David Shrigley is probably the funniest gallery-type artist who ever lived
Shrigley mines a mordant, scatological seam, conjuring up the dark tradition of British humour that threw up Tony Hancock and Chris Morris
Shrigley's manifesto is full of hilarity, alongside observations about the world that are both astute and absurd
With a casual gesture Shrigley points to that hideous shape whose name I've never known - and then he names it. And the name is profoundly, embarrassingly familiar. I'm laughing while frantically searching for a pen, so desperate to capture the feeling he has unearthed in me
Funny and profound and surprising all at the same time
One look at his new book, Weak Messages Create Bad Situations , and you start to understand the Turner Prize-nominated artist's mindset . . . Shrigley addresses the weird, dark and ugly sides of the world, but, most importantly, he'll make you laugh while doing so
Brilliant, enormous . . . We love David's new book, which totally sums up the feeling of helplessly skidding downhill on a bicycle with no brakes towards a cliff.
Single minded, sharp and funny
Shrigley's comedy appears to confirm the belief of great humourists (from Laurence Sterne to Woody Allen) that laughter is synonymous with hope. In the arena of contemporary art, Shrigley's work maintains a dualism, which is rare, rewarding and ultimately generous
An artist touched by comic genius and something like full-blown lunacy
Brims over with skew-whiff observations on the absurdity of modern life . . . Shrigley's bonkers, mordant, often joyously meaningless doodles are always oddly life-affirming
Half man, half legend
Shrigley deserves his immense popularity. For almost 20 years he has produced a ceaseless stream of ideas, observations, jokes and strange insights in the form of left-field drawings that have appeared in broadsheet newspapers, books and magazines as well as galleries. Deadpan, escapist and distinctively cack-handed, they make up a little world in themselves
08/17/2015
A grubby yet high-minded and extremely satirical “manifesto” that undermines and critiques itself before the readers can do it themselves, this collection of one-page declarations and misgivings from Shrigley (Ants Have Sex in Your Beer) is scrawled with off-handed casualness but backed by a sly intelligence. Acclaimed as a fine artist in his native England, Shrigley also contributes weekly cartoons to the Guardian. Although divided into eight themed chapters—“Commandments,” “The Arts,” “Bugs and Insects”—each drawing is slapped down with thick black lines in a naive, juvenile style, with heavy blocks of letters twisting around the brutish illustrations. Severed heads are a constant, as are urination, pain, humiliation, and resentment. There are no setups or follow-throughs, simply hits of pain (the bloody hands accompanied by this nudging plea: “Now that you have torn out my heart you must wash your hands”) or commentary (a “Wheel of Fortune” where every choice is Poverty except for Death). Reading Shrigley’s weighty, partially tongue-in-cheek declarations all in one go is like finding a disturbed but thoughtful teenager’s notebook by accident, with all the surprise and worry that would entail. (Sept.)
“This year's best gift book, for a crazy person you really, really like. . . . It's a funny, sick, morally stimulating mind-bender, the best bathroom book of the new decade.” —New York Times
