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String and printed papers on paper | [
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] | 2,015 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/georgie-hopton-12116" aria-label="More by Georgie Hopton" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Georgie Hopton</a> | CottonHandled Echo after Arp | 2,020 | [] | Purchased 2020 | T15509 | {
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} | 7007568 7008166 7002445 7008591 | Georgie Hopton | 2,015 | [] | false | 1 | 12116 | paper unique string printed papers | [] | The Cotton-Handled Echo (after Arp) | 2,015 | Tate | 2015 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 678 × 480 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [] | [] | null | false | false | artwork |
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String, cellophane, ink, card and adhesive on paper | [
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] | 2,012 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/georgie-hopton-12116" aria-label="More by Georgie Hopton" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Georgie Hopton</a> | Shouting Flower | 2,020 | [] | Purchased 2020 | T15510 | {
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} | 7007568 7008166 7002445 7008591 | Georgie Hopton | 2,012 | [] | false | 1 | 12116 | paper unique string cellophane ink card adhesive | [] | The Shouting Flower | 2,012 | Tate | 2012 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 525 × 420 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [] | [] | null | false | false | artwork |
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Linen and steel | [
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] | 1,975 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/peter-collingwood-29514" aria-label="More by Peter Collingwood" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Peter Collingwood</a> | Macrogauze 116 2 | 2,020 | [] | Purchased 2020 | T15511 | {
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} | 7011781 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Peter Collingwood | 1,975 | [] | <p><span>Macrogauze 116 No. 2</span> c.1975 is a large woven wall hanging that demonstrates the artist’s innovative approach to hand weaving. It is an example of the distinctive and ground-breaking technique Collingwood devised by 1964 which he called the ‘macrogauze’ method and for which he is best known. Constructed with linen thread, <span>Macrogauze 116 No. 2 </span>has woven into it seven horizontal steel rods that lie flat against the wall. The warp threads, as well as running vertically, would also traditionally lie parallel to the edge of the textile. Collingwood built a loom that freed the warp threads from this limitation and allowed them to lie at any angle of the weaver’s choosing. The warp threads of <span>Macrogauze 116 No. 2 </span>follow zigzag diagonal lines, criss-crossing each other in ways that were impossible before Collingwood devised his innovative technique. With the macrogauze method, a minimum of weft, or horizontal, threads are used. The horizontal steel rods are either woven in to keep the hanging flat, as here, or can be used to open up the textile into a three-dimensional structure, as seen in the earlier work <span>3D Wall Hanging</span> c.1960 (Tate T15445) that predates the macrogauzes but exemplifies the artist’s drive towards three-dimensionality. However, in either case, the warp is dominant and it is the movement and direction of the warp threads that gives the macrogauzes their structure.</p> | false | 1 | 29514 | sculpture linen steel | [] | Macrogauze 116 No. 2 | 1,975 | Tate | c.1975 | CLEARED | 8 | object: 2700 × 725 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Macrogauze 116 No. 2</i> c.1975 is a large woven wall hanging that demonstrates the artist’s innovative approach to hand weaving. It is an example of the distinctive and ground-breaking technique Collingwood devised by 1964 which he called the ‘macrogauze’ method and for which he is best known. Constructed with linen thread, <i>Macrogauze 116 No. 2 </i>has woven into it seven horizontal steel rods that lie flat against the wall. The warp threads, as well as running vertically, would also traditionally lie parallel to the edge of the textile. Collingwood built a loom that freed the warp threads from this limitation and allowed them to lie at any angle of the weaver’s choosing. The warp threads of <i>Macrogauze 116 No. 2 </i>follow zigzag diagonal lines, criss-crossing each other in ways that were impossible before Collingwood devised his innovative technique. With the macrogauze method, a minimum of weft, or horizontal, threads are used. The horizontal steel rods are either woven in to keep the hanging flat, as here, or can be used to open up the textile into a three-dimensional structure, as seen in the earlier work <i>3D Wall Hanging</i> c.1960 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/collingwood-3d-wall-hanging-t15445\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15445</span></a>) that predates the macrogauzes but exemplifies the artist’s drive towards three-dimensionality. However, in either case, the warp is dominant and it is the movement and direction of the warp threads that gives the macrogauzes their structure. </p>\n<p>Collingwood was one of the pre-eminent British weavers of the second half of the twentieth century. Having qualified in medicine and practised as a house surgeon for a number of years, he turned his attention to weaving, ordering his first loom in 1950 from George Maxwell in Ditchling, Sussex, where the sculptor Eric Gill (1882–1940) had previously established a craft community. There Collingwood met Ethel Mairet (1872–1952), an established and influential hand-loom weaver, who agreed to take him on as her apprentice for several months. In 1952 he set up his own workshop in Highgate, London, producing handwoven rugs, which were exhibited and sold widely. He later moved his workshop to Digswell Arts Trust in Welwyn Garden City, where he worked alongside other makers, including the potter Hans Coper (1920–1981).</p>\n<p>Committed to innovation with his craft, Collingwood tested and experimented with the limitations of weaving. He dismantled looms and then reconfigured them so they could achieve different results. Caroline Burvill quoted him in <i>Selvedge </i>magazine, highlighting his innovative approach which was nevertheless rooted in a deep understanding of the techniques of weaving: ‘Use the technique so that its limitations become a help rather than a hindrance … Start with what the technique gives willingly and from those elements construct your design.’ (Peter Collingwood, quoted in Burvill 2018, accessed 5 September 2019.) </p>\n<p>In 1965–7 Collingwood’s work was included in <i>Weaving for Walls</i>, a touring exhibition organised by the Victoria & Albert Museum, London. In its selection of weavers, the exhibition emphasised figures who attempted to blur the boundaries between art and craft. Collingwood’s work was shown alongside such experimental figures as Tadek Beutlich (1922–2011) and Ann Sutton (born 1935). Sutton, having met and been influenced by the British constructivists Kenneth and Mary Martin (1905–1984, 1907–1969), renamed a course she taught ‘Textile Construction’. Beutlich was known to incorporate found materials such as charred wood, x-ray film and honesty seeds into his weaving. Collingwood, Beutlich and Sutton were conscious that their work represented a new aspiration and ambition for their craft. Collingwood made a distinction between what he called ‘craftsmen weavers’ and the ‘artist weaver’, describing the latter as ‘alive to contemporary trends in fashion, decoration, painting and all the arts’ and saying that they react ‘sensitively to the spirit of the time’ (quoted in Tanya Harrod, <i>The Real Thing: Essays on Making in the Modern World</i>, London 2015, p.268).</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Ruth Harris / Peter Collingwood</i>,<i> </i>exhibition catalogue, Crafts Council Gallery, London 1981.<br/>Caroline Burvill, ‘The Master of Macrogauze’, <i>Selvedge</i>, no.81, 2 March 2018, https://www.selvedge.org/blogs/selvedge/peter-collingwood, accessed 5 September 2019.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>September 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Glass, steel, ultraviolet lights and electrical cables | [
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] | 1,990 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/hamad-butt-22540" aria-label="More by Hamad Butt" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Hamad Butt</a> | Transmission | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Jamal Butt 2019 | T15512 | {
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} | 7001560 1001490 1000133 1000004 7011781 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Hamad Butt | 1,990 | [] | <p><span>Transmission </span>1990 is an installation consisting of nine glass books resting on metal stands, each individually lit by its own ultraviolet light. The books are arranged in a circle on the floor, connected by electrical cabling, each of their nine glass pages turned in progressively ascending order. On the same page of each book the image of a single Triffid from the cover of John Wyndham’s novel <span>The Day of the Triffids</span> (1951), a creature bulbous at one end but with an agile, probing snout at the other, is etched into the glass. The effect created is an image of the Triffid that, although always discernible upon close inspection, moves in and out of visibility as the viewer moves around the circle. The single Triffid seems to rise to the surface of the page, taking on an almost phallic symbolism. Butt was fascinated by the image of the Triffid from Wyndham’s novel and the relationship this iconic book had with the unease of the social body. In the novel the Triffids pray upon an unsuspecting populous, blinded by an apparent meteor shower. Describing the Triffid, Butt wrote, ‘On the cover of the book, an image of a creature that is not anything as distant as the castrated male genitalia, yet it creeps to that dreaded desire as it takes the power of mobilisation itself.’ (Hamad Butt, ‘Apprehensions’, in Foster 1996, p.50.) In one of his working notebooks, part of Butt’s archive held at Tate, he wrote that, ‘The Triffid exists in exile. The alienated exile of the dangerous, ejaculating, contaminated pudenda,’ reflecting a personal exile and alienation felt by Butt himself.</p> | false | 1 | 22540 | sculpture glass steel ultraviolet lights electrical cables | [
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"id": 15647,
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"venueName": "Irish Museum of Modern Art (Dublin, Ireland)",
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] | Transmission | 1,990 | Tate | 1990 | CLEARED | 8 | Overall display dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Jamal Butt 2019 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Transmission </i>1990 is an installation consisting of nine glass books resting on metal stands, each individually lit by its own ultraviolet light. The books are arranged in a circle on the floor, connected by electrical cabling, each of their nine glass pages turned in progressively ascending order. On the same page of each book the image of a single Triffid from the cover of John Wyndham’s novel <i>The Day of the Triffids</i> (1951), a creature bulbous at one end but with an agile, probing snout at the other, is etched into the glass. The effect created is an image of the Triffid that, although always discernible upon close inspection, moves in and out of visibility as the viewer moves around the circle. The single Triffid seems to rise to the surface of the page, taking on an almost phallic symbolism. Butt was fascinated by the image of the Triffid from Wyndham’s novel and the relationship this iconic book had with the unease of the social body. In the novel the Triffids pray upon an unsuspecting populous, blinded by an apparent meteor shower. Describing the Triffid, Butt wrote, ‘On the cover of the book, an image of a creature that is not anything as distant as the castrated male genitalia, yet it creeps to that dreaded desire as it takes the power of mobilisation itself.’ (Hamad Butt, ‘Apprehensions’, in Foster 1996, p.50.) In one of his working notebooks, part of Butt’s archive held at Tate, he wrote that, ‘The Triffid exists in exile. The alienated exile of the dangerous, ejaculating, contaminated pudenda,’ reflecting a personal exile and alienation felt by Butt himself.</p>\n<p>When the work was first displayed in the 1990 student exhibition at Goldsmith’s School of Art, London, and for its subsequent presentation later that year at Milch Gallery, London (the only exhibitions of the work in Butt’s lifetime), the artist invited visitors to enter the circle of books and sit down in the centre. They were instructed to put on a pair of protective googles and approach each of the glass books in turn to decipher the image etched into the glass pages.</p>\n<p>In these two exhibitions of <i>Transmission </i>Butt also included nine statements, as follows:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>We have the ‘Black light’ that is Ultra-Violet.<br/>A penetrative radiation that damages human sight.<br/>A seductive invisibility that fascinates flies.</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>We have the eruption of the Triffid that obscures sex with death<br/>A stigmata of an era with the fear of invasions<br/>A mark of contagion that isolates others, defiles intimacy</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>We have the blindness of fear and the books of fear.<br/>We have the dangers of blind faith (prayer) and the transmissions of faithlessness (distraction)<br/>We have the apprehensions that regard these words before strategic withdrawal</blockquote>\n<p>In the first exhibition a glass vitrine was mounted on the wall of the gallery, containing sugar paper inscribed with the nine phrases. Inside were maggots placed at the bottom of the vitrine that would eventually hatch into flies, feeding on the sugar paper until they died. In the second exhibition the statements were sandblasted onto the glass of the Milch Gallery windows. At both there was also a monitor that displayed the same image of the Triffid.</p>\n<p>In a notebook of Butt’s from the time when he made <i>Transmission</i>, he broke the work down into six key elements: the Triffid, representing ‘historical periods of fear’; the ‘pervasive and invisible visible’ ultraviolet lights; the ‘transparent, sharp, penetrative’ glass of the books; the telephone cables that transmit electricity; the flies as the site of ‘decay and transmission’; and the book supports.