Art Monitor: Hackney Wicked

'Just keep your noses primed. You'll sniff the art a mile off.'

That was the extent of the directions I gave my friends. They'd never been to Hackney Wick before and one can only imagine the sheer terror of their journey from the organic twatisseries of Broadway Market to the dense jungle of Wick.

But to their surprise (and indeed mine) they found it easily. From Hackney Wick station a trail of chalk writings led towards the galleries. That probably helped, as, I should imagine, did the fluff-covered bollards and array of odd posters and wall paintings. Laura May Lewis' massive Hollywood-style 'Hackney Wick' sign confirmed to even the most idiotic that they had indeed arrived. They were coming to attend the opening night of three-day art and silliness festival Hackney Wicked, a celebration of local Wick talent and a showcase for the area as a whole.

We rendezvoused (can that be verbified?) at Schwartz Gallery, a huge cavernous warehouse space with some sprinklings of art dotted about. Memorable was an in-progress to-do list written down on one wall with increasingly personal activities listed alongside the more prosaic. I was alone in admiring a floor piece comprised of moulded black islands – kind of reminiscent of something out of now-defunct Warhammer naval wargame Man o' War. Sumer Erek's architectural newspaper construction, a kind of large archway made of old rolled-up newspapers met with universal approval. It was ostensibly held together by plastic ties, but we chatted to the artist himself (a lovely fellow) and he assured us that they were cosmetic: something to do with the dichotomy between the natural and the man-made, I think.

After that we had a quick whizz round Elevator Gallery and Mother Studios before heading onwards to Liquid Gallery. Liquid had opted for a definite house party vibe. A counter on the left as you walked in had a few bottles of vino and a bin full of beers. The 'suggested donation' of £1.50 was adhered to, mostly. Inside the pieces were pretty wacky and characterised by a slightly dated DIY aesthetic: very Jeffrey Vallance. It was funny though. I liked the questionnaires which asked things like 'Are you relevant?' or 'If you had to eat your own hair, what sort of seasonings would you put on it?'

Outside again and up a narrow staircase to the Top and Tail Gallery: basically just a narrow corridor, but made cool by Reuben Sutherland's video piece exploiting the visual potential of the spinning record. A semi-abstract black and white silk-screen print by Igor Borovikov was intriguing and we liked Betony May's Moustache Booth (another very Jeffrey Vallance-type work).

Finally it was on to The Residence, Ingrid Z's abode in what was once the Verger's Cottage. Entry to Private Views here demands knowledge of the password, which for this eve was, entertainingly, 'Do you know who I am?' Obviously this was meant to be announced with at least a degree of faux-celebrity swagger. But, after a few £1.50 wines, it came out more like Lear's 'Who is it who can tell me who I am?': confused and not a little anxious. But we were still allowed in, which was nice. The exhibition was a 'Museum of Revised History', a kind of alternative history of Hackney Wick with work by a range of contemporary artists. My favourite piece was a sunken treasure chest by A.M. Hanson called Paper Jewels, full of... um... paper jewels. Nothing beats a bit of ersatz glitz huh?

A DJ kept things entertaining and a whole host of the East's skinniest skulked about in The Residence's rocky and well-treed garden long after the art had got exhausted and gone to bed. Hackney Wicked had landed in style: the Wick is where to be now.


Click here to read Tom's interview with the organisers of Hackney Wicked.