George Richardson

Brass Snooker Chalk, 2023 (ed. 3 of 8)

Solid brass

2 cm × 2.2 cm x 2.2 cm

Private collection of the author

This is a unique issue of ‘Why I Like It’ because the featured artwork is sitting right next to me on my desk as I write about it. It’s a brass snooker chalk, cast from an actual snooker club specimen. It’s one of the most recent works I’ve acquired. It’s also the smallest, and the least expensive purchase, in my personal art collection. Those last two facts are worth highlighting because the concept of owning art often comes with unrealistic expectations about price and size. The reality is that good art — art that brings you joy — does not need to be big or expensive. It just needs to speak to you in some way, triggering some kind of emotional connection.

I first saw George Richardson’s work at his 2023 Slade MFA degree show. His standout piece, titled “One Is Never Enough”, featured a brass ale tap that was constantly running in order to keep a pint glass full of never-ending bitter. It was a clever illusion of sight, sound and smell that momentarily distracted me from the rest of the room, which was filled with warped billiards cues and dark wood panelled works evocative of local pubs and men’s clubs. Most of the work was flamboyant and loud in the way that hard men command respect in a crowd. You’d be forgiven for not even noticing the small brass snooker chalks, hiding quietly out of the way on a windowsill in the corner.

Richardson’s work examines English culture by subverting recognisable elements you’d find in a traditional male, working class environment. Snooker cues and dark wood feature heavily, except they’re bent, warped and repurposed. He’s actively dismantling culture and nostalgia while clearly being nostalgic, and the thing about nostalgia is that it often transcends boundaries and generation gaps. I didn’t grow up in the UK, but I felt an immediate kinship with his billiard theme artworks.

In my pre-teen summers my parents would ship me off to stay with my grandparents. It was our family’s version of sleep-away camp, and I would rotate between my dad‘s parents and my mom‘s parents who lived 15 minutes apart. The families were very different but there was one thing they had in common: a pool table in the basement.

Memories get fuzzier the older you get, so you’ll have to allow me some leeway when I say I was a pretty damn good pool player by the age of 10. If the cartoons weren’t on then I’d spend hours playing Eight-ball with my cousins. When they got back from work I’d beg my grandfathers to teach me some tricks. I can still distinctly recall both tables and basements where I’d waste away my summers. The bright red felt of one, and the leather fringed pockets of the other. Each basement had a frustrating section where there wasn’t enough distance from the wall to keep your cue flat and level as you took your shot.

Seeing Richardson’s warped pool cues and other pub culture pieces didn’t trigger those memories, but there was something about those little brass snooker chalks that did. I instantly recalled the slow, methodical process of chalking up my cue. It was both a necessary step to secure solid contact for my shot, and a psychological tactic to drive my cousins crazy. Making them wait longer than was necessary made them agitated and careless when it came to their turn. I was a ten year-old, trying to look cool, with a bit of blue chalk.

Richardson’s little brass versions made those memories flood back in the blink of an eye, but I hadn’t considered buying one when I saw the show. I was too busy enjoying my memories and there was a lot of other student work to see. Then some weeks later George put a story on Instagram that he had one or two left to sell. Seeing that story brought those memories back once again, triggered by a work of art made by someone who wasn’t even born when I was learning how to pocket a bank shot. The decision to buy one was instant.

Ironically, as I was researching this article I read that “Richardson says the material for his degree show was scavenged from a skip that his grandad had filled.” What is it about grandfathers and pool tables?

That’s why I like it.

Fast Eddie Felson couldn’t hustle this work away from me.