One man's jackson is another man's pollocks, but Brighton seems to take all sorts. Arty farty is what they do best. I should know, lived there for ten years so can't help but sympathise with the council man who couldn't tell his art from his elbow.
Paul Chi and Miranda Jane Ryder spent ages laying out colourful silks so people could admire the effect from the sea front. Pleased as punch they popped off for a cup of tea and the street cleaner came by and threw the lot in the bin. Just a pile of tat to him.
It's a hard life being an artist. Not everybody gets it. Picasso had the same problem when he started up. Must have driven him spare. Still, it's nice to see a bit of healthy scepticism instead of " Wow! A filthy bed, that's so insightful!" nonsense.
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