Banksy vs Bristol Museum

I’ve been visiting my home town this weekend; you know, the one that’s “famous for trip hop and slavery” (that’s what the programme for this exhibition says anyway).
Banksy is surely now Bristol’s most famous son; eclipsing Cary Grant, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Thomas Chatterton, Russ Conway, Massive Attack, The Wurzels, Tricky and even Fred Wedlock. There is no greater evidence of this than the several hundred person long queue that has stretched down into Park Row all day, every day from the 13th June this year and will no doubt, continue to do so until 31st August when this free exhibit ceases. I took the opportunity to experience the phenomenon and  joined the hoards at 10.15 on Sunday morning, finally entering the gallery about 70 minutes later. Glancing around during this time I realised that the line was largely comprised of fairly conventional looking Bristolian families, the kind of people who 10 years back would probably have denounced the work of a graffiti artist as a social menace. Now along with a revisionist Bristol City Council they have embraced the celebrity-friendly recidivist as a symbol of unity and prosperity for a city starved of national attention since the early 90s trip hop halcyon.

The Bristol Museum & Gallery already houses a fairly impressive collection of significant works including the likes of Renoir, Pissaro, Courbet, Constable and Gainsborough so the presence of such a high profile event may not be as incongruous as it seems. The Banksy exhibit is split between a dedicated art of Banksy gallery and a large smattering of guerilla works that “re-mix” the existing collection of this Edwardian edifice. The latter is the most rewarding as it leads the visitor through a maze of regularly ignored works with the promise of a cheap Banksy thrill in almost every room.

On entering the museum proper you are faced with the largest of the exhibits, one of  Banksy’s typical dystopian scenes featuring a life-size burnt out ice-cream van ditched on an astro-turf green with a riot policeman astride a moving child’s coin-operated ride.
Banksy’s art at its best, holds up a mirror to society (particularly British society) in a way that is almost celebratory in the impartiality of its delivery and the corners of this main atrium are flanked by some of the most successfully realised works of this exhibit. In this instance we get four beautiful plinthed pure white Renaissance casts – Michelangelo’s “David” adorned with kerchief mask and ammo belt of a suicide bomber, the teenage “chav”-ess complete with lager can and cigarette, Venus as a baseball-capped homeless amputee and the self-obsessed designer shopping bag laden WAG. The depiction of ugliness by the deployment of beauty is a familiar dichotomy but one that is portrayed here in an inimitable fashion. This exhibit also becomes evidence of the fact that, to many, this event is one long conveyor belt photo opportunity, an all too familiar aspect of so many life experiences in the early 21st century.

The first of the dedicated gallery rooms is crammed with the type of works that will be familiar to all but the cave dweller – the trademark stencils and large canvases that are Banksy’s bread and butter. Many of these satires are characterised by a subtle and sophisticated humour whilst others deal with world poverty and injustice on an explicit level. The prevailing reaction to all the works on display is wild mirth which is perfectly understandable as most of them are bloody funny. I can only hope that the underlying content is not lost on the majority of visitors. There is also evidence that Banksy’s work is taking on a more self-reverential approach that against odds, remains successful.
The second room is an animatronic zoo full of caged or glass-cased exhibits and is the other beautifully realised success of this exhibition. The subdued lighting and sound effects contribute to the uneasy experience of being dropped into some nightmarish laboratory of damaged evolution. Chicken nuggets hatch from eggs and take nourishment from tubs of barbecue sauce, a mother CCTV camera watches over the nest of its CCTV child, the tail of a leopard fur coat twitches as it hangs from a branch, a beauty obsessed white rabbit applies its own make-up and a large turd-like fish-finger hovers in its bowl. Most disturbing of all is the reptile house meat selection where salamis and sausages undulate in a far too realistic manner like extras from a lost David Lynch short.

From here it’s up to you. Works of the “local artist” are blended throughout the existing exhibits and act as a (not-too) elusive reward for exploration of some of the dustier corners of this institution. For me, some of these harbour distant memories from childhood visits like the gypsy caravan, now slapped with a penalty charge and eviction notice. Elsewhere, a blood-spattered Countryside Alliance banner rests next to a dormant fox in the stuffed menagerie.

This is invigorating art displayed in an elaborate and ambitious manner. Its irreverent, playful approach is devoid of the Saatchi sponsored pomposity which characterised the early 90s Brit-art sensation. That’s what makes this an important and decisive chapter in the relationship of the British public with its artists. In fact, another highlight comes in the form of a poke at that establishment-endorsed charlatan Hirst. Amongst the diminutive modern painting collection hangs a work entitled “Improved Spot Painting” featuring a rat grey-rollering one of DH’s mass produced banal masterpieces. It’s a welcome relief to be able to engage and identify with work such as this, especially in light of such crashing un-achievements as Tracey Emin’s “Those who suffer Love” and the Chapmans’ “If Hitler Had Been a Hippy…”.

As well as the international tourist trade this exhibition is cramming locals, particularly children into an environment that perhaps without Banksy they would never experience. This exposure to art and patronage of a sadly-ignored local cultural institution can only be a good thing even if it is largely through some deluded sense of regional pride.

Banksy has more than his fair share of deriders but on the strength of what is on display here it’s easy to see that his work has a connection that stretches far beyond its inexplicable middle-class appeal. And that is why it works so well in this environment. This exhibition is an unqualified success and deserves to be experienced. So if you’re in Britain (or nearby), I urge you to take some time out to visit the mild, mild West and take advantage of this fine opportunity, it won’t even cost you a penny to get in.