An Interview with Four Artists

The following transcript is an extract from the BBC Radio 4 programme “Wither the Arts?”. Renowned Hound Art Historian and radio favourite Harry Balzac spends time at the Devon Commune, and interviews some of the country’s most fêted and gifted artists.  You can hear the programme again on Thursday at noon after The Lurchers, or download it as a dogcast.

©Broadcasting Board for Canines

Harry: Today I am delighted to be visiting the Devon Commune, world famous for the quality of its artistic endeavours.  Set in the rolling hills on the edge of Exmoor, the prodigious output of the artists who live here is in evidence wherever you look.  We are lucky to have all four experts present, so without any further ado, let’s get cracking.

First to Cody Alexander Timberlake.  Cody, it is so nice to meet you again - I think last time we spoke was at Fashion Week in Monaco, when you were designing sets for the runway.  It was the year with the furore over the size 0 whippets.  Back home, you have always leant towards working with fur, most often in mixed media.

Cody: Hello Harry.  Yes, I decided early to focus on what I could get my paws on in abundance, and this has meant I am able to work pretty much non-stop on creating hair-based features.  There isn’t a room in this house that doesn’t have something that I’ve made, but occasionally you have to search to find them – it’s often a surprise when you do.  Spare Husky Under The Sofa was a hidden gem for many months, until someone finally decided to look down that low. You should have heard the critical acclaim…I was almost embarrassed.

Harry: And who could forget Newly Painted Skirting Coated In Hairs? What a masterpiece!  Sonny May, your work is more broad-brush and snout?

Sonny: Yes indeed Harry.  I prefer a large canvas, such as a painted wall, and don’t let the edges of the medium constrain my art.  The more splashes of random colour, the better – the tail is such a good tool for quick and joyfully free application.  However, it is easy to overdo it, so I move on to clean workspaces at a rapid pace.  And for fine detail, there is nothing quite as satisfying as nose-art-on-glass.  The texture and smear!

We’ve also all be working on a collaborative piece, or I should say, set of pieces.  Transitory art is in vogue nowadays, and the four of us have a weekly project.  The one you can see here is Footprints On Wood Planks #88, mixed media – water and soil mainly, but sometimes we add straw, cut grass and all manner of detritus.  It’s an exciting project because it’s regularly washed away, so we can refine our approach.  The ephemeral nature just adds to the beauty. I think my favourite was Footprints On Wood Planks #37 – what a presentation! There had been storms for several days, so a wonderful mix of silt and mud was available, and we had the brainwave to add some tummy-rolls and, my speciality, tail flicks. 

Harry: Fascinating! Thank you Sonny. 

Now, the following artist probably needs no introduction as he is a household name.  A grandee of the art world and a creator rather than follower of fashion – our national treasure, Joseph Jones.  Do you mind if I call you Joey?

Joseph: Now now Harry, you rascal, you know that I only allow my most intimate friends to call me Joey.  But if you must, you must.

Harry: I heard a rumour that you are planning on retiring?

Joseph: Well, I have slowed down.  Given my age, I should be in my dotage.  But my mind is still sparking and I’m very excited to be working on a new concept, a fusion of the inside and out that seems like a very rich vein to tap.

Harry: You were always famous for your external installations, especially when you were collaborating with Freddy Dingo.  Who could forget Hole Under The Fence or Poo Balancing On A Log?

Joseph: [sighs] Yes Harry, those were furiously productive years.  Dear dear Frederick, we made a good team – my muse and his action.  He could always translate my bubbling cauldron of brilliancy into a physical representation that would leave the viewer gasping, wondering if they were seeing what they were seeing. It’s not been the same since he passed away.  [short silence]

Still, one must pull oneself up by ones dewclaws and move on.  I’m exploring bringing the outside into the house.  My latest work Pool Of Piddle has had the critics exclaiming!  I have several partially finished oeuvres, including Drops Of Piddle On The Carpet and Doggy Bed Wet Patch.  Young Ned did try imitating my style for a while, but it seems it was just a phase.  I have plenty of ideas going forwards, so watch this space.

Harry: And I guess where we walk too!  Your long-time rival Feydeau has been very uncomplimentary about your efforts.  Do you have a riposte?

Joseph: Pah.   That popinjay!  I knew Feydeau before he changed the spelling of his name, got a diamante collar and started wearing that ridiculous tartan jacket.  And what’s with the haircut?  A fringe and pompoms…I ask you!  I want to have nothing to do with him.  He wouldn’t know good art if it was flung out of the back of a cow and hit him in the face.

