The adventures of the British artist duo Gilbert & George in Communist Russia and China are detailed in a new publication by the art dealer James Birch (with the journalist Michael Hodges). Birch has previously written about his attempts to put on a Francis Bacon show in Moscow in 1988 and this new biographical book follows on from that period. In this exclusive extract, after various capers, Gilbert & George’s 1993 exhibition at the National Art Gallery in Beijing exhibition is finally about to open.
James Birch with Gilbert & George in front of the National Art Gallery in Beijing Photo: Kate Bernard
Extract from Gilbert & George and the Communists
Friday 3 September. Finally it was opening day. I caught a rickshaw to the gallery, Kate (my girlfriend of a few months) remained behind writing my speech, which was very good of her, and I found Gilbert going crazy because the catalogues had not yet been laid out on the tables. I kept my cool. I had learned that it was a feature, particularly with an exhibition on a grand scale, that when an artist was no longer in control, that was the moment they would freak out about the tiniest detail.
“I thought Wang was going to fix this,” said Gilbert.
This was not Mr Wang Xiaoning from the Chinese Embassy in London, who spoke very good English, or the Mr Wang who I had met in Beijing, but another, younger, Wang from Beijing. His English was not good at all but he was boy-band beautiful, enough for Gilbert & George to hire him on the spot as their translator. Boy-band beautiful he may have been, but so far, none of the things he had been asked to fix had been fixed. Luckily Lulu, a fantastically efficient Chinese woman, said she would do it.
At 2.45pm the British Ambassador arrived in the VIP room. Gilbert & George pulled themselves to attention. “Ah, the artists, marvellous. I’m terribly sorry I’m not going to be able to be here for the opening. But I thought I’d pop in and say well done.” And that, I thought, is how the British establishment dismisses anything they cannot understand.
At 3pm we were led upstairs for the opening ceremony. The film-maker David Langham and his camera crew were once again filming. We lined up behind the Chinese Minister of Foreign Affairs. Gilbert & George were given baskets of flowers, flashbulbs went off in our faces, and the camera crews jostled at the front of the assembled crowd of about 150 very excited Chinese people. They had all been invited so I presumed that they were the upper echelons of society, although I knew echelons weren’t supposed to exist.
The minister gave a speech then cut the ribbon in front of the gallery entrance, and thousands more people descended upon the show. The crowd soon stormed the stall where Lulu was valiantly trying to keep control and sell the catalogues. She gave a cry and disappeared from view. I squeezed through the mob to help her and grabbed a pile of catalogues. Kate and I tried to bring some order to the throng, with Kate and I jumping on a table to help hand them out. Immediately, someone punched me in the balls, and I doubled over and went straight down. For a terrifying moment I thought I would be trampled to death but a strong hand pulled me to my feet again—Lulu had saved me. “They’ve gone crazy, Mr James!”
• James Birch with Michael Hodges, Gilbert & George and the Communists, Cheerio Publishing, 208pp, £19.99 (hb)
