Black humorist steers clear of convention A taxidermied artwork of a Jack Russell dog entitled I'm Dead by British artist David Shrigley. DAVID Shrigley is known for his quirky illustrations and a stuffed Jack Russell that holds a sign proclaiming "I'm Dead." And if some critics claim his artwork isn't serious enough to be considered fine art, the 44-year-old appears to be having the last laugh. Having worked over two decades as a cartoonist, author, illustrator, filmmaker and all-round mischief-maker, Shrigley's prodigious output has seen him nominated for this year's Turner Prize in London. Yet, despite that accolade, and even though his works hang in the permanent collections of London's Tate Gallery and New York's Museum of Modern Art, the British artist is still unfazed by those who find it hard to accept him as a "serious" artist. He has never placed limits on his ambitions and doesn't much care much what others think about him. "Because of my subject matter, I'm always going to have some detractors, but I really don't care if people don't like my work," he says. You can't please everybody; art is so subjective. There are enough people supporting what I do for me to make a living. With more than 30 publications to his name, Shrigley's illustrations -- bitter and twisted, deadpan, seemingly naive -- have won him a cult following that occasionally borders on obsession. So keen are some fans to own a piece of his art, they have gone under the needle to have his disquieting, often disturbing designs tattooed on their skin. His admirers include David Byrne, Hot Chip and Franz Ferdinand, and he has directed music videos for Blur and Bonnie Prince Billy. This weekend, as part of Vivid Ideas in Sydney, Shrigley will reveal how he has succeeded in his main career aim: to avoid "proper" work. Inspired by Andy Warhol and Marcel Duchamp, Shrigley had a career that was never going to be conventional. Eschewing the well-worn Central St Martins or Chelsea art school route to recognition, the young artist headed in the opposite direction, crossing the Scottish border to the then wildly unfashionable Glasgow. From this northern outpost, far from the embrace of the Young British Artists -- the showy, commercially focused group championed by Charles Saatchi -- Shrigley gradually thrust himself into Britain's collective consciousness in books, magazines and a long-running weekly cartoon in The Guardian newspaper. He says his early ambition involved simply not having a job. "When I first left art school I wanted to have a voice and hoped I could somehow work at home and produce books," he says, "but I didn't know you can have a career as an artist." Indeed, he says he never had any real interest in comics and can't really draw: "My early drawings weren't taken seriously as comics, but they were appreciated as fine art." After he was nominated for the Turner for his Brain Activity show at London's Hayward Gallery last year, the jury said the exhibition revealed "his black humour, macabre intelligence and infinite jest." "He had been wrongly overlooked for a long time because his work suggested itself as being just funny and therefore marginal," said Penelope Curtis, director of Tate Britain and chairwoman of the jury. Just because it's funny, doesn't mean it's not good. David Shrigley will appear at the Museum of Contemporary Art on Sunday as part of Vivid Sydney.