Return of the Hound

O the weather outside is frightful... So there you are, you slackers: safe indoors, away from the lashing rain and hurricane-force gales, roasting nuts over an open fire- maybe yours, or those of a loved one- whilst sipping an amusing little vintage Sanatogen, or savouring those secret Pop Idol videos and blubbing quietly over the darling ballads of dear Will or little Gareth. Not so the Hound Of Artrumour, hhharroooo!!! (Cue lightning flash, emptied bucket of water, wobbled sheet of hardboard.) Tirelessly sniffing at the artworld's dubious lower portions, Artrumour's 24-hour action flushes out sin and shame, understains and minor embarrassments, even under the rim and round the bend. No matter how minging the prevailing winds, Artrumour's Hoxton Fin never wavers from the perpendicular. Erect, dogged and unswivelling... OK, OK, aren't we marvellous. Now on with the smelly bits, in this, our bumper February issue.

ICA: The End of the Line!

Ivan Massow, the flamboyantly gay Tory who left the party when he realised- whoops!- that it was flagrantly homophobic, quit his ICA chairmanship last week when- whoops!- he realised he didn't really like art. Speaking from his plush Luton flat, Ivan announced: "This morning I realised I simply didn't believe in Ivan Massow any more. What about craft and beauty? What about young boys? I'll show you a C word laddy." Fighting back bitter tears, Massow then told the 3 members of the local press present (Luton Advertiser, Luton Herald and EasyJet Easyread Inhouse Flight Magazine), "I am resigning. Today, I am resigning from being Ivan Massow." Experts are undecided what this might mean for Ivan Massow- neither the Tory party or the arts establishment were remotely affected by the ex-Massow's earlier resignations, so it¹s reckoned he'll probably be OK.

ICA: Vaginas!

In these straightened times, all publicity is good publicity. With this in mind Artrumour would like to recommend Massow PR Inc. For a suitably large fee, Massow PR will send round a posh, camp berk who knows absolutely nothing about your firm. After chairing a few meetings he will then quit and write a column about it in The Guardian, making cryptic reference to women firing peaches from their vaginas [Erm? Is there something I missed???- Ed] thus ensuring maximum publicity for you.

Baltic: Pricey!

Cancellations galore forecast for the UK's chilly bits: The Baltic's revised launch-date of June 29 now itself looks dodgy. Baltic-watchers predict an innovatively minimal week-long Summer 'Open House' event with unfinished galleries and no art. Mutterings about a spending crisis, the pricey Venice Biennale launch and the Director's company Audi have echoed at least as far south as palmy Crouch End. Local agencies' plans for tie-in commissions are hanging by a thread and faces like slapped arses are predicted in the region of Gateshead Council, which gets to pick up the tab. Further, teensy-weensy hints of the merest whiff of cronyism in the handing-out of a thirty-grand "tie-in" art grant (for local commissions and of course, batches of all-important "customised carrier bags") have been circulating: I Shop Around My Pals' Studios, Therefore I Am. But never say Dyson: if money-earners like the cafe open on time, it's said, the issue of exhibits may fade into near-insignificance. Watch this (empty) space.

ICA: Jugs

It's true: all modern art is crap. So says the avuncular Ivor Biggins, who used to narrate John Craven's Newsround voiceovers. Biggins, 83, yesterday spoke out from his Wolverhampton maisonette: "For the past 83 years I've watched as modern art has consistently been crap and now is the time to speak. I am the Emperor and I'm not wearing any pants." Biggins has found solace in one of the West Midlands' biggest collections of jugs. "They remind me of Anthony Gormley," says Biggins wistfully.

White Cube: Corn Beef

The refreshingly unpretentious Tracy Emin, 47, graced Harland Miller¹s PV, accompanied by refreshingly unpretentious brother Paul. Both, it seems, are battling with refreshingly unpretentious afflictions- Tracy with her boils, Paul with his corns- but it's suggested that much-needed supplies of acne scrub and corn plasters will be paid for at least twice over by their property-developing profits. Our Tray, having added several noughts to the asking price of a basic bathing hut, is now apparently raking in the zlotys in Spitalfields, while Our Paul is reportedly tarting up houses in the refreshingly unpretentious areas of Whitstable and Ramsgate. Luckily, neither sullied their costly garments on Miller¹s paintings, which were rumoured still to be refreshingly- wet.

ICA: Goat's Cheese

'The radical ICA? Radical - my arse.' So said ex-children's TV presenter Phil Dodd. Recently lunching in the ICA restaurant on a goat's cheese sandwich, the balding ex-TV man said: "This isn't very radical is it? Goat¹s cheese was something different in the 80s but now it's a bit naff isn't it? What about something really crazy? Pie and mash for example but with a clever twist - perhaps seared on the outside, raw on the inside? Or how about an exhibition of twins? That's pretty bananas. Anyone for new technologies?" Dodd, 24, is a hero of conceptual art.

