Entry tags:
Living in the Welfare State
Kevin and I are currently sitting in a cafe overlooking Hyde Park's lake. We are drinking lattes and eating salty as the sea crisps. There's a ruckus of children, tourists and expresso machines nearby. The sun's shining and the shadows of a willow tree flicker on our table. Kevin's just finished drawing a Russian in his notebook, I've finished writing a postcard; we just came from an exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery: The Welfare Show, by Michael Elmgreen & Ingar Dragset.
Social Mobility 2005
The show aimed to look at the Welfare State in Western societies and study its failure. A stripper's podium flashed lightbulbs beside a bucket, a mop and a "wet floor" sign ("after the fun, somebody has to clean up the mess," Kevin said); a stark white corridor was the home of two patient beds, one of them empty and the other carrying a life-like dummy (either dead or waiting for his possibly pointless operation); a wall advertised white socks in Woolsworth for 1.25 pounds behind an empty wheelchair with a balloon tied to it.
The theme of waiting was everywhere: an airport carrousel spun a solitary bag in a room with no exit (the stairs leading out had crumbled); just around the corner, several bored-looking security guards sat beside each other, intimidating us from trying the handles of the many doors facing them (which Kevin and I tried opening anyways, unsuccessfully); a waiting room with a dying tree and numbered tickets on the floor reminded us of the kind of bureaucracy we have all experienced. Just as we walked out, we passed a bank machine with a sleeping baby on the floor, tucked inside his carrier bag: the message seemed to be that the parents' welfare money hadn't arrived so they had to leave the baby they could no longer provide for behind.
There were many ideas, and interesting starting points for narratives about the Welfare State, but the exhibition still lacked something. Some of the pieces came across as half-baked ideas, or simplistic points on what were possibly more complex issues. The tension between the security guards and the locked doors could have been heightened if we felt more a need to open those doors. People wandered very quickly from one piece to the next; nobody seemed too enthralled or engaged with what was on display. When we left the gallery, Kevin said that many artists assume a certain kind of posture, or a position, where everything they create and exhibit is irrevocably art. Many people treat art galleries as a kind of esoteric experience, where the art displayed is always good because it somehow made its way there. This exhibition, however, was very weak, and I wouldn't even go so far as to call it art. We did have a good discussion afterwards about the potential narratives, but it still felt as if the "artists" were trying to say the obvious with a big grant. A wheelchair with a balloon tied to it is nothing more than a wheelchair with a balloon tied to it, I say.
The exhibition is free so, if you live in London, it's worth checking out if you are near Hyde Park. It's on until March.
Social Mobility 2005
The show aimed to look at the Welfare State in Western societies and study its failure. A stripper's podium flashed lightbulbs beside a bucket, a mop and a "wet floor" sign ("after the fun, somebody has to clean up the mess," Kevin said); a stark white corridor was the home of two patient beds, one of them empty and the other carrying a life-like dummy (either dead or waiting for his possibly pointless operation); a wall advertised white socks in Woolsworth for 1.25 pounds behind an empty wheelchair with a balloon tied to it.
The theme of waiting was everywhere: an airport carrousel spun a solitary bag in a room with no exit (the stairs leading out had crumbled); just around the corner, several bored-looking security guards sat beside each other, intimidating us from trying the handles of the many doors facing them (which Kevin and I tried opening anyways, unsuccessfully); a waiting room with a dying tree and numbered tickets on the floor reminded us of the kind of bureaucracy we have all experienced. Just as we walked out, we passed a bank machine with a sleeping baby on the floor, tucked inside his carrier bag: the message seemed to be that the parents' welfare money hadn't arrived so they had to leave the baby they could no longer provide for behind.
There were many ideas, and interesting starting points for narratives about the Welfare State, but the exhibition still lacked something. Some of the pieces came across as half-baked ideas, or simplistic points on what were possibly more complex issues. The tension between the security guards and the locked doors could have been heightened if we felt more a need to open those doors. People wandered very quickly from one piece to the next; nobody seemed too enthralled or engaged with what was on display. When we left the gallery, Kevin said that many artists assume a certain kind of posture, or a position, where everything they create and exhibit is irrevocably art. Many people treat art galleries as a kind of esoteric experience, where the art displayed is always good because it somehow made its way there. This exhibition, however, was very weak, and I wouldn't even go so far as to call it art. We did have a good discussion afterwards about the potential narratives, but it still felt as if the "artists" were trying to say the obvious with a big grant. A wheelchair with a balloon tied to it is nothing more than a wheelchair with a balloon tied to it, I say.
The exhibition is free so, if you live in London, it's worth checking out if you are near Hyde Park. It's on until March.