MUSE

Richard Ansett

MUSE

A Portrait of Grayson Perry

TABLE OF CONTENTS For Paul

INTRODUCTION

6

CONCEPTION

12

FIRST INTERLUDE

20

AMERICAN BEAUTY

28

SECOND INTERLUDE

40

BIRTH

48

THIRD INTERLUDE

58

DEATH IN ISLINGTON

68

FOURTH INTERLUDE

78

LAND OF HOPE AND GLORY

86

TRANSFUTURISM

98

CREDITS

112

TABLE OF CONTENTS For Paul

INTRODUCTION

6

CONCEPTION

12

FIRST INTERLUDE

20

AMERICAN BEAUTY

28

SECOND INTERLUDE

40

BIRTH

48

THIRD INTERLUDE

58

DEATH IN ISLINGTON

68

FOURTH INTERLUDE

78

LAND OF HOPE AND GLORY

86

TRANSFUTURISM

98

CREDITS

112

INTRODUCTION

What makes one artist more successful than another? Or worse, famous? The chasm between the fantasy and reality of achieving fame as an artist in one’s own lifetime feels unbridgeable for us mere mortals, so it’s hard to empathise with those catapulted into the spotlight. The only way to make sense of it is to believe in their brand, rather than entertain the possibility that they have merely won some cosmic lottery. It’s unfashionable, but the humility of self-doubt as a driving force for creativity is preferable to the ‘second album’ syndrome that comes from believing too much in one’s own genius. A platitude though it may be, the definition of a great artist is the balance of insecurity and ego that quickly becomes apparent when meeting Perry — with or without the wig.

It’s fun for us to observe the ‘celebrity arc’. The tragicomedy of the rise and fall is the best bit, but only the famous can truly know what it feels like when the grail lands in their lap. Scrutinising this particular ‘art star’, there is a sense of how aware he is of the fragility of his success — we are not in control of what people think, after all.

Perry understands the introjection that holds others back from greatness, but he has extricated himself from that kind of thinking. It’s a testament to his character, his politics and his therapist (probably) that he has managed to build on his success and not allow hubris to destroy it all.

But what’s he really like?!

Grayson is incredibly difficult to work with and a complete diva. He’s actually lovely, obvs. From my privileged position behind the camera, I can observe that he seems to be mostly a creature of the present, unaffected as much as possible by fame, and grounded as if he might still be living in a London squat and not just off the phone with the King of Denmark. A tatty chair sits incongruously in the corner of his studio as a reminder of those early years. Being grounded is definitely one of his most attractive features (apart from those fabulous legs) and it’s all too easy to forget you are in the presence of a renowned international artist and national treasure — SO DON’T! It’s unhealthy to deify any human, but I’ve had fun trying. Ever since I met him, we’ve had a blast and I can say from experience that when he’s dressed in a frock, Grayson will do almost anything for the camera. There’s a distinctive cackle that tells you when things are going well and he’s having a good time. And then it’s over till the next time, if there is a next time... (GAY SCREAM!) His glorious facsimiles allow me to form a relationship with them that doesn’t feel possible with Grayson as ‘himself ’. I have more than tacit permission to play with these vivid doll-like facades, but we shouldn’t make the mistake of separating them entirely.

Grayson certainly doesn’t.

Our understanding of Perry’s nature is uniquely wrapped up in these powerful personas, as mysterious as they are revealing. His journey to art celeb is all just grist to the mill for this otherwise heteronormative alpha male in a dress, who observes the world from within his fabulous avatars. But Perry, whose eccentricity has been exacerbated by his fame, is no more a contradiction than the rest of us — I see him more like a fairground mirror, offering a new view of ourselves. After all, we rely on personas just as impenetrable if not as vivid as Perry’s, and here lies a partial truth in the impossible quest to make some sense of Sir Grayson Perry CBE (or anyone else, for that matter).

When presented with what seems like a protective alter-ego trowelled on as thick as Grayson’s, for example, it’s a challenge to see what’s underneath. But maybe it’s best if we don’t. ‘Never meet your heroes’, they say. We are setting them (and us) up to fail and we will inevitably be disappointed when we discover that they don’t live up to the projection of our unrealised hopes and dreams, and that they are ‘only human’.

It must be difficult to protect one’s sanity from the expectations of others. Grayson’s humanity, however, is anything but a disappointment. Instead, it defines him and continues to surprise and delight me.

