Alternative commercial and artist-led galleries were established in 1970s Britain in reaction against national institutions. These provided spaces for artists to meet, organise, perform, and exhibit types of art that were ignored by the “official” art establishment. Coalitions were formed, such as the International Coalition for the Liquidation of Art, that sought to deconstruct the capitalist underpinnings of the art establishment.

These fringe groups presented themselves as radical in the 1970s. Frustrated with where official or national funding, such as Arts Council bursaries, were being channelled, they proposed ideological alternatives. The type of art they promoted was overtly political, polarising, and anti-institutional. In the above example, a group of artists led by Gustav Metzger marched into the Tate Gallery to debate with museum “visitors and staff about the complicity of museums in racism, sexism, war”. They demanded “equal representation of women, ethnic minorities, and greater decentralization of culture”.

The demands made by the International Coalition for the Liquidation of Art seem mundane in today’s cultural climate. Take a moment to peruse the statements of major arts organisations in Britain and this discourse is weaved into their governmental fabric. Tate’s commitment to race equality declares:

The founding of our gallery and the building of its collection are inextricably connected to Britain’s colonial past, and we know there are uncomfortable and inappropriate images, ideas and histories in the past 500 years of art which need to be acknowledged and explored. We also recognise the intersections of race, gender, sexuality and class in the experience of inequality.

The Tate is an “official” institution, which receives state funding directly through the Department of Culture, Media, and Sport. In the past — and for the International Coalition for the Liquidation of Art — the Tate provided the enemy to react against. Radical alternatives bubbled on the fringe.

Alternative spaces bred these provocative voices. They enabled experimentation in new media, style, and subject, and eventually these marginal artists made their way into the centre. Impressionist artworks that formed the Salon des Refusés in Paris, opposing the more official Salon, have become indispensable to the National Gallery in London. The most recent Turner Prize winner, Jesse Darling, won with an artwork that envisaged a dystopian attempt by the government to impose control that leads to total breakdown.

The fringe becomes the centre. The Overton window of what constitutes “radical” art continuously shifts. Left-wing artists continue to brandish the “radical” label, but with the endorsement of the state. In this context, how do we locate the new “radical” in art?

With the coming of the new Labour government, attention has shifted to issues concerning freedom of expression, whilst public arts funding continues to be funnelled towards left-leaning political causes. In this context, to be radical is to ask questions that those in power do not want answered, let alone considered.

Verdurin, a space run by art critic (and writer for The Critic) Pierre d’Alancaisez, does exactly that with its self-conscious rebellion against the “politicised” art market. Tucked away in the East End of London — a far stone’s throw away from Cork Street — it features exhibitions and events that address cultural, political, and philosophical questions. It is the radical alternative to the establishment.

The objectives of Verdurin are by no means simple. On display is a confusing blend of food items, literature, and artworks. One might be forgiven, coming from the outside, for thinking that Verdurin was a grocery shop rather than a gallery. The invisible barrier that divides the man-off-the-street from a commercial gallery space is broken through this disguise.

d’Alancaisez explained to this somewhat bemused critic that the items are curated to survive a cultural doomsday. Fermented foods and tins of sardines have a long expiry date. It is clear that d’Alancaisez has little faith in the contemporary art scene.  At the same time, there is an inherent positivity to this humorous undercurrent: the possibility of survival. A “Make Art Beautiful Again” cap is on sale in the same space as the gospel of Greta Thunberg. Paintings are displayed above these items as reminders that the space is a commercial gallery rather than a Kensington deli.

The message communicated by Verdurin is as pungent as the kimchi on its shelves. Culture must survive through debate. The juxtaposition of sometimes seemingly contradictory items throws more questions than answers. Provocative energy rather than dull moaning makes the conservative art scene contemporary again. It’s a hotbed of discussion, quite clearly cultivated by the salon discussions hosted in the space. Myriad objects grab the eye from one corner to the other. Confusing? Maybe. Interesting? Certainly. 

The curated displays are underpinned by cultural fluency on part of the curator, but at the price of accessibility. The Royal Academician R.B. Kitaj made an important distinction in favouring “social art” that denoted “art that was accessible to more people” in contrast to conceptual art that appealed only to a tiny minority. Verdurin sits underneath towering council blocks with a name borrowed from a character in Proust, which is as artistically impenetrable as Tracey Emin’s bed.

It is on the delicate lines between idiosyncrasy, conceptualism, and public legibility that Verdurin dances. As an alternative art space, it does not claim to provide the answer, and refuses to be ideologically straightjacketed. Instead, it provides fertile ground for discussions that might spark better visions for the future.

In a cultural landscape dominated by black-and-white thinking, alternatives must be possible. It is up to the attendees of Verdurin’s active social programme — discussions about aesthetics, the future of the Left and Right, and iconoclasm — to conjure these radical solutions through culture.

The Overton window of what constitutes radical art is shifting, and it must move to the centre one sardine at a time.