Peter Kennard: From Maggie Regina to Blue Murder

After Thatcher, political artists need to look harder.

In early 1983, the former Labour MP Brian Walden interviewed Margaret Thatcher live from 10 Downing Street. The interview began at noon. The prime minister restated her belief that individuals had grown too dependent on the state, and that strikes were really nothing more than a selfish howl for a greater share. Walden quickly interjected, suggesting there was nothing particularly new about her ideas. “They have a resonance of our past,” he said. “You’ve really outlined an approval of what I would call Victorian values.”

This appeared, unexpectedly, to please the prime minister. “Exactly,” she half-whispered to Walden, whom she had already named publically as her favourite interviewer. “Very much so.”

Perhaps one of the best known images to come out of Margaret Thatcher’s assertion, and continued reassertion, of what she believed to be “Victorian values” was Peter Kennard’s Maggie Regina. The montage was originally designed for the front cover of the New Statesman in May 1983, but is now owned by the Tate collection and is exhibited regularly. The magazine assembled a pull-out supplement in which university historians wrote to explode Thatcherite conceptions of liberal purity, which they argued were mistakenly attributed to the Victorian era, just as the Victorians had attributed them to the Middle Ages in their own day.

“She wasn’t a PR construction like Cameron is,” says Kennard, now Senior Tutor in photography at the Royal College of Art. “She was direct – we had to attack her directly as well.” Kennard’s latest exhibition, “Blue Murder”, devised in collaboration with Cat Phillipps, aims to break through the thicker sheen of modern politicians, working with the “flat screen desert” of David Cameron’s face.

The work is purposefully modest - old newspapers, ink, charcoal – and designed so as to be easily transported and hung outdoors or in unconventional spaces. The message is not. A series of symbols explode through Cameron’s profile: cash, stock listings, riots and adverts for Rolex watches. Their main point of contention is the dismantling of the welfare state. “He’s a PR man,” says Phillipps. “His face is just a surface. We want to rip it apart and try to reveal some of the shit that they’re doing.”

Today a ten-day exhibition featuring Kennard’s Maggie Regina and a selection of artist’s responses to Margaret Thatcher over the years opened at London’s Gallery Different. “If people can see images which support what they feel then it helps them,” Kennard explains. Where the late prime minister provided plenty of material to work with, the coalition government is an altogether more opaque, more corporate and controlled operation. This is what lies at the heart of the new work: again, artists must puncture the veneer in order to expose the false assumptions upon which those in power act. “We need to look harder now,” he says.

Blue Murder opens at the Hang-Up Gallery, 56 Stoke Newington High Street, on 27 April.

Images courtesy of Peter Kennard/kennardphillipps.

"Maggie Regina" and "Blue Murder" contrasted. Copyright: kennardphillipps.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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Putting the “savage” back in Sauvignon Blanc

This grape is so easily recognised that it might as well wear a name tag, but many varieties are brasher and bolder than you'd expect.

I was once the life’s companion of a man who was incapable of remembering names. This should have bothered him but he’d grown used to it, while I never could. At gatherings, I would launch myself at strangers, piercing the chatter with monikers to pre-empt his failure to introduce me. I was fairly sure that it was the other person’s name he couldn’t remember but I couldn’t discount the possibility that he had forgotten mine, too.

In wine, the equivalent of my bellowing is Sauvignon Blanc. This grape is so easily recognised that it might as well wear a name tag: it tastes of grass, gooseberry, asparagus and, occasionally, cats’ pee. The popularity of its New Zealand incarnation is probably partly a result of that cosy familiarity – which is ironic, given that “Sauvignon”, harking back to its evolution from wild grapes in France, comes from the French for “savage”. Never mind: evolved it has. “Wine is the most civilised thing we have in this world,” wrote the 16th-century author Rabelais, and he was born in the Touraine, where the gently citrusy Sauvignon makes an excellent aperitif, so he should know.

New World Sauvignons are often brasher and bolshier. It is likely that Rabelais’s two best-known heroes – Gargantua, who is born yelling, “Drink! Drink! Drink!” and whose name means “What a big gullet you have”, and Pantagruel, or “thirsting for everything” – would have preferred them to the Touraines. They work well with spice and aromatics, as Asian-fusion chefs have noticed, while the most elegant Loire Sauvignons, Sancerre or Pouilly-Fumé, make fine matches for grilled white fish or guacamole – in fact, almost anything enhanced by lemon. In Bordeaux, where whites principally blend Sauvignon and Sémillon, the excellent Dourthe is entirely the former; 9,000 miles away in Western Australia, Larry Cherubino makes a rounded Sauvignon in a similar style.

Many variations but one distinctive flavour profile – so I thought I was safe asking my best friend, an unrepentant wine ignoramus, whether she liked Sauvignon. Her shrug spurred an impromptu tasting: Guy Allion’s quaffable Le Haut Perron Thésée 2014, from Rabelais’s Touraine; a Henri Bourgeois Pouilly-Fumé Jeunes Vignes; and Greywacke Wild Sauvignon from Kevin Judd. Judd, who was largely responsible for making New Zealand whites famous when he worked for Cloudy Bay, is now putting the savage back in Sauvignon using naturally occurring (“wild”) yeasts that make the wine rich and slightly smoky but are not, by his own admission, terribly easy to control. This was the most expensive wine (£28, although the Wine Society sells it for £21.50) and my friend loved it.

She had expected to prefer the French wines, on the slightly dubious basis that she is Old World: of Anglo-Danish stock, with a passion for Italy. Yet only familiarity will tell you what you like. This is why bars with long lists of wines by the glass provide the best introduction. A favourite of mine is Compagnie des Vins Surnaturels, a Covent Garden joint run by two women, the sommelier Julia Oudill and the chef Ilaria Zamperlin. If the menu – scallops with Worcestershire sauce, croque-madame with truffled ham and quail egg – is delicious, the wine list is fabulous, with at least ten whites and ten reds at 125ml, with prices ascending into the stratosphere but starting at £6.

There are usually a couple of French Sauvignons, although many bottles still don’t name the grapes and the winemaker Didier Dagueneau (the “wild man of Pouilly”), whose wines feature here, preferred the old Sauvignon name Blanc Fumé. Thank goodness Sauvignon, despite its reputed savagery, has the manners to introduce itself so promptly: one sip, and you can move on to the congenial task of getting to know one another.

Next week: Felicity Cloake on food

Nina Caplan is the 2014 Fortnum & Mason Drink Writer of the Year and 2014 Louis Roederer International Wine Columnist of the Year for her columns on drink in the New Statesman. She tweets as @NinaCaplan.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war