</p>\n<p>In his essay ‘Apprehensions’, written to accompany the exhibition of <i>Transmission</i> at Goldsmith’s, Butt wrote, ‘The triffids blind their victims, the comet blinds the populace, light in excess blinds the viewer’ (in Foster 1996, p.50). If viewers were to attempt to discern the etched motif without wearing the protective glasses, the ultraviolet light would damage their eyes, drawing attention to what Butt saw as the violence caused by scientific knowledge in establishing its pre-eminence. Quoting the philosopher Paul Virilio, Butt stated, ‘Thus in this <i>mediated</i> or <i>information</i> society we are isolated in a state of <i>pure seeing </i>… we are <i>seeing without knowing</i>.’ (In Foster 1996, p.43.) Butt was preoccupied with the privilege of vision, in particular the diagnostic gaze in the understanding and cataloguing of human disease. He understood that a body treated as an object can no longer defend itself but, by engaging with the physiognomy of ‘fear’ in one’s experience of <i>Transmission</i>, Butt wanted to offer a way out. In this process fear could symbolically overcome death and, by ritualising the threat of death, he attempted to somewhat stabilise the disturbances of experience.</p>\n<p>Throughout Butt’s writings and art, a narrative of increasing vulnerability and worry concerning the invasion of the body by an alien substance (deadly chemicals) or disease (AIDS) occurs; a vulnerability that is captured in the title of this work. ‘Transmission’ suggests a blind or hidden exchange between entities that may be out of our control. <i>Transmission </i>is the site of Butt’s earliest exploration of the nexus between science and art, reason and danger and, ultimately, life and death; the ideas he would go on to explore and materialise in the related installation <i>Familiars </i>1992 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/butt-familiars-t14779\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T14779</span></a>), also in Tate’s collection, which would become his final work.</p>\n<p>Even though Butt held a deep respect for reason, he resolutely interrogated the power of the intellect. In <i>Transmission</i>, the combination of mystery and popular culture and the suggestion that his malign, yet slightly comical Triffid character might overthrow established institutions of learning was earnest. This was an artist calling for nothing less than a revision of the conventional view of scientific knowledge, replacing it with what he called ‘a critique of the institution of science as, somehow, especially truthful’ and a shift to what he described as ‘a speculative science practice’ (quoted in <i>Alien Nation</i>,<i> </i>exhibition catalogue, Institute of Contemporary Arts, London 2006, p.103). <i>Transmission</i> reveals in Butt an idiosyncratic interest in the supernatural, juxtaposed with what he called ‘pure science’, based on empirical research and precise scientific calculation. These seemingly oppositional interests in fact reflect Butt’s training as a biochemist before entering art college.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Clement Page, ‘Hamad Butt: The Art of Metachemics’, <i>Third Text</i>, vol.9, no.32, 1995, pp.33–42.<br/>\n<i>Rites of Passage: Art for the End of the Century</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Gallery, London 1995.<br/>Stephen C. Foster (ed.), <i>Hamad Butt: Familiars</i>,<i> </i>London 1996.</p>\n<p>Nathan Ladd<br/>March 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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} | 7011781 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Tina Keane | 1,982 | [] | <p><span>In Our Hands, Greenham 1982–4 </span>is a thirty-eight-minute-long video with sound by Tina Keane which celebrates the women’s peace protest that began in 1981 outside RAF Greenham Common, in Berkshire, England. Greenham Common was used as a base by both the British Royal Air Force and the United States Army Air Forces during the Second World War and Cold War, and subsequently as a storage facility for American nuclear cruise missiles until 1992. The goals of the women’s protest were the removal of the cruise missiles from Greenham Common and cessation of the use of nuclear weapons in general.</p> | false | 1 | 25916 | time-based media video colour sound stereo | [
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] | In Our Hands, Greenham | 1,982 | Tate | 1982–1984 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 36min, 50sec | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>In Our Hands, Greenham 1982–4 </i>is a thirty-eight-minute-long video with sound by Tina Keane which celebrates the women’s peace protest that began in 1981 outside RAF Greenham Common, in Berkshire, England. Greenham Common was used as a base by both the British Royal Air Force and the United States Army Air Forces during the Second World War and Cold War, and subsequently as a storage facility for American nuclear cruise missiles until 1992. The goals of the women’s protest were the removal of the cruise missiles from Greenham Common and cessation of the use of nuclear weapons in general.</p>\n<p>Keane’s video layers imagery of a silhouetted pair of slowly moving hands, close-up footage of spiders, and documentation of the women at the peace camp outside Greenham Common. A woman’s voice on the soundtrack describes a personal moment of revelation about the threat to the world by nuclear weapons, and her subsequent decision to take action. She describes how the women, having initially marched for disarmament, decided instead to simply stay at the perimeter fence of the base and form a peace camp there. Press attention initially, she says, often focused on how the women’s husbands were ‘coping’ without them, rather than the issue of nuclear disarmament itself.</p>\n<p>Using what was then a new video superimposition tool, Chroma Key, Keane created composite images, so that the silhouettes of the hands, which are in constant motion, encircle and enclose the footage of the women singing protest songs, while also being bathed in a shifting and dreamlike spectrum of colours. The event that Keane filmed became known as Embrace the Base, at which 30,000 women held hands to form a human chain around the perimeter fence of Greenham Common. The soundtrack captures the women’s songs, with lyrics such as ‘take those toys away from those boys’. The footage sporadically cuts to images of spiders whose busy activity merges with the movement of the hands. In 1993 the writer and critic Jean Fisher described the hands and spider imagery in this work in terms of collective action and efforts at empowerment:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Tina Keane takes up a primary metaphor in the peace camp: women’s industry (productivity) as it works to form the matrix of community, yet its exclusion from the site of power. Images of a spider spinning her web are juxtaposed with footage of the women’s activities – joining hands around the base, weaving webs of wool to symbolise strength in unity. <br/>(Jean Fisher, ‘Reflections on Echo: Sound by Women Artists in Britain and Ireland during the 1980s’, 1993, <a href=\"https://www.jeanfisher.com/reflections-on-echo/\">https://www.jeanfisher.com/reflections-on-echo/</a>, accessed 10 April 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>\n<i>In Our Hands, Greenham</i> exists both as a single channel video, which can be shown on either a monitor or a flat screen, and as an installation comprising twelve monitors. Tate’s version is from the single channel edition of seven plus one artist’s proof and is number one in the edition. It is exemplary of Keane’s experimental film practice as also seen in <i>Faded Wallpaper </i>1988 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/keane-faded-wallpaper-t14991\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T14991</span></a>). Since the mid-1970s, she has explored issues relating to female identity and empowerment across a range of media from performance and installation to film, video and digital art.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Richard Dyer, Jean Fisher and Peter Wollen, <i>Electronic Shadows: The Art of Tina Keane</i>, London 2004.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>April 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Vernon Ah Kee | 2,010 | [] | <p><span>tall man</span> reveals the ongoing effects of colonisation in contemporary Australia. The work depicts events from November 2004 on Palm Island, an island off the coast of Queensland. A local man, Mulrunji Doomadgee (also known as Cameron Doomadgee) died in police custody. Protests followed, and the police station, local courthouse and police barracks were burnt down. One of the central figures leading the protests was Lex Wotton, a member of the Palm Island Aboriginal Council. Ah Kee presents him as the ‘tall man’ – an Aboriginal term for a bogey man or spirit who elicits the truth from wrongdoers. Wotton later won a lawsuit, alongside other Palm Island residents, which found that the police had illegally discriminated against them.</p><p><em>Gallery label, August 2021</em></p> | false | 1 | 24116 | time-based media video 4 projections colour sound stereo | [
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] | tall man | 2,010 | Tate | 2010 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 11min, 7sec | accessioned work | Tate | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2016 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>tall man</i> 2010 is a four-channel video installation with sound, originally exhibited at Milani Gallery, Brisbane as part of the artist’s exhibition <i>tall man</i> in 2011. It is eleven minutes and eleven seconds long and can be shown on a loop. It exists in an edition of three, of which this copy is number three. The work is concerned with the Palm Island riots of 2004. Palm Island is an Aboriginal community located on the tropical Great Palm Island, near northern Queensland, Australia. In November 2004 a young Aboriginal man, Mulrunji Doomadgee (also known as Cameron Doomadgee), died in in custody one hour after being detained by police. A week later, on 26 November 2004 at the public reading of the results of his autopsy, a riot ensued in which the police station, local courthouse and police barracks were burnt down and police officers and staff were forced to barricade themselves into the local hospital. It was later found, in 2006, that Doomadgee had died as a result of punches to the stomach; however, the Senior Sergeant was found not guilty of manslaughter in 2007. In 2008 two-time local Palm Island Councillor Lex Wotton was convicted and tried of inciting the riots. He served twenty months of a seven-year sentence. There continues to be widespread opposition to his sentence and the recent ‘gag order’ issued by the High Court of Australia.</p>\n<p>Ah Kee’s exhibition and the video installation <i>tall man</i> are an homage to Lex Wotton, specifically to the ongoing repercussions and events that unfolded on 26 November 2004. With footage sourced from mobile phones, handheld cameras and television news reels, the work shows the events that took place on that day. The video begins with each of the four screens showing different gatherings of the community. A woman speaks of Doomadgee’s death: ‘our young fella who died tragically… It is a mystery to all of us. There was an accident around the cell. There was a fall and an oppressive force on his body. Four ribs were broken. A huge blood loss occurred.’ Following this, Les Wotton enters the screen shouting ‘That’s not an accident … C’mon people we all wanted this. We wanted to know. Will we accept this as an accident?’</p>\n<p>The different screens of the video installation show the police station on fire and aerial views of Palm Island. The work incorporates the perspective of the police officers by showing them preparing for the riot and being forced to leave the police station and move to the barracks. Each screen includes the date and time ticking over in real time. Ah Kee uses the television test pattern, otherwise known as the SMPTE colour bars, to fragment the continuity of the footage and thus heighten the visual and emotional impact of the sequencing between screens. The test pattern is accompanied by the sound of a high-pitched video signal.</p>\n<p>\n<i>tall man</i> is characteristic of Ah Kee’s artistic approach in its investigation into race relations in Australia. The artist has written:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>While <i>tall man</i> is an idea of Lex Wotton’s involvement in the riot, it is also about the people of Palm Island and the circumstances in which they live their lives. It is about the lives of Aboriginal people and the way we see ourselves in times of this kind of trouble. As a people, the Aborigine in Australia exists in a world where our place is always prescribed for us and we are always in jeopardy. It is a context that we are continually having to survive. It is a context upon which we are continually having to build and re-build.<br/>(Vernon Ah Kee, unpublished artist’s statement, November 2010.)</blockquote>\n<p>Ah Kee is a member of the Kuku Yalandji, Waanji, Yidinji and Gugu Yimithirr peoples and a founding member of the Aboriginal artist collective Proppa Now. His work ranges from large-scale drawings of his family members and ancestors to text-based works and installations incorporating moving image. It fuses the history and language of colonisation with contemporary issues in an ongoing investigation of race and politics.</p>\n<p>Further reading<br/>Robert Leonard, Anthony Gardner, Aileen Moreton-Robinson and otheres, <i>borninthiskin: Vernon Ah Kee</i>, exhibition catalogue, Institute of Modern Art, Brisbane 2009.<br/>Maura Reilly, ‘Vernon Ah Kee, Tall Man’, <i>Art Asia Pacific</i>, no.73, 2011, p.136.</p>\n<p>Natasha Bullock, Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney<br/>December 2015</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Helen Johnson | 2,016 | [] | <p><span>Bad Debt</span> focuses on introduced animal species, diseases and ecological disturbance. Images of foxes and rabbits overlay drawings of circus performers dressed as a cat and a horse. These are species that have caused widespread damage to Australia’s unique biodiversity. Smallpox cells are too small to be visible, yet their introduction by the British from 1788 also had a devastating effect on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. <span>Bad Debt</span>’s composition is based on the layout of Australia’s capital city, Canberra. When the city was built, the planners ignored the concerns of the Ngunnawal, Ngunawal and Ngambri peoples whose land it stands on.</p><p><em>Gallery label, August 2021</em></p> | false | 1 | 26030 | painting acrylic paint canvas | [
