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Andy Wilson
Martin Wolfenden
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'I Feel Sick' by Mong Jerry

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"There's nottin wrong with a bit of woolly company" (Farmer)
Uncle Wolfy Says..
Review of the Monger Art Gallery; Halifax.

On entering the gallery I was struck with the strong sense of foreboding that accompanies the work of so many artists. As I passed the mummified kipper I was thinking about how we humans are rather like kippers, sitting in the fridge waiting to be smeared with butter and eaten, when I was suddenly confronted by Hans Beinricht’s work ‘The Sink’ an installation in the form of a sink which occasionally emitted a tape recorded fart, which I believe the artist recorded from his own anal emissions. It is a humbling work of great importance which reflects the societal need for monetary wealth while at the same time extolling the values of truth and smiling.

Having stared at the Beinricht for some minutes I moved onward to a larger room in which was hung the three huge canvasses of Radlett’s triptych ‘No Booze’ in which the misery of living under a Thatcherite regime is expressed almost polemically through the use of oils and bull semen. Strongly evoking the miners strike and poll tax riots of the nineteen eighties it is to be approached with great care.
At this point in the exhibition I bumped into an old friend and we wept together for some minutes before embracing and continuing onto the third room of this gallery.

Lying in the centre of this room was the wax figure of a naked man, (Dead Naked Man by Phillip Mews) which was incredibly detailed; the only indication that this wasn’t a corpse was the penis; a tiny Hitler. Both I and my friend believed this was a representation of the desire to throw off the shackles of reasoned argument and return to the pugilistic tradition of our forebears.

As I walked away from the gallery, occasionally stopping as cars wound around and past me, I felt renewed, it was as if my soul had been fed with a big bottle of cultural milk. It is an experience I strongly advise you to take. However leave the kids at home, there is a chance of molestation in the ‘We like pink arses’ instalation.

Toodle pip for now.

Uncle Wolfy