Tag Archives: Hayward gallery

Yves Klein – The Void ’58

At least half of the people I spoke to about the Invisible Art Exhibition at the Hayward Gallery turned their noses towards the sky before I had even finished voicing the title. Quite astounding, seeing as it’s the most natural progression the art world could have taken. For as long as we can remember, art has been about the aesthetic. The visual. The wall/canvas/fresco/marble etc. As early as 1917, with Duchamp’s Readymades, we started asking why. Why should we not progress, invent, explore, move outside of the boundaries history has placed on art?

Conceptual art theory is inherent in this exhibition at the Hayward gallery. The belief that an idea is just as valid as the physical, is embodied in almost every piece in the show. It begins with Yves Klein, a champion of Conceptual art. His works on Immaterial Pictorial Sensibility, and The Void ’58, are a challenge, a provocation, but also an exploration into previously uncharted territory. A brave venture into the white noise of a blank canvas. What is in there? The power of the void can be overwhelming, a fact exemplified by an infamous example, the theft of the Mona Lisa from the Louvre in 1911. A mass of visitors queued to stand and gaze at the space the painting had previously inhabited; the story behind its absence was thrilling enough to attract record numbers. Ironically, most of these visitors would likely have scoffed at  an empty plinth displayed as sculpture, but they were nonetheless uncontrollably enticed by the very same concept.

Empty space where the stolen Mona Lisa had hung

On arriving at the Hayward you are asked to enter the gallery at the usual exit point, and feel almost as if you are not in the Hayward at all as you walk the familiar course from back to front. Yoko Ono’s piece, Painting for Burial, 1961, consists of a short list of instructions on what to do with a canvas at dawn light. It is beautiful in its infinite potential. Each viewer’s imagination will take a unique turn at her suggestive poetry. Where is the place she speaks of? The physicality of the text is merely a reference to the idea, the main part of the piece, which is itself a non-physical thing; an abstract concept. Despite their physical manifestation ie. the text on paper, the work itself can be defined as ‘invisible’.

On the night of the full moon, place a canvas in the garden from 1:00 AM till dawn. When the canvas is dyed thoroughly in rose with the morning light, dismember or fold it and bury. The ways of burial:

1.) Bury it in the garden and place a marker with a number on it.

2.) Sell it to the rag man.

3.) Throw it in the garbage.

Yoko Ono – Painting for Burial 1961

Another example of this is Chris Burden’s White Light/White Heat ’75, in which he lay suspended on a plinth in a gallery above eye height for 22 days without food. Visitors could not see him there but reported a ‘sense’ in the room, a feeling of presence. Burden reported hearing a visitor say “He can hear us, and he doesn’t answer, but he can’t help listening…it’s like God”. Gianni Motti’s Magic Ink,’89 is a selection of works drawn onto paper in invisible ink. Knowing that the drawings were there drove me instinctively to imagine what they were and established me in the position of artist. Like Ono’s burial piece the make up of the work will change for each viewer, becoming essentially dependent on their imaginative participation. Motti’s drawings also provoke questions about the physical quality of imprints, as does Song Dong’s poignant Writing Diary With Water ’95-present. Dong began practicing calligraphy as a young boy with water on a stone, as a cheaper alternative to ink and paper. Years later he describes the process “Although it is just a stone, it actually has become thicker day by day, with my own thoughts added on it.”

Chris Burden – White Light / White Heat ’75

Gianni Motti – Magic Ink ’89

Song Dong – Writing Diary with Water ’95-present

Tom Friedman’s 1000 hours of staring, ’92-97, uses the process of staring as a medium for his work. Exploring why the transferring of emotion is often not considered to be a valid medium through which to create artworks, his Untitled (A Curse) ’92, a space above a plinth which has been cursed by a witch, is similarly thought-provoking and again explores our shifting perception of unseen forces. As human beings we both believe in and place primary importance on forces such as emotions. People instinctively consider love, intelligence, and empathy as having intrinsic worth. If in our daily lives we respect non-physical elements as significant, then why is this not the case in art? Consider the blind person visiting an art gallery. Their experience is through imagination, idea and verbally transmitted emotion through a third party. We don’t consider their experience to be worthless, so why do we think it of someone with sight who has the very same experience? We should be encouraging ideas, not devaluing them.

