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Turner Prize 2011

Queues snaking out of the door, a one out/one in entrance policy, tannoy announcements declaring the exhibition full – the ability of the Turner Prize to whip up some excitement around contemporary art appears to be as strong as ever. Hosted this year by a non-Tate venue for the first time, at Gateshead’s BALTIC the four nominees get a room apiece to showcase their pleasingly different work.

Bloomberg New Contemporaries 2011

Group shows can be tricky and unwieldy things. Tricky because their job is to bring together work that was conceived separately, and unwieldy for the simple reason of numbers; in this case, 40 artists ranged across two venues.

Selected from the submissions of final year undergraduates, current postgraduates of Fine Art at UK colleges and 2010 graduates, New Contemporaries is potentially trickier than most. These are, after all, artists who are mostly just starting out, relatively unversed in the whys and wherefores of exhibiting work.

At least that’s one way of looking at it. In fact, while the art chosen by selectors Pablo Bronstein, Sarah Jones and Michael Raedecker buzzes with the energy of youth, it also possesses real maturity. It is thoughtful, playful and enquiring, art that starts a conversation rather than states a fact. In a reflection, perhaps, of the changing nature of art education in the UK, it is also pleasingly international – after Britain, Korea is the most well represented country with five artists.

At Site Gallery things are tightly packed and the mood is intense, but it works. Poppy Whatmore’s customised metal-framed table greets you as you walk in, one of its legs cocked thanks to some precision sawing and the addition of hinges. There’s a TV on the floor, a Mondrian-style assemblage on the wall, and what’s that scraping and knocking noise, like someone making hard work of opening a can of lager – oh, that’s exactly what it is.

In Samuel Williams’ video We are the Robots, some joker’s taped a pair of pliers to a piece of wood and is clumsily attempting to get hold of the ring pull on a can. Now he’s bashing nails into potatoes, sawing a Swiss Roll and making a cake tower. And who’s that on the wall over there, a riot of oil paint almost obscuring his familiar face? Rafal Zawistowski’s Jesus Christ is a benign, confused figure, a delicate yellow halo hovering above his head, confirming his godliness but not his authority.

Layers of tactile oil paint give way to a smooth, too perfect sheen in Marie Angeletti’s C-Type prints. They tantalise with their seductiveness, but there’s something discomfiting about them too, something not quite right. Sarah Brown’s pencil drawings on paper are a striking contrast. Small, delicate and unadorned, these uncomplicated pictures of door handles and cupboards somehow find anxiety and tension in everyday mundanity. Is everything quite as it seems?

Ian Marshall’s Berkeley Blooms video begs the same question. Violent explosions are taken out of context and arranged into patterns, the result a kind of horrible beauty, a hellish cacophony. Destruction shouldn’t be this engrossing. Just as mesmerising is Jessica Sarah Rinland’s 16mm film about Nulepsy – the involuntary desire to strip naked. A narrator solemnly recounts his experiences as a lifelong sufferer, an old man skateboards down a country lane in the nude, and a much younger model takes his clothes off in a green house. It’s a touchingly realised conceit, but what’s real here and who’s acting? And does such a condition even exist? Google it and see.

Film makes up nearly a third of the work displayed in New Contemporaries, and across town at S1 Artspace, Se-jin Kim swaps woozy 16mm for HD video in his two-screen installation, Night Worker. A young man and woman, a screen each, forlornly make their way to work. They look tired before they even start, worn out by the daily grind. There is nothing heroic here, just boredom and drudgery, but that hasn’t stopped the artist creating a beautiful, highly stylised evocation of modern life.

Yelena Popova’s Unnamed is not as visually compelling, but it is packed with content. Her ten-minute film about a secret, almost hidden Russian town created in the Soviet era, combines old cine-camera and newsreel footage with recently-shot video of the town. It’s her questioning voice-over though that keeps you watching.

