Call that art?

I went to the Tate Britain last Friday to have a look at the Turner Prize finalists. There was a tour by Mark Kemode which mainly consisted of him telling us he knows nothing about art and not to bother asking any questions.

I definitely have an ambivalent attitude towards contemporary art. On the one hand, I don't want to be one of those loud, middle-class people who talk too loudly at art galleries about how 'brave' the artist is, when they actually have no idea what they're looking at. And I really don't have any idea what I'm looking at. My knowledge of art history is pretty minimal and I probably couldn't pick a contemporary artist out of a line-up (apart from Tracey Emin, but I only know her because of that time she turned up for a television interview pissed and stormed out to phone her mum).

On the other hand, I think that artists are getting a really tough time at the moment. I hate it when someone says "a tent with names on? But I could have done that!" because I always think, well why didn't you then? It isn't just about artistic ability, it's about having innovative ideas.

And there are some exhibits that have really moved me in the past. Take Tracey Emin's unmade bed (don't actually take it though, she's still a bit cut up about what happened to her tent). I admit that on paper it sounds crap. An unmade bed. But when I actually saw it, I suddenly got what she was trying to do. It's a self-portait without the subject. It's as if she's just that second left that room but you can still sense her being there. It made me think of when I went to a funeral last year of someone I'd never met; I got a real sense of who she was by the things and the people that had surrounded her. In some ways I didn't need to meet her to know what she's like.

Looking at the bed made me feel incredibly sad. The bed (and all the paraphenalia surrounding it) showed what a mass of contradictions a person really is. It evoked both childhood and adulthood: innocence and sex. It felt empty and sad and probably affected me much more than a portait has ever done.

I've always said that all I want from art is for it to make me feel. Jude the Obscure will never be a 'favourite' novel because it's so bloody depressing, but the fact that Hardy can fill me with such a sense of doom is really impressive. So, my favourite of the Turner finalists is Darren Almond. After about two seconds of seeing his work I wanted throw myself onto the floor sobbing and banging the floor with my fists because it's so melancholy. I'm not sure whether he's necessarily the best artist there, but he's definitely the one that will stay with me the most.