Luck would have it that the 2009 Turner Prize was also being expo’d too so, for the addition if a few liquid quids, we could look over and ponder the winner?
The prize winner was predicted by Elena but, although I felt that only his work meant something to me, I really wouldn’t like to predict the winner of this award: the choice of champion is drearily done. I couldn’t connect anything, nothing with nothing in this scene. In such an vain enterprise I always feel tossed with wilted cos lettuce and fouled Caesar dressing, belonging to nothing conducive but a dreadfully proposed modern jazz cacophony. With pencils and lined paper we wrote our artistically thought contribution and exited to jazz ourselves up for London, in funked up costume, for fun down in Camden Town that night.
Bring on the Batman’s Jokers (Jude and Elena) and the brutally stupid me!
So Richard Wright won? No surprise really…