Grayson Perry at the Cambridge Union in 2004. Photograph: Getty Images
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Grayson Perry: “I joined the cadets. I loved running around with guns”

The NS Interview.

Your latest work is a series of tapestries that explore class and taste in modern Britain. Why tapestries?
Do you want the real reason, or the reason that sounds really good?

Both, please.
One reason is that I could put on a large exhi­bition relatively quickly. It would take me two years to fill this room with pots, whereas the drawings for the tapestries took me three months. But I also chose tapestries because they were the status symbols of the super-rich, and they tell the stories of big national dramas and battles. I thought it would be interesting to show more everyday drama on them.

You have a reputation for being one of the least pretentious contemporary artists.
Sometimes people are scared of the truth. They are scared that it’s like The Wizard of Oz: that if they told the truth it would pull the curtain back and you’d find out they were just this little person who was making it behind. Trying to justify yourself with false intellectualism is one of the most annoying habits artists have.

Have you ever thought that a piece of contemporary art is just rubbish?
Oh, yes, all the time. Once I was listening to Bill Viola on the radio, years ago, and he was talking about a piece and he said, “It’s about the human condition.” It might have been about the human condition, but that’s almost like calling something profound – you don’t do it. You let people come to that conclusion themselves. Show not tell, as they say.

Is there an element of “emperor’s new clothes” about some art?
Artists are remarkably good at being the weavers of the emperor’s new clothes as well as being the emperor. Sometimes they clothe themselves in this stuff but they don’t need to. Often the best artists are totally honest about why they make stuff.

What is the most important aspect of what you make?
Being amusing is one part of it. I want people to be seduced by the material and to enjoy the colour and the texture, almost like the possess­ibility of the object and the richness of it.

Is there such a thing as good taste?
Everybody has an idea of good taste and it’s shaped by the group they are in.

So it’s just conformism?
It depends, doesn’t it? Some people’s good taste is more conformist than others’, because in the art world good taste wouldn’t be conformist. Good taste in the art world is to be quite revolutionary and innovative.

So you’re conforming by not conforming?
Yes. And that’s something I slightly trade on, because I slightly mock artists for their desire for novelty the whole time.

Is that why you use traditional media such as tapestry and pottery?
I don’t innovate. I never break the boundary of a tradition. My tapestries are not unusual tapestries; they’re the right shape, the right size, they haven’t got things growing out of them. I’m interested in the content, not the form.

By cross-dressing from an early age were you rejecting convention?
There’s an element of that. I think that’s why gay people often find it easier to be alternative in their tastes, because they’ve already been forced out of the convention by their sexuality.

Do you ever suffer from impostor syndrome?
I used to have it terribly when I first had exhi­bitions. I remember waiting in the foyer of the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam for the curator to come and pick me up to start organising a show. I had this strong sense that someone was going to tap me on the shoulder and say, “There’s been a mistake.” Particularly if you come from a working-class background, you have low expectations of yourself.

Your wife is a psychotherapist. Has that informed your art?
Hugely. I did therapy for six years.

How did that change how you work?
I describe it as somebody clearing up your tool shed – suddenly I had access to my whole personality.

Did you once say that you could have been a serial killer if you hadn’t become an artist?
Yes. I was quite an angry young man. I joined the cadets; I loved it. I loved all that running around with guns. I can understand how people end up like that. But of course I went to art school, so it was fine.

Is there anything you’d like to forget?
I can’t remember.

Are we all doomed?
Yes, we are, because human beings aren’t capable of acting in a cohesive way to solve something that they can’t see in front of their faces. Global warming and all that sort of stuff – it’s too abstract, isn’t it?

Defining Moments

1960 Born in Chelmsford, Essex. Starts cross-dressing at an early age
1982 BA, fine art, Portsmouth Polytechnic
1983 Moves to London and takes pottery lessons at Central Institute
2003 Wins Turner Prize – first time it has gone to a ceramicist
2005 Presents Channel 4 documentary on men who wear women’s clothes
2009 Thames & Hudson publishes Jacky Klein’s anthology of his work

 

Jemima Khan is associate editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 02 July 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Clegg the martyr

Ralph Steadman for the New Statesman.
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Tim Farron: Theresa May is "the prisoner of the Ukip wing of her party"

The Liberal Democrat leader on his faith, Blairism and his plan to replace Labour as the opposition. 

