The Turner Prize: a judge’s view

A unique account of what it’s like to sit on the UK’s most influential art jury

And the winner is: Simon Starling’s Shedboatshed (mobile architecture No.2), 2005

When, in April 2004, I got the letter from Tate Britain director Stephen Deuchar asking me to be on the jury of the the 2005 Turner Prize, “poisoned chalice” was the first phrase that sprang to mind. While of course it was flattering to be asked to judge the UK’s most high-profile art prize, I have always been ambivalent about art awards in general and the Turner in particular. It often seems that the existence of these events is to everyone’s advantage but the artist’s. It is an artist’s job to make art, not to negotiate a full-scale and often hostile media onslaught, and several artists I know have been adversely affected by the media circus that traditionally accompanies the Turner, a jamboree in which any serious consideration of the art seems to take a back seat.

Yet at the same time the Turner and its context have undergone some radical changes in recent years. A combination of social, economic and cultural factors (in which the Turner itself has had a part to play) have placed contemporary art in the mainstream in a way unimaginable in 1984, the year of the Prize’s inauguration. The Turner Prize today is just one contemporary art award among many—albeit still the one that attracts the most attention—and this helps to take the heat off the short-listed artists. In 2004, the new sponsor Gordon’s Gin upped the prize money to give each of the shortlisted artists £5,000 and the winner an additional £20,000. This marks a crucial shift from the gladiatorial, winner-takes-all-situation of previous years to a more balanced rewarding of all four candidates.

Looking back, my experience of judging the Turner seemed a reflection of this more mellow, mature incarnation. First of all, there was the experience of looking at the art itself. As artists are nominated on the strength of a show held within a single year, it is obviously crucial to see as much as possible. This was an exciting but daunting prospect given the multitude of shows by British-based artists at home and abroad. Although I look at a lot of art anyway I really wanted to feel that I’d covered the ground and therefore way exceeded the Tate’s (rather stingy) travel budget, but I still felt that I could have seen twice as much.

This viewing of shows large and small, at home and abroad, was certainly the best bit. To assist the judges in this hefty quest, the Tate’s curators now draw up a huge list of exhibitions that have come to their notice within the judging period. Each of the judges is asked to make his or her own additions and to circulate the revised list accordingly. This ever-expanding document became both my Bible and my bane. It was a constant, guilt-inducing reminder of how much art there is to see, but it did reduce the risk of any howling omissions.

What also greatly eased the whole process was the fact that my fellow judges (Kate Bush, Eckhard Schneider and Caoimhin Mac Giolla Leith) were all respected art professionals—thankfully there is no longer the problematic presence of a collector on the panel—and so we all spoke the same language. In a way that seemed entirely natural, but was apparently almost unprecedented, we made a point of keeping in touch between meetings to discuss what we had all seen. This basic respect meant that, sorry to disappoint, we had none of the jury schisms, deadlocks and standoffs that have entered Turner mythology.

Critics of the prize, such as the tedious Stuckists, say that it is an inside job. Well you wouldn’t ask someone who knows nothing about dogs to judge Crufts, would you? All I can say is that I had my eyes opened and my mind changed on several occasions.

At the end of this year of intensive looking at art, the judging itself is a surprisingly swift process. Apart from the initial meet-and-greet in May 2004, there were only two meetings: one to decide the shortlist in May 2005 and one to pick a winner on 5 December 2005, the day of the dinner. Both of these were very ably chaired by Sir Nicholas Serota, the Tate’s director, who did not dominate proceedings or impose his own preferences but was adept at keeping the discussions both focused as well as surprisingly relaxed. While I often felt challenged, at no point did I feel coerced or compromised.

But it wasn’t all cosy acquiescence: in May 2005 we each had to submit a long shortlist which was circulated in advance and formed the basis of our discussion. For all our friendliness, it quickly emerged that we were four individuals of very distinct tastes and although there were a surprising number of overlaps on our respective shortlists, each of us also brought a number of very different artists to the party and often argued passionately to keep them in the final cut. Some made it, some didn’t; but what was fascinating about the process was that, although the final shortlist was not one that any of us would have come up with individually, I think we were all comfortable and even intrigued by the final line-up—it really did reflect our sum as much as our parts.

Of course it’s never pleasant having to encounter artists who you have supported in the past and who expected to turn up on the shortlist. For it to be effective, and fair to all the artists involved, the jury process demands that you do not divulge who said what or favoured whom, but the representation of artists in our final selection seemed to be one that other artists could respect. The press treatment of the artists seemed more benign (although I regret that Gillian Carnegie’s parents had the Daily Mail turning up on their doorstep). I was particularly pleased that critical opinion was so divided about the show itself—reviewers disagreeing about the work is, to my mind, the right kind of controversy. I was also very happy to see that the public opinion also reflected dramatically divergent views, with each of the four artists attracting an almost even share of supporters and detractors apiece.

