Belgium

Belgium has a reputation for paedophilia that perhaps I thought was undeserved. Yes it is a dull place and no there are no famous (real-life) Belgians, only dodgy fictional detectives with suspect moustaches.

So the visit. Brussells nice, Pissing Boy- Good. Grand Platz- Good. Not alot else (oh yes, plenty of strip clubs and sex shops- presumably aimed at MEP's and their expense accounts).

Ghent, "third city." I know, we will visit the modern art gallery known as SMAK (which becomes appropriate) en famille. The kids have been to the Tate, liked it, they will surely love this.

No. In fact it is hard to believe anyone would love this. A poisonous demonstration of the worst aspects of modern art. I am not particularly prurient, I like Albert and George's work in faeces and am not embarrassed by nudity or sexual references, the kids are pretty au fait with art in general terms as well.

The principal exhibit is a take on Pirates, presumably spawned by a reaction to the series of films. Its nexus appears to be coprophilia and dismemberment with angle grinders shown on a variety of video loops projected through the husk of a runied pirate galleon. In isolation I would go along with this exhibit as an interesting take on the subject and enjoyed some of the parody involved. That it had been expanded to fill the space available implied that elements of the video and display were a little superfluous but nevertheless, reasonably good.

However, setting aside the mechanical Pig (yes - I want one!), and a film exhibit of asexual dancing with accoutrements, every other exhibit in the place involved cocks and shit. George Bush fucking a pig (twice) is not a mature political comment or an attractive image even if well executed in modelling clay. Butt Plug Chair is more of a practical joke than an art installation and justaposed with men smearing poo on themselves on video makes for an attractive family outing.

To say that most of the work on display was immature, obvious, salacious and in general bad taste would make me sound like some form of Mary Whitehouse but there is nothing else to say. The work was immature, pathetically so, and in large part embarrassing.

It seems the worst proponents of amateur horror movie making have moved on to call their work art. Rather than exhibiting in flea-pit cinema's they now get paid by an idiotic and desensitised euro art scene where curators buy crap (in some cases quite literally) presumably from their mates to display in state sponsored cock fests.