Thursday, 4 December 2008
Seize the Day, Join the Queue: Adventures in Elephant & Castle and "Seizure"
I can't remember the last time I got out of bed at 8:00 am, on a foggy winter Sunday, for art. It was the final day of Seizure, the much talked about installation by Roger Hiorns, in which the artist transforms an urban housing estate into an immersive grotto of overgrown copper sulphate crystals. Wow, sounds great! After teasing my imagination with all sorts of weird and wonderful sci-fi visions of massive blue crystals and moon like surfaces, I decided to sacrifice the warmth of my bed in pursuit of visual stimulation at an abandoned housing estate in Elephant & Castle.I met up with some fellow art enthusiast-cum-masochist friends at the nearby shopping mall, for a quick fix of caffeine and some temporary shelter from the murky morning rain. Our initial plan of beating the ‘last day’ crowds got a little swayed once inside this weird and wonderful structure, called god knows for what reason "Infanta de Castilla". Let me just say, this mall deserves a blog on its own. It was incredible; like going back in time, bang in the centre of London. I felt like I was in East Berlin or on a very well made film set, having successfully captured the soviet spirit. The feeling of decay hung strong in the air, as did the stench of something fishy. This place had well passed its expiry date, but for me, it was a novelty. I snapped away frantically at my discovery, delighted to be somewhere outside of the glossy-ads, consumerist mania which is central London, especially now, just weeks away from Christmas. I felt like I had found my Zen in these dated surroundings, where time stood still. Its easy to forget just how advanced the London where I live in is.
But anyway, back too art. A few coffees, some sock jokes and an extremely sweet banana milkshake later, we made our way back to the cold and rain, in the search of Harpers Road. A crowding cloud of colourful umbrellas seemed like a telltale sign. Ah, a queue. It must be here. Where else but in London could you be greeted by this marvellous site on a Sunday morning. In fact there was two queues; one for the wellies, which obviously seemed to be undersupplied, and the other for the actual art. The wait was about an hour, the site assistant informed us. An hour in the cold. Oh well, we got this far.
Twenty or so minutes into the stationery wait, one of our party abandoned us for the pub to get the blood flowing back in his toes. One man down, but we were still going strong and full of hope.
After another hour passed, and we were still in queue one, I started to question my loyalty to art. The experience seemed to be turning into a test about the art of queuing. Despite the cold, everyone was very well behaved. They even brought books, these organised folk. By this time I too had started to loose touch of my toes and the prospect of putting on a pair of wellies and trudging around in puddles of blue chemicals (that is what the wellies were for) seemed less and less enticing for me. This crystal grotto better be good!
Eventually at 3:00pm we reached our turn, and went inside, into the rooms full of blue. And it was pretty, like a school chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong where chemicals mutated, devouring everything in sight. There were a few tiny rooms to explore, all united by the merciless attack of the crystals. Yet, during the two-hour wait, I had constructed such a magnificent palace of blue in my head, that not even a crystallized Taj Mahal would have impressed me much. Nor was the blue much embraced at this point by my comatosed companion. I wander if a warmer choice of colour would have been a more successful experience?
I spent my 10 minutes inside taking a thousand photos, while Irina poked at the walls to take away as many loose crystals as she could. Having waited so long we did not want to leave empty handed. It was after however, having found warmth and shelter at a local latino pub, that we were truly able to examine and enjoy our sapphire crystals. Was it a worthwhile wait? Had it been shorter, and the day warmer, perhaps it would have been a more enjoyable experience. Nevertheless I’m grateful to Mr. Hions for my unexpected visual stimulation of the Elephant & Castle terrains.
Monday, 3 November 2008
Sunday, 19 October 2008
At the Mirror: Elmgreen and Dragset at Victoria Miro
As I sped on my bike to catch the last minutes of "Too Late", the new Elmgreen and Dragset installation at Victoria Miro my main concern was – was I going to be late? It was 8:10pm, 10 minutes past the official closing time. I had no problem at the entrance however. Two smart men in black motioned for me to enter the gallery, which with its buzzing pink neon signage now took the form of a club, “The Mirror.” Temporarily seduced by the formality, I made my way hastily inside, but as I expected, there was only a few people left browsing, and a lot of empty bottles of beer. I had missed the party.
Once inside, it didn’t take long to realize that apart from a massive mirror ball resting on the floor, which looked like it was perhaps swung a bit too aggressively by somebody who had drunk a bit too much, there was not much more on display than empty plastic cups, bottles and cigarette butts spread out on the floor. The space was one big black empty room, lit only in corners by multi-coloured spotlights. I almost forgot that I came to see some art. Instead I felt like I did miss out on some big happening.
