Tag Archive - Tate Modern

Artist Doris Salcedo: I Began to Conceive of Works Based on Nothing

January 19, 2012 in Images with 5 Comments

 

Doris Salcedo, Installation at 8th International Istanbul Biennial, 2003.

 

With the continual stream of information and images flooding past me each day, I’ve come to appreciate the rare, found gems that stop me in my virtual tracks. This week it was the above photograph of wooden chairs piled between two buildings that caught my eye on a friend’s Facebook page and sent me on a pleasurable hunt for more details.

Doris Salcedo’s haunting artwork Shibboleth, a giant crack installed in the floor of the Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall, brought the Colombian artist well-deserved attention in 2007. But most of us are less familiar with her earlier projects, such as her 2003 chair piece titled Installation for the 8th Istanbul Biennale.

 

Doris Salcedo, "Shibboleth," 2007. Concrete and metal, 548 feet long. Installation at Turbine Hall in Tate Modern, London. (Photo by Tate Photography, London. © Doris Salcedo. Courtesy the Alexander and Bonin, New York)

 

 

Salcedo's idea was to create a "topography of war"--not tied to a specific historical event, but to war in general. Seeing these 1,550 wooden chairs piled high between two buildings in central Istanbul, I'm reminded of mass graves. Of anonymous victims. I think of both chaos and absence, two effects of wartime violence.

 

 

Chairs are an intriguing choice, because they have the power to communicate both absence and human connection. Amassing them in huge quantities is not only visually spectacular, but it also conveys individual experience, as well as the collective.

 

Like Shibboleth, Istanbul is simple in its concept, but powerful in its impact. Salcedo’s idea was to create a “topography of war”–not tied to a specific historical event, but to war in general. Seeing these 1,550 wooden chairs piled high between two buildings in central Istanbul, I’m reminded of mass graves. Of anonymous victims. I think of both chaos and absence, two effects of wartime violence.

Born in 1958 in Bogotá, Colombia, Salcedo’s installations express the silenced lives of the marginalized. She is particularly interested in the gap between the powerful and the powerless, and in victims of violence and forced migration. “I am a Third World artist,” says Salcedo. Her artwork emerges “from that perspective—from the perspective of the victim, from the perspective of the defeated.”

“What I’m trying to get out of these pieces is that element that is common in all of us,” Salcedo explains. “And in a situation of war, we all experience it in much the same way, either as victim or perpetrator. So I’m not narrating a particular story. I’m just addressing experiences.”

According to Guardian art critic Jonathan Jones, Salcedo once witnessed “a horrific clash between guerrillas and the state that ended in people being burned to death in the occupied Palace of Justice in Bogotá: ‘It left its mark on me. I began to conceive of works based on nothing.’ Her response was to go to a hospital in Bogotá and collect dead patients’ discarded shoes, which she put into cavities dug in a wall and veiled in a weblike fibre.”

Jones makes the excellent point that Salcedo’s approach to art is not to give form to the voices of the powerless, but to take form away:

“To give form is an act of power. There is no art more involved with power than architecture because nothing says as clearly as a building that ‘I had the power to build this.’ Surely it’s no coincidence that women such as Salcedo and [Rachel] Whiteread take on the heavy-duty materials and the power-bragging aesthetic of architecture and turn it inside out.”

 

 

Doris Salcedo, "Atrabiliarios," 1996, MoMA Collection (Image courtesy pathetica.net). These shoes once belonged to people who have since disappeared amid the political violence in Doris Salcedo's native Colombia. Salcedo's approach to art is not to give form to the voices of the powerless, but to take form away.

 

 

Salcedo's "Shibboleth" at the Tate Modern was filled in when the exhibition closed, but the scar is still visible in Turbine Hall. You can see photos of the scar in my article on the Tate here at Gwarlingo (Photo by Lefteris Pitarakis courtesy the AP)

 

 

Doris Salcedo, "Istanbul Project II," 2003 Piezo-pigment on Hahnemühle German Etching Paper, 24 1/2 x 37 1/4 inches. Edition of 35 (Photo by Bill Orcutt. © Doris Salcedo. Courtesy the Alexander and Bonin, New York)

 

Continue Reading…

Little People in the City: The Street Art of Slinkachu

November 17, 2011 in Images with 4 Comments

"Scavengers" (Photo © Slinkachu)

In recent years the London street art scene has been dominated by the brash, satirical, crowd-pleasing work of Banksy. His 2010 film Exit Through the Gift Shop, which I’ll be writing about in the coming weeks, made Banksy a familiar name in certain American households, and his book, Wall and Piece, has been one of the best-selling art and photography books since its release.

