from the unpublished files of Liam Greenlaw, c.2006

In art circles today, at gallery openings and film premieres, you will often hear the question "Who are the Snudge Bros.?" Aside from one or two in the know, who likely would not be attending gallery openings or film premieres, the question remains legitimate.

As deadly as a silent one, the Snudges have been all around us for years and now for the first time have consented to an interview about their early days in art and cinema. The Snudges were conceived in a Butlin's Holiday Camp. Their mother, Olive Snudge, struggled for years to advise the boys who their father might be (but sadly) to no avail.

"He looked like a young Cliff Richards," she claims of her bingo-induced holiday tryst. "But beyond that I'm completely at a loss." Despite this parenting set back, the Snudge Bros. remain particularly devoted to their mum and keep her surrounded with Formica and corrugated metal to help spark her memory.

Poor and not necessarily right in the head, Django (pictured, l.) and Juan Baptista (pictured, r.) Snudge (named after their mother's favourite writers, Ian Fleming and J. B. Priestley) began their lives on the war-ravaged streets of London's East End.

"We did all the normal things boys from the East End did," claims Django. "Played in bomb sites, sold scrap metal, wanked off Francis Bacon -- nothing out of the ordinary." But ordinary was not to be the legacy of the Snudges. Driven by the damp chill of poverty and their uncanny sense of line and composition, the Bros. commenced their lives of 'art with menace.'

Their first successful enterprise, while still young men, was to create a protection racket for sidewalk chalk artists, a mainstay of London streets at the time. "Most of these guys had done their duty returning from war with awful visions in their heads and no materials. The lack of materials was a national disgrace. We decided to do something about it," remembers Juan Baptista. "At first, we'd go up the West End, the tourist areas and keep the tourists from walking over their work. Then, after a while, we started pointing out perspective to the passersby, how the artist was capturing the flight of the birds etc. Their profits went up tenfold. We knew we were on to something." "Then," adds Django, "we met this geezer with a line on French chalk. We started bringing it in. Supplied the artists, at a fair price, with the stuff. It went a bomb. The colours were really nice, you had to admit."

Soon the Bros. had created an empire, expanding their artistic control from Soho to Camberwell. Nobody put chalk to concrete or paintbrush to brick without consultating the Snudges. This ever-expanding empire required muscle, however, and soon the Snudges formed a gang, a gang they called the Royal College of Art (East). Following the example of the other Royal College of Art, the gang enforced taste, style and dramatic form on the humble citizens of London.

Joined by 'Cubist' Jim McGonagall and Frankie "the Sculptor" Fraser, the Snudges bullied, threatened and designed their way to the top of the artistic heap. Their exploits became the stuff of myth. One never knew where fact ended and fiction began, however it is known that Frankie "the Sculptor" was sentenced to three years at Wandsworth Prison on a charge of Grievous Bodily Harm for his reproduction of "Nude Descending Staircase." The canvas, as one would suspect, was a philistine art critic, who according to Frankie "just wouldn't give it a rest."

With techniques such as these, London became the Snudges 'Manor' in just a few short years. But art knows no bounds and soon they took their art to the international market. Underground connections with the IRA took them to the burgeoning graffiti market of Northern Ireland.

"PRODDIES OUT, that's one of ours." Exclaimed Django. "Our slogan, our creative, our design--course we could never take credit for--but it was our first attempt at branding. It's done well, still there today."

With this success under their belts, the Snudges unveiled plans to carpet an unsuspecting Scotland. Thwarted only by the Amalgamated Weavers strike of 1966, their design plans remain the most ambitious art takeover ever attempted (The plans, unsigned, are on display at the Victoria & Albert Carpet Museum.)

To be continued in Part II. ...