In Georgina McNamara’s quite beautiful black and white photograph, the idea of being hidden is made personal. A woman, possibly naked, is ‘clothed’ in a large, conical-shaped tube, only the back of her bare legs and feet showing. Is she hiding something or burying her head in the sand, creeping up or sneaking away?

There’s such a confidence, a clarity, about so much of the work in this show. But there’s also a deft curatorial touch on display, making a virtue out of the split venues and the right choices when it comes to displaying work. So, tricky to pull off, but it seems that when old hands and New Contemporaries get together, great things can happen.

Bloomberg New Contemporaries continues at Site Gallery and S1 Artspace until Nov 5. It then transfers to ICA, Nov 23 to Jan 2012

This piece was commissioned by and originally published on www.axisweb.org

The Life and Death of Marina Abramovic

Marina Abramovic has not so much drawn upon life for her art as make her own life the subject. Her experiences are at the centre of what she creates; her 2010 career retrospective, The Artist is Present at MoMA, New York, saw her sitting passively every day for nearly three months, with visitors invited to sit silently across from her.

Biography, then, is important to her, and The Life and Death of Marina Abramovic is the sixth time since 1989 that she has been involved in biographical theatre.

As marks the recent rise in her pop-cultural presence, with even Lady Gaga namechecking her, this is the most starry, high profile biography yet. Directed by New York avant-garde theatre legend Robert Wilson, it features a star turn by Hollywood royalty Willem Dafoe and music by Antony Hegarty.

Abramovic describes the process of creating the show as giving up control, of handing the material to a director to do as he will. It’s fitting then that, while her presence is constant throughout, both physically and in the meandering narrative thread, she does not dominate the stage.

That role goes to Willem Dafoe, a babbling, cackling, crazed narrator with a painted face and soldier’s uniform. He reels off dates and corresponding key events in Abramovic’s life, building a picture of parental abuse – in particular from her mother, played by Abramovic – and bouts of adult depression. Being Marina doesn’t sound much fun.

Yet for all the psychological warfare and routine violence on display, there’s a dark humour and sense of the absurd throughout. The choreography scurries between graceful and slapstick, the costumes are often bright and witty, the set half minimalist chic, half kids’ cartoon.

Hegarty’s music – a mix of ethereal soundscapes, skittering electronics and a live band – cajoles and caresses throughout. Occasionally he sings himself, drifting on stage in a long black dress and looking something like a cross between Queen Victoria and a Dalek.

But it’s Dafoe who holds the whole thing together, bringing a kind of order and momentum to this jolting, chaotic and always captivating spectacle.

The Life and Death of Marina Abramovic continues at The Lowry, Salford Quays, until July 16. mif.co.uk

Originally published July 12, 2011 on www.creativetimes.co.uk

The Hepworth Wakefield

<p>Director's Cut #5: Simon Wallis, The Hepworth Wakefield from Creative Times on Vimeo.</p>

Simon Wallis is running on adrenaline, fired up with enthusiasm, buzzing on the long hours and hard work.

Well, wouldn’t you be if you were heading up a brand new £35million art gallery, designed by an internationally-renowned architect and celebrating the work of one of the UK’s most influential 20th century artists?

As busy as he is, Wallis is warm, chatty and pleasingly unconventional. He has the look of a man who views wearing a jacket and tie as an acceptable compromise; a man whose passion is art but who also relishes the logistical, strategic and political challenges that being director of a gallery such as The Hepworth entails.

This is a building loaded with expectations, and while architectural plaudits and glowing exhibition reviews are of course in the mix, they’re part of a much bigger picture.

There is a lot at stake. For Wakefield’s solidly-Labour council, The Hepworth is no less than the West Yorkshire city’s Guggenheim Bilbao. It’s the anchor point for a £100million regeneration project conceived in a rather more buoyant economic climate.

Yes, there will be great art presented in the exquisite white spaces of this daring building, but, well, it’s also about the (local) economy, stupid.

A big job then, and a world away from the Chisenhale Gallery, where Wallis was director before moving from London in June 2008.

