We all walk up the hill and sit looking out over this remarkable landscape, the 100’s of years of human endeavour that created it. For some reason we start talking about art and more specifically bad art we have known and loved, some of the old classics get rolled out, Brain Catlin, Franko B, the dumb conceptualist movement of rural Britain, some of our favorite works from college. The bronze cast baby on board sign above with a board with a baby doll nailed to it. Peter Weible sticking tongue into wet cement and losing tip of tongue when the cement set, the upshot being that he has spoken with a pronounced lisp for the past 40 years. Holding a dead lamb and pouring ink into the eye, in a homage to Brain Catlin but knowing that Brian used child friendly ink and being blinded for 2 weeks. Finally young carefree and happy Barnaby interjects ‘Why do we always end up talking about bad art?’ Ben responds ‘because it’s fun, and good comes from the bad’. Which I am sure he doesn't mean as we all know there is no good and bad anymore, that was always where problem lay, making judgments, constructing fictional and spurious hierarchies.
So we sit around and make up some - as shit as possible land art projects that we fear may well in fact have been done for this beautiful place and kinda moving place.
Different coloured water in each of the rice fields
The words wacked, bastered, bar, having a, etc in giant letters
Pickett fences round the fields
Hundreds of wind socks in different colours
Cross hatched paddies – rods in different directions
The big eye paddy
Leaping salmon etc ..
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