The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Eight

"What do you want people to feel looking at your work? What are you trying to communicate to them?"

I run my hand over my face and then around the back of my neck as I think about that. I think about Eloise's response when I asked her that. I think about how she said she wasn't capable of feeling anything by looking art. Which in fact turned out to be nonsense.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I don't really care what they feel when they're looking at it. As long as they feel something. Apathy is the worst kind of response for an artist. Every kind of art deserves some kind of emotional response from its viewer. I mean, if people put their heart and soul into something, into creating something, then it deserves a fair audience. A fair shot at making you react. Lots of people say they're not really into art and I completely understand why — the construct of it, this whole vibe that it's for rich people with their four degrees and a disposable income. That's intimidating for a lot of people — working-class people especially. So yeah, I don't like to tell people why they should like my art, or any art, or what they should feel while they're looking at art.

And on that note, before you ask, it's the individual who decides what constitutes as art. 'What is art?' Is a question I'm asked frequently and it pisses me off more each time. If people really need a simple answer to that then they should go look it up on Wikipedia, for fuck's sake. Anyway, what was I saying? Yeah, I think if you're a normal human being with the ability for empathy then you will feel something watching a film, or listening to music, or reading a book. Of course, if a particular piece of art isn't for you, then it's not for you. Fair enough. But feel that: feel disgusted, repelled, turned off by it. I don't know but feel something. But then, at the end of the day, I'm just a drunk Irish guy with too much facial hair. What the fuck do I know?"

This might be the most I've ever spoken in an interview. And I can see why I don't do it more often. It's almost impossible to stop talking utter shite once I start — that's also like a disease. It's why I shouldn't talk to people. Pat was right.

The journalist covers her mouth with her hand and laughs girlishly before nodding and writing something else down. Probably something like: 'Is he drunk right now? He does have too much facial hair — I bet he looks better without it. Which unfortunately'm not and which I definitely don't.

She glances over her notepad quickly before looking back up at me, "Okay if we can talk about the Morley, briefly. I guess it was a while ago now, about twelve months back? It's the most prestigious art award in Britain, and there was a lot of shock in the industry when you won. I assume you never expected to win, being up against some really big movers like Marcus Wright, Kygo Ashura?" She asks.

It sounds like she never expected me to win either. I'm fucking fed up of talking about how I shouldn't have won. I know Marcus Wright should have won. His sculpture was incredible. A masterpiece. No one has to tell me that he should have won. Marcus Wright probably knows it too. I wonder if they ask him in interviews how he felt when I unexpectedly won his Morley prize.

"Of course I didn't expect to win," I admit as I cast my mind back to that night. The night at the Imperial War Museum when some Welsh actor read my name out from a podium I could barely see through a veil of Guinness and red wine and changed my life forever. "The reaction from the press and some, most, in the art world felt totally proportionate. It was a shock. I was no-one. I'm still no-one. I was a photographer who'd made a few short films. I wasn't trying to make a career out of art." I'm still not. Not really. Not that I'd ever tell Pat that. "A friend persuaded me to exhibit my stuff for a show for unknowns and it caught some headlines. Snowballed from there. Honestly, I think I was the most shocked person in the room. Everyone was speechless. Apart from my Aunt Roisin who was with me that night. Apparently, she knew I was gonna win. Won £400 on it too." I smile at the memory. She looked so fucking proud that night. She didn't say it but I knew she was thinking mum would have been proud too. "But yeah, to everyone but her it was unimaginable to hear my name being read out."