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] | Bad Debt | 2,016 | Tate | 2016 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 3960 × 3250 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2018 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Bad Debt</i> 2016 is a large unstretched acrylic painting on canvas that depicts layers of overlapping disparate images. These include a bedroom interior with a smashed window; animals that are non-indigenous to the artist’s native Australia, such as foxes and rabbits; people dressed as a cat, a horse and a man; and representations of the smallpox virus. Foxes, rabbits and smallpox are notorious examples of the species and diseases introduced to Australia by colonists. The painting’s composition is based on the layout of Australia’s capital, Canberra, which is one of the few capital cities worldwide designed from scratch. In 1911 the Chicago-based architect Walter Burley Griffin won the international competition to design the city. Despite his idealist approach, his plan ignored the original inhabitants of the land. The imagery in Johnson’s painting is sourced from the internet and painted in close detail, alongside images of weeds that were either sourced online from the Agriculture Victoria website or based on photographs taken by the artist. On the wall of the bedroom hang two pictures; one is derived from a print by the Australian painter and printmaker Fred Williams (1927–1982), and the other is from an image of a man beating a woman that was published in an issue of the <i>Police Gazette</i>, a Melbourne publication from the mid- to late nineteenth century. The background image of people dressed as animals is adapted from a book about early circuses in Australia.</p>\n<p>This work is one of six new paintings co-commissioned by the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London and Artspace, Sydney for Johnson’s solo exhibition at the ICA from February to April 2017, and touring to Chapter, Cardiff and Artspace, Sydney. Two other paintings from the group are also in Tate’s collection: <i>Seat of Power </i>2016 (Tate X66564) and <i>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul </i>2016 (Tate X66768). Painted on unstretched canvases, these works are displayed on tubular steel structures that allow them to be hung either at a distance of about 30–40 centimetres from the wall or suspended in the middle of the gallery.</p>\n<p>Johnson’s work often addresses Australia’s colonial history and its ongoing impact on the country’s political and social realities. The complex colonial relationship between Australia and Britain and the ongoing tension between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians are fundamental concerns of the three paintings in Tate’s collection. Australia is pictured as a country with an unstable and conflicted identity and a place where the constructed nature of history is more readily recognisable. Regarding the three paintings together, Johnson has said:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>They inhabit three different phases in Australia’s colonial history: <i>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul</i> deals with the corruption and solipsism of the early colonists, focusing on the Port Phillip region (now Victoria) as land was stolen and sold off; the subject of <i>Seat of Power</i> is the sycophantic relation of the Australian government to that of the UK, embodied in the fetishistic production of a replica of the Speaker’s Chair at Westminster that was gifted to the Australian parliament in 1926; and <i>Bad Deb</i>t depicts introduced species that are today classed as pests and noxious weeds in south-eastern Australia, overlaid with a wireframe image of a bedroom that has been broken into and riffled through, theft in a register that we are more readily able to identify.<br/>(In email correspondence with Tate curator Sook-Kyung Lee, 4 February 2017.)</blockquote>\n<p>Rather than being overtly political or literal, however, Johnson’s work conveys a reflection of history and reality through the language of painting. She is acutely aware of the trajectory of recent debates around painting, from a conservative and outdated form of expression to a medium relevant to contemporary experience. These concerns resulted in her extending her PhD thesis into a book entitled <i>Painting is a Critical Form</i>, published in 2015. Traversing between figuration and abstraction and between image and text, her paintings connect disparate imagery with complex history and politics. The juxtaposition of historical and contemporary signifiers is typical of Johnson’s practice, adapted from historical and art historical material ranging from popular magazines and illustrated publications to internet photographs and Renaissance paintings. In her work some images are given precedence while others are made barely legible, implying that representation is always partial and subjective, rather than complete or absolute.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Helen Johnson, Painting Is a Critical Form</i>, Melbourne 2015.<br/>Jennifer Higgie, ‘History Pictures: Colonialism and Contemporary Australia in the Paintings of Helen Johnson’, <i>Frieze</i>, no.184, January–February 2017, published online 24 December 2016, <a href=\"https://frieze.com/article/history-pictures-0\">https://frieze.com/article/history-pictures-0</a>, accessed 31 January 2017.</p>\n<p>Sook-Kyung Lee<br/>January 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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Acrylic paint on canvas | [
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Helen Johnson | 2,016 | [] | <p><span>Seat of Power</span> uses literal and symbolic images to refer to the continued relationship between Australia and Britain. Johnson presents this as ‘embodied in the fetishistic production of a replica of the Speaker’s Chair at Westminster that was gifted to the Australian parliament in 1926.’ At the centre, Johnson replicates an image of the British House of Commons from <span>Manners and Customs of Ye Englyshe in 1849</span>, a book of satirical sketches by Victorian illustrator Richard Doyle. She uses ‘images that acknowledge the corruption, sycophancy and greed of colonial culture that, to me, were emblematic of the male modes of power that were taken to Australia by the British.’</p><p><em>Gallery label, August 2021</em></p> | false | 1 | 26030 | painting acrylic paint canvas | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Seat of Power</i> 2016 is a large unstretched acrylic painting on canvas, which depicts a satirical image of the British parliament in session, derived from the Victorian illustrator Richard Doyle’s (1824–1883) <i>Manners and Customs of Ye Englyshe in 1849</i> (first published in 1849). In Johnson’s work, this image is presented as a cartoonish line drawing, illusionistically superimposed on a painted ground and itself overlaid with partially legible text. Around the perimeter of the drawing, in the painted margins, there are painted images of eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century men’s shoes, as well as images adapted from nineteenth-century satirical cartoons from the Australian newspaper <i>The Bulletin</i>. The title and text of Johnson’s work refer to a chair that was gifted to the House of Representatives in Canberra, Australia by the United Kingdom branch of the Empire Parliamentary Association in 1926. Partially constructed from oak taken from the roof of London’s Westminster Hall and Lord Nelson’s flagship HMS Victory, the chair was a replica of the Speaker’s Chair at the Palace of Westminster, a symbol of the historical tie between the British Empire and its colony. In 1926, when the gift was made, it would still be over fifty years before Indigenous Australians had equal rights to vote in all states and territories, and Johnson’s painting highlights the persistent absence of an acknowledgement of Australia’s indigenous nations within the construction of post-colonial memories.</p>\n<p>This work is one of six new paintings co-commissioned by the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London and Artspace, Sydney for Johnson’s solo exhibition at the ICA from February to April 2017, and touring to Chapter, Cardiff and Artspace, Sydney. Two other paintings from the group are also in Tate’s collection: <i>Bad Debt </i>2016 (Tate X66561) and <i>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul </i>2016 (Tate X66768). Painted on unstretched canvases, these works are displayed on tubular steel structures that allow them to be hung either at a distance of about 30–40 centimetres from the wall or suspended in the middle of the gallery. </p>\n<p>Johnson’s work often addresses Australia’s colonial history and its ongoing impact on the country’s political and social realities. The complex colonial relationship between Australia and Britain and the ongoing tension between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians are fundamental concerns of the three paintings in Tate’s collection. Australia is pictured as a country with an unstable and conflicted identity and a place where the constructed nature of history is more readily recognisable. Regarding the three paintings together, Johnson has said:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>They inhabit three different phases in Australia’s colonial history: <i>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul</i> deals with the corruption and solipsism of the early colonists, focusing on the Port Phillip region (now Victoria) as land was stolen and sold off; the subject of <i>Seat of Power</i> is the sycophantic relation of the Australian government to that of the UK, embodied in the fetishistic production of a replica of the Speaker’s Chair at Westminster that was gifted to the Australian parliament in 1926; and <i>Bad Deb</i>t depicts introduced species that are today classed as pests and noxious weeds in south-eastern Australia, overlaid with a wireframe image of a bedroom that has been broken into and riffled through, theft in a register that we are more readily able to identify.<br/>(In email correspondence with Tate curator Sook-Kyung Lee, 4 February 2017.)</blockquote>\n<p>Rather than being overtly political or literal, however, Johnson’s work conveys a reflection of history and reality through the language of painting. She is acutely aware of the trajectory of recent debates around painting, from a conservative and outdated form of expression to a medium relevant to contemporary experience. These concerns resulted in her extending her PhD thesis into a book entitled <i>Painting is a Critical Form</i>, published in 2015. Traversing between figuration and abstraction and between image and text, her paintings connect disparate imagery with complex history and politics. The juxtaposition of historical and contemporary signifiers is typical of Johnson’s practice, adapted from historical and art historical material ranging from popular magazines and illustrated publications to internet photographs and Renaissance paintings. In her work some images are given precedence while others are made barely legible, implying that representation is always partial and subjective, rather than complete or absolute.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Helen Johnson, Painting Is a Critical Form</i>, Melbourne 2015.<br/>Jennifer Higgie, ‘History Pictures: Colonialism and Contemporary Australia in the Paintings of Helen Johnson’, <i>Frieze</i>, no.184, January–February 2017, published online 24 December 2016, <a href=\"https://frieze.com/article/history-pictures-0\">https://frieze.com/article/history-pictures-0</a>, accessed 31 January 2017.</p>\n<p>Sook-Kyung Lee<br/>January 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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] | 2,016 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/helen-johnson-26030" aria-label="More by Helen Johnson" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Helen Johnson</a> | A Feast Reason and a Flow Soul | 2,020 | [] | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2018 | T15518 | {
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Helen Johnson | 2,016 | [] | <p><span>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul</span> 2016 is a large unstretched acrylic painting on canvas that shows satirical images adapted from late nineteenth-century cartoons depicting debauched parties, stuffy rituals and corruption taking place in the Port Phillip region of Australia (now Victoria) after colonial invasion. Beneath the colonists’ clothes, a faint outline of their intestines emerges, all of the figures needing to defecate. Johnson, who was born in Melbourne, has explained, ‘I have sought to place an emphasis on the theft of land that was taking place in the context of all of this … referring to a fight-or-flight mechanism that makes one want to defecate in order to more quickly flee.’ (In email correspondence with Tate curator Sook-Kyung Lee, 4 February 2017.) The figures are farting out the original lyrics to what is now the Australian national anthem, ‘Advance Australia Fair’. The sun and moon in the upper corners serve as a reminder that the colonial invaders of Australia were always operating in one time zone whilst serving another. The title was taken from a cartoon dated 1856 depicting a party in Melbourne, in which a crowd of white men, dressed in their finest, reel about drunk, fight and hit one another with bottles.</p> | false | 1 | 26030 | painting acrylic paint canvas | [] | A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul | 2,016 | Tate | 2016 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 3960 × 3250 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2018 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul</i> 2016 is a large unstretched acrylic painting on canvas that shows satirical images adapted from late nineteenth-century cartoons depicting debauched parties, stuffy rituals and corruption taking place in the Port Phillip region of Australia (now Victoria) after colonial invasion. Beneath the colonists’ clothes, a faint outline of their intestines emerges, all of the figures needing to defecate. Johnson, who was born in Melbourne, has explained, ‘I have sought to place an emphasis on the theft of land that was taking place in the context of all of this … referring to a fight-or-flight mechanism that makes one want to defecate in order to more quickly flee.’ (In email correspondence with Tate curator Sook-Kyung Lee, 4 February 2017.) The figures are farting out the original lyrics to what is now the Australian national anthem, ‘Advance Australia Fair’. The sun and moon in the upper corners serve as a reminder that the colonial invaders of Australia were always operating in one time zone whilst serving another. The title was taken from a cartoon dated 1856 depicting a party in Melbourne, in which a crowd of white men, dressed in their finest, reel about drunk, fight and hit one another with bottles.</p>\n<p>This work is one of six new paintings co-commissioned by the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London and Artspace, Sydney for Johnson’s solo exhibition at the ICA from February to April 2017, and touring to Chapter, Cardiff and Artspace, Sydney. Two other paintings from the group are also in Tate’s collection: <i>Bad Debt </i>2016 (Tate X66561) and <i>Seat of Power </i>2016 (Tate X66564). Painted on unstretched canvases, these works are displayed on tubular steel structures that allow them to be hung either at a distance of about 30–40 centimetres from the wall or suspended in the middle of the gallery.</p>\n<p>Johnson’s work often addresses Australia’s colonial history and its ongoing impact on the country’s political and social realities. The complex colonial relationship between Australia and Britain and the ongoing tension between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians are fundamental concerns of the three paintings in Tate’s collection. Australia is pictured as a country with an unstable and conflicted identity and a place where the constructed nature of history is more readily recognisable. Regarding the three paintings together, Johnson has said:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>They inhabit three different phases in Australia’s colonial history: <i>A Feast of Reason and a Flow of Soul</i> deals with the corruption and solipsism of the early colonists, focusing on the Port Phillip region (now Victoria) as land was stolen and sold off; the subject of <i>Seat of Power</i> is the sycophantic relation of the Australian government to that of the UK, embodied in the fetishistic production of a replica of the Speaker’s Chair at Westminster that was gifted to the Australian parliament in 1926; and <i>Bad Deb</i>t depicts introduced species that are today classed as pests and noxious weeds in south-eastern Australia, overlaid with a wireframe image of a bedroom that has been broken into and riffled through, theft in a register that we are more readily able to identify.<br/>(In email correspondence with Tate curator Sook-Kyung Lee, 4 February 2017.)</blockquote>\n<p>Rather than being overtly political or literal, however, Johnson’s work conveys a reflection of history and reality through the language of painting. She is acutely aware of the trajectory of recent debates around painting, from a conservative and outdated form of expression to a medium relevant to contemporary experience. These concerns resulted in her extending her PhD thesis into a book entitled <i>Painting is a Critical Form</i>, published in 2015. Traversing between figuration and abstraction and between image and text, her paintings connect disparate imagery with complex history and politics. The juxtaposition of historical and contemporary signifiers is typical of Johnson’s practice, adapted from historical and art historical material ranging from popular magazines and illustrated publications to internet photographs and Renaissance paintings. In her work some images are given precedence while others are made barely legible, implying that representation is always partial and subjective, rather than complete or absolute.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Helen Johnson, Painting Is a Critical Form</i>, Melbourne 2015.<br/>Jennifer Higgie, ‘History Pictures: Colonialism and Contemporary Australia in the Paintings of Helen Johnson’, <i>Frieze</i>, no.184, January–February 2017, published online 24 December 2016, <a href=\"https://frieze.com/article/history-pictures-0\">https://frieze.com/article/history-pictures-0</a>, accessed 31 January 2017.</p>\n<p>Sook-Kyung Lee<br/>January 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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Lacquer paint on plywood panel | [
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Ian Burn | 1,966 | [] | <p>Ian Burn wanted to leave no trace of how he made this work, and to give it a uniform finish. To achieve this, he smoothed ply-board, before applying lacquer usually used on car paint with an airgun. Burn created a work that reflects spectators and prompts our awareness of the act of looking. In doing so, he aimed to challenge the belief that painting should stand alone and be removed from everyday concerns. This was a dominant view championed by the influential US art critic Clement Greenberg.</p><p><em>Gallery label, September 2023</em></p> | false | 1 | 27222 | painting lacquer paint plywood panel | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Blue Reflex</i> 1966 is a portrait format monochrome blue painting on board. It followed a group of similarly blue monochrome paintings that had been painted using acrylic paint and a layering of glazes on stretched canvas. Burn wished to create a surface that would not be broken up either by the weave of the canvas or the irregularity of manually applied paint, and with the group of paintings that followed, of which <i>Blue</i> <i>Reflex</i> is one, he prepared ply-board with an epoxy resin before applying automobile lacquer with an airgun. The result was a painting that erased many traces of artistic gesture and achieved a uniformity of finish, but the use of automobile lacquer introduced a quality of reflection not apparent in his previous paintings that relied wholly on glaze for such effects. The choice to apply lacquer with an airgun gives the painting a character close to a manufactured object. Yet, although the quality of reflection draws attention away from the painting and towards its surface and what is reflected within it, the edges of the painting reveal its handmade materiality.</p>\n<p>The quality of reflection in the painting signals the degree to which Burn’s work addressed the nature and conditions of perception, and with works such as <i>Blue Reflex</i> he created paintings that moved from the perceptual space of modernist art towards a conceptual space. Even so, at the time, Burn equated a conceptual space with the idealisations implicit within Kasimir Malevich’s non-objective painting (something he held in common with his friend and collaborator Mel Ramsden [born 1944]); in a contemporaneous notebook Burn wrote that ‘conceptual space exists only in awareness of, having no fixed externalisation … but is centralised, expanding in a field of awareness (the scope of this field is a reflection of the spectator’s personal awareness).’ (Ian Burn, ‘Notes 1966–7’, cited in Art Gallery of Western Australia 1992, p.43.) This idea of a conceptual space was key to the challenge that he and Ramsden made to modernist art as it was defined by the American critic Clement Greenberg – as medium specific, autonomous, self-referential and defined by its own conditionality. For them painting had instead to draw its material, content and criticality from the world in which it existed and acted within. In the case of <i>Blue Reflex</i> this was identified by the use of an industrial process to make something that was both painting and object (the airgun delivering a paint surface and Royal Blue colour commonly associated with American REO trucks), as much as in the quality of its reflective surface, or ‘reflex’.</p>\n<p>The paintings that Burn made between 1966 and 1967 – like those made contemporaneously by Ramsden – emerge as a parody and critique of modernist painting, disrupting the blankness of the monochrome. Although the extreme abstraction and perceptual flatness of <i>Blue Reflex</i> chimes with modernist values at their furthest extent, its materials present the work with a degree of everyday fact and objecthood that oil paint on canvas could not. Furthermore, its reflective surface ensures that what is seen by the viewer is not solely the materials and surface of the work but that this is interrupted by the reflection of the environment around the painting. In this way the blankness of the monochrome becomes pictorial and subject to illusion in such a way as to dislocate modernist perception, so that the site of the painting and the movement of the beholder become key.</p>\n<p>Burn subsequently concentrated not just on the reflective qualities revealed by <i>Blue Reflex</i> but articulated these in philosophical or theoretical texts that, through their questioning of the condition of art, increasingly took the place of painting. An early realisation of this approach was his <i>Mirror Piece</i> 1967 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/art-language-mirror-piece-p80072\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>P80072</span></a>), made not long after his arrival in New York. This consists of a mirror, the size and proportions of a regular bathroom mirror that has been additionally glazed and framed, as well as thirteen sheets of text and diagram, entitled ‘Notes for Mirror Reflexes’. These notes act as instruction for the construction of <i>Mirror Piece</i> but also analyse how it might be perceived, for instance how images reflected in the mirror are refracted through the layer of glass that glaze it; the notes also address its definition as art or bathroom mirror. The sheets of text and diagram were pasted on the wall beside the framed mirror and for Ramsden the moves described by <i>Blue Reflex</i> and <i>Mirror Piece</i> – from a reflective painting with reflective qualities to an everyday object and then to text about that object – were a crucial shift towards conceptual art: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>this pulled the conversation into the work and the work into the conversation. The talk went up on the wall and he [Burn] was able to make more confident first-order claims for it. This instead of regarding the objects as furtive reminders of an unheard of almost forgotten conversation … The foregrounding of text and diagrams as ‘substantial’ work was new to me at the time, and it gave the ‘work’ a new home.<br/>(Mel Ramsden, ‘Making art from a different place’, in Art Gallery of Western Australia 1992, p.15.)</blockquote>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Charles Harrison and Fred Orton, <i>A Provisional History of Art & Language</i>, Paris 1982.<br/>\n<i>Ian Burn: Minimal–Conceptual Work 1965–1970</i>, exhibition catalogue, Art Gallery of Western Australia, Perth 1992.<br/>Robert Bailey, <i>Art & Language International: Conceptual Art between Art Worlds</i>, London 2016.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson<br/>November 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil stick, gouache, oil paint and acrylic paint on 78 canvases | [
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Imants Tillers | 1,988 | [] | <p><span>Kangaroo Blank </span>1988<span> </span>is a painting that was commissioned by Daniel Thomas, the then director of the Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide as the final inclusion in the museum’s exhibition, <span>The Great Australian Art Exhibition 1788–1988</span> (1988). Comprising seventy-eight canvas boards, numbered 16231 to 16308, an ongoing numbering system the artist has employed in his paintings since 1981, the work draws on a number of references from existing works of art, primarily the painting <span>The Kongouro from New Holland </span>1770 by British painter George Stubbs (1724–1806), in the collection of the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, and the work of Japanese artist Shusaku Arakawa (1936–2010). George Stubbs was considered the foremost animal painter in Britain during the eighteenth century and was commissioned by Sir Joseph Banks (1743–1820) to paint two paintings of native Australian wildlife (kangaroo and dingo) following his return from Captain James Cook’s first voyage to the Pacific (1768–71), the first British voyage devoted exclusively to scientific discovery. Stubbs was not on the voyage, and painted <span>The Kongouro from New Holland </span>working from written and verbal descriptions, sketches made by the onboard artist Sidney Parkinson, and a kangaroo pelt that Banks had brought back with him. Tillers came across Stubbs’ painting in a publication of Joseph Bank’s <span>Endeavour Journal</span> 1962 (Baume 1988, p.226).</p> | false | 1 | 27298 | painting oil stick gouache paint acrylic 78 canvases | [
