Wales is a divided nation, physically. The mountainous interior that makes it so beautiful creates more distance than you might expect between south and north. I spent the first 18 years of my life in north Wales but never saw the capital Cardiff until I lived in London. My dad used to rage at the Cardiff “crachach” down there monopolising culture.
Artes Mundi, an international art prize whose shortlist this year boasts “six of the world’s most important international contemporary artists”, appears to have given in to this localism by devolving itself throughout the land. At the National Museum Cardiff, the artists have mini-displays stuffed into one long room, but to see the rest of their work you have to visit their larger shows in four other galleries dotted across Wales. Who is going to do that? And the National Museum show is not exactly appetising. I instantly fell out of love with all the artists, who did not seem to care whether they engaged visitors emotionally, intellectually or aesthetically. Their assumed audience is experts, collectors, cognoscenti – because these, after all, are the people giving the prizes.
