Archives for posts with tag: installation

The Caged Bird’s Song


This is a magical display. Chris Ofili has created a watercolour which has been woven into a tapestry by Dovecot Tapestry Studio. The tapestry is enormous, a triptych covering a whole wall of the exhibition space, and it’s beautiful. Ofili’s image is rich and bright, reds and oranges bleeding into blues and turquoises and purples. The left and right panels show figures drawing back theatre curtains to show a mythical, watery, tropical scene. A couple sit at the centre of the work underneath a waterfall, him serenading her on a guitar with a still ocean behind them. She’s holding a cocktail glass, into which a nymph or god in a tree pours a sparkling liquid. This heavenly cocktail waiter, it turns out, is Mario Balotelli. The adjacent room shows Ofili’s studies for his watercolour, the most magical of which are those where Balotelli rises from cocktail glasses like a genie robed in smoke. The piece is titled ‘The Caged Bird’s Song’, referring to the first part of the great Maya Angelou’s autobiography. A caged bird is depicted in the right of the work but the whole piece is musical. 


There’s a calmness in the room – I could sit in here for hours, like in the Rothko room at Tate Modern. There’s also a happiness and serenity in the tapestry, as well as a heady tropical expectation in the black storm clouds on the horizon. I’ve never been to Trinidad, where Ofili is based, but there’s a flavour of Caribbean nature in this piece. The couple are under the waterfall, so I doubt the imminent downpour will bother them. The work is so rich, I want to hear the tale of these figures and the myth of this landscape. The medium of tapestry is itself mythical – maybe Arachne wove this. This display doesn’t need a soundscape. You can hear the water through the tapestry. 

Balotelli the genie


From afar, the tapestry looks like a watercolour. The pigments bleed into each other like watered down paint, mixing with the waterfall and the sea. The level of skill in this piece is phenomenal – the weavers have somehow managed to translate water into wool. 

This is a tapestry not a watercolour – how

I first saw this exhibition drunk and I loved it and had to go back. I imagine I’ll be going again.

Kwade’s installation is like an eery sci-fi museum. The room is dark, and the pillars in the space create shadows, turned into places to hide behind.

Around the space are placed three bronze sculptures on plinths. They’re somewhere between figurative and abstract – they could be objects from space, they could be melted bones. One looks like a figure in a shroud. They are still and they seem to be watching you. 

The exhibition backdrop is a screen showing an asymmetrical mass floating and turning on a background of TV static. I thought it was a comet, and it reminded me that analog TV static is an echo of the Big Bang (this is legit: https://www.nasa.gov/vision/universe/starsgalaxies/cobe_background.html). The whole room was very other-worldly.

The central installation is a mobile of mobile phones (I absolutely lapped this up). A motorised hanging installation of GPS tracked smartphones show images of the Milky Way. As they spin and rotate, the images change to show the part of the galaxy which the phone is currently facing. All the while a mechanised female voice reads excerpts from the book of Genesis. From where I stand, this is genius. 

The Copernicus-esque image used on the media for this exhibition doesn’t actually feature within the space, but it fits very well. The exhibition text asserts the importance of mapping and location within the universe. It’s also an interpretation of humankind’s constant endeavour to understand their metaphorical place in the universe. Kwade uses advanced modern technology to display highly scientific images all with a biblical soundscape. There are both religious and scientific ways to understand our place as humans, and Kwade’s work suggests that the two are not incompatible. 

Rachel MacLean’s video and print study of social media and all its darkness is a glorious madness. Emoji-yellow Data presides as queen in a post-apocalyptic world, while her plague ridden devotees wait endlessly for her next upload. Ratty, wire-chewing trolls hack her and literally shit all over her feed. It’s not subtle, and it’s brilliant. 

The video installation was funny, gross, and completely disturbing. The scene where hacked Data masturbates using a touch screen while Scam fists her until she bleeds is a gory but accurate allegory for the self indulgence of the internet and the often unrecognised violence prevalent in online behaviour. 

I’m not sure what the printed images added to the installation, other than behaving like adverts for the film, and ironically they made a great Instagram snap. They fitted well but I can’t yet put my finger on why. 

The juvenile and sterile colour scheme of pink, yellow and blue lent an additional discomfort to the whole room – painted like a nursery, but with a sign outside warning parents not to bring their children inside. 

Video and edited photography are the perfect media to explore the phenomena of social media. The sickly brightness and a Disney-esque song sequence fit perfectly around the reference to the sinister, dark side to social media underneath all the airbrushed perfection. The artificial sweetness of the installation made it more palatable; it was bleak but funny. It didn’t offer any solutions – and why should it – but it was a clever addition to the contemporary debate around the safety and trajectory of the internet, while being a jokes way to spend a Saturday afternoon.