Morris prepares to peel off the layers

Sep 3 2008 by David Charters, Liverpool Daily Post

God and George Melly are among topics discussed by the Naked Ape man, soon to be seen dressed in Birkenhead, for an exhibition of his paintings. David Charters reports

OUR mating habits, erotic smells, preening, giddy courtship rituals, wiggling bottoms, posing and flirting, vanities, demonstrations of aggression, jealousies and table manners are all known to the twinkle-eyed observer of human behaviour, who stores a feast of ideas beneath the noble dome of a head freely polished by the elements.

But, good people of the old town, fear not – Desmond Morris, the Naked Ape, is not coming here to examine us.

The roles are reversed. Now, the acknowledged expert on the reproductive habits of the ten-spined stickleback is giving us the opportunity to look at him, through his extraordinary paintings and drawings.

Through these offerings, we will be able to appraise him – this extraordinary example of homo sapiens (wise man), scientist, media star, urbane gentleman, or, to use that description, with which he shook people’s confidence in their superiority over other creatures, Naked Ape.

And keen anthropologists will note that, from the shoulders up, at least, Morris is now “nakeder” than most apes.

But inside that distinguished head a battle has been swinging from left to right since childhood. He has never been able to decide whether his brain is dominated by the artistic or the scientific side.

The general public is familiar with the scientific side, which produced one of the greatest zoologists of his generation, bringing the quirks of animal and human behaviour to our screens in popular TV shows, most famously Zootime – once a must for boys and girls, who delighted in the antics of Congo, the resident chimpanzee, taught the rudiments of drawing by Morris.

Then came the outstanding success of the Naked Ape (1967), a zoologist’s examination of the human animal, published in a cover featuring the bare bottoms of a mother, father and child.

It was one of the most influential books of the 20th century, selling more than 12m copies, translated into numerous languages.

Its serialisation in a popular paper ruffled some elders of science, but Morris was doing what they had so lamentably failed to do – bringing the subject to ordinary people by inviting them to stare into the mirror of our own evolution.

He enjoyed almost as much success with the Human Zoo and then Manwatching, which he followed with Dogwatching, Catwatching, Horsewatching and Babywatching.

People were delighted to learn more about the origins and purposes of their actions, as well as those of their pets.

In between, however, Morris continued his flow of academic books, and now has more than 50 titles to his credit.

If all is well, this expert on the human condition is to visit Birkenhead, where an exhibition of his paintings and drawings opens at the Williamson Art Gallery on Slatey Road on September 13, running to November 9.

The exhibition marks the 80th birthday of the man and the gallery.

“I am desperately hoping to come to Birkenhead, but I went lame in my left leg recently,” says Morris. “It has recovered. I don’t know what the heck it was. I thought it was arthritis, but arthritis is a one-way street, so it can’t be that or it wouldn’t have got better.

“When you are an artist and you see your works hung in a new position, you see them in a different way. I have seen photographs of the gallery, so I feel I know it.”

Morris is a surrealist, an interest which opened a long friendship with George Melly, the raconteur, art-lover, blues singer and Liverpudlian, who died last year after a life which brimmed, bubbled and outraged almost to the end.

“We go back to 1950, when he was an assistant at the London Gallery, where I had my first one-man show,” says Morris.

“Hardly anyone turned up to see the exhibition because, in those days, my type of paintings were very unpopular, so a very slim George had to pretend to be a member of the public looking at them when a newspaper photographer came. We kept in touch ever since.

“I loved George. He was larger than life, a wonderful character. I had jazz and blues in common with him as well. I earned my first money as a drummer in a jazz band.”