Tom Friedman – 1,000 hrs of Staring, ’92-97

Tom Friedman – Untitled (A Curse), ’92

After hurriedly shuffling out of the room in which Teresa Margolles’ cooling system installation, Aire / Air, ’03, circulated the vapour from water used to wash the bodies of murder victims, I noticed that observing other people going in and out of the room was fascinating in itself, provoking varied reactions of disgust, horror, intrigue, humour and distaste. The show concluded with an uplifting physical participation piece, Jeppe Hein’s Invisible Labryinth, ’05. Putting on the headset, which vibrated as you hit a ‘wall’ in the maze, I felt slightly self-conscious, but I was soon exchanging stifled giggles with approaching fellow explorers as we walked carefully around the room, occasionally stepping back and turning to find the correct path.

Teresa Margolles – Aire / Air ’03

Jeppe Hein – Invisible Maze ’05

The exhibition celebrated both our imagination and the strength in the power of suggestion. On a number of occasions I found myself questioning whether these things really were invisible; what if Warhol’s invisible sculpture was actually there? I managed to resist the urge to run my hand over that plinth and certainly wouldn’t have gone near the space which held the witch’s curse (just in case). In the end the show sent me on my way with a huge grin on my face, feeling like a child who had just stepped out of a (sometimes Grimm) fairytale.

David Shrigley (c)the artist

After the very outward-looking Deller exhibition which dealt primarily with culture and society, I immediately climbed the stairs of the Hayward gallery and stepped straight out of the real world and into the eccentric brain of David Shrigley. It felt completely fitting that the show was in the top space, as if a visual representation of being inside his mind. Deliberate? I hope so.

The first thing I noticed as I came into the room was the eclectic nature of the pieces. Deller’s work had also seemed a multifarious assortment, but only in terms of material and style; the message and topic was generally consistent. Like Deller, Shrigley’s objects also cover a range of techniques and approaches; some intervention, photographs, sculpture, video etc. But the message is convoluted. I accepted after a while that I was not going to ‘get it’, if indeed there was anything to get. That’s not to say i didn’t like it. The contrast between Deller’s clear moral and political messages and the stream of consciousness-feel of Shrigley was like being electro-shocked from the frontal lobe to the neural networks (to continue the brain analogy).

David Shrigley (c)the artist

David Shrigley (c)the artist

David Shrigley (c)the artist

It’s clear that Shrigley has a dry sense of humour. Again, much like Deller, his work makes you laugh – but not in the same way. Deller’s humour was witty and sometimes withering. With Shrigley’s work, I laughed outwardly at the silliness, nervously at the creepiness, and sometimes hysterically at the madness. It’s fun in a disturbing kind of way. It reminds me vaguely of Beavis and Butthead. Not just in the graphic style, which has a similar spiky-featured look, but the general uneasiness of the vibe it emanates. Unsettling. As if the works will smile at you, then turn around and bite.

His wall of sketches seems to be a kind of visual description of a manic episode. Your eyes jump from one drawing to another, trying to find a common link ,a story, but none appears. Maybe I’m just not imaginative enough to spot the connections. Or maybe there is no defined link and it is indeed just the rambling bizarre thoughts of Mr Shrigley himself. I like that I don’t know.

David Shrigley (c)the artist

David Shrigley (c)the artist

David Shrigley (c)the artist

David Shrigley (c)the artist

I succeeded in drawing some meaning from his ‘Eggs’ piece as well as ‘New Friends’, both of which seemed to explore ideas about being different and fitting in. A line of irregular, oversized eggs were placed above one of the spaces, each emblazoned with the name ‘egg’. To me, it spoke of difference and similarity, acceptance and humanity (and animality). Apologies, a bit of alliteration overkill there. This message, about essentially being the same but with slight differences, was continued in the animated ‘New friends’ whereby a square character is cheered and held aloft by a large group of circular characters, but, thinking he is accepted, is then rounded off on a plane to become just like the rest. An animated morality tale of intolerance.

David Shrigley – Photo (c)Artfinder

David Shrigley (c)the artist

Now I wouldn’t say I took anything in particular away with me from this exhibition (besides a generally bemused demeanor) but it was certainly a surreal experience. Finished up by the ultra-dry ‘I’m Dead’ dog and the ‘headless drummer’ animation, to which the gallery guide was gleefully tapping away on his thighs, I couldn’t help thinking that David Shrigley seems to me the art world equivalent of a cross between Woody Allen and the Coen Brothers. A man with an intellectual, manic sense of humour suffused with dark, inter-woven threads of meaning. His portfolio is so diverse I feel that this barely scratches the surface, but I think that the urge to scratch deeper has only just begun.

