An open letter to Banksy
I got to your Dismaland and at the end of the day I burst into distressed tears. I cried because we had travelled for three and a half hours and queued for five. I was already so very tired. I cried because, being so unprepared for what was to come, we had not eaten. I was so very hungry. I cried because some of the artwork made me feel so very sad but I also cried because I couldn’t win a gold medallion like the man with the megaphone outside. I cried because, as an artistic autist, I could not read the faces of the staff; because I got so confused and because one of them cocked a gun beside me. I started to cry because the noise made me jump; I was terrified. I could hear the words ‘satire’, ‘irony’, even ‘double irony’ and ‘controversy’ swirling around me in answer to my questions. Yet I knew only what I felt. Distress.
In order to digest my experience of Dismaland, my response was to appropriate images of both yours and Hurst’s work into a collage alongside current headline news. I called it Today.
I am wearing my ‘meaningless rubber bracelet’ and just hope that it is made of recycled material and that the proceeds go to a very good cause. By the way, I found a rusty bolt on the ground by the fountain that I brought home for my rusty metal collection. Finders, keepers and I thought that I had earned it. Exit through the gift shop.