I grew up watching Robbie on tele, and hearing him on every radio station. So to be in Marble Arch on a Thursday night, surrounded by the man himself, his art, and a lot of admirers, I have no regrets. The new Moco Museum exhibit, Radical Honesty, is open for a limited date run. My sensibilities make me a stickler for complimenting art; yet this was right up my street. 

At First Glance: The Art Speaks For Itself

Styled in various silhouettes with comedic quotes and taglines, it’s notable how most of the artwork doesn’t directly show an illustrated face, as though people, figures from his past – where much of the work evokes its inspiration – aren’t the centre of attention. Instead, it seems, they appear as merely blurred memories. Some works are his inner monologue, which comedically addresses social events, cutting directly, deliciously, through the falsities that fame has swung his way. Radical Honesty is about no nonsense at all times: “I didn’t want to come and now I don’t want to be here” read one illustration. He’s cheekily captured what we think during seminal times of our lives: work meetings; dinner with the in-laws; on dud dates. 

Robbie does a scintillating job of mocking himself. Both in his public image, with out-and-out debauchery, and privately, with one work depicting his microwave talking to him (and how he’d take its advice over his therapist). Intelligently, this is the work of a man who went to the brink, came back, re-centred himself, and – just like those innately funny souls who’ve been through it – can look back and laugh. 

He perfectly treads a tightrope between getting a deep, dark point across, but making it vividly amusing.

The Monkey: Overcoming The Past

There’s no elephant – or monkey– in the room. With the monkey being his personified metaphor of cocaine struggles, his art grabbed hold of the narratives – both what the press pushed, and what he chose to chronicle in his solo music; there’s nothing off-limits. A more poignant piece comes in the form of a gigantic hoodie with many pockets on its front; each listing a drug or medication the performer used or abused in the past. 

He less alludes and more blows-up past delusions, dark inner thoughts, and social nervousness. Yet, it’s entertaining, as is his way. Contrasting art where he depicted gatherings as beige or faceless, his own self-reflections, instead, are where he’s drawn a clearer visual of himself – evidently, the outlines of the man he remembers amidst it all. He’ll then veer sharply and personify his social anxiety (she’s called Blanche).

Incredibly, the art reads just as Robbie would speak; a droll, down-to-earth, cheeky bloke. It’s sweary, slightly unwell, and (at times) downright hilarious. I move on around the exhibition, taking in illustrations of pill bottles. Next to them, squiggly writing says: “that feeling when you know you should be crying. But you can’t because of the meds”. These coincidentally sobering pieces point to lower times in his life, only to be lifted with charmingly daft witticisms: “yes, you are self-centred; but what a marvellous self to be centred on”.

Back to his almost comedic work depicting his social struggles, notably in an industry where schmoozing is currency, another poignant work was a depiction of his reflection practising conversation topics that “won’t sound insane”: “smelt anything cool lately?” comes his response. Even more bonkers was the social introvert chair, acting like an artsy bubble where the occupier may sit undisturbed, peacefully; it was used as a prop by influencers for boomerangs.

The Man Himself

On the big night, Robbie is unwaveringly generous. At first, he greets the room with a short speech punctuated with satire, pastiche, and irony; there’s ironic references to his greatness and career achievements (“why should a pop star with the most-won Brit awards make art, as the tabloids would’ve said…”), pastiche of his own career (“why would I make art, then mention night two of my arena tour still has tickets available?” with a glistening side-eye) – but this is no plea for modesty nor a plug; the man has reclaimed the story for himself, and off the back of his recent film Better Man, the art tonight is a part of that recovery. 

Just like the artwork on show tonight, Robbie quietly proclaims the victory of stripping away the facade, and overexposing what it is to be human.

A doting crowd swarms the man from start to finish – friends, industry figures, art aficionados, me. Yet, for the entire two hour exhibition, he’s unfailingly gracious, chatty, and warm. I notice he gives people his full, undivided attention – everyone gets a word in with the main man as he moves around. And, dare I say, the man sparkles with the panache of the 20-something mischievous party boy who caused a media ruckus for over a decade, but with the softening of a less complicated person who found inner peace.

Secret London | News