RA: Art Fairys

Miffed noises have been heard issuing from the teepee of the RA's Max Wigwam: Royal College fledgling curators have apparently "stolen" Wigram's idea for his September slot at the RA. Wig-Man was apparently proposing to offer each room in the RA to a commercial London gallery for "Art2002 PART 2" (a strategy that all are sure had absolutely NO connection to Wigram's own recent venture into commercial gallerism). Spies report that the RCA curators' proposal- to invite an international crew of alternative and not-for-profit enterprises to show in London- bears scant resemblance to Wimwam's homage to the, um, very thrilling Art2002. But it does point up the capital's lack of a real international art fair, undoubtedly a drawback, if art fairs are your sort of thing, ZZZzzzzzz.

ICA: Crusty

So says Massive Ivan - an MC from the South London estate that spawned So Solid Crew. "Why are you looking at me," shouted Massive at an assembled throng of dancers, before nicking 75 quid from the ICA front desk's petty cash and sprinting off into the night. Earlier the sage MC ended a gruelling 3 hour UK garage set in the Nash Rooms by triumphantly MC-ing: 'Civilisation should be about progression; this is all about regression, I resign, I resign. Bo!' He then announced he was going feral: "Let me assure you boys that I'm not crusty". Rinsin¹!

ICA: Desperate

The respected hotbed [should that read warmbed?- Ed.] of avant-garde radicalism and general whicky-whackiness, the Institute of Contemporary Arts, today denied that it was keen to be associated with lots of people who knew fuck all about art. "What about Zadie Smith?" shouted a middle-aged man in the bookshop sporting a black suit, strange staring eyes and wild, unkempt dark hair. "She writes books! And then there was Ivan Massow! And the respected novelist and painter Harland Miller writes incisive, cutting-edge prose in Modern Painters! And he's mates with Jarvis!" In response to the allegation that the ICA was desperate to be associated with anyone who they perceived to be 'groovy', the man darted off shouting, 'Hold on! Isn't that a pop star?'

CIA: Warmbed

Let none suggest that the prestigious Courtauld Institute of Art, incubator of the globe¹s most [insert preferred adjective] art historians, is still a warmbed of upper-class shite. (And this despite the, erm, influential presence of Majorly Leftyist Intellectuals such as Professor Sir Julian Stallabrass, Bart., on the teaching staff.) But it does seem that a blight was put upon the East Wing Collection show (much admired by Adrian Searle in his Guardian review) when a student oh-so-capriciously decided that a Ugo Rondinone photo would look better on the wall of his/her flat (in Kensington, Holland Park, Chelsea, St. John¹s Wood, the Boltons, or somewhere like that). Sources indicate that the threat of "No more parties, ever!" secured the photo¹s return. It subsequently turned up in a common room. How common.

ICA: Wankers!

The entire staff of the ICA bookshop have resigned, saying, "We're fed up of having to stand around and watch wankers read Radical Philosophy." In protest they have all decamped to the cinema for a sit-in that has forced the postponement of all screenings of "Por favor, cambie las sámbas"* - a Spanish-language sex thriller. [*Loosely translatable as "Yes, Sex Please, We¹re Spanish Samba Dancers"- Ed.] "I never liked books anyhow," said a staff member, who would only be identified as 'Ivan'. "So I'm resigning. Don't stop me. I am, you know. I really am off."

Documenta 11: Heavy-Duty Bad News Section

Nasty, nasty: readers of a sensitive nature should stop right here. Allegations are abroad (hailing from Kassel Documenta 11's third'platform', St. Lucia, mid-January, and elsewhere) concerning rape, aggressive behaviour, bullying, death threats, and mental abuse in the hallowed realms of art. So who's the bad guy? Has Mike Tyson applied to do BA Ceramics? Nope- the name at the center of the allegations is that of Documenta 11 "frequent-flier" curator Okwui Enwezor. If the accusations are smears, their originators might well have set themselves up for serious slander and libel charges. If they are founded Enwezor might just conceivably be headed for several years' stretch far away from Club Class, with time on his hands for the cultivation of alternative creative practices- stitching mailbags maybe. Not the first time rumours of artworld sexual harassment have reached the ears of the Hound (but compared to this lurid catalogue the alleged proclivities of the Bearded One from the Land of Cuckoo Clocks seem small beer). Given both the timing and the seriousness of the allegations, this particular nastiness looks unlikely to rest within the confines of the woodshed for much longer.