This is Tim Farron’s seventh general election. His first was in 1992, when his Tory opponent was a 36-year-old called Ther­esa May. He was just 21 and they were both unsuccessful candidates in the Labour fortress of North-West Durham. He recalls talking “to a bunch of ex-miners who weren’t best pleased to see either of us, some kid Liberal and some Tory”. Now he sees his former and current opponent as “the prisoner of the Ukip wing of her party . . . I think it has rendered Ukip almost pointless – she is Ukip now.”

May was elected to parliament in 1997, but it took Farron until 2005 to join her. She leads the dominant Conservatives while he heads a party of only nine Liberal Democrat MPs. Still, their reversal of fortunes gives him hope. “After the 1992 election, every­one said there’s no way for a non-Tory government, and it turned out there was. So let’s not assume it’s a given there’s a Tory government [for ever].”

In April, I accompanied Farron to Manchester Gorton, in the lead-up to a by-election that was cancelled by May’s decision to call a snap election on 8 June. Still, the 46-year-old’s party has been in campaign mode for months; Lib Dems spoke of using last December’s Richmond Park by-election to test their messaging. It clearly had an effect: the incumbent Conservative, Zac Goldsmith, lost to their candidate, Sarah Olney.

Brexit, to which the Liberal Democrats are vehemently opposed, will be a dominant theme of the election. Their party membership has just exceeded 100,000, close to an all-time high, and they have enjoyed much success in council by-elections, with more to come in the local elections of 4 May.

However, any feel-good factor swiftly evaporated when Farron appeared on Channel 4 News on 18 April. He was asked by the co-presenter Cathy Newman whether or not he believes that homosexuality is a sin, a question that he answered obliquely in 2015 by saying that Christianity started with acknowledging that “we’re all sinners”.

This time, he told Newman, he was “not in the position to make theological announcements over the next six weeks . . . as a Liberal, I’m passionate about equality”.

The Channel 4 interview divided opinion. One Liberal politician told me that Farron’s stance was “completely intolerable”. Stephen Pollard, the influential editor of the Jewish Chronicle, described it as
“a very liberal position: he holds certain personal views but does not wish to legislate around them”. Jennie Rigg, the acting chair of LGBT+ Liberal Democrats, said it was “as plain as the nose on my face that Tim Farron is no homophobe”.

Farron declined the chance to clarify his views with us in a follow-up phone call, but told the BBC on 25 April: “I don’t believe that gay sex is a sin,” adding, “On reflection, it makes sense to actually answer this direct question since it’s become an issue.”

For his critics, Farron’s faith and politics are intertwined. He sees it differently, as he told Christian Today in 2015: “. . . the danger is sometimes that as a Christian in politics you think your job is to impose your morality on other people. It absolutely isn’t.”

Tim Farron joined the then Liberal Party at the age of 16 but didn’t become a Christian until he was 18. Between completing his A-levels in Lancashire and going to Newcastle University to read politics, he read the apologetics, a body of Christian writing that provides reasoned arguments for the gospel story. “I came to the conclusion that it was true,” he told me. “It wasn’t just a feel-good story.”

In speeches, Farron now takes on the mannerisms of a preacher, but he had a largely non-religious upbringing in Preston, Lancashire. “I don’t think I’d been to church once other than Christmas or the odd wedding,” he says. “I went once with my dad when I was 11, for all the good that did me.”

When we meet, it is Theresa May’s religion that is in the spotlight. She has condemned the National Trust for scrubbing the word “Easter” from its Easter egg hunt, a row it later emerged had been largely invented by the right-wing press in response to a press release from a religious-themed chocolate company.

