Don\’t argue with those who buy ink by the barrel

Furthermore, it allows me to mention McCarthy\’s great mini-me, Jake Chapman. That\’s Jake Chapman as in the Shoreditch-based artist brothers, Dinos and Jake Chapman, whose most famous works have been influenced by McCarthy, although you might know Jake better from Hello!, where he can be seen furthering his artistic principles with his model wife and dear friends Kate Moss and Sadie Frost.

He also just so happens to be the most unpleasant person I\’ve met in my entire professional life and has the distinction of being the only interviewee to make me feel physically intimidated – he got upset when I said that I found most artspeak unintelligible nonsense and hustled me out his studio. I therefore consider it my service to humanity to tell you that if you now Google the words \’dog\’ and \’turd\’, you\’ll get Jake Chapman.

Now some people might say that I\’m abusing the power of the press in order to pursue a petty vendetta. But, Jake, I\’d say that I\’m transgressing the boundaries of the media discourse in order to deconstruct the notion of the artist as God while positing questions about the linguistically constructed nature of identity in a post-Google world. You narcissistic phallus.

3 thoughts on “Don\’t argue with those who buy ink by the barrel”

  1. Drear Ms Cadwalladr(sic),
    I must admit that I failed to notice, until prompted
    by my distraught mother, that you really got me good
    ‘n’ proper in the Observer, Sunday 17 august – ‘look
    up ‘dog’ and ‘turd’,’ you said, ‘and you’ll find Jake
    Chapman’. I did look it up, silly me! Stitched up like
    a kipper!
    You even saw fit to transcend the personal in favour
    of the genital – and so now I’m officially a
    ‘Narcissistic phallus!’
    Latin is it? I bet it is! Clever girl.
    I’d naturally plummet for vagina dentata as a
    symmetrical riposte, but your wit is so hopelessly
    toothless I’m left feeling lightly gummed… oh dear,
    the associations are beginning to make me quite
    queasy, kippers, your dentured snatch, frumpy laura
    ashley blouses reeking of stale mothballs… i can
    feel real self-harm coming on – best go and feast my
    eyes on my really pretty but conveniently mindless
    friends that seem to stick so in your arid craw….
    Carole, I was really under the impression that you’d
    ejaculated your little public power fit to
    satisfactory conclusion the last time you winged about
    our lamentable interaction, but no,you’re not yet
    ready to move on. So you’ll be happy to know that I
    too encourage petty vendettas and cultivate poison pen
    pals to the point of pathological fanaticism. So
    welcome on board and lets see where this magical
    mystery tour will take us!
    Oh! I can’t quite compete with the Observer’s big-wig
    distribution figures but you’ll be amazed how many
    people this little chit-chat will find its way to.
    love and kisses.

  2. Dear unobservant dullards.
    I just had the pleasure of reading the quaint offering by gwendalin silverspooningob or Carole Cadwalladr or plain cunt or whatever the fuck her name is – you’ll know you employ the twit. I must tell you I nearly pissed my knickers cunting-well laughing at the sheer arrogance in documenting such a forgettable meeting – is your paper really pre-disposed to allowing ernest-but-dull journalists a lickle revenge when they meet nastywasty artists who tweat them with utter contempt because they admitted they hadn’t pwepared their interview with ANY REASEARCH AT ALL? (and fail to quote that bit verbatim… eh?) ….then preface our conversation with an ammonia-reeking statement that she hate’s art jargon? Would you send a science reporter to interview a quantum theorist and expect them to blurt out their die-hard affinity to classical dynamics? No. I hope not. You may grace your readers with the meek tones of plum-mouthed middle englanders, but don’t send them round to my studio because I’ll make fucking mince meat out of them, ha ha ha.
    Bye for now, jake (chapman). x x x
    Ps. Jargon-free art speak is still jargon… ok?

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