"Chapman brothers" I typed. "Search".
Up popped "WELCUM TO OUR WEBSHITE"
I like these guys already.
The White Cube gallery (Hoxton Square and Mason's Yard) are currently exhibiting the work of this sibling collaboration, regularly referred to as the enfants terribles of Britart. Unsurprising really, given their systematic defacement of the works of Francisco Goya in 2003, and in 2008 "prettifying" Adolf Hitler's yawn-inducing landscapes with hippie stars, smilies and rainbows.
Researching their work, my vision was assaulted with images that both pleased and repulsed me. Thinking to myself "Oh look, that child is Pinocchio...oh wait, no...that's a penis nose", I made another espresso. I'm not going to be the idiot at the gallery thinking things are noses when they are in fact, penises. Oh no.
I resolve to count the penises when I arrive.
One thing was clear: these two had balls. Giant, don't-give-a-fuck balls, and they weren't afraid to use them. On their art, on other peoples' art, on journalists who ticked them off - these two will pelt anyone. (Except me. They're too busy to do an interview.)
So have the enfants terribles done it again? In a word, hell yes. I needed an extra word.
I arrive at White Cube, Hoxton Square to the announcement "White Cube is pleased to present a new exhibition by Jake or Dinos Chapman". For the past year, Jake and Dinos have 'collaborated' by creating art solo, only to be viewed by the other in the staging of the show. In a collaboration where, as Jake puts it, they are interested only in their "divergences", starkness and jarring is expected. One may argue the jarring is itself, their art.
The exhibition has my stomach lurching in minutes. Having tallied several penises in the first two, I am quite shocked to see a group of schoolchildren gathered in front of a painting. One of them can’t be older than four. I realize with a start that not only are they shudderingly lifelike mannequins, but in place of noses they have beaks, snouts or trunks, and sneers revealing animalistic teeth. The logo on their uniforms reads "They teach us nothing". This will be the title of Dinos's next publication to accompany the exhibition.
Upstairs, there is a small, dimly lit room decorated with religious statues and paintings, each one with a homely lamp at its side. At second glance, the faces of the Virgin Mary, the baby and adult Jesus are terrifying, with sharp, demonic tongues, bloodied tentacles protruding from the mouths, sores and wide, horrific eyes that follow you around the room. The paintings, which at first seem to be simply religious figures with skin conditions, have modern internet acronyms like "R.O.F.L" and "L.M.F.A.O" etched subtly into parts of the painting. I think of Dinos's words that I read only moments before, "Jake and I only make things that amuse us", and I picture the boys 'rofling' at their own irreverence.
It’s all I can do to race across town to Mason's Yard to see the rest of the exhibition, which turns out be the highlight of my weekend. After wandering among the painted cardboard sculptures, mainly enjoying the titles which ranged from the simple: "Weeping" and "Cell", to the humorous: "The stubber of toes" and "Somewhere between tennis elbow and wanker's cramp", I venture downstairs to be welcomed by a skinless Nazi.
Soldiers in Nazi uniforms with jet black skinless faces stand all over the room, with bright blue crazy eyes and the swastika on their armbands replaced by smiley faces. I would never have imagined a room full of Nazi soldiers could amuse me, but this crosses that ever-thinning line between shocking and hilarious. Two of the soldiers have their trousers pulled down to their knees and are joylessly bumming. (I know, the verb 'to bum' is wholly unpleasant, but I finally found a use for it. Go and see for yourself - those Nazi soldiers are not lovemaking or engaging in intercourse; they are unequivocally bumming.)
Another is looking, flabbergasted, at his arm, splattered with white paint. I hear a splash, and see a pigeon just sent a jet of crap straight onto him. It's wonderfully poignant and undeniably funny. Hitler is undoubtedly spinning in his grave, and I only wish that were part of the exhibition too.
In an adjacent room, a colourfully dressed mannequin with a KKK hood stands 'looking' at a painting of a war scene and crucifix torture, sporting a boner that would scare Jenna Jameson. As the Chapman brothers once proclaimed in mud, "We are artists", and when a boner that size makes such a political and moral statement, it cannot be challenged or denied. They are, indeed, artists.
This exhibition is visceral, shocking, horribly offensive and delightfully witty. Go, go, and go again. Take my Oyster card. My viewing of the exhibition complete, I leave White Cube smirking and noting the familiar art gallery sounds; the shuffling, the whispering, the rhythmic splatter of a pigeon shitting on a Nazi.
And in case anyone's interested - 19 penises.
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