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melancholy, cynical and celebratory. Many works literally have two faces. Not for these artists the passionless, hands-off, perfect fabrication. Noble and Webster mean to be confrontational.
Some people dislike this, and their criticism isn't mild. It's so kitschy, they say, or senti- mental, or callous, or just too much-simplistic one-liners for the silly set. That may be true, as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. With each exhibition, Noble and Webster touch another nerve. That's a healthy proposition for art. If it can't break the rules or rush the boundaries, if it can't make magic, it's not doing its job. But it's impossible to consider the Noble and Webster story without taking into account the lives behind it. If one wants to find meaning in what they do, that's where to look.
Webster grew up near Nottingham, in neighboring Leicester, the daughter of an electrician and a factory worker. She could draw and she could wire a lamp, but her only ambition was to be in a band. Touring punk bands regularly performed in Nottingham. Subject to wander----, Webster flew after them. In her neck of the woods, there was no future in art, but a woman could have a life in music. Going to art school, she says now, was "a way of killing time till my band kicked in."
Noble's parents were artists who lived in the countryside southwest of London. He was a tinkerer who spent much of his boyhood alone, improvising flying machines or lightning conductors. His parents took him to the Tate Gallery in London, where he saw the kinetic sculptures of Jean Tinguely, a huge influence. He knew he would be an artist. In college he also dreamed of being the singer in a band, but when he got up on stage and opened his mouth, nothing came out. Like Webster, he was better with his hands.
Assemblage came to Webster naturally, but not until she tried her luck as a painter. Tripping on LSD at a summer music festival, she started seeing in 3-D. The following fall sh