“It’s worth observing there’s no mention of chocolate or bunny rabbits in the Bible,” Farron reminds me. “When people get cross about, in inverted commas, ‘us losing our Christian heritage’ they mean things which are safe and comfortable and nostalgic.” He pauses. “But the Christian message at Easter is shocking, actually, and very radical.”

British politics is tolerant of atheists (such as Ed Miliband and Nick Clegg) alongside those who, like David Cameron, are culturally Christian but whose faith is “a bit like the reception for Magic FM in the Chilterns: it sort of comes and goes”. But the reaction to Farron’s equivocation on homosexuality prompted many to wonder if a politician who talks openly about his faith is now seen as alarming. Nebulous wishes of peace and love at Christmas, yes; sincere discussions of the literal truth of the Resurrection? Hmm.

Tim Farron’s beliefs matter because he has a mission: to replace not only Jeremy Corbyn as leader of the opposition but Theresa May in Downing Street. Over lassis at the MyLahore curry house in Manchester, he tells me that Britain is facing two calamities. “One is Brexit, indeed hard Brexit . . . and the other is a Tory government for 25 years. We have to present a genuine, progressive alternative that can not only replace Labour as an opposition, it can replace the Tories as a government.” This is ambitious talk for a party with nine MPs. “I understand the ridicule that will be thrown at me for saying those things: but if you don’t want to run the country, why are you in politics?” He pauses. “That’s a question I would ask most people leading the Labour Party at present.”

What does he think of May, his one-time opponent in North-West Durham? “She strikes me as being very professional, very straightforward, somebody who is very conservative in every sense of the word, in her thought processes, her politics, in her style.” He recalls her 2002 conference speech in which she warned Tory activists: “Our base is too narrow and so, occasionally, are our sympathies. You know what some people call us: the nasty party.”

“In many ways, she was the trailblazer for Cameron in being a softer-focused Tory,” he says. “It now looks like she’s been trapped by the very people she was berating as the nasty party all those years ago. I like to think that isn’t really her. But that means she isn’t really in control of the Conservative Party.”

Voters, however, seem to disagree. In recent polls, support for the Conservatives has hovered between 40 and 50 per cent. Isn’t a progressive alliance the only way to stop her: Labour, the Liberal Democrats, the Greens, the SNP and Plaid Cymru all working together to beat the Tories?

“Let’s be really blunt,” he says. “Had Jeremy Corbyn stood down for us in Richmond Park [where Labour stood Christian Wolmar], we would not have won. I could have written Zac Goldsmith’s leaflets for you: Corbyn-backed Liberal Democrats.

“I’m a pluralist,” he adds. “But any progressive alliance has got to be at least equal to the sum of its parts. At the moment, it would be less than the sum of its parts. The only way the Tories are losing their majority is us gaining seats in Hazel Grove –” he ticks them off with his fingers, “– in Cheadle, in the West Country and west London. There’s no chance of us gaining those seats if we have a kind of arrangement with the current Labour Party in its current form.”

What about the SNP? “Most sensible people would look at that SNP manifesto and agree with 99 per cent of it,” Farron says. “But it’s that one thing: they want to wreck the country! How can you do a deal with people who want to wreck the country?”

There’s no other alternative, he says. Someone needs to step up and offer “something that can appeal to progressive younger voters, pro-Europeans and, you know, moderate-thinking Middle England”. He wants to champion a market economy, strong public services, action on climate change, internationalism and free trade.

That sounds like Blairism. “I’m a liberal, and I don’t think Blair was a liberal,” he replies. “But I admire Blair because he was somebody who was able to win elections . . . Iraq aside, my criticisms of Blair are what he didn’t do, rather than what he did do.”

Turning around the Tory tide – let alone with just nine MPs, and from third place – is one hell of a job. But Farron takes heart from the Liberal Party in Canada, where Justin Trudeau did just that. “I’m not Trudeau,” he concedes, “He was better-looking, and his dad was prime minister.”

There is a reason for his optimism. “I use the analogy of being in a maze,” he says, “You can’t see a way out of it, for a progressive party to form a majority against the Tories. But in every maze, there is a way out. We just haven’t found it yet.” 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

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