Art: Journey To the Centre of a Heartbreak

Silent train whisked us off into the heartlands. We  disembarked  two and a half hours later. There were hardly any signposts  as to where to turn. An arrow grafittied onto pavement- that's all. It felt like looking for clues to Baba Yaga's house. Finally there it was - squashed between the sky and the relentless sea we entered Banksy's Dismaland. Even the prosaic queuing and anxious faces did not dispel the magic of what was to come. The Mickey Mouse hatted officers had the look of bored and grumpy bouncers. They were unusually rude and in your face. I got scared. Where was the customary politeness? I was told to hold out my arms and was scanned with a cardboard scanner which almost scratched my nose. I was told to look into a cardboard camera. It was clear it wasn't real, but the rudeness and the props were so reminiscent of London life I wasn't so sure. We wanted to buy the catalogue, the shop windrow shut in our face making sure we knew they saw us. So far so like the Soviet Union- you don't matter, not even your cash. The attitude was real. 

Inside the park you were left alone which was a good approach to let everyone explore and enjoy the sites - the distorted Disney mermaid fountain, broken police vans, miniature refugee boats trying to moor their overcrowded cargo, disintegrating children's toys, Cinderella with a broken neck after a road accident being snapped by the paparazzi. Cakes had teeth, friendly Mickey was being eaten up by a snake. All over Dismaland there was danger- it already ended Cinderella's life  or turned rabbits into mutants with human ears growing from their backs,   Or the danger was coming- the rudeness which could rattle your feathers and make you feel helpless, blood shedding trees, mountains opening up in despair, revealing bloody gashes, waves about to swallow up happy families on the beach, blue lava squeezing its way into every crevice of our lives. Are we to take it seriously? Is the cereal boxed, happy clappy danger real or pretend? Perhaps not even the artists  displaying their works at Dismaland know for sure. What's certain is the uncertainty- we are teetering on a brink of something dark- are we going to enter it oblivious like Mickey into the mouth of the snake or is Mickey the one who will cut our throats wearing his placid Disney smile? The bells are ringing- wake up and open your eyes.