David Shrigley (c)the artist

David Shrigley (c)the artist

Check out some further info links –

David Shrigley talks to The Guardian readers through webchat – Jan 2012

More lovely images on Artfinder

From Political Art 2012…to Political Art circa 1993. With Jeremy Deller we are going further back. Back to the times in which the mini-Vacuum Cleaner was just growing up and discovering the mischievous artistic potential of the world around him. Back to the days of Ecstasy and Acid House and, even further, to the Miner’s strike and The Who. But although much of Deller’s work may seem focused on popular culture, it also seeks to challenge historical narrative and displace traditional attitudes.

As a visitor to the Deller retrospective at the Hayward Gallery, I had almost no idea of what to expect.  I entered gingerly into the room emblazoned with the poster “Bless This Acid House”, giggling already. Well-placed on the opening door, it set the tone for the entire show; witty, clever and bold.

Jeremy Deller – Bless This Acid House, 2005

Stepping into the first room was a slightly surreal experience. As a child of the nineties (well kind of – I missed all the ‘sorted for e’s and whizz’ good bits, although I did once find my way to a small rave in some woods. Ahem. I digress) I found it easy to relate to the objects and imagery in the reconstruction of Deller’s first exhibition, including the ever so slightly condescending Tate text about how Deller lived with his parents into his late-20s, producing work with his bedroom as his studio. Aha! There may be hope for me yet! His lucky break (every famous person has one) came through meeting that oracle of modern art, Andy Warhol; the androgynous 60’s Midas with whom a few hours spent would imbue you with a body pumped by liquid creativity.

Jeremy Deller – Open Bedroom, 1993. Photo (c)Linda Nylind

There are echoes of Warhol here. The spoof exhibition posters, promoting a Keith Moon retrospective (can we have that please?), the music videos and bright twists on slogans; a lot of Deller’s work is heavily influenced by Pop Art. But then, you can see so many influences in his work it almost deems it impossible to pinpoint any key figures. I was struck by the extensive range of materials, formats, viewpoints, and concepts he explores and even spotted what looked like a tinge of land art à la Andy Goldsworthy, in Barbeque Summer. In contrast, Valerie’s Snack Bar, where you could go for a free cup of tea, placed you within the art object itself. You were the viewed, as well as the viewer. It felt a bit like stepping inside Deller’s mind; into a memory. Or into ‘an OAP youth club’, as Deller put it.

Jeremy Deller – Valerie’s Snack Bar, 2009. Photo (c)Linda Nylind

Jeremy Deller – I ♥ Melancholy, 1995. Photo (c) Isabelle O’Connell

Jeremy Deller – Barbeque Summer, 2009.

It is common for an artist to find a single style and to veer only marginally from that style throughout their whole career. Deller swings violently from performance art to interventionist to painting to photography to documentary and on. His work is infinitely entertaining. It is also very funny. I admit that I laughed out loud as a short film explained his project to develop a hand signal language for the middle classes to rival that of the gang culture, amongst others. Thumb, forefinger and middle finger touching and pointed upwards translates as ‘Antiques Roadshow’, or just ‘money’. It was a bit like seeing a visual representation of articles written by David Mitchell or Charlie Brooker. Hilariously witty, but with a message. In this case, a clear, common sense message about acceptability and unacceptability and our ridiculous societal structure that dictates which is which. Banners in the style of biblical quotation contain Bowie and Nirvana lyrics, credited with ‘David c1 v2’ , and a large wall painting charts the links between brass bands and acid house. Acceptable and unacceptable. Transposed and juxtaposed.

Jeremy Deller Poster. Photo (c)Isabelle O’Carroll

Jeremy-Deller – The History of the World, 1997. Photo (c)Linda Nylind

This theme is continued in his documentary-style works on the miner’s strike and the Iraq war, which take on a more sombre and serious tone. Deller explores the concept of history as a living thing for us to engage with and to delve into. His recreation of the Battle of Orgreave is inspired and poignant. The layout of the project takes us through the written history, factual timelines, contemporary clippings and culminates in a fascinating film documenting the event and his discussions with people who were there. His exploration of conflict and abuse of power continues through ‘It Is What it Is’, a powerful and moving record of Deller’s journey across America with a bombed out car from Baghdad.

Jeremy Deller – It Is What It Is, 2009. Photo (c)Carolyn Wachnicki

Jeremy Deller – Battle of Orgreave, 2001. Photo (c)Linda Nylind

The general impression is of a man who celebrates life with humour and insight. It is an impression of a thinker of the most important kind,. A social thinker. Someone who looks and sees and cares and comments on what is happening in the world around him. I see the same angry, independent, anti-authoritarian attitudes in his work, as I do in the youth of Britain creating protest art in 2012. The message is of life, experience and freedom vs humdrum, hierarchy and slavery. The message is the same now as it was back in 1993. So in the words of that 90’s anti-hero Renton – choose life.