•  Installation Shots From: Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
    Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
  •  Installation Shots From: Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
    Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
  •  Installation Shots From: Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
    Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
  •  Installation Shots From: Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
    Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
  •  Installation Shots From: Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
    Pangaea: New Art From Africa And Latin America
30th anniversary
Saatchi Store
Current Exhibition

SELECTED WORKS BY David Shrigley

*

*

David Shrigley
A Burden

2012

Nylon, cotton, velcro, plastic, steel and mannequin

218.4 x 101.6 x 127 cm

ARTICLES

David Shrigley: 'I gave my book out at the pub – that's how it all started'
18th October 2013, by Will Self, The Guardian

Ahead of this month's Turner prize exhibition, nominee David Shrigley tells Will Self about the rewards of drawing, Warhol, and why he is giving Trafalgar Square's fourth plinth the thumbs-up.

I was first introduced to the work of David Shrigley by his then publisher, Julian Rothenstein at Redstone Books. Julian sent me the proofs of what was to become Why We Got the Sack from the Museum and asked me if I'd consider writing an introduction for the finished book. I was immediately ensorcelled by the singularity of the Shrigley worldview: here were pictures that had a bewilderingly complex naivete about them – it was as if a preternaturally intelligent child were rendering the attempts of a smart-aleck adult to draw like a kid. The thick black felt-tip line divagated across the pictorial space yet always arrived at precisely the right place, nailing to a fixed point one or other of life's great issues: sex and death, right or wrong. There seemed something altogether just about the Shrigley style, which united dodgy orthography – misspellings simply being scratched out and wonkily rewritten – with a sense of authority; for, no matter what the confusions and moral turpitudes of his toothy men and malformed women, his scrawled beasts and banjaxed bestiary, behind it all, one felt certain, lay a shrewd maker.

I loved – and continue to love to this day – the way in which Shrigley's work crumples into a tight ball and tosses across the studio (in the general direction of the wastepaper basket) all of the squeaky confusions that squiggle about contemporary so-called "fine art". At one level his works – and this includes the sculptures, installations and photography – are nothing more or less than cartoons. After all, they unite words and pictures together to produce effects that are usually – but by no means always – humorous. But, judged by the standards of most cartoonists, Shrigley doesn't really make the grade: a cartoon should have an effortless if expressive line betokening the art that annuls any artistry. By contrast, Shrigley's line is smudged and scumbled. Then again, the works of many of his conceptual contemporaries – one thinks of Hirst, Lucas, the Chapmans et al – are just as cartoonish, yet in the pomposity of their high style, and in the industrialisation of their heavily assisted production, they possess none of the physicality and immediacy of Shrigley's. When you look at a Shrigley work, you are right away assured of his input – each one bears the impress of his hand and its guiding inspiration.

Read the entire article here
Source:theguardian.com