Tag: sculptures

Charles Saatchi: the man who reinvented art

Charles Saatchi

Charles Saatchi: “He is now overshadowed by impulsive enthusiasts with far more money than himself”.
Photograph: James King

I am probably the only person who can truly say that Charles Saatchi saved my life. During the holidays in 1986 I worked as a gallery assistant in Charles’s Boundary Road gallery in northwest London, during the installation of the Richard Serra and Anselm Kiefer exhibition. I got to drill the holes for hooks in the back of the wooden supports of Kiefer paintings. It was nerve-wracking – one false move and there could be a hole in a £1m masterpiece. At the end of every day I swept the gallery clean of the straw that had fallen off these visceral, apocalyptic landscapes, where paint was mixed with earth, grass and photographs.

I was 19 and earned £80 a week. Cranes were used to position Richard Serra’s sculptures in which 1-ton slabs or rolls of rusting steel and lead leaned against each other. These works are quite possibly the most important sculptures of the past 50 years, with their dramatic but abstracted sense of danger, built on the simplest arrangements of materials – leaning, propping and balancing .They could also be lethal: one technician had already been killed installing a Serra in America, and the artist himself had spent months in a wheelchair after another accident.

One day Charles came on a lightning tour of the gallery to see how the installation was going. I and a few “riggers” were holding upright one of the four slabs of One Ton Prop (House of Cards) which leant against each other. As Charles indicated some instant changes he wanted to the position of another work, the head of the installation team motioned the rest of his team to come over. For a moment I was faced with the prospect of holding a ton of lead on my own. “Don’t let that young man hold that all by himself,” Charles said. I remember a number of stronger men rushing to my assistance. That was Charles –  impatient, controlling but also thoughtful towards his serfs. Like an emperor.

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Mark Leckey at Serpentine

Up the garden path ... Mark Leckey's GreenScreenRefrigeratorAction at the Serpentine Gallery.

Up the garden path … Mark Leckey’s GreenScreenRefrigeratorAction at the Serpentine Gallery. Photograph: Ray Tang/Rex Features

Mark Leckey‘s exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery crept up on me unawares. In the lobby-like entrance area, posters and a fragmentary video hover delicately between meaning and meaninglessness while snatches of pounding music and robotic voices creep in from other rooms. Hesitant, a bit confused, I took it in like the noise outside a club, or popcorn scattered on a cinema carpet. Only when I entered a gallery overlooking Kensington Gardens where electronic devices chatter inanely in high-pitched voices against a painted green background did the reality dawn on me of just how terrible an exhibition I had stumbled into.

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Visceral curator: Making art out of living tissue

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These are the first tissue-engineered sculptures to be presented alive in a gallery context. They represent a modern version of Guatemalan worry dolls in artificial wombs: you will be able to whisper your worries to these dolls and hope that they will take the worries away (Image: Tissue Culture and Art Project)

It’s the 10-year anniversary of SymbioticA – has it developed the way you expected?
Ionat Zurr and I developed the idea for an artistic research project with the idea of working with living tissue as a medium for artistic expression. Three years into our project we realised there was a larger interest from artists who wanted access to laboratories. So neuroscientist Stuart Bunt, cell biologist Miranda Grounds and I applied for funding and built the space as part of the University of Western Australia in Perth.

We believe there is a need for cultural scrutiny of what’s going on in the life sciences and our approach is to engage with it in a very experiential, participatory way, which means that our artists come and work in the labs. They don’t just observe what the scientists are doing, they engage in a very hands-on way in the manipulation of life.

The artists are mentored by scientists to develop the skills they need to work on their projects, and then they go into their research projects. We are the only place in the world to offer a masters of biological arts, which is a science degree – and we’re now beginning to offer a PhD. It has really exceeded our expectations.

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Kurt Schwitters, Merzbau

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The Merzbau, Hanover, 1933

Alongside his collages, Schwitters also dramatically altered the interiors of a number of spaces throughout his life. The most famous was The Merzbau, the transformation of six (or possibly more) rooms of the family house in Hannover, Waldhausenstrasse 5. This took place very gradually; work started in about 1923, the first room was finished in 1933, and Schwitters subsequently extended the Merzbau to other areas of the house until he fled to Norway in early 1937. Most of the house was let to tenants, so that the final extent of the Merzbau was less than is normally assumed. On the evidence of Schwitters’ correspondence, by 1937 it had spread to two rooms of his parents’ apartment on ground floor, the adjoining balcony, the space below the balcony, one or two rooms of the attic and possibly part of the cellar. In 1943 it was destroyed in a bombing raid.

Early photos show the Merzbau with a grotto-like surface and various columns and sculptures, possibly referring to similar pieces by Dadaists, including the Great Plasto-Dio-Dada-Drama by Johannes Baader, shown at the first International Dada Fair, Berlin, 1920. Work by Hannah Höch, Raoul Hausmann and Sophie Tauber, amongst others, were incorporated into the fabric of the installation. By 1933, it had been transformed into a sculptural environment, and three photos from this year show a series of angled surfaces aggressively protruding into a room painted largely in white, with a series of Tableaux spread across the surfaces. In his essay ‘Ich und meine Ziele’ in Merz 21, Schwitters referred to the first column of his work as the Cathedral Of Erotic Misery. There is no evidence that he used this name after 1930, however. The first use of the word ‘Merzbau’ occurs in 1933.

Schwitters later created a similar environment in the garden of his house in Lysaker, near Oslo, known as the Haus am Bakken (the house on the slope). This was almost complete when Schwitters left Norway for England in 1940. It burnt down in 1951 and no photos survive. The last Merzbau, in Elterwater, Cumbria, England, remained incomplete on Schwitters’ death in January 1948. A further environment that also served as living space can still be seen on the island of Hjertoya near Molde, Norway. It is sometimes described as a fourth Merzbau, although Schwitters himself only ever referred to three. The Sprengel Museum in Hanover has a reconstruction of the first room of the ‘Merzbau.

Louise Paramor at Incinerator Arts Complex, 5 May to 23 May

Louise Paramor‘s sculptures are showing at the Incinerator Arts Complex. In the vain of Martin Kippenberger, Jessica Stockholder, Franz West and Jim Lambie. Paramor excites our senses with bright colours and exotic shapes. You peruse the space as if shopping, with all the shelves shouting dazzlingly bold brands and at you. As you pass through the isles you scrutinize the effortlessness in manufacture. What struck me about the sculptures was their content seemed to posit solely on the colour and shape arrangement. The fabrication, combined with the confident colouring, provided these little contemporary Totems with a relationship that was understated but absorbing.

She also placed a photograph of the installed piece in Court 3, evoking a sense of Kippenberger and also Starling however it seemed an extension of the sculptures. You became aware of another line of inquiry but they unlike Kippenberger’s arrangements in The Happy Ending of Franz Kafka’s Amerika, where you were ushered through a definitive path (not dissimilar to IKEA). Paramor gives us our own path to plan through the work, a shopping ‘free for all’ if you like. She does not I believe have the European eccentricity/ madness that undulates through the very personal Kippenberger piece. Also she deviates away from Lambie’s work because she doesn’t engross you in the volume of the space (I can’t think of a shopping metaphor), making you aware of every centimetre of the experience. It seems that Paramor simply wishes to evoke the content of the sculptural phenomenon.

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