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] | Kangaroo Blank | 1,988 | Tate | 1988 | CLEARED | 6 | overall: 2130 × 1950 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2018 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Kangaroo Blank </i>1988<i> </i>is a painting that was commissioned by Daniel Thomas, the then director of the Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide as the final inclusion in the museum’s exhibition, <i>The Great Australian Art Exhibition 1788–1988</i> (1988). Comprising seventy-eight canvas boards, numbered 16231 to 16308, an ongoing numbering system the artist has employed in his paintings since 1981, the work draws on a number of references from existing works of art, primarily the painting <i>The Kongouro from New Holland </i>1770 by British painter George Stubbs (1724–1806), in the collection of the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, and the work of Japanese artist Shusaku Arakawa (1936–2010). George Stubbs was considered the foremost animal painter in Britain during the eighteenth century and was commissioned by Sir Joseph Banks (1743–1820) to paint two paintings of native Australian wildlife (kangaroo and dingo) following his return from Captain James Cook’s first voyage to the Pacific (1768–71), the first British voyage devoted exclusively to scientific discovery. Stubbs was not on the voyage, and painted <i>The Kongouro from New Holland </i>working from written and verbal descriptions, sketches made by the onboard artist Sidney Parkinson, and a kangaroo pelt that Banks had brought back with him. Tillers came across Stubbs’ painting in a publication of Joseph Bank’s <i>Endeavour Journal</i> 1962 (Baume 1988, p.226).</p>\n<p>\n<i>Kangaroo Blank </i>is a direct appropriation of Stubbs’ painting, manifested across all seventy-eight panels. In Tillers’ work, the central figure of the kangaroo depicted in the Australian landscape is substituted with a dark rectangular void, ‘a blank’, suggestive of something missing or a vacancy left to be filled. In its place are radiating lines emanating from a single point perspective, which are a direct reference to the work of Shusaku Arakawa. Part of the conceptual art movement of the 1960s, Arakawa’s paintings, drawings and other works aimed to explore the mechanics of human perception and knowledge (Shusaku Arakawa biography, Reversible Destiny Foundation, <a href=\"http://www.reversibledestiny.org/arakawa-and-madeline-gins/arakawa\">http://www.reversibledestiny.org/arakawa-and-madeline-gins/arakawa</a>, accessed 29 November 2017). A recurring motif in his work particularly of the 1970s was the use of radiating lines from a single vanishing point that overlay the image. The concept of ‘blank’ in Tillers’ title also relates to Arakawa’s writing, in particular a publication by him and Madeline Gins,<i> Pour Ne Pas Mourir/ To Not To Die </i>(Paris 1987), which reflects on ideas of blankness, positing it as an emptiness with a fullness of its own.</p>\n<p>In <i>Kangaroo Blank</i> Tillers, in his signature style, appropriated two divergent images from distinctly different historical and geographical contexts. Australian curator Nicholas Baume has described the work as a ‘point-blank confrontation, a new thought emerging from a collision of types’ (Baume 1988, p.226). The eighteenth-century naturalist animal painting of Stubbs meets the twentieth-century conceptual abstraction of Arakawa and both are transformed through Tillers’ processes of quotation, bringing his interest in debates around cultural centres and peripheries to the fore.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Nicholas Baume, ‘Where truth is no stranger to fiction: Imants Tillers, Kangaroo Blank 1988’, in <i>Creating Australia, Two Hundred Years of Art: 1788–1988,</i> exhibition catalogue, Art Gallery Board of South Australia, Adelaide 1988.<br/>Wystan Curnow, <i>Imants Tillers and the ‘Book of Power’</i>, Sydney 1998.<br/>Hart, Deborah (ed.), <i>Imants Tillers: One World Many Visions</i>, exhibition catalogue, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 2006.</p>\n<p>Manya Sellers, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney and Katy Wan, Tate<br/>November 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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Pigment and acrylic paint on canvas | [
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} | 7000490 1000006 | D Harding | 2,017 | [] | <p><span>The Leap/Watershed</span> was made using coloured ochre (clay pigments) from Ghungalu and Garingbal country, which Harding blew directly onto the canvas. The technique is used in the ancient rock art galleries of Carnarvon Gorge in Ghungalu country. After making a partial form, Harding was reminded of Blackdown Tableland, a plateau overlooking Ghungalu country. Many of the creeks in the surrounding area flow from there, hence the title <span>Watershed</span>. <span>The Leap</span> refers to a nearby rock formation in the Mackay region where, in 1867, around 200 Aboriginal people were forced to jump off a cliff to escape from the Queensland Native Police Force.</p><p><em>Gallery label, July 2021</em></p> | false | 1 | 27244 | painting pigment acrylic paint canvas | [
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"id": 11857,
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"title": "A Year in Art - Australia 1992",
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] | The Leap/Watershed | 2,017 | Tate | 2017 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 1802 × 2402 × 32 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2019 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Leap/Watershead</i> 2017 is a large-scale work by the Aboriginal Australian artist Dale Harding. It is executed in coloured pigment on linen, fixed with a clear acrylic binding agent. The image appears to be abstract, with a concentrated area of dense brown emerging from the bottom left-hand corner of the canvas. The remainder of the image is more fragmented, reminiscent of dust particles and airbrushing techniques. Although given the designation of ‘painting’ by the artist, the work was created using a device through which ochre pigment was blown onto the surface of the canvas. The two types of ochre used, Ghungalu red and Garingbal light, are historically associated with the two Aboriginal Australian groups in central Queensland from which Harding is descended, having been used by these communities for hundreds and thousands of years for both practical and artistic reasons, including rock and bark painting, body decoration and mortuary practices.</p>\n<p>Harding has described how the work was initially an attempt to completely cover the surface in a single block of colour, in the manner of abstract colour field painting, but blowing the pigment onto the canvas. He began by creating a foundational under-layer of light ochre onto which the red ochre was intended to be laid as a blanket top colour. The final fragmented form was a consequence of the artist being prohibited by physical exhaustion in completing his original objective. He explained: ‘Working in close succession of days, and simultaneously working on the white ochre canvas also, the red came to a natural endpoint far from achieving a complete red field. I’d stressed and injured my body in an attempt to cover so much surface area by breath, and the red could not be completed.’ (Dale Harding, informal notes on the artwork, correspondence with curators at MCA Australia and Tate, October 2018).</p>\n<p>Upon seeing the angular form that emerged from the haze of pigment, Harding was reminded of the form of Blackdown Tableland – a dominant landform in the heart of Ghungalu country, and the headwaters of numerous creeks including the Mimosa Creek that supplies water to Woorabinda, in central Queensland. The title of the work refers to a nearby geographical location in the Mackay Region of Queensland that carries historical significance in being the site of a massacre of a large group of Aboriginal people in the 1860s. Fleeing certain rifle assault from a fleet of the Queensland Native Police, the group leapt to their deaths from the cliff edge of Mount Mandarana. There was purportedly one single survivor – a baby whose blanket became caught on a protruding branch, breaking its fall.</p>\n<p>\n<i>The Leap/Watershead</i> was originally conceived as one panel of a triptych. In the event, the artist decided that all three parts should be individual works in their own right. The other two paintings, both made in 2017, are titled <i>White Ground</i> and <i>Associative/Dissociative</i>, and are respectively coloured with solid white ochre and solid Reckitt’s blue. They are in two separate private collections in Brisbane, Australia.</p>\n<p>Although the work diverges from the stencilling technique of the site-specific commissions with which Harding made his name – such as those he completed for <i>Documenta 14</i> in 2017 and the Liverpool Biennial in 2018 – <i>The Leap/Watershead</i> shares the same thematic concerns of the artist’s wider practice. This includes the desire to highlight the ways in which stories and artistic techniques are passed down through generations, beyond written texts and mainstream narratives. Harding identifies himself as a descendant of the Bidjara, Ghungalu and Garingbal peoples of central Queensland and his work is informed by this heritage. Stencilling, for example, forms a core part of his practice in allowing him to perform the same techniques undertaken by his ancestors. Harding’s multi-layered practice gives visual expression to the complex and often painful hidden histories of violence and discrimination enacted against aboriginal communities. His work also addresses the wider legacies of colonialism and globalisation.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Clive Moore, ‘Blackgin’s Leap: A Window into Aboriginal-European Relations in the Pioneer Valley, Queensland in the 1860s’, <i>Aboriginal History</i>, vol.14, nos.1/2, 1990, pp.61–79.</p>\n<p>Katy Wan<br/>October 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Leap/Watershed</i> was made using coloured ochre (clay pigments) from Ghungalu and Garingbal country, which Harding blew directly onto the canvas. The technique is used in the ancient rock art galleries of Carnarvon Gorge in Ghungalu country. After making a partial form, Harding was reminded of Blackdown Tableland, a plateau overlooking Ghungalu country. Many of the creeks in the surrounding area flow from there, hence the title <i>Watershed</i>. <i>The Leap</i> refers to a nearby rock formation in the Mackay region where, in 1867, around 200 Aboriginal people were forced to jump off a cliff to escape from the Queensland Native Police Force.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Fibreboard, printed papers on plywood, 3 sodium lights, steel, audio (stereo) and other materials | [
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] | 2,017 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/mark-leckey-6877" aria-label="More by Mark Leckey" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Mark Leckey</a> | Affect Bridge Age Regression | 2,020 | [] | Purchased with assistance from Tate Patrons 2020 | T15529 | {
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} | 7011781 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Mark Leckey | 2,017 | [] | <p><span>Affect Bridge Age Regression</span> 2017–19 is an installation by the British artist Mark Leckey comprising four elements: a floor-based cast concrete scale-replica of a motorway bridge, a set of three wall-hung sodium lights, a billboard papered with twelve printed posters, and an audio soundtrack. The work was made on the occasion of Leckey’s solo exhibition at Cubitt Gallery, London in 2017 where it was shown in its entirety. The version now in Tate’s collection is a slight reconfiguration of that site-specific installation. Though the central elements remain the same, the number of sodium lights has been reduced, and the posters that were papered directly to the gallery walls have been reconfigured into a more robust billboard.</p> | false | 1 | 6877 | installation fibreboard printed papers plywood 3 sodium lights steel audio stereo other materials | [] | Affect Bridge Age Regression | 2,017 | Tate | 2017–19 | CLEARED | 3 | Overall display dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with assistance from <a href="/search?gid=999999780" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Patrons</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Affect Bridge Age Regression</i> 2017–19 is an installation by the British artist Mark Leckey comprising four elements: a floor-based cast concrete scale-replica of a motorway bridge, a set of three wall-hung sodium lights, a billboard papered with twelve printed posters, and an audio soundtrack. The work was made on the occasion of Leckey’s solo exhibition at Cubitt Gallery, London in 2017 where it was shown in its entirety. The version now in Tate’s collection is a slight reconfiguration of that site-specific installation. Though the central elements remain the same, the number of sodium lights has been reduced, and the posters that were papered directly to the gallery walls have been reconfigured into a more robust billboard.</p>\n<p>The title of the work, <i>Affect Bridge Age Regression</i>, refers to a technique used in hypnotherapy to associate recurrent bodily feelings back to their earliest memory – once brought back, the recollection can be vivified and events that are often stressful and laden with meaning may be understood. The bridge in the title has a dual meaning, referring both to this technique and to the form of the sculpture at the centre of the installation, a cast concrete scale-replica of a section of an actual motorway flyover bridge. The bridge is situated in Eastham Rake, in Leckey’s hometown of the Wirral in the North East of England, and was built in 1968, four years after he was born there. Leckey has commented that the flyover can be understood as part of then Prime Minister Harold Wilson’s vision of post-war Britain as ‘surging into the glorious horizon of the future’ (Leckey, quoted from his video work <i>Exorcise the Bridge @ Eastham Rake</i> 2017).</p>\n<p>The motorway bridge at Eastham Rake is a recurring motif in Leckey’s work, first appearing in<i> Dream English Kid, 1964–1999 AD</i> 2015 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/leckey-dream-english-kid-1964-1999-ad-t14666\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T14666</span></a>). A large-scale section of the bridge featured as a central element of his immersive installations <i>He Thrusts his Fists</i> <i>Against the Posts but still Insists He Sees the Ghosts</i> at Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen and <i>Containers and Their Drivers</i>, MoMA PS1, New York, both 2017. <i>Affect Bridge Age Regression</i> can also be understood as a direct precursor to Leckey’s solo exhibition at Tate Britain, <i>O’ Magic Power of Bleakness</i>, in 2019, for which a vast life-size replica of the same bridge was constructed as the set for an audio play.</p>\n<p>The bridge is a symbolic space that represents a specific period of transition for Leckey. It was a place where he hung out with other local teenagers and believes he once had a paranormal encounter. By replicating the bridge down to the intricate detail of the graffiti scrawled at street level and the weeds sprouting from the pavement, Leckey has tapped into those teenage hours spent occupying this liminal space. On the significance of the bridge he has said:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Many of my works have their wellspring in things and experiences from my childhood and youth that still haunts me. The motorway bridge is one of those things that have settled in my memory. That is why I have recreated it. It is as if memories of this kind take on too much importance, too much room. They become too overwhelming.<br/>(Leckey, quoted in programme for <i>BMW Tate Live Exhibition: Ten Days Six Nights</i>, Tate Modern, London 2018, p.23.)</blockquote>\n<p>The installation is lit by three sodium lights, the SOX lamps that were once commonly used in street lighting but have since been discontinued. These lamps have the effect of bathing the gallery in a distinctive monochromatic orange light which Leckey has used to create a specific atmosphere in a number of his solo exhibition and live performances. The colour of the light has the effect of rendering the space otherworldly, distinctly urban and toxic. Leckey has explained: ‘The Lucozade glow they give off was always an indicator that you were coming up on magic mushrooms, psychedelics would amplify that colour saturation, or rather that leaching out of all other colour. I want the lamps to do the same thing … put you in that altered state.’ (Quoted in Philomena Epps, ‘Artist Mark Leckey’s New Show is an Exorcism’, <i>Dazed</i>, 30 June 2017, <a href=\"https://www.dazeddigital.com/artsandculture/article/36569/1/artist-mark-leckeys-new-show-is-an-exorcism\">https://www.dazeddigital.com/artsandculture/article/36569/1/artist-mark-leckeys-new-show-is-an-exorcism</a>, accessed 2 July 2019.)</p>\n<p>The billboard papered in the manner of urban flyposting further establishes the sense of a city scene in this installation. There are twelve posters in total mounted on board. Three posters are a reproduction of the front page of <i>The Sun</i> newspaper from 11 August 1999. Describing his decision to reproduce this distinctive tabloid front page, Leckey explained that, ‘The Sun poster is from the eclipse of August 1999, an event which heralded both TEOTWAWKI [the end of the world as we know it] and a millenarian cleansing. I liked the juxtaposition of the masthead of The Sun with this giant black hole. I also thought it visually represented the void of morality at the heart of that paper. (Quoted in Epps 2017, accessed 2 July 2019.) The three reproductions of this front page are collaged alongside a number of other poster images: four posters for <i>Dream English Kid</i>; three blown-up details of a computer circuit board – a reference to the perceived threat of the millennial bug; and two posters of an absurdist scene in which a pack of Benson & Hedges cigarettes appears partially submerged in deep water. The overall effect of these juxtaposed image is one of apocalyptic anxiety at the turn of the millennium.</p>\n<p>The three physical elements of the installation are brought together by an audio soundtrack that plays on a loop. The track is a recording of a chant that takes the form of an exorcism first performed and recorded when the work was installed in Cubitt Gallery, London in 2017, titled <i>Exorcism of the Bridge @ Eastham Rake</i>. The chanted sound piece was subsequently presented in a later iteration in collaboration with members of Tate Collective as part of <i>BMW Tate Live Exhibition: Ten Days Six Nights</i> in the Tanks at Tate Modern on 24 March 2018.</p>\n<p>The collective ritual of shared exorcism captured by the recording reverberates through the space in which the work is installed. The chant references ‘Exorcising the Evil Spirits of the Pentagon’ by New York-based band The Fugs: a live recording of an anti-Vietnam war protest held in Washington DC in October 1967 where protestors, including the band, attempted to levitate the Pentagon off its foundations with chants of ‘Out Demons Out!’. Leckey’s version focuses on exorcising the demons and ‘bad vibrations’ of the bridge that still plague him to this day.</p>\n<p>With these four elements Leckey has created a charged physical environment for the visitor to encounter. The work is representative of both Leckey’s approach to theatrical scene-setting and his relationship to the staging of ordinary physical objects. Curator Catherine Wood has described his approach to the art gallery as a collision point between two dimensions of perception or experience as, ‘a modern ritual based on close-up viewing of material-aesthetic objects under bright lights on the one hand; and the possibility of enhanced, spiritual communion on the other. It is a paradoxical place that mixes factuality and magic.’ (Catherine Wood in Tate Britain 2019, p.35.)</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>The Universal Addressability of Dumb Things</i>, exhibition catalogue, Hayward Gallery, London 2013.<br/>\n<i>Mark Leckey</i>, exhibition catalogue, Verlag der Buchhandlung, Cologne 2014.<br/>Catherine Wood (ed.), <i>Mark Leckey, O’Magic Power of Bleakness</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Britain, London, 2019.</p>\n<p>Isabella Maidment<br/>July 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Acrylic paint on canvas | [
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} | 7000084 | Rainer Fetting | 1,984 | [] | <p><span>Red Head </span>(Roter Kopf) 1984 is a large-scale portrait by the German artist Rainer Fetting. It depicts a man’s head and shoulders, directly facing the viewer with an intense frontal gaze. The dominant colour is bright red, which constitutes the majority of the background and also of the man’s face; the figure itself is outlined and shaded in green and blue. The indistinct background is animated by areas of gestural brushstrokes, including a yellow area to the right of the head. The face is slightly elongated, with a strong nose, thick lips and large ears; a dark green area to the top left of the head suggests the presence of hair. There is a hint of white in the sclera of the eyes, but these also appear to be mainly red, with piercing dark blue irises.</p> | false | 1 | 29304 | painting acrylic paint canvas | [] | Red Head | 1,984 | Tate | 1984 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2286 × 1827 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Partial purchase and partial gift of Olivia, Sofia & Thea Rasini 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Red Head </i>(Roter Kopf) 1984 is a large-scale portrait by the German artist Rainer Fetting. It depicts a man’s head and shoulders, directly facing the viewer with an intense frontal gaze. The dominant colour is bright red, which constitutes the majority of the background and also of the man’s face; the figure itself is outlined and shaded in green and blue. The indistinct background is animated by areas of gestural brushstrokes, including a yellow area to the right of the head. The face is slightly elongated, with a strong nose, thick lips and large ears; a dark green area to the top left of the head suggests the presence of hair. There is a hint of white in the sclera of the eyes, but these also appear to be mainly red, with piercing dark blue irises.</p>\n<p>Fetting painted a large number of close-up frontal portraits in the mid-1980s, many of which are titled ‘heads’ and variations of this title. Some of these heads incorporate pieces of driftwood that Fetting collected from the piers on the Hudson River, a new development in his work inspired by his recent move to New York in 1984. In general, these heads are simplified yet intensely expressive faces, painted in unnatural colours and bright accents against a dark or hazy background. The level of detail in the heads can vary greatly, and sometimes the faces are reduced to little more than a silhouette with glowing eyes, as seen in the ‘Head in the Twilight’ series of 1983. In <i>Red Head </i>1984 the brushwork is pared-down but still conveys a sense of the volume of the facial features.</p>\n<p>Part of a generation of German artists who painted in a neo-expressionist figurative style in reaction to the dry, cerebral nature of the then dominant minimal and conceptual practices, Fetting uses colour in a deliberately anti-naturalistic manner inspired by the fauves and German expressionism. He also strongly identifies with Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890), a recurring figure in his paintings, placed next to the Berlin Wall or in contemporary New York street scenes. Many of Fetting’s self-portraits depict him wearing a hat like that worn by Van Gogh in his <i>Self-Portrait with a Straw Hat</i> of 1887 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). The intensity of Van Gogh’s self-portraits is also echoed in the piercing expressions of Fetting’s heads.</p>\n<p>Fetting was one of the co-founders of the Galerie am Moritzplatz in Berlin, established in 1977 by a group of young artists – known as the ‘Moritzboys’ – who studied at the Berliner Hochschule für Bildende Künste (today known as Universität der Künste). This group, which included among others Salomé, Bernd Zimmer and Helmut Middendorf, achieved international success as the ‘Neue Wilde’ (‘New Savages’ or ‘Neo-Fauves’) following the 1980 exhibition <i>Heftige Malerei</i> (‘Ferocious Painting’), held at the Haus am Waldsee in Berlin. Fetting experimented with all aspects of the practice of painting as a way to reclaim and reinvent the medium at a time when many believed it to be an obsolete art form. In response to such views, the Moritzboys’ large canvases enveloped the viewer’s field of vision and shifted their sense of spatial presence, inviting a very direct and sensual engagement in a way comparable to large sculptures and installations. Hectic nightlife scenes were painted with a raw energy that conveyed the live nature of the events themselves, as well as the performative aspects of the very act of painting. Meanwhile, composition and framing were often strongly influenced by photography and film, presented as ways of visually processing reality that were by then second nature for both artists and viewers.</p>\n<p>Fetting’s portraits are often confrontational, either because of their sexually charged nature or because of the defiant stance of the sitters, and occasionally because of the way the composition positions the viewer as part of the scene, as an active voyeur. With their implied close proximity and penetrating gaze, his larger-than-life heads are intended to capture the viewer’s attention and to affect them on an emotional and direct level. Imposing their presence by unflinchingly staring back at the viewer, Fetting’s heads reflect his close involvement with Berlin’s, and later New York’s, countercultural movements, specifically at the intersection between the LGBT+ community and the nascent punk and New Wave music scenes.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Christos M. Joachimides,<i> </i>‘A New Spirit in Painting’, in<i> A New Spirit in Painting</i>, exhibition catalogue, Royal Academy, London 1981, pp.14–6; plates 31–2.<br/>Jessica Thomas, ‘On the Brink of the Abyss: the <i>Neue Wilden</i> in 1980’s Berlin and Beyond’, <i>Art Criticism</i>, vol.19, no.2, 2004, pp.79–104.<br/>Jan Hoet, Arie Hartog,<i> Fetting</i>, Cologne 2009.</p>\n<p>Valentina Ravaglia<br/>May 2019 </p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, colour and sound (mono) | [
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} | IRWIN, Michael Benson | 1,992 | [] | <p><span>Black Square on Red Square</span> 1992 is an editioned video lasting three minutes and fifteen seconds that can be shown on a monitor or as a projection. It documents an action that took place on 6 June 1992 in Moscow’s Red Square, for the duration of thirty minutes sometime between 14.00 and 15.00, initiated by the Slovenian collective IRWIN and the American artist and filmmaker Michael Benson (born 1962). The footage from the action shows a group of people getting off a bus in Red Square, hauling with them a large, heavy black fabric object; onlookers stand by, including uniformed police. Moscow’s St. Basil’s Cathedral and the Lenin Mausoleum, two of the city’s most famous landmarks, form a recognisable backdrop to the group’s action. The group proceeds to carry the object closer into the centre of the square, unfurling and stretching the fabric until it takes the form of a large black square. One participant audibly declares in English, ‘This is Black Square on the Red Square’. The participants of the action, as well as the onlookers, congregate around the edges of the space demarcated by the fabric.</p> | false | 1 | 16361 30526 | time-based media video colour sound mono | [] | Black Square on Red Square | 1,992 | Tate | 1992–2004 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 3min, 15sec | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the Russia and Eastern Europe Committee 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Black Square on Red Square</i> 1992 is an editioned video lasting three minutes and fifteen seconds that can be shown on a monitor or as a projection. It documents an action that took place on 6 June 1992 in Moscow’s Red Square, for the duration of thirty minutes sometime between 14.00 and 15.00, initiated by the Slovenian collective IRWIN and the American artist and filmmaker Michael Benson (born 1962). The footage from the action shows a group of people getting off a bus in Red Square, hauling with them a large, heavy black fabric object; onlookers stand by, including uniformed police. Moscow’s St. Basil’s Cathedral and the Lenin Mausoleum, two of the city’s most famous landmarks, form a recognisable backdrop to the group’s action. The group proceeds to carry the object closer into the centre of the square, unfurling and stretching the fabric until it takes the form of a large black square. One participant audibly declares in English, ‘This is Black Square on the Red Square’. The participants of the action, as well as the onlookers, congregate around the edges of the space demarcated by the fabric.</p>\n<p>The action was led by IRWIN and Michael Benson, with the participation of artists from the circle of Moscow Conceptualists: Natalia Abalakova, Dmitrii Ariupin, Maja Breznik, Sergei Bugaev (Afrika), Charles, Eda Čufer, B. Edelman, Fiona Fleck, Juergen Harten, Julia Kollerova, Vesna Kesić, Irina Koulik, Galya Kurierova, Ellena and Victor Sagarev, I. Smirnova, K. Tschouvaschew, Ekaterina Turchina and Dragan Živadinov (list of participants confirmed by IRWIN member Miran Mohar in correspondence with Tate curator Dina Akhmadeeva, April–May 2018).</p>\n<p>\n<i>Black Square on Red Square</i> is emblematic of the group’s self-declared persisting interest in the ‘ambivalent inheritance of the historical avant-gardes and its totalitarian successors, and thus with the dialectic of avant-garde and totalitarianism’ (quoted at <a href=\"http://www.irwin.si/about/\">http://www.irwin.si/about/</a>, accessed 27 March 2018). In initiating the action, IRWIN brought an iconic symbol of avant-garde modernism – the black square of Kazimir Malevich’s (1879–1935) painting <i>Black Square</i> 1915 – into contact with the symbolic centre of the recently-collapsed Soviet state, Moscow’s Red Square. As IRWIN’s Borut Vogelnik described, ‘In Moscow, we spread out a 22-metre square of black canvas on Red Square in front of the Lenin Mausoleum in such a fashion that, combined with the red of the events the square is named after, it formed a composition, a painting visible from the air.’ (Vogelnik 2014, accessed 27 March 2018.)</p>\n<p>1992 was a pertinent year for such a project: in forming this composition, the collective combined the failed ambitions of artistic modernism with the failed ambitions of the Soviet state – which had collapsed in 1991 – in building communism, interrogating what became of those unrealised future-oriented projects. The art historian Gediminas Gasparavičius described the action as the ‘stitch[ing] together of two unrealised utopias: the Soviet state that never achieved communism and an artistic avant-garde that never became a form of life’ (Gasparavičius 2015, p.410).</p>\n<p>The action <i>Black Square on Red Square </i>was realised in the context of a series of events, lectures, discussions and actions that took place between 10 May 1992 and 10 June 1992 upon the invitation of the project Apt-Art International, organised by Viktor Misiano, Lena Kurlandzeva, Konstantin Zvezdochetov and Regina Gallery, Moscow, and which aimed to consider the consequences and relevance of so-called ‘Apartment Art’ after the collapse of the Soviet state. During this month-long residency, IRWIN forged dialogues with Russian artistic circles. Upon their return to Slovenia, the collective retrospectively conceptualised their time in Moscow into <i>NSK Embassy Moscow</i> and the first iteration of <i>NSK State in Time</i> 1992–present, the collective’s virtual, non-territorial state.<i> </i>The video <i>Black Square on Red </i>exists in an edition of five plus one artists’ proof. Tate’s copy is number five in the edition; numbers one and three are held in private collections, while numbers two and four are in the collections of the Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven and The Museum of Modern Art, Ljubljana respectively.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Borut Vogelnik, ‘Irwin on Malevich’, <i>Tate Etc.</i>, no.31, Summer 2014, <a href=\"http://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/articles/irwin-on-malevich\">http://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/articles/irwin-on-malevich</a>, accessed 27 March 2018.<br/>Eda Čufer (ed.),<i> NSK Embassy Moscow: How the East Sees the East</i>,<i> </i>Loža Gallery, Koper, Slovenia 2015.<br/>Gediminas Gasparavičius, ‘Promises and Premises of Art as a State: NSK Embassy Moscow and its Contexts’, in <i>NSK From Kapital to Capital: Neue Slowenische Kunst – An Event of the Final Decade of Yugoslavia</i>, Cambridge, MA 2015, pp.205–16.</p>\n<p>Dina Akhmadeeva<br/>April 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, colour and sound (stereo) | [