A converted 1930s factory in the East End, Chisenhale focuses on artists at a formative stage in their career.

By sharp contrast, The Hepworth draws heavily from the city’s extensive collection of 20th century art and features over 40 pieces by Wakefield-born sculptor Barbara Hepworth. The largest purpose-built gallery outside London, its ten galleries boast a combined floor space of 1600 sq metres.

And yet Wallis is determined to build a bridge between the art of the 20th century and architecture of the 21st.

He’s well qualified to do so, having worked with permanent collections as a curator at Kettle’s Yard, Cambridge and Tate Liverpool, before becoming Senior Exhibitions Organiser at theICA. He wants The Hepworth to have the feel of a lively contemporary art space, a social hub rather than a reverential museum.

David Chipperfield’s building helps considerably with this. Wallis clearly loves it, talking of its sculptural qualities, of it being designed from the inside out with art in mind. And while its brutalist concrete exterior will continue to divide opinion, its first-floor galleries are a revelation.

A delightful conundrum of sloping ceilings and unusual angles, many of the spaces are drenched in natural light. “The best suite of gallery spaces in the UK,” says Wallis. He’s probably right.

Chipperfield has created a building that embraces rather than overpowers the art within it. Its combination of large, airy galleries and more intimate spaces is perfect for the breadth of Hepworth work on display.

It also allows for the kind of large-scale contemporary sculpture made by an artist such as Eva Rothschild, whose Hot Touch is the opening temporary exhibition.

“I think a contemporary programme is a vital part of the offer here,” says Wallis, who has given over three of the ten galleries to new work.

Barbara Hepworth’s beguiling sculptures, the best in contemporary art, a landmark building from an in-demand architect at the height of his powers; some things really are worth putting on a jacket and tie for.

Originally published May 20, 2011 on www.creativetimes.co.uk and www.axisweb.org 

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Welcome to the Neighbourhood

Brains, brawn and BALTIC

Big Hands for John Bramwell

It was a beautiful Manchester day in August when myself and cameraman Scott Abraham caught up with I Am Kloot’s John Bramwell for Creative Times, so what better place to chat than a dimly-lit bar?

Not any old bar, of course. Big Hands on Oxford Road has a special place in the heart of many a Mancunian musician, and Bramwell is a regular; the place even inspired one of the songs, To The Brink, on I Am Kloot’s Mercury Prize-nominated Sky At Night album.

“Being nominated for the Mercury Prize is a ‘Hello Mum’ moment,” Bramwell explained. “I hope we win it.” 

They didn't of course, but Sky At Night would have been a worthy winner. It may not be musically groundbreaking, but it’s a richly human, emotionally honest and beautifully made record. Songwriting doesn’t get much better than this, and, prize or no prize, John Bramwell deserves his place in the sun. Even if he’d rather be perfecting a song in the depths of the night.

British Art Show flies high

The British Art Show happens every five years; that’s half a decade’s expectation on the shoulders of its curators. Thankfully, Lisa Le Feuvre and Tom Morton haven’t buckled under the strain, producing a thoughtful and thoroughly entertaining group show.

More than a selection of work by UK-based artists from the last five years, BAS7, with its tantalising subtitle In The Days Of The Comet, has a clear curatorial vision, carried out with a pleasing light touch across its three venues and 39 artists.

That subtitle is there for a reason. It announces that Le Feuvre and Morton feel there’s something shared by the works, albeit something loose and far from obvious. The art here has a questioning fluidity, a propensity to ponder rather than pontificate. Along with the questioning comes an acceptance that answers may not be forthcoming, that maybe only time will tell.

Appropriately, Nottingham Contemporary gallery forms the heart of the show. Caruso St John’s subtle yet robust, beautiful yet practical building is as rooted in the last five years as the art it is hosting. Opened in 2009, it’s the kind of project we’re unlikely to see again for some time to come, as culture gives way to cuts.

