ARTS
Disposable attitude to aesthetics
Stephen Bayley explains his doomed relationship with the Minister without Portfolio
ASSOCIATED PRESS, London. A SWAT team working for the Minister without Portfo- lio is suspected of being behind the mysteri- ous disappearance of the design guru . . .
ell, of course, that's not actually true. And nor is the stuff about voodoo sac- rifice. But, as they say in Italy, si non e Vero . . . The Mount St Helens of silly cov- erage last weekend was caused by a leak of resignation correspondence followed by mysterious off-the-record briefings to vari- ous journalists designed to damage those parts of my reputation which even my own baroque flair for self-destruction cannot reach. The result was that my house was surrounded for the entire weekend by intrusive journalists. There is something scary about aspects of this government.
A few weeks before I first met Peter Mandelson, the Guardian ran a profile with a headline describing me as 'The Peter Mandelson of aesthetics'. This rather amused me, the implied diabolical mastery of my own subject being flattering. So much so that when we were eventually introduced, I mentioned the description to the minister: He offered the very thinnest of smiles, engaged in a brief pause, dipped his head and asked if I was pleased. I didn't at the time have a response, although it is noteworthy that Mr Mandelson has not since taken up the seemingly attractive option of describing himself as 'The Stephen Bayley of politics'.
As a politician, it is inevitable that Peter Mandelson has a disposable attitude to aes- thetics. With someone like myself, who regards typography as far, far more impor- tant in the general run of things than poli- tics itself, there is potential for conflict. Alas, while it would be absurdly self- dramatising actually to believe what the Papers say, it does seem that the Minister without Portfolio and I had a doomed relationship, such as it was. Thus, despite my enthusiasm for the Millennium as a whole (Arts, 6 December), Peter Mandel- son's recent and much photographed trip to Disneyland prompted my final resigna- tion from a major project which fascinates me.
A covert mission to Florida to experi- ence at first hand Disney's supreme profes- sionalism would have been one thing, but a formal audience with Mickey Mouse for inspirational purposes was, I felt, mis- judged. Disney has been doing Disney since 1955 and has acquired a peerless repertoire of deep, deep expertise in crowd management, entertainment systems and computerised data capture. Even if it were desirable to attempt a thin replica of Dis- ney in Greenwich (which is a mere few hundred kilometres from the local Disney in Marne-la-Vallee), the time available simply does not allow it. I believe that the Millennium Experience should be an ele- gant and economical exhibition about the world of the future, designed by the great- est architects and designers available. Accessible to the public, comprehensible to the media and with technical collaboration from the world's great industries who would be involved as creative partners, not arm's-length sponsors.
Of course, in a government-funded pro- ject, it's inevitable that there's a political dimension. It would be naive to expect oth- erwise. But in Millennial Britain, politics is not about real vision or commitment. Poli- tics is not about brave, statesmanlike con- victions. Politics too often depends on bobbing and weaving to intercept public opinion. Our executives are like the night- marish agency account man who simply wants to know what time of day would you like it to be. You cannot use focus groups `You haven't got us tickets for Althorp to clash with the Cup Final!?' to test creativity. To be excellent, the Mil- lennium must be daringly creative in style, execution and content. Yet this sort of dar- ing is incompatible with New Labour. Cre- ative people like to think the unthinkable. New Labour encourages a dim political correctness. Creative people, like me, are pig-headed and unreasonable. With New Labour you have, in the awful stilted jar- gon, to be 'on message' or you are off the job.
Take two well-publicised examples of Millennium Muddle: the Union Jack and Christianity. These are perfect examples of how the unreasonable creative impulse can only with difficulty work with the more pragmatic political one. Now, I happen to be extremely proud of being British and don't take second place to anybody in my argumentative advocacy of Britain's superi- ority in many of life's refinements. I think it is sensationally interesting and stimulating that the world's biggest Millennium event is happening in London. Our capital is the most exciting city in the world not only because the ethnically British happen to be good at what the Department for Kultur, Media and Sport would call the 'creative industries', but because every Spanish film- maker, Argentinian architect, American photographer and German designer wants to work here. The Millennium is a superb advertisement for Britain's huge contempo- rary competitive advantage. Union Jacks, notwithstanding my admiration for the timeless graphics, are redundant in this context.
Christianity is more contentious, but the creative argument would be that, of course, Judaeo-Christian theology has established our moral and justice systems which are the most decent in the world. However, a nar- row denominational approach to the Mil- lennium which involved the Established Church may alienate Jews, Hindus, Parsecs, Muslims, Catholics, Vegetarians, Scientologists and Voodoo priests. Far bet- ter to construe religion as an integrated part of a healthy culture and to ensure that Millennium activities reflect and generate the highest aesthetic and moral principles. However, we creatives may have lost this one. The last time I checked the scoreline, it was Conran and Bayley nil, Mandelson and the General Synod, one.
How odd, then, that when I was talking to Bettina von Hase about the Creative Industries Task Force, she just said, 'But this is pure East Germany.' Karl-Marx- Stadt, 1964. Just think of it. That's what politics did for creativity. And morals.
Stephen Bayley resigned last week as creative director of the Millennium Dome.
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