded like a desperate plea for acceptance.
Within minutes, a man with the police and a councillor on his walkie-talkie had arrived. A nearby CCTV camera was looking pointedly in our direction. I hastily began to apply a few squares of gold leaf before someone could complain that their child was stuck to an unmarked bollard. Apparently, the Council were not expecting us to dominate such a large area of the high street and had imagined that our activities would be confined to the area of benches on the side of the bridge so that the sand “did not cause a trip hazard.” To the side of the main walkway, Leila’s concentric squares of sand glittered like salt on the smooth slab stones in the morning sun. Luckily, the Lincoln B.I.G. representative allowed us to stay where we were. We cautiously we began to approach the public for their opinions.
By 10am I could barely feel my fingers. The bridge may have been a great spot for catching passing shoppers but we’d located the stall in the middle of a wind tunnel. Amelia jokingly informed me that the nearby shopping arcade contained a fast food place as well as warmth and a toilet. Despite my vegetarian ideals, I sheepishly emerged ten minutes later with some fingerless gloves and a bag of Cheezy Bites that had probably been deep-fried in lard, nestled amongst Burger King’s distinctly un-vegetarian burgers. Eating my greasy feast to the side of the bridge, it was amazing to see people’s reactions to art in the public realm. Although some were curious, most passers-by were completely oblivious as they walked determinedly between shops. One small group even stopped to chat directly on top of the sand lines. After ten minutes of deliberation, we decided to point out their unintentional involvement with the hope that they would fill out questionnaires for their sins. However, one of the group replied that he had not seen his friend in thirty years so they did not have time for art!
Towards lunchtime the Shrug Ladies arrived. An colourful trio of flirtatious 50s housewives, they quickly drew a crowd as they performed a spring cleaning routine to the tinny sounds of vintage classics such as 'I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles'. Using only chalkboards and mime to communicate, they gave out paper flowers and asked cheeky questions; “Would you like a clean?” The atmosphere surrounding my bollard quickly became jovial as old men had their heads dusted and families laughed at their antics. As with all crowds though, the performance occasionally gained the attention of cocky young teenagers. Earlier in the day I had tried increasing interaction by asking people if they would like free gold (it was surprisingly unsuccessful!) so now, in an attempt to diffuse the tension, my piece became “the last legal piece of graffiti to happen in Lincoln,” as there are rumours that legal graffiti classes will soon be outlawed in an attempt to dissuade more illegal activities. After a few discussions about painting train tracks and laws on public art, the boys overcame their suspicions and began to gold leaf the bollard, excitedly discussing the prospect of running off with their sheets of gold leaf to sell at the pawn shop. On seeing the boys, teenage girls loitered nearby and soon dozens of young people were talking about art and how Lincoln could be improved with an arts festival.
When 5pm came, Amelia’s opinion poll boxes were feeling fairly full. There were still hundreds of surveys to complete but we had made a start on collecting evidence that an arts festival was wanted, needed even, in Lincoln. We met some fantastic characters, many who enjoyed art but were intimidated by the words “conceptual” or “contemporary” art – something we hope was altered after they had experienced our works. As always, the “it’s a waste of public money” grump arose more often than we would have hoped and the well-rehearsed, fervent funding-related replies were usually ignored as the person in question carried on walking. Looking at comments to the Lincolnshire Echo’s article, it would seem that people are very cynical of art; ironic when it is often their wasted lottery money that funds it. On the high street though, we found that people just want to be entertained. Many said how beautiful but dull Lincoln is; how its always good to have something to take the kids to see, or to fill an afternoon with. They may not provide a market for high-brow contemporary art but they would certainly be interested in seeing more accessible pieces such as the Shrug Ladies to brighten up their day.
Finally, Amelia and I began the arduous task of removing the gold leaf from the bollard. I tried not to think of a conversation I’d had earlier when one lady had asked if it would stay forever. On hearing that the Council wanted it to be removed at 5pm, she exclaimed that piles of vomit regularly fester against the bollard for two weeks before someone washes it off so it was ridiculous that the gold leaf could not stay. Scrubbing the bollard with bare hands, wire wool and lots of white spirit, I hoped that it had been a while since my bollard had been the centre of such attention…and also that the CCTV camera could not pick up the flecks of gold leaf still stuck under the bollard’s rim to remind interested members of the public of our presence.
