Small guide for foreign artists:
Wheeling and dealing in the British hi-brow art world

Have a jolly good laugh with V-CR

In Great Britain, the "upper class" are the people who run all tings dem (almost). Consequently, they are also the most important people to deal with in the British art world. Those self-named "old boys" are easily identifyable by their ill-fitting suits and slightly scruffy shoes -a fine example of British understatement! Their offspring might appear disguised by street-style fashion with some Vivienne Westwood thrown in, but the rest is the same. Talk to them with an imaginary clothpeg on your nose in a slightly camp way, pronouncing each word over-clearly (as if you were a lingo-theorist) with a hint of a german accent. Stretch single words to suggest meaningfulness while pitching some 3 tones higher, e.g. "this is a veeeh-ry fine p-heace of classic laa-hndscape p-haaiinting with a 21st century ai-hrr about it!"

At the same time, avoid all intellectual deepwaters as well as anything linked to philosophy or good food. Because despite their impressive elitist attitude dem people are in fact less intellectual and culturally educated than a Parisian taxi driver, so they´d feel instantly threatened...

If you crack a joke and you want to raise understanding grins instead of eyebrows, it needs to have a sexually repressed subtext plus either defensive or arrogant sarkasm, while travelling at least round three corners until it gets there.

The identity of this exotic tribe is defined by being colonial masters of a glorious world kingdom -only that there´s nothing left of that after they first ripped off what they robbed, then fucked it up and consequently lost or dropped it. A trauma the British upper class will never recover from and understandably so, since there´s nothing left to justify their existence. All they´ve been thrown back onto now is this small rainy run-down polluted island where nothing works properly, with a couple of filthy rich cunts in Bentleys thrown in. And they kind of know it...

Watching the Arts and Entertainment Business profits rocket doesn´t hurt them as such. What is somehow hard to stomach though is realising that if their country is world-renowned for

anything cultural nowadays, it´s for the enormous creative achievements of "urban style" art and music, which is fuelled by the streets and by black and brown riff-raff. It feels almost like a conspiracy. So just make them feel that you understand their aristocratic struggle and you´ll get on okay. But always remember in the back of your head that they´re actually barbarians (like everyone else north of the Alp Mountains, according to my Spanish teacher). So their concept of life is admiringly simple: defend their privileges, rip the rest off and keep them down (including yourself of course), get smashed and have bad sex.

The social aim in those people´s life is therefore to stick to their own like glue in a self-referencial parallel universe without liking each other. -Not that anybody with some style would seriously have the desire to join such a club cursed with boredom and spiritual void. They are passionate backstabbers too, which supposedly comes with the frustration.

There´s pathological repression filling the British clouds in terms of emotions. So it´s essential to down a good couple of pints with them to loosen things up before mentioning business (no business without heavy drinking in England, i´m afraid). Three too many though and they´ll turn hysteric, will start singing and dancing on the table and tell you they think you´re great and how keen they are to exhibit or buy your work. They might even make a pass on you while they´re at it (the English are generally quite loose when they´re pissed). None of which will actually be remembered the next day, though. -A helpful relict from Victoran times´ social convention "it did not happen", which they´ve since stretched from applying to class segregation on to pretty much anything one might feel embarrassed about the morning after.

The actual work the upper class put in themselves consists of countless business lunches in unaffordable but painfully vibeless spots. While getting stuffed and drunk with mates from their old/new boy-maffia, that´s where they do all these x-amount-pounds decisions at the snap of a finger.

While making sure that people from lesser breeds (including women by good old school standards, unless you´re a pitbull bxxx like

Margareth Thatcher/ a freak comedian like Tracy Emin) keep sweating in the background all along, dealing with the petty details and squeezing their creativity for ripoff fees. Or just bare future promises, which always works well with the eager young guns. The bosses will pop into their offices briefly after lunch, throw a round of firm but reassuring upper-fart grins into everyone´s face and then zoom down to the bank pocketing lots of freshly printed bling-bling. Which they´ll proceed to carry to some kinky domina, real estate agent or Jaguar car dealer...

Occasionally they´ll proudly open up another posh gallery in a prohibitevely expensive Central London location, maybe inspired by some extra inheritance money coming in. Maybe inspired be the shrink or the weather. Not that they´d need the extra dosh, since the devil always shits on the biggest pile anyway. It´s more about feeling arty and that you´re doing something with yourself, plus the chance to keep the bitching going at the back. Not to mention the neverending joy of getting blissfully pissed with the same boring old posse at the "exclusive" openings. Who knows -they might even flog your work for a fine cut on their way to the loo. In the end, it´s all about being down with the right people, and them knowing that you yourself never will. So going through all this effort they´re kind of doing you a favour, really.

Just keep your contenance whenever style issues might come up. Because despite banging on about "cutting edge New Britannia", in their brains they´re still living in soft-focus Victorian times. Therefore, deep down they only really like heavy antique furniture and cheesy romantic landscapes with horses and hunting dogs ripping cute bunny rabbits or foxes to bits.

P.S.: Unless you´re one of the chosen few to have been turned into a rising share in the arts game (as opposed to getting stuck in the poverty trap rotting in your Hackney/Brixton bedsit listening to pirate radio): if anyone tells you they´re really interested in your work and that they´ll give you a call very soon, that means in translation: "i won´t ever bother to call you". See -it´s all about cracking the code, simple!

© Vera C Ritter 2003