• Artist Statement
• Practice Development
• Tiff Oben CV
• The Interchangeable Tiff Oben
• The House That Balthus Built
• Balthus Gallery 2011
• Cathedral of Erotic Miseries
• Worshipper at the Cathedral
• Disruption 2011
• Chav Grand Tour 2011
• Chav at First Sight 2011
• Tales of the Lost 2011
• Around the World 2011
• Voluptuous Panic 2011
• Business Relations 2011
• In The Loop 2011
• The Cabinet Particular 2010
• Tea Stall 2010
• Made & Undone 2010
• Contact Form
• Links
• Josef Herman Art Foundation
• Celf Josef Herman Cymru

Nothing to Declare (extract by Tom Goddard)

The cuts, the cuts! I hear you howl in your best middle class protest voice as some feral young thing in a hoodie and scarf, covering all but the eyes, launches a rock towards the glass window frame of where you're queuing to buy doughnuts. Churchill's meaty words "Then what are we fighting for?" ring in your ears, as your eyes cycle down the list of sugary varieties. You have no inclination to protest on an empty stomach! The hysteria and fear pass you by as you select your sweet of choice. You needn't worry as artists howl and protest to the sound of the cuts, the cuts. A creative reaction steps forward over the glass shards of your local bank and turning the fears for your future and your pension into works of art. Proving that without doubt when the apocalypse comes it will be the artists that survive. More resourceful and more likely to pick the bones of humanity clean to continue their work.

Since 1899 the Cardiff Arcades have been home to desirable goods and delicacies tempting the pennies from the purses of resident and visiting consumers. Now our society faces an ultimatum and I enter a show that seeks to challenge its inner workings.

I start in the basement with the139, a particularly awful name for a band, who adorn the front cover of half heavy rock, half malthusianist magazine, Kerrank. I elbow myself to the front of the queue, Blitzreig Bopblares out of my ipod, as I attempt to channel punk rock but fall short. At the table, glossy black and white photos show the band looking moody, magnetic tape unspooled and spun around them suggesting they are too out of date. Their posturing only serves to give them the unintentional look of disaffected Thunderbird puppets with emotional problems perfect for the meagre diet of today's youth. 

I retrieve my signed photo, black and white naturally, and reel in the spectre of the defunct compact cassette tape format. The band is in denial, but they soldier on like HMV. They are clearly a failure emphasised by the stacks of brown cardboard boxes that cover the floor of their practice room, come garage. Peering inside a box reveals assorted sizes of139 t-shirts, whether originally from an unsuccessful tour or purely merchandise that will never sell. The t-shirts in this unused state, all boxed up, in mounds, remind me of too many exhibition cards and catalogues holed up in dark gallery cupboards across the country. Art books that are only bought by artists, music made just for musicians, critically acclaimed but never a sniff of success on the main stream.

There is failure and hopeless cool down here so much so you can smell it, unfortunately the band never become hopelessly cool. Their jaws chew and eyes roll to the opportunity that once beckoned for the 'next big thing'. The road is long and the walls of pictures, email commands, instructions and printed text correspondences are more art installation than rock band but the self-obsession is shared. I can't help wonder whether the work be more successful and ultimately stronger with the absence of the band? Suicide was always good for the street cred after all.

There is also a debt to Bill Drummond here, not only in the use of instructions but in tone and vision. I am fondly reminded of Mark Manning and Drummond's 1997 publicationBad Wisdom in whichthey created a record label, Kalevala and with it 6 of the most visionary bands from the Finnish underground scene including Dracula's Daughter,The Blizzard King and Gimpo. Of course none of these bands were real, instead each provided an opportunity to experiment musically from pop-punk to extreme dance metal while sticking one in the eye of the record companies and musos. The 6 vinyl records were knowingly pressed in a limited and collectable edition as Manning and Drummond attempted to gain worldwide exposure for an imaginary music scene, seemingly plucking these apparent geniuses from obscurity, and duping the music world.