{
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{
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"fc": "John Hughes",
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{
"id": 999999779,
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{
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{
"id": 999999956,
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] | 1,983 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/peter-kennedy-22830" aria-label="More by Peter Kennedy" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Peter Kennedy</a>, <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/john-hughes-26506" aria-label="More by John Hughes" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">John Hughes</a> | On Sacred Land | 2,020 | [] | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2017 | T15533 | {
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} | 7000490 1000006 | Peter Kennedy, John Hughes | 1,983 | [] | <p><span>On Sacred Land</span> addresses attempts to impose Western culture and capitalist values onto Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Combining photographs, drawings, archive footage and newly filmed scenes, it presents images of exploitation and resistance. These include photographs of slavery, and a drawing by 19th-century Aboriginal artist Tommy McRae depicting a corroboree (a meeting of Aboriginal people, usually for a celebration or ritual). Contemporary scenes show Aboriginal protests against the takeover of sacred sites for mining and oil drilling.</p><p><em>Gallery label, July 2021</em></p> | false | 1 | 22830 26506 | time-based media video colour sound stereo | [
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"id": 11857,
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"title": "A Year in Art - Australia 1992",
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] | On Sacred Land | 1,983 | Tate | 1983–4 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 14min, 26sec | accessioned work | Tate | Tate and the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, with support from the Qantas Foundation 2015, purchased 2017 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>\n<i>On Sacred Land </i>is a post-modern video composed of archival film footage, photographs, and drawings combined with new filmed scenes. It is an examination of the continued resistance by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders within the ongoing context of colonization in the land now known as Australia. Alongside these protests to protect sacred sites on unceded lands, Kennedy and Hughes reveal the brutal history of colonisation and its evolution in Australia through archival evidence. Originally created as a video work and later transferred to a digital file, this artwork can be encountered looped on a monitor or as a projection up to 3 metres (gallerist Josh Milani, email correspondence with Tate curator Lena Fritsch, 19 January 2017). It has also been shown as part of an installation with an accompanying painting of the same name, made by Kennedy, which similarly problematises Australian history painting. The video is fourteen minutes and twenty-six seconds long and does not follow a chronology. Instead, it uses the post-modernist strategy of juxtaposing images from different moments in time to reveal how modes of colonisation have evolved. <i>On Sacred Land </i>begins and ends with the voice of a male Aboriginal singer accompanying a drawing by nineteenth century Wahgunyah artist Tommy McRae (c.1835–1901), reflecting 65,000 years of continuous living culture shared by Aboriginal peoples. The video then introduces the imposition of Western economic ideology onto Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures with a quotation from the Western Australian Kalumburu Mission Diary, written by the Benedictine monk Fr. Perez in 1915, ‘... In their natural state they are communists of the crudest sort. Now an attempt is being made to invoke their sense of individuality.’</blockquote>\n<blockquote>\n<i>On Sacred Land </i>symbolises how 200 years of British colonisation has evolved with clothing of 18th Century British military, Christian clergy, court judges, and businessmen, alongside studio photographs of white men posing in these costumes. These scenes are interspersed with historically significant imagery depicting British exploration of what they would later call Australia. This includes Australian Emmanuel Phillip Fox’s 1902 impressionistic painting <i>Landing of Captain Cook at Botany Bay</i>, 1770 and English artist Benjamin Duterrau’s 1840 painting <i>The Conciliation </i>showing George Augustus Robinson negotiating with Tasmanian Aboriginal people, resulting in their removal from their lands and consequential turmoil. Early archival film footage and photographs shows evidence of Aboriginal men in chains, ethnographic studies of women, and children in missions. The latter is demonstrative of a series of Australian government policies from 1910s to 1970s which forcibly removed Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, often placing them in Christian missions, as part of what would later be referred to as the Stolen Generations.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>Historic imagery is interspersed with colour documentary video from the early 1980s, showing the continued effects of colonisation. A moving image in colour shows 1980s Sydney with its harbour and high-rise skyline follows with the word ‘imperialism’ written across the image in blue cursive writing. Scenes are also taken from Oliver Howes’ 1980 film <i>On Sacred Ground</i>, which Kennedy and Hughes paid homage to in the title of their video. They show the well-publicised Noonkanbah dispute when the Yungngora People and their supporters blocked the path of drilling rigs and police, defending their sacred sites. It reflects the 1980s context where national debates focused on the contestation of land rights and self-determination for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders. The significance of Aboriginal connection to Country is reinforced at the end of the video with a text quotation by Larry Lanley, former Chairman of the Aboriginal Arts Board: ‘It all goes back to the land. It is our culture … The whole Aboriginal way – painting, songs, dance, laws, medicine – fits properly with the land. We can teach Europeans all about these things – they are things we have known always.’</blockquote>\n<p>Kennedy and Hughes collaborated on <i>November 11 (Red)</i> 1978–9 and <i>November 11 (Blue) </i>1980–1 which are also videos drawing from post-modern strategies to examine Australia’s political landscape and the continued legacies of British political power. These videos analyse the constitutional crisis instigated on 11 November 1975 when the democratically elected Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam, was dismissed by the then Governor General John Kerr. As Governor General, John Kerr acted as the British Monarch’s representative in Australia and was not elected by the people of Australia, and therefore his actions instigated one of Australia’s most contested political crises.</p>\n<p>Kennedy also worked across performance, installation and other media, and in reflecting on the significance of video within his practice he remarked, ‘“Video” or, as we now refer to it, “moving image” work, has allowed me to bring writing to a cluster of expressive options and this expands the work in interesting ways, aesthetically, politically, poetically,’ referring to <i>On Sacred Land</i> as one of his key video works. (In transcript of interview between Peter Kennedy and Chris Meigh Andrews, Melbourne, 14 October 2011, <a href=\"http://www.meighandrews.com/writings/interviews/peter-kennedy\">http://www.meighandrews.com/writings/interviews/peter-kennedy</a>, accessed 31 January 2017.) In 1986, Jonathan Holmes declared <i>On Sacred Land</i> ‘provides an eloquent critique of the idea <i>aboriginal</i> in documentary and fiction film and gives an excellent account of the way in which the European projection of the term “aboriginal” in cultural terms has been used to justify white domination of the land and what constitutes the concept <i>Australia</i>’ (<i>Istoria: Peter Kennedy and John Hughes Selected Works 1978-1986</i>, exhibition catalogue, Centre for the Arts Gallery, Hobart 1986.</p>\n<p>Lena Fritsch<br/>January 2017<br/>Revised by Valentine Umansky and Tamsin Hong<br/>February 2023</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further Reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Istoria: Peter Kennedy and John Hughes Selected Works 1978-1986</i>, exhibition catalogue, Centre for the Arts Gallery, Hobart 1986, Chrome extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://eprints.utas.edu.au/18373/1/Istoria_-_Peter_Kennedy_with_John_Hughes_selected_works_1978-1986_Final.pdf, accessed 3 February 2023.<br/>\n<i>Peter Kennedy: Selected Works 1970–2002</i>, exhibition catalogue, Ian Potter Museum of Art, University of Melbourne, Melbourne 2002.<br/>\n<i>Peter Kennedy, Light Years, 1970–71, </i>exhibition catalogue, Institute of Modern Art, Brisbane 2011.<br/>John Cumming, <i>The Films of John Hughes: A History of Independent Screen Production in Australia</i>, Australian Teachers of Media, Melbourne 2015.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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] | 2,017 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/andy-holden-13757" aria-label="More by Andy Holden" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Andy Holden</a> | A Natural History Nest Building | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Tate Members 2020. The Artangel Collection at Tate. | T15535 | {
"id": 10,
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} | 7008103 7002445 7008591 | Andy Holden | 2,017 | [] | <p><span>A Natural History of Nest Building</span> 2017 is a three-part video<span> with sound lasting thirty minutes and produced in an edition of five with one artist’s proof. It can be shown as a projection or on monitors. The video </span>employs a pedagogical model to investigate how birds make nests. Divided into three chapters, <span>Nest Type</span>, <span>Nest Site</span> and <span>Material</span>, it concludes with a post-script on the bowerbird, the only animal to make a structure that is for display only. The film is narrated by Andy Holden and his father, the ornithologist Peter Holden. Standing on the left and right of a central screen which shows examples of different nest types, Holden and his father adopt different positions on the significance of the bird’s nest. Holden examines the nests as sculptural objects with poetic affect, while his father discusses them through the traditional lens of ornithology and theories of evolution.</p> | false | 1 | 13757 | time-based media video colour sound stereo | [
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"dateText": "10 February 2024 – 6 May 2024",
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"endDate": "2024-05-06",
"id": 15710,
"startDate": "2024-02-10",
"venueName": "Tate St Ives (St Ives, UK)",
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"startDate": "2024-02-10",
"title": "Andy Holden",