But while the public lines up to see Banksy’s shows, and art collectors, like Brad Pitt and Christina Aguilera, fork over big money for his paintings and prints, a more polished street artist named Slinkachu has been producing brilliant, evocative artwork that has largely escaped the attention of an American audience.

Slinkachu is everything Banksy is not–subtle, empathic, poignant, contemplative.

While Banksy’s art relies on shock value, cleverness, and overt political statement, Slinkachu’s miniature street tableaux and photographs convey more complex narratives about the human condition. His art is often witty, but never clever for cleverness’ sake.

(Note: Click on images to enlarge)

miniature, photography, bee

"They're Not Pets Susan" (Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"Life as We Know It" (Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"Dreams of Packing it All In" (Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"Chicken Tikka Disasta" (Photo © Slinkachu)

Like most street artists, Slinkachu’s bio is deliberately vague. He says that his curly hair is what earned him the nickname Slinky–a name that eventually morphed into Slinkachu when the artist needed a name for his photography blog. He grew up in Budleigh Salterton, a small town on the south coast of Devon, As a boy, he played with bugs and creatures in the yard behind his house and helped his mother build dioramas for the children at the nursery where she worked.

In one interview, Slinkachu describes a critical “a-ha” moment he experienced while watching a stag beetle crawling down a London street. The unusual sight of the beetle in the city made the artist wonder if such insects actually were rare, or merely unnoticed in the busy flurry of day to day urban life. This intriguing idea of the “unseen” compelled Slinkachu to try his hand at creating his own small, urban dramas.

Slinkachu’s work has a dual existence as both a street art installation and a photography project. He often leaves his miniature scenes behind for observant pedestrians to find. The element of surprise is key. His street art may linger for days or weeks, or may be swiftly removed. Luckily, the work has a life beyond the street in Slinkachu’s large-scale photographs and marvelous book projects.

"For Sale / Sold" (Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"Bad First Date" (Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"The House of God" (New York City. Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"House of God" (New York City. Photo © Slinkachu)

Slinkachu’s modified model train figures are the perfect expression of urban angst, for who hasn’t felt small or overwhelmed? As Slinkachu’s photographs and street scenes illustrate, each of us is only one tiny person among millions. The lonely singles, melancholy office workers, and misunderstood teenagers in Slinkachu’s art resonate because they’re familiar. Our own daily lives, like the lives of these little people, are filled with humor, tragedy, boredom, and surprise.

The banality of urban living with its crass commercialism and junk food litter is a well-executed theme in Slinkachu’s work. And when it comes to the subject of religion, I’m hard pressed to think of a contemporary visual artist who tackles the topic with such humor and poignancy. Slinkachu’s converted fire hydrant mosque in Lower Manhattan is pure brilliance. And while the British artist creates most of his street art in London and other European cities, his photograph “Jesus Saves” strikes me as a particularly American scene–a shrewd observation on the similarities between marketing a commercial product and marketing religion.

Slinkachu depicts our violent human impulses too. It is unnerving to see boys throwing Lego bricks off of highway overpasses or a miniature mugging. “Animals” is a fine example of Slinkachu’s talent for choosing the perfect titles. Who are the real animals in this photograph–the insects or the official-looking men in uniforms beating them with nightsticks?

Slinkachu’s moving photographs remind me of a passage from W.H. Auden:

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;

"Animals" (Photo © Slinkachu)

 

 

"Jesus Saves" (Photo © Slinkachu)

Continue Reading…

Gwarlingo Visits the Tate Modern

June 22, 2011 in Images, Spaces with 2 Comments

A painting from Cy Twombly's "Bacchus, Psilax, Mainomenos" series (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

This week I paid a visit to the Tate Modern in London. The museum is the most-visited modern art gallery in the world with over 4.7 million visitors a year. Currently, the Tate has special exhibitions by Joan Miró and Taryn Simon. (The Simon exhibit is particularly interesting, but more on that in a future Gwarlingo article).