‘Can’t we pretend that I have died and all these photographs were found in a garage, like Vivian Maier?’

Our enjoyment of a portrait of the famous is not usually interrupted by the awareness of the funny little man behind the curtain, frantically working the levers. He should be eclipsed by the powerful image of the Wizard. But, to extend the camp metaphor further, I am that funny little man (hello) and Dorothy too. And in the interests of subversion (and fun), I am pulling back the curtain. For me, I am as present as Grayson in these images, not unlike that scene in ‘Deep Impact’ when Maximilian Schell explains to a tearful Téa Leoni that her mother, missing in all their family photos, was in fact behind the camera all along.

The brief moments I spend with great artists like Perry are an excuse to rub up against their genius and hope that some of the magic sticks. It doesn’t, unfortunately.

Working with the famous is a form of prostitution. Not in a negative sense. I mean that if one can find attractive people to be fucked by, it’s better than collecting trolleys at Lidl. It is an admission of failure that my lifetime’s pursuit of a better understanding of the human experience through photographs of ‘real people’ has been eclipsed by my more recognised portraits of the rich and famous. I am left with a career path of least resistance, photographing those much cleverer and richer than myself.

Unfortunately, I’m great at it. There’s a downside to spending too much time with the attractive, intelligent and wealthy and I’m already feeling a little inadequate when I meet Perry for the first time at Tate Modern in 2013. In this context, forming a 10-year relationship with what appeared to be the ultimate extreme of the impenetrable celebrity persona, may not have seemed entirely great for my mental health.

It’s important that my presence is recognised, not just to appease my own tragic and fragile ego, but to expose these images as being far from an objective examination.

They are a singular, unique, queer gaze and, mostly unpublished, they represent a treasured personal edit from a huge archive formed during numerous commissions to create the iconic images that have promoted Perry’s many activities. Even from the very first time we met, I have been developing a parallel examination of this extraordinary subject, surreptitiously reframing the context for my own ends. It was my dirty little secret until now.

Over the years, Perry and his closest collaborators have generously handed me increasing control of the conceptual content. So my guilty pleasure has been tolerated and, while I have never overtly advertised our connection publicly, my images of Perry have appeared in a number of ‘side projects’, beginning with the placement of our first iconic portrait next to van Dyck’s selfie at the National Galleries of Scotland, followed by a guerrilla installation on the toilet doors of the National Portrait Gallery and the

INTRODUCTION

What makes one artist more successful than another? Or worse, famous? The chasm between the fantasy and reality of achieving fame as an artist in one’s own lifetime feels unbridgeable for us mere mortals, so it’s hard to empathise with those catapulted into the spotlight. The only way to make sense of it is to believe in their brand, rather than entertain the possibility that they have merely won some cosmic lottery. It’s unfashionable, but the humility of self-doubt as a driving force for creativity is preferable to the ‘second album’ syndrome that comes from believing too much in one’s own genius. A platitude though it may be, the definition of a great artist is the balance of insecurity and ego that quickly becomes apparent when meeting Perry — with or without the wig.

It’s fun for us to observe the ‘celebrity arc’. The tragicomedy of the rise and fall is the best bit, but only the famous can truly know what it feels like when the grail lands in their lap. Scrutinising this particular ‘art star’, there is a sense of how aware he is of the fragility of his success — we are not in control of what people think, after all.

Perry understands the introjection that holds others back from greatness, but he has extricated himself from that kind of thinking. It’s a testament to his character, his politics and his therapist (probably) that he has managed to build on his success and not allow hubris to destroy it all.

But what’s he really like?!

Grayson is incredibly difficult to work with and a complete diva. He’s actually lovely, obvs. From my privileged position behind the camera, I can observe that he seems to be mostly a creature of the present, unaffected as much as possible by fame, and grounded as if he might still be living in a London squat and not just off the phone with the King of Denmark. A tatty chair sits incongruously in the corner of his studio as a reminder of those early years. Being grounded is definitely one of his most attractive features (apart from those fabulous legs) and it’s all too easy to forget you are in the presence of a renowned international artist and national treasure — SO DON’T! It’s unhealthy to deify any human, but I’ve had fun trying. Ever since I met him, we’ve had a blast and I can say from experience that when he’s dressed in a frock, Grayson will do almost anything for the camera. There’s a distinctive cackle that tells you when things are going well and he’s having a good time. And then it’s over till the next time, if there is a next time... (GAY SCREAM!) His glorious facsimiles allow me to form a relationship with them that doesn’t feel possible with Grayson as ‘himself ’. I have more than tacit permission to play with these vivid doll-like facades, but we shouldn’t make the mistake of separating them entirely.

