Members of the public have their first chance to see the artworks nominated for the Turner Prize when an exhibition featuring the four contending artists opens tomorrow.
Working on the principle that a child of four or a modestly talented Cornish pasty could produce most Turner Prize works, the National Gallery of Dalston continues to stage its own annual conceptual art competition which promises to be every bit as crap as the real thing.
This year members of the public will be patronised, mocked and generally taken for credulous morons by artworks that include Peregrin Jeroboam’s Wheeee!, a work that comprises the artist himself spinning in circles shouting ‘Wheeee!’ while holding a small battered cod.
The post-modern école brute movement is represented by Dirk Ham’s Block, a concrete brick onto which the viewer is invited to project the sensation of green.
Anthea Hamilton had been nominated for an enormous sculpture of a man’s splayed buttocks, but this was considered to be taking the piss even by the standards of this garbage and has, consequently, been included in the Tate Gallery’s actual Turner Prize, where it is expected to win.
Organisers of the Dalston Prize hope to avoid the embarrassment caused by last years’s competition when the winning entry turned out to be a real fire extinguisher and not the ‘paradigm-shifting re-imagining of shape, form and abstracted space referencing an everyday aesthetic that makes a profound post-colonial statement while alluding to tropes of the alienating contemporary built environment’ like that stupid bastard Nicholas Serota said it was.