If a bird on a stick is art, what about our beloved Beryl?

Jun 2 2008 by Peter Elson, Liverpool Daily Post

AS I PRESSED my fat face yet again through the railings encircling Liverpool Cathedral’s Oratory to squint at conceptual artist Tracey Emin’s bird on a pole sculpture, I wondered if perhaps its price tag of £60,000 was a tad over-inflated.

Also, revealing myself again as a po-faced fogey, as I viewed this rusting object, I ask once more: “Is it art?”

The work was inspired, states La Emin, by the Liver Birds.

This little Liver sparrow-like bird, on its 12ft pole, was paid for by the BBC as its contribution to the Liverpool Art 05 event.

I won’t dwell on the fact that £60,000 would have paid the salaries of three BBC journalists in its beleaguered newsrooms for one year, but I remain as confused as ever about what defines art.

Which brings me to the interesting case (or perhaps head-case) of Beryl Cook, who, aged 81, has shuffled off the old mortal coil, paintbrush in hand, to that great studio in the sky.

Ms Emin, who has created many a laugh over the years, particularly when rowing with John Humphrys on Radio 4’s Today programme, enjoys the approbation of the British culture establishment.

She is hailed as one of our leading avant garde artists, with commissions hither and yon.

Meanwhile, the blessed Beryl was not only given the cold shoulder, but was sneered at by the likes of Brian Sewell.

He sniffed about her work as: “A very successful formula that fools will buy. It doesn’t have the intellectual honesty of the Pig & Whistle. It has a vulgar streak that has nothing to do with art.”

The other intriguing point is that Cook was a victim of her own success.

Remember: success equals sneer in Britain.

Rather than being discovered by the critics, Cook had a lucky break when a lodger recommended her to the head of Plymouth Arts Centre and she was given an exhibition.

Her work appealed so strongly to the public that soon her paintings of Plymouth’s well-padded ladies of the night, leering sailors and barflies were shifting as fast as she could paint them.

“Fat ladies” were her speciality and, contrary to popular belief, we learn that Beryl herself was not fat and jolly, but thin and jolly neurotic.

As if to confirm the psychological need to be a voyeur that defines any artist, forcing him or her to be an observer rather than a participant, she said: “I love it when I see people enjoying themselves.

“I’d quite like to be the one singing and dancing in the middle of a crowd.”

But she never was. However, she hit upon a style that was instantly recognisable (and now much copied) that is in the primitive tradition of British art, of which I guess LS Lowry was the previous age’s great exponent.

Cook has a great deal of what used to be called “healthy vulgarity” of the Donald McGill saucy seaside postcard variety.

Her work has also been compared to the English visionary artist Stanley Spencer, whose standard she soon realised with grave disappointment she could not emulate, and also to Edward Burra, who shared her taste for sleazy cafes, nightclubs and gay bars.

Cook’s fans launched a campaign against the Tate Modern for spending thousands on a conceptual artwork (a can of human excrement) and not buying a single painting by Beryl Cook.

You could wonder if it mattered as her work appeared on stamps, Victoria Wood album covers, as a cartoon series (Bosom Pals) and was hung in Hollywood stars’ homes.

Beryl herself was not bothered by all the fuss and the Tate’s rebuff.

She said: “I don’t see the point. What would they do with one of mine, I ask you?

“And anyway, how can I compete with tins of you-know-what?”

So, when the Tate Modern’s visitors, foreign or indigenous, peer at the poo in the can, will they be seeing the best of British? Is this art?

If it is, how come Beryl’s efforts are not appreciated?

I suppose it’s a question of context.

peter.elson@dailypost.co.uk