catfunt: the site they should have silenced

I spy for the ... ICA

Met my insane friend Ivan "don't fuck with the" Pope to see the equally insane (but way too studied) John Bock show at the ICA. Bock is German and has filled the downstairs galleries with some kind of self-build gone wrong - roughly nailed shuttering ply divides the space into smaller rooms with photos, video projections and bales of straw with ladders and narrow crawl spaces to move around - all punctuated by the incessant unrelenting chatter of the three ICA invigilators standing in the middle of the room talking about their plans for the weekend. It felt like spying on a teenage sleep-over. The concourse gallery (ie the corridor that goes to the bar) has five of Bock's videos playing. To view them you stand at the top of a ladder, lie in a bath, climb into a wooden chamber which works well and once you've settled into your space the videos just fly past (in as much as art videos ever do). My favourite showed Bock driving a large tractor around a field in rugged artist fashion. Midway through the steering wheel comes off in his hand and there's briefly mild panic in Bock's face (Bock is the Roger Moore of performance) as he momentarily looses control. It's like a metaphor for the relationship of the artist to these huge mechanical projects that constantly threaten to lurch out of control.

Anyway, enough Bock. Bumped into Philip Dodd (the ICA's director) in the ICA bar (well, that implies that we know each other which isn't true). He was behind me in the queue and while the bar guy was doing my order, Dodd muttered "Green tea" in a knowing way with a slight nod of the head, straightened a few leaflets on the bar and wandered off. "I hate it when he does that," said the bar guy, "when will he be back? The tea's just going to sit there for ages now." "He's the boss, whaddya gonna do?" I said (see how I bond with the working man). "I don't care if he's the boss," replied my guy. Dodd finally reappeared, got a fudge brownie to go with his green tea and said "Put it on my bill" and off he went in his double vented suit (might have been a Paul Smith). "Make sure he pays his tab before he leaves," I said. "Good point" said the bar man nodding. (Dodd is leaving the ICA to set up a Chinese baby adoption scheme for childless Westerners. The Guardian gave him a free full page ad for his new business.)