Harry: Ok, so still no love lost there.  Thank you Joseph.

Now, over to the youngest member of the commune, Neddy Benson.

Ned: Hey Harry.  Please, call me Ned.  Neddy is so bourgeois - I’m a working class dog.  I may have an aristocratic sleekness and extensive training, but I come from a working family.  My mother worked, and after weaning we were raised by my aunt who had only three legs, but she never let that slow her down.  I put all of my energy into my art, and am more of a destructionalist than the others.  I really feel that you have to break something down into its component parts in order to be able to see the wonderful beauty within.

Harry: This style hasn’t always gone down well, has it?

Ned: No, alas not.  I think perhaps the world isn’t yet sophisticated enough to appreciate Lino Ripped From Utility Room Floor or Chewed In-sole.  The middle classes are threatened by such a radical art movement – it leaves them speechless and, unfortunately, occasionally choleric.  They’ll come round eventually though.  I will win through with my charm and enthusiasm.

Harry: I was going to talk more with the others, but Sonny has wandered off to reapply mud to his tail, while Joseph and Cody are clearly deep in thought over their next endeavours, the latter acting out his next work as he lies on his back, twitching this way and that.  And now Ned has gone back to the impressive structure he is making out of ripped paper, chewed sticks and the stuffing from the inside of a teddy.  So dear listeners, thank you for your time.  Remember, if you do nothing else today, create something beautiful.

If starlings were a cash crop, we’d be golden

While the sheep hunker down under the hedges and the cattle enjoy their straw beds inside, our fields have been taken over by thousands of starlings – at times the house seems to be in inside a swirling mass of birds as they rush past the windows and head south in the mornings, whirring back overhead as dimpsy sets in.  Other birds brave the gales, determinedly collecting our scattered seeds with their heads into the wind, except this year’s pheasant, Squawky, who seems to like a draft round his nethers as his tail feathers flip into the air.

Poor heifers locked in the shed - they look so unhappy...rather be out in the rain.

The weather has been atrocious, although we’ve had a few lovely clear days recently.  The bottom of our drive is a mud pit, and just when things begin to dry out a little, the heavens open again and the clouds descent.  The rain is bearable, but what will finally unhinge me is the driving mizzle – horizontal, invidious and relentless. Hopefully, this colder clearer weather will prevail.  The snowdrops and daffs are up, while the roses are starting to leaf, and the hellebores are flowering nicely.

Erm, don't we only have two ponds normally?

Over the winter we moved a lot of Ann’s fruit trees from her splat into our garden – they were not thriving (partly because it’s a bit humid and airless at times, but mainly because the bloody rams keep eating the bark, despite being wired out). We now have an instant orchard.  Ian is buying interesting things to add, such as mulberries.  Hedge-laying is progressing, and there are some oaks with impressive ivy in the woods alongside where we are working.

We’ve been having dog trials recently – not the fun summer entertainment, but rather trials and tribulations.  Joey is becoming more out-of-touch on a daily basis, and wanders around lost a lot of the time.  If we can get him to settle, he’s quite happy…but the tapping of his claws on the wooden floor is like Chinese water torture as he goes back and forth.  Meanwhile Cody has been found to have a swollen liver – must be all that drinking.  It’s not particularly good news or reversible, and he is most unimpressed that he is now on a hepatic diet…which apparently sucks.  Still, he seems reasonably content most of the time and shows his happy tooth when given a load of fuss.  I’ve decided to ignore the vet and give him a bit of what he likes – if he’s not going to be around for much longer, then he might as well enjoy life.

The other two are fine.  Neddy is learning sheeping, and not doing badly at all. He does have his strange moments, like when I was laying on the floor trying to reach his chewed sticks under the sofa, and he came over and sat on my head.  Sonny rises above it all...still always filthy, and leaving his tail art on the walls.

"Wadda ya mean I'm not supposed to be on the sofa?"

Farmer Ian has badly sprained his ankle, so is limping around.  Yesterday bedtime, he was hobbling across the living-room followed by a string of damaged ducklings – Sonny, all creaky because he’d overdone it during the day, Cody with his bandy old back legs, and Joey tottering about on his old barely working pins.  One of those moments when you wish you had the phone ready to video…

In the sheds, the sheep are now mostly in and enjoying their warm residence.  We have a temporary bull, a youngster with only one testicle who was due to go to the place-that-shall-not-be-named, but had a reprieve.  Let’s hope he makes the most of this opportunity to exercise that one ball.  We also have a calf who is probably the most dopey that I have ever met.  Clearly we had to name him Doofus.