The art lives up to its surroundings. Brian Griffiths’ huge bear’s head made from faded orange canvas is viewable from the street through a full-length window. Suspended by thick ropes, it’s a curious, maudlin thing that looks as if it has got lost on the way to a funfair, separated from the rest of its body by some violent storm. It’s not quite huggable, not quite scary, not quite _right_.

George Shaw’s flat, unpeopled paintings of an unloved council estate are easier to get. They’re depictions of where the artist grew up, recently revisited yet presented through the haze of memory. People want to escape from places like this, but often don’t. You get the feeling Shaw couldn’t resist going back, but at the same time wishes he hadn’t.

Charles Avery’s huge vitrine features a male and female showroom dummy, mid-embrace. Avery has spent the last six years creating a narrative around an imaginary island and its inhabitants; here we have the characters Miss Miss and the Explorer. You don’t need to know the story so far to enjoy the scale and intricacy of this piece; or to wonder if a rifle is strictly necessary when courting.

Billed as self-portraits, Maaike Schoorel’s paintings appear to be little more than smudged canvases. Keep staring, though, and the portraits start to manifest themselves. Schoorel’s art is typical of much of the work here; it’s slow burn, thoughtful, demanding of your time.

And so it is with Wolfgang Tillmans’ Truth Study Centre, a collection of magazine and newspaper cuttings presented museum-style under glass. It’s as if all that cultural noise and information we’re constantly tuned into has been rewound to the pre-digital age, allowing us to sift and prioritise at our own pace. ‘Facts’ become fictions, ‘independent’ views exposed as partisan and biased. 

While Tillmans’ installation appears makeshift, a little rough round the edges, Emily Wardill’s crisp and aesthetically powerful film Game Keepers Without Game looks slick and expensive. The dialogue is based on a 1635 Spanish play, but the scenario is pure 21st century: a father’s dysfunctional relationship with his unstable daughter; the clutter of consumerism; the drama of modern life. Oh, and some great drumming.

At the New Art Exchange there’s more video. Christian Marclay’s The Clock places time centre stage. It’s a 24-hour film, consisting of thousands of movie clips, each one featuring a clock, a watch, or someone announcing the time. Accurate to the minute, this is cinema as time travel, but there’s more to it than those minutes passing by. We jump between eras, from black and white to colour, reminded that the clock never stops, that time’s arrow is inescapable.

Elizabeth Price’s User Disco Group is a startling piece, loud and apocalytic, dark and forboding. We’re in a ‘Hall of Sculptures’ at a museum. Domestic, kitsch objects spin and twist, music churns, text from management training manuals flashes across the screen. Don’t be fooled, Price seems to be saying, nothing is straightforward; there is a narrative to the history of objects that is complex and flawed.

At Nottingham Castle, Luke Fowler’s A Grammar For Listening (part 1) takes film in a very different direction. Working with sound artist Lee Patterson, he invites us to listen and look, from the drip-drip of rain to the groans of industry. Delicate, precise, curious, there’s something instinctive and hugely rewarding about Fowler’s work.

There’s plenty of noise of the metaphorical kind surrounding Spartacus Chetwynd; there’s a lot of art chatter about her, she does performances and – you may have guessed this already – it wasn’t her parents who called her Spartacus. Her Folding House is a large, imposing structure constructed out of old window panes, with rusty metal legs for support. It’s recycling as minimalist architecture, rough and ready but clearly designed.

Michael Fullerton’s paintings offer quieter delights. His oil on linen portraits reference the colour palette of 18th century art yet represent icons of the 20th century, such as Leon Trotsky. Fullerton unpicks the fabric of image making through his work, while at the same time producing spookily beautiful paintings.

The British Art Show is full of work that is intriguing, enquiring, and for the most part, good to look at. It’s art that resists taking the easy route when a diversion might provide a better view. After all, it’s taken five years to get here, so, like Halley’s Comet (next expected 2061), why rush?

Until Jan 9, Nottingham.

British Art Show 7 is a Hayward Gallery touring exhibition and tours to London, Glasgow and Plymouth