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] | A Natural History of Nest Building | 2,017 | Tate | 2017 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 30min | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020. The <a href="/search?gid=999999777" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Artangel Collection at Tate</a>. | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>A Natural History of Nest Building</i> 2017 is a three-part video<i> with sound lasting thirty minutes and produced in an edition of five with one artist’s proof. It can be shown as a projection or on monitors. The video </i>employs a pedagogical model to investigate how birds make nests. Divided into three chapters, <i>Nest Type</i>, <i>Nest Site</i> and <i>Material</i>, it concludes with a post-script on the bowerbird, the only animal to make a structure that is for display only. The film is narrated by Andy Holden and his father, the ornithologist Peter Holden. Standing on the left and right of a central screen which shows examples of different nest types, Holden and his father adopt different positions on the significance of the bird’s nest. Holden examines the nests as sculptural objects with poetic affect, while his father discusses them through the traditional lens of ornithology and theories of evolution.</p>\n<p>The film begins with shots filmed from a drone, giving a bird’s eye view of Holden’s home in Bedfordshire while the introduction explains that the work originated as a result of the artist needing to return to living at home for a period as an adult. The voiceover tells the viewer that, despite his father’s best efforts, Holden was not interested in birds as a child, but that on returning home as an adult he became interested in the sculptural qualities of birds’ nests. The work was developed over a period of five years as a performance which took place in various venues including Bristol Museum; the Royal College of Art, London; the Collective Gallery, Edinburgh; Wysing Arts Centre, Cambridge; Penzance Convention; and London Festival of Architecture. These various performances were marked by a series of six silkscreen prints, entitled either <i>Lecture on Birdsong </i>or <i>Lecture on Nesting </i>(see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/holden-lecture-on-nesting-london-festival-of-architecture-p20977\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>P20977</span></a>–82). A sense of the performative and of a carefully rehearsed two-person play is present in the dialogue of the film, which is presented together with filmed sequences that draw on the tradition of natural history television programmes. The use of green-screen presentation enabled father and son to move with subtle irony through details which include a discussion about the creative process and the suggestion that comparisons can be made between nest building and making art.</p>\n<p>Through an investigation into often overlooked subjects, Holden’s work explores different areas of enquiry such as morphology, evolution, intelligence and creativity, as well as reflecting on the nature of collaboration and parental influence. As the film unfolds, the scripted exchanges raise questions about what is genetic or inherited from the parent and what is learnt through experience. <i>A Natural History of Nest Building</i> is one of two film works which were presented as part of the Artangel Commission <i>Natural Selection, an exhibition at the f</i>ormer Newington Library in south-east London; the show<i> </i>marked the culmination of Holden’s seven-year collaboration with his father, who worked for the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds for forty-five years. Using film, sculpture, music, archive material and natural specimens, the exhibition explored the natural art of bird nest building together with the tradition of egg collecting.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Artangel website, <i>Andy Holden / Peter Holden: Natural Selection</i>, <a href=\"https://www.artangel.org.uk/project/natural-selection/\">https://www.artangel.org.uk/project/natural-selection/</a>, accessed 12 September 2018.<br/>Darian Leader, ‘Laws of Motion’, <i>Frieze</i>, no.188, June–August 2017, pp.150–3.</p>\n<p>Clarrie Wallis<br/>September 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Cotton, 35 photographs, c-prints and black and white on paper, printed paper, video, colour, video, colour and sound (stereo), audio (stereo) | [
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{
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{
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] | 1,985 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/suzanne-lacy-13736" aria-label="More by Suzanne Lacy" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Suzanne Lacy</a> | Crystal Quilt | 2,020 | [] | Presented by the Tate Americas Foundation 2019 | T15536 | {
"id": 3,
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} | 7012149 7007157 | Suzanne Lacy | 1,985 | [] | <p><span>The Crystal Quilt</span> is a major participatory performance project by Suzanne Lacy that aimed to bring to visibility older women whom, in the artist’s view, are generally marginalised by society. The title of the work derived from the name of the Crystal Court shopping centre within Minneapolis’s IDS building, designed by Philip Johnson and completed in 1974. Lacy’s work comprises a patchwork quilt, a 16mm film, thirty-six framed colour photographs, a signed poster, a soundtrack and documentary video. The pattern on the quilt was inspired by Native North American quilting practices traditionally carried out by women.</p> | false | 1 | 13736 | installation cotton 35 photographs c-prints black white paper printed video colour sound stereo audio | [
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"id": 8448,
"startDate": "2016-06-10",
"title": "Suzanne Lacy",
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{
"artistRoomsTour": false,
"dateText": "20 April 2019 – 23 August 2020",
"endDate": "2020-08-23",
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{
"dateText": "20 April 2019 – 4 August 2019",
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"venueName": "San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (San Francisco, USA)",
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],
"id": 10394,
"startDate": "2019-04-20",
"title": "Suzanne Lacy: We Are Here",
"type": "Loan-out"
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{
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"dateText": "27 February 2022 – 30 July 2022",
"endDate": "2022-07-30",
"exhibitionLegs": [
{
"dateText": "27 February 2022 – 30 July 2022",
"endDate": "2022-07-30",
"id": 14826,
"startDate": "2022-02-27",
"venueName": "Queens Museum (New York, USA)",
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],
"id": 12195,
"startDate": "2022-02-27",
"title": "Suzanne Lacey: The Medium is Not Only the Message",
"type": "Loan-out"
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] | The Crystal Quilt | 1,985 | Tate | 1985–7 | CLEARED | 3 | Overall display dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the Tate Americas Foundation 2019 | [
{
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>\n<i>The Crystal Quilt</i> is a major participatory performance project by Suzanne Lacy that aimed to bring to visibility older women whom, in the artist’s view, are generally marginalised by society. The title of the work derived from the name of the Crystal Court shopping centre within Minneapolis’s IDS building, designed by Philip Johnson and completed in 1974. Lacy’s work comprises a patchwork quilt, a 16mm film, thirty-six framed colour photographs, a signed poster, a soundtrack and documentary video. The pattern on the quilt was inspired by Native North American quilting practices traditionally carried out by women. </blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The original performance was held on Mother’s Day, Sunday 10 May 1987, in the Crystal Court, and 430 women over the age of sixty became performers in an hour-long tableau that was broadcast live by KCET public television. The work was a large-scale participatory performance with a stylised choreographic aspect, comprising mass action, spoken word and sound. Around 3000 people attended the performance, which was staged on an 82-foot-square rug with tables placed to resemble a quilt, which had been designed by painter Miriam Schapiro (born 1923). The accompanying soundtrack by composer Susan Stone mixed the voices of seventy-five women talking about aging. Participants all wore black and engaged in simple actions using their hands, manipulating tablecloths to create a ‘quilt’ pattern that created a large-scale spectacle of participation. Recordings of the women’s own voices mixed personal observations and reminiscences with social analysis about the unutilised potential of the elderly. The event was staged within the open, public space of the shopping centre, with a live audience standing on the balconies around the work.</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>While the audience listened to the soundtrack, real time conversations between the women echoed the same themes. At ten-minute intervals, a loon cry or thunderclap rang out through the space, signalling to the women to change the position of their hands on the table, thus changing the design of the quilt. At the end of the performance, the audience flooded onto the stage carrying hand-painted scarves, disrupting the austere order of the quilt design to create a crazy quilt of colour, and greeting the triumphant performers.</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The original ‘event’ for <i>The Crystal Quilt </i>was in itself part of a research and development project with a community of women that was titled ‘The Whisper Minnesota Project’ and took place in 1985–7. Lacy worked with selected women participants who were trained as ‘leaders’ in the run up to the Crystal Center event, and who each took responsibility for organising sub-groups of participants on the day. Lacy also organised classes, art, mass media and community events as a part of the research process. Her interest was not simply in the successful choreography of the event, but in the transformative process of this leadership programme and related educational events for the participants themselves.</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The sponsors for the project were Minneapolis College of Art and Design (MCAD), the Humphrey Institute for Public Affairs and the Minnesota Board of Aging, with support from institutions such as the Walker Art Center and At the Foot of the Mountain Theater. Lacy and the participants also worked with a team of over 150 local people to create actions and programmes with the dual purpose of exploring how the media portrayed aging and the role of older people in public life. Included were two classes at MCAD; a lecture series at Carleton College, where Lacy taught; a premier screening of the video of Lacy and Sharon Allen’s 1983–4 performance ‘Whisper, The Waves, The Wind’ at the Walker Art Center; a coordinated media campaign throughout the state that produced articles featuring older women; a photo series by Larry Fink commissioned by First Bank; and the Humphrey Institute Leadership Program. Subsequent to the performance, a state-wide leadership training programme for older women and two major exhibitions of documentary photographs were funded. Lacy was interested in multiple levels of dissemination for the piece in order effectively to communicate her message. <i>The</i> <i>Crystal Quilt</i> can either be displayed in full with all of the elements present (photographs, 16mm film, video, soundtrack, the quilt itself, poster and programme), or individual elements such as the quilt or the film can be displayed alone. </blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>\n<i>The</i> <i>Crystal Quilt</i> is one of the most well-known and widely publicised of Lacy’s works from the 1970s and 1980s, her most significant period. It can be seen as the culmination of her projects of the late 1970s that involved participation on a smaller scale. For example, in 1977, with collaborator Leslie Labowitz, she combined performance art with activism in <i>Three Weeks in May</i>. This event combined a performance piece on the steps of <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Los_Angeles_City_Hall%22 \\o %22Los Angeles City Hall\">Los Angeles City Hall</a> with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-defense%22 \\o %22Self-defense\">self-defence</a> classes for women in an attempt to highlight sexual violence against women. Lacy has established an international reputation in the historical field of feminist art through such participatory performance and protest events. Her works have a basis in live, often collaborative action, but are often accompanied by drawings and texts, as well as photographic and video documentation, meaning that they have a life both inside and outside the gallery. A core aspect of Lacy’s practice is a concern with collaboration as a means of exploring and challenging assumed socio-political realities. She has frequently worked with other artists and with groups of volunteer participants to explore questions around notions of the female body, as well as using workshops, conversation and teaching as methods of engaging an audience in her work.</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The artist observed after <i>The Crystal Quilt </i>event:</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>We interviewed several of the women afterwards, and they were just so high. They loved the experience. They understood that they were being honored, that they were special, and there was a deep connection to each other they expressed. I remember one of the Native American women saying to me in the interview afterwards that there was something very powerful about the spirituality of women – that she felt it very palpably in that space.<br/>(Moira Roth, ‘Oral History Interview with Suzanne Lacy, 1990 Mar. 16–Sept. 27’, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., 16 and 24 March and 27 September 1990, <a href=\"https://www.aaa.si.edu/download_pdf_transcript/ajax?record_id=edanmdm-AAADCD_oh_215585\">https://www.aaa.si.edu/download_pdf_transcript/ajax?record_id=edanmdm-AAADCD_oh_215585</a>, accessed November 2011.<b>)</b>\n</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Although the artist spoke about the work in terms of the specific theme of women and aging, the wider significance of the piece lies beyond just its feminist import, and in its exploration of relational participation and social choreography. From a contemporary perspective, Lacy’s interest in social engagement, in enabling self-organising groups, and in the use of public media to expand awareness of her practice, can be seen as influential in a way that is beyond the specific political themes she set out to address.</blockquote>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Moira Roth, ‘Suzanne Lacy’s Minneapolis Crystal Quilt’, <i>Art in America</i>, March 1988, vol.76, p.162.<br/>Diane Rothenberg, ‘Social Art/Social Action’, <i>Drama Review</i>, vol.32, no.1, Spring 1988, pp.31–7.<br/>Miwon Kwon, <i>One Place after Another: Site-Specific Art and Local Identity</i>, Cambridge, Massachusetts 2002.</blockquote>\n<p>Catherine Wood<br/>November 2011 </p>\n</div>\n",
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14 works on paper, printed papers, lithographs, and photographs, c-prints and gelatin silver prints | [
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] | 1,989 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/ingrid-pollard-mbe-15859" aria-label="More by Ingrid Pollard MBE" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Ingrid Pollard MBE</a> | Cost English Landscape | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Tate Members 2020 | T15537 | {
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} | 7011781 7005275 7002571