What mocked me the most were the ashtrays with their unfinished cigarettes everywhere. They looked so freshly abandoned. Being a smoker myself, I was instantly tempted to light up. After all, the evidence was there. I asked the bouncer if it was possible to smoke. The reply I got was rather surprising. I was informed that smoking was allowed last week, during the actual party. Was he serious? I thought the opening of the show was tonight…
Prohibited from contributing, I had no choice but to remain a passive observer. I did feel slightly amused at my willing suspension of disbelief. Did I really think they would let me light up in a social institution? It was worth a try nevertheless, the stage set by the witty Berlin based duo surely did trick me.
I decided to check out the rest of the show. From below, the numerous crowding legs made it seem like there still just might be some action upstairs. I made my way up a lengthy flight of stairs only to be greeted by a large steel door, with the engraving “V.I.P”. It was shut of course. Once again I had fallen for the illusion. The landing was really only big enough to fit five people all of whom were busy examining the photos on the wall. Photos of this enigmatic party last week, I presumed. The people in them looked like they were having fun.
Back downstairs I noticed some people staring up. I did too. Lined with mirrors, the ceiling revealed the contents of the V.I.P room. Nothing much happening there; just another room. Yet, in the far corner, the reflection of a seated body (a mannequin or perhaps even a real person, resting from a late night?) with its back to us, bystanders, somehow managed to keep the room alive, in suspense and out of bounds.
The social charade acted out by Elmgreen and Dragset becomes a success as it immerses us into the scene yet at the same time isolates us from it completely. An all too familiar feeling of exclusion in the social game, similar to that of having browsed a photo album of a not so close friend on Facebook of a party which you didn’t attend. Or flicking through the celebrity snapshots of the “Out last night” pages of the Londonpaper.
What I had walked into was indeed a party room. But the party was not there anymore. I had been left with the remains, which were intensified by all the reflective surfaces within; the ceiling, the lonely mirror ball and stainless steel walls bearing faintly printed outlines of dancing silhouettes. My own reflection did not help fill the void. Instead the presence of my body added to the feeling of displacement, which the installation evoked. I felt out of place. I doubt I would have felt different had I been on time. Here I would have always been late.
Once inside, it didn’t take long to realize that apart from a massive mirror ball resting on the floor, which looked like it was perhaps swung a bit too aggressively by somebody who had drunk a bit too much, there was not much more on display than empty plastic cups, bottles and cigarette butts spread out on the floor. The space was one big black empty room, lit only in corners by multi-coloured spotlights. I almost forgot that I came to see some art. Instead I felt like I did miss out on some big happening.
What mocked me the most were the ashtrays with their unfinished cigarettes everywhere. They looked so freshly abandoned. Being a smoker myself, I was instantly tempted to light up. After all, the evidence was there. I asked the bouncer if it was possible to smoke. The reply I got was rather surprising. I was informed that smoking was allowed last week, during the actual party. Was he serious? I thought the opening of the show was tonight…
Prohibited from contributing, I had no choice but to remain a passive observer. I did feel slightly amused at my willing suspension of disbelief. Did I really think they would let me light up in a social institution? It was worth a try nevertheless, the stage set by the witty Berlin based duo surely did trick me.
I decided to check out the rest of the show. From below, the numerous crowding legs made it seem like there still just might be some action upstairs. I made my way up a lengthy flight of stairs only to be greeted by a large steel door, with the engraving “V.I.P”. It was shut of course. Once again I had fallen for the illusion. The landing was really only big enough to fit five people all of whom were busy examining the photos on the wall. Photos of this enigmatic party last week, I presumed. The people in them looked like they were having fun.
Back downstairs I noticed some people staring up. I did too. Lined with mirrors, the ceiling revealed the contents of the V.I.P room. Nothing much happening there; just another room. Yet, in the far corner, the reflection of a seated body (a mannequin or perhaps even a real person, resting from a late night?) with its back to us, bystanders, somehow managed to keep the room alive, in suspense and out of bounds.
The social charade acted out by Elmgreen and Dragset becomes a success as it immerses us into the scene yet at the same time isolates us from it completely. An all too familiar feeling of exclusion in the social game, similar to that of having browsed a photo album of a not so close friend on Facebook of a party which you didn’t attend. Or flicking through the celebrity snapshots of the “Out last night” pages of the Londonpaper.
What I had walked into was indeed a party room. But the party was not there anymore. I had been left with the remains, which were intensified by all the reflective surfaces within; the ceiling, the lonely mirror ball and stainless steel walls bearing faintly printed outlines of dancing silhouettes. My own reflection did not help fill the void. Instead the presence of my body added to the feeling of displacement, which the installation evoked. I felt out of place. I doubt I would have felt different had I been on time. Here I would have always been late.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
