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This week's review is different. That is, as they say in the country of promotions, a two for one.
We are looking at Olafur Elibadon's new exhibition at Tate Modern from two perspectives: mine and, below, Laura Hackett (winner of the Radio 4 Today Student Critic's Award) . We see things a little differently …
There are few crystal balls as opaque as the one in which museum people look at how many punters might come to a future show. Terms such as "blockbuster" or "niche" are the subject of discussions between curators, marketers and Dave, finance specialist (whose opinion is never sought and ignored when presented ).
While I was working at Tate, I attended countless meetings of this type. Sometimes we are absolutely right. Sometimes we were wrong (too high for Dalí & Film, who was a turkey, too low for Edward Hopper).
But there was an opportunity in 2003 when we really outdone ourselves.
Our estimate for an installation in Turbine Hall of the Tate Modern by an unknown Nordic artist was so dramatically false that we had no choice but to blame Dave.
We thought that nearly 100,000 people would come to see Olafur Elibadon's The Weather Project during his six months. Of course, we were hoping for a few more as it had cost a lot to create the giant sun effect in such a large space (lots of ceiling mirrors).
But you had to be realistic.
The Weather Project, 2003, saw representations of the sun and the sky dominate the turbine room of the Tate Modern
In the end, more than two million visitors came to see and experience what would become the most famous immersive art work in the world.
It was epic in every sense of the word: an instant masterpiece that was created by both Tate Modern and Olafur Elibadon.
Sixteen years later, he returns to the Tate Modern with a career retrospective that does not include a relocation of his giant and hazy "Sun" to the great and obvious disappointment of a couple of taxi drivers Londoners with whom I was talking.
However, he has other remarkable pieces of his immersive art, his signature.
The best, by far, is the aptly named Your Blind Pbadenger (2010), which is the Danish term for a stowaway. It is a long bridge of white and bright fog that makes it impossible to see much further than your outstretched arm. If you are a skier or a hiker, this is called a white veil: if you live in Beijing or if you were in London in the 50s, it evokes a dense smog: a farmer.
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Olafur Elibadon
Your Blind Pbadenger, 2010, guides you into a dense fog corridor which, according to the artist, helps you realize you are not completely blind, you have many other senses that start to go into action"
Except that the environment created by Elibadon is softer (literally, the fog is sugar-based) and softer.
You will be disoriented and restricted, but the discombobulated feeling is more purity and wonder than fear or repulsion. Keep walking and the optical effects begin to occur.
But you must be alone.
If you see someone else, the impact is greatly reduced.
It is typical of the thoughtful and slightly provocative art of Elibadon, which best stimulates your senses and your mind.
This is the case of Your Uncertain Shadow (2010), another remarkable work in an otherwise slightly disappointing series.
He explores his main artistic preoccupations: light and color, environment and perception. You enter a gallery with white walls that does not look much until you stand in front of five colored projectors on the floor and look at the back wall. There you will see and be enchanted by your silhouette, composed of five pastel tones superimposed.
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Olafur Elibadon
Your uncertain shade (color), 2010, challenges our vision of the environment
Will Gompertz be interested in the art of Elibadon?
Elibadon is at its best when there is a playful part in his work, as shown again in Beauty (1993), a dark room where foggy water falls from the ceiling through bundles from light.
It is less convincing when it is too serious, as with the scaffolding waterfall located on the outside of the building.
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Olafur Elibadon
Beauty, 1993, evokes the meteorological phenomenon of a rainbow inside the show.
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Olafur Elibadon
On the terrace in front of the Tate Modern, you see Waterfall, 2019, a new installation of more than 11 meters high.
There is no doubt that he is a very good artist who has important things to say.
But this show fails to capture his spirit. It feels disjointed and slender, which is amazing given the prolificity of Elibadon over the years.
Maybe Dave has decided to be flexible and impose budget cuts?
Laura Hackett, BBC Radio 4 Criticism of student journalism of the year
The exhibition of Elibadon does not have an obvious entrance. There are doors, of course, but the viewer's experience begins well before that. Outside, you can not avoid his waterfall. With its scaffolding laid bare, this immense sculpture testifies to the human power to penetrate into the interior of nature and to redo it in our image, but also the power of nature to penetrate inside us. . Stand next to him and close your eyes. The vibrant cityscape is replaced by a non-human elemental scene.
The waterfall stands next to a Tate cafe. If you have a dip, you can enjoy a set menu in collaboration with the chefs of Studio Olafur Elibadon. Vegetarian dishes designed to be shared and eaten slowly. The philosophy behind this exhibition came to you before you actually got it.
If you take the elevator, you may wonder if the museum lights are faulty, but you're in a rebirth of 1997's Room for One Color One Room Room – the single-frequency lamps reduce while yellow and black, and the mysterious atmosphere continues in a blinding light. home.
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Olafur Elibadon
In Room for one Color, 1997, the space is bathed in light by single-frequency lamps
The art of Elibadon is not contained in the exhibition space; he is bursting out, refusing the idea of a cadre.
In the actual exhibition, some of the best-known works of the Scandinavian artist over the last 20 years find a new meaning.
The giant moss wall, which will dry out, be watered and grow back during the exhibition, has a new sense of urgency in the context of the climate crisis. Its overwhelming size competes with its vulnerability and a sense of misplacedness in this pristine environment.
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Olafur Elibadon
Moss wall, 1994, shows the outside being brought inside
But often, the viewer does not feel at home. The water trickles outside the windows to simulate the rain, recalling the falsity of our built inner worlds. Buildings are recalibrated not only as protective forces, but also in imprisonment, which separates us from the natural world.
A room is empty, with walls of bright white, until you enter and your figure appears in five colors. This piece is called Your Uncertain Shadow – you can create art, but your silhouette is split. You lose structural integrity. Another feature is an irregular rotating light spot that manages to be both cosmic and embryonic, unbearably close and incredibly remote.
If the posters are something that pbades, Your Uncertain Shadow is the main image of the exhibition, but for me, the centerpiece was Beauty, a dark room with a light shining through the mist. As you move (this space implicitly calls for silence), you can see a rainbow and observe the change of direction and direction of the mist.
Elibadon says that Beauty demonstrates our ability to see different things while staying together. That's what it does, but even more powerful, it manages to create a space both inside and out, not just an intermediary. It is the culmination of an exhibition whose resounding message is the mutual involvement of humanity and our environment, an implication that, according to Elibadon, should be celebrated, but also recognized as a responsibility to protect the world in which we live.
★★★★ ☆
Recent reviews by Will Gompertz
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