Picking a winner was, therefore no picnic. However grouted into our cultural landscape the Turner may have become, and however established and highly regarded all the artists on the shortlist, one artist still has to be chosen over the other three. Again there were no fireworks behind the closed jury doors, but no easy agreements either and although I believe that we were all comfortable with the final outcome, I for one am glad that you only judge the Turner Prize once in your career.

Some other Turner prize shortlist images.

by Gillian Carnegie

by Jim Lambie

a "complex sculptural installation" by Simon Starling (I think you have to be there)

a fuel cell powered bicycle by Starling

a painting by Carnegie

Those guys are STILL at it?

http://www.stuckism.com/realturner.html

THE TURNER PRIZE - A Stuckist Manifesto

The Stuckists (est. 1999)

anti-anti-art

The first Remodernist art group

1. Everyone talks about The Turner Prize but very few people believe in its worth. It has become an ongoing national joke, because of its pathetic and pretentious exhibits.

2. The Turner Prize is not, despite what Sir Nicholas Serota believes, the popularising of art but its dumbing down into a circus of curiousities.

3. The Turner Prize effectively turns The Tate Gallery into a state-funded advertising agency for Charles Saatchi, the Lisson Gallery and the White Cube Gallery.

4. Turner did not rebuild launderettes. He did not take photographs. He did not make videos, nor, to our knowledge, did he pickle sheep or construct concrete casts of negative space.

5. It should be pointed out that what Turner actually did was to paint pictures.

6. To call The Turner Prize The Turner Prize is like calling bubble-gum caviar.

7. The only artist who wouldn't be in danger of winning The Turner Prize is Turner.

8. To award The Turner Prize to an inferior re-hash of a Buster Keaton film is like awarding an Oscar to the the workman who paint the Forth Bridge.

9. If the Trustees of The Tate Gallery have any respect for the values to which Turner devoted his life, The Turner Prize must be awarded to an artist who continues the tradition of communicating the power of life through painting.

10. Alternatively, we propose that The Turner Prize should be re-named The Duchamp Award for the destruction of artistic integrity.

Billy Childish

Charles Thomson

1.9.2000

I like number 10: calling it the Duchamp award would be more appropriate.

I think I learned about the Stuckists from you. I looked them up on the web and liked what they were about. I tried to join them, but it's tricky when you don't already have a group in your region. (When one lives in the stix, one is pretty isolated.)

And doesn't originality count for something. I mean, Daniel Buren has already done that stripe thing (which was empty then and no better now in Lambie's work).

by Daniel Buren. At least the play on the size of the striped columns is mildly amusing.

I do believe Gillian Carnegie is showing off her (his?) chops in the first painting... actually purposely demonstrating that she has skill. The second work shown by her is much more impressionist, but very powerful... I like it.

I'm mystified by Starling... is it just a political statement about fuel-efficient transportation? How is a bicycle art? How is a wood shed art, for that matter?

I'm sure I'd have to be there to appreciate Lambie...

The money quote:

". . . my fellow judges (Kate Bush, Eckhard Schneider and Caoimhin Mac Giolla Leith) were all respected art professionals—thankfully there is no longer the problematic presence of a collector on the panel—and so we all spoke the same language . . . "

IOW, this is a incestuous mutual admiration society.

I think the first work by Gillian (a woman) is a sculpture, not a painting. But that same textural quality is in the second painting. But what's the meaning? An ironic commentary on expressionism of the past? Postmodernism has to die some time soon (at least I hope so).

How is a wood shed art?

Well, Robert Smithson half-buried a woodshed once. This "sculpture" had to do with decay, decomposition, man's objects returning to the earth. This was not a great piece as was his Spiral Jetty, but it still has more meaning that the Turner shed, which didn't even have a fine visual appearance (as in architecture).

I half take back what I said about Gillian. I was mostly impressed with her skill at photorealism. Naturally if it IS a photo. I thought the complex geometries of the flowers and leaves were very difficult, and admired that they were appreciating someone simply for demonstrating what we musicians would call "chops." Meaning schmeaning. What's the meaning to Alex Van Halen playing "Flight of the Bumblebee" on electric guitar? Virtuosity is its own meaning. But if it's just a photo of a flower arrangement... eh.

Let's just say people wouldn't still be talking about Mona Lisa if she was merely introduced in the flesh to people.

(Well, maybe if she was introduced ONLY in the flesh, but you know what I meant...)

But I still reeeeeally like the second work. I'm not sure what meaning to attach to it, but it's lack of negative space, the black-and-red contrasts, and the way some elements are very realistic and others are very impressionistic all make the living but inanimate subject seem so agressive, almost rambunctuous.

As for Smithson's woodshed:

I'm not even sure what meaning "spiral jetty" has. I just like the idea of artwork that is visible from outer space. I'm half-certain the reason we haven't had any alien visitors (and, no, I certainly don't believe we have) is because we've done a pretty good job acting like the legendary people of Gotham (which Thomas Nash applied to New York, but was an actual town in England).

Smithson hasn't found a way of capturing his message. Why see his shed, when you can visit Detriot and see trees growing out of abandonned skyscrapers?

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