Jenny Holzer's "Blue Purple Tilt" (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

Another painting in Cy Twombly's "Bacchus, Psilax, Mainomenos" series (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

Some of my favorite highlights from the Tate Modern’s collection were Jenny Holzer’s “Blue Purple Tilt“ and Cy Twombly’s striking Bacchus, Psilax, Mainomenos series, which is comprised of three large-scale, canvases covered in whorling, red brushstrokes. Like Matisse in his later years, Twombly created this 2005 series by attaching a paintbrush to the end of a long pole. The deep vermilion color is reminiscent of both blood and wine.

"Maroon and Orange" (Seagram Mural) by Mark Rothko (Courtesy photo)

The Tate’s Rothko Room, which showcases Mark Rothko’s luminous, large-scale murals originally commissioned for The Four Seasons Restaurant in the Seagram Building in New York, is particularly memorable and offers a welcome respite to weary museum-goers. Rothko’s soft-edged rectangles radiate deep maroon, orange, gray, and black and glow meditatively in the dimly lit gallery. I also enjoyed Cindy Sherman’s 1975 Super-8 film “Doll Clothes,” which dates back to Sherman’s art school days, as well as a collection of posters by The Guerilla Girls.

One of the many works by The Guerrilla Girls on view at the Tate Modern (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

While the gallery’s permanent collection of modern and contemporary art is excellent, what makes a visit to the Tate Modern especially memorable is the building itself. The museum is housed in the former Bankside Power Station on the south bank of the Thames River. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, the architect of the original station, was also the designer of the the now-famous, red telephone boxes scattered across Britain. The massive Turbine Hall, which once housed electricity generators, stands five stories tall and has 11,155 square feet of floor space.

The height of the power station chimney at the Tate Modern is 325 feet. It was intentionally built shorter than the Dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, which stands at 375 feet. (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

The architects Herzog & de Meuron wisely chose to retain the character of Scott’s original design and have successfully transformed this utilitarian building into an engaging public space. The old and the new complement each other perfectly. I was particularly struck by Herzog and de Meuron’s sensitivity to the surrounding vistas. There are numerous vantage points for visitors to enjoy. I found myself lingering in one gallery contemplating a panoramic view of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The way the scene is framed through the large, rectangular window encourages visitors to consider the cathedral as a work of art, just like the Twombly and Barnett Newman paintings hanging nearby. Another balcony offered a lovely vista of the river, Millennium Bridge, pigeon-filled courtyard, and London skyline.

View of Millennium Bridge from the third level gallery

A view of St. Paul's Cathedral and the Millennium Bridge from a third level gallery (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

St. Paul's Cathedral and the Millennium Bridge from the Tate Modern

A view of the London skyline from a balcony at the Tate Modern (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

But some of the most unique views were of the building’s own interior. Each level of the museum offered a different perspective of Turbine Hall. From the upper galleries I watched visitors move through the geometric shadows and ascend and descend the stairwell below. From this bird’s eye perspective, I had the sense that I was inside an M.C. Escher drawing. The Turbine Hall was especially striking at sunset as the light and shadows shifted minute by minute.

Looking down on a stairwell in Turbine Hall (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

A bird's eye view of Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

Turbine Hall in the late afternoon (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

The hall at sunset (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

Between October and March each year, the Tate Modern uses the hall to display large commissioned pieces by contemporary artists. Louise Bourgeois was the first artist commissioned to create a special installation for the space. Since Bourgeois’s 2000 piece “I Do, I Undo, I Redo,” a number of memorable works have been installed there. Olafur Eliasson filled the space with a giant orange sun (“The Weather Project”), Rachel Whiteread cast and stacked 14,000 white boxes (“Embankment”), Doris Salcedo created a giant crack running down the center of the hall (“Shibboleth”), and Chinese artist Ai Weiwei filled the massive room with 100 million porcelain sunflower seeds.

Continue Reading…