Art without the bull

This blog finds me sitting in the basement at Suburb coffee shop in Manchester. This is one of my favourite places and I have become such a regular here (in my occasionally unchallenging life) that I’ve become rather friendly with the staff and other regulars. It’s the sort of life I thought New York was about, but have yet to find any evidence that supports this myth.

I just had a nice chat with Neil Roland, the photographer who has an exhibition at Suburb. Apparently, a group of art school students are studying him and people have written theses about his work. He is openly at a loss to understand why. For example, his preference for producing series of photographs in one dominant colour is all to do with the fact that it sells and he thinks it looks pretty. He likes to take pictures of nudes because he thinks they look pretty and he quite likes the control of a nude model doing what he says. Well, who wouldn't? He insists that it’s nothing to do with statements about the vulnerability of the frail human body against harsh industrial backgrounds: he just likes to take pictures of women with big tits and young boys with big biceps and knobs getting naked in public places. Again, who wouldn't?

I find it wonderfully refreshing to hear somebody say “the only reason anybody would buy that over there (points to a series of seven pictures in one frame entitled “Manchester in green”) is because they think it looks nice but mostly because they have a green carpet.” If only all people with talent were so unpretentious I might actually go to art galleries and the opera.