Grayson certainly doesn’t.

Our understanding of Perry’s nature is uniquely wrapped up in these powerful personas, as mysterious as they are revealing. His journey to art celeb is all just grist to the mill for this otherwise heteronormative alpha male in a dress, who observes the world from within his fabulous avatars. But Perry, whose eccentricity has been exacerbated by his fame, is no more a contradiction than the rest of us — I see him more like a fairground mirror, offering a new view of ourselves. After all, we rely on personas just as impenetrable if not as vivid as Perry’s, and here lies a partial truth in the impossible quest to make some sense of Sir Grayson Perry CBE (or anyone else, for that matter).

When presented with what seems like a protective alter-ego trowelled on as thick as Grayson’s, for example, it’s a challenge to see what’s underneath. But maybe it’s best if we don’t. ‘Never meet your heroes’, they say. We are setting them (and us) up to fail and we will inevitably be disappointed when we discover that they don’t live up to the projection of our unrealised hopes and dreams, and that they are ‘only human’.

It must be difficult to protect one’s sanity from the expectations of others. Grayson’s humanity, however, is anything but a disappointment. Instead, it defines him and continues to surprise and delight me.

‘Can’t we pretend that I have died and all these photographs were found in a garage, like Vivian Maier?’

Our enjoyment of a portrait of the famous is not usually interrupted by the awareness of the funny little man behind the curtain, frantically working the levers. He should be eclipsed by the powerful image of the Wizard. But, to extend the camp metaphor further, I am that funny little man (hello) and Dorothy too. And in the interests of subversion (and fun), I am pulling back the curtain. For me, I am as present as Grayson in these images, not unlike that scene in ‘Deep Impact’ when Maximilian Schell explains to a tearful Téa Leoni that her mother, missing in all their family photos, was in fact behind the camera all along.

The brief moments I spend with great artists like Perry are an excuse to rub up against their genius and hope that some of the magic sticks. It doesn’t, unfortunately.

Working with the famous is a form of prostitution. Not in a negative sense. I mean that if one can find attractive people to be fucked by, it’s better than collecting trolleys at Lidl. It is an admission of failure that my lifetime’s pursuit of a better understanding of the human experience through photographs of ‘real people’ has been eclipsed by my more recognised portraits of the rich and famous. I am left with a career path of least resistance, photographing those much cleverer and richer than myself.

Unfortunately, I’m great at it. There’s a downside to spending too much time with the attractive, intelligent and wealthy and I’m already feeling a little inadequate when I meet Perry for the first time at Tate Modern in 2013. In this context, forming a 10-year relationship with what appeared to be the ultimate extreme of the impenetrable celebrity persona, may not have seemed entirely great for my mental health.

It’s important that my presence is recognised, not just to appease my own tragic and fragile ego, but to expose these images as being far from an objective examination.

They are a singular, unique, queer gaze and, mostly unpublished, they represent a treasured personal edit from a huge archive formed during numerous commissions to create the iconic images that have promoted Perry’s many activities. Even from the very first time we met, I have been developing a parallel examination of this extraordinary subject, surreptitiously reframing the context for my own ends. It was my dirty little secret until now.

Over the years, Perry and his closest collaborators have generously handed me increasing control of the conceptual content. So my guilty pleasure has been tolerated and, while I have never overtly advertised our connection publicly, my images of Perry have appeared in a number of ‘side projects’, beginning with the placement of our first iconic portrait next to van Dyck’s selfie at the National Galleries of Scotland, followed by a guerrilla installation on the toilet doors of the National Portrait Gallery and the

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MUSE • Portrait of Grayson Perry

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• 17 •

MUSE • Portrait of Grayson Perry

SECOND INTERLUDE

• 41 •

SECOND INTERLUDE

• 41 •

Second Interlude

• 44 •

• 45 •

MUSE • Portrait of Grayson Perry

Second Interlude

• 44 •

• 45 •

MUSE • Portrait of Grayson Perry

Land of Hope and Glory

• 96 •

• 97 •

MUSE • Portrait of Grayson Perry

Land of Hope and Glory

• 96 •

• 97 •

MUSE • Portrait of Grayson Perry

ISBN: 978-1-78884-232-7

9 781788 842327

55000 £40.00/$50.00

www.accartbooks.com