You have
been responsible for many memorable ad campaigns, including pregnant
men and pictures of the unemployed queuing for hand-outs which
brought Margaret Thatcher to power – when unemployment not
unsurprisingly rose even further. At one time, your media empire was
so vast that you and brother Maurice tried to buy the Midland Bank,
now part of HSBC. You also have a beautiful and well-proportioned
wife who is well known for her cookery programmes, and suggestively
licking her fingers. In fact, several friends of mine (Steve, Jim
and Albert) would give their right arm just for one single night with Nigella, especially if there was chocolate involved. For me,
however, the attraction is considerably spoiled by the fact that she
is Nigel Lawson's daughter, but I guess (and I hope) you have never
had similar problems, because once the thought has invaded your
mind, it is hard to forget it...
But what
I admire most, apart from your wealth (£120 million) and your
beautiful wife, is that you have become Britain's and maybe even the
world's greatest artist. During the Renaissance, many of the most
accomplished artists (including Michelangelo and Leonardo) employed
an army of assistants to do all their dirty work for them. For
example, Leonardo may have painted Mona Lisa's so-called enigmatic
smile but the landscape in the background was the work of an
apprentice. In fact, your protege, Damien Hirst, is another leading
example of this kind of practice, who took the idea even further.
Sometimes, the great impresario simply thinks up an idea and
instructs other people to make it – as if his own imagination has
brought the idea to life via psychokinesis. And why not? There is
nothing at all wrong in that. Do architects have to lay all of the
bricks and install all the plumbing to claim that a building is
theirs?
But what
interests me most about you is that you have taken this a few steps
further than anyone else (including your protege Damien Hirst) and do
not even come up with original ideas in the first place! You simply
select works and make artists and their “art” famous. In other
words, your taste and your decisions are your art. And if you say it is
good and you buy it, it immediately rises in value.
You have
in fact invented a completely new art form – as if the art exists
and is created in your mind by simply deciding it is
art. And once you have inflated the prices of art by particular
artists, you sell it and trouser the profits. In other words, there
is no longer a debate about whether or not art is simply a business
like all other trades and transactions. The opposite is now true –
the business itself or the buying of art is the art. In fact, the
purchase is more interesting “art” than most of the art it
concerns (including your protege Damian Hirst).
At
least, this is what I think. Can you comfort a hard-living man on his
deathbed by confirming this theory is right? I know you are a
private man who won't speak to the media or even go to opening nights
at your own exhibitions, but it would be nice if you could settle the
issue before I am put in a specimen jar like a shark or a cow or a
sheep (like one of the great works of art by your protege Damien
Hirst).
Has it
ever occurred to you that in a parallel universe, you and Maurice may
have bought the Midland Bank and appointed Fred Goodwin to run it?
If that had happened, maybe you'd have lost all your money (£120
million), and you'd have to sell your artworks and your lovely house
in Chelsea, and Nigella would leave you and maybe run off with another
celebrity chef.
And
finally, one little favour. It occurs to me if you decide that my
letter is “art” and deserves to be published, it may persuade a
publisher to publish it. Even if it does get published after my
death, it would give me great pleasure and not inconsiderable comfort
to know that my words will outlive me.
Best
wishes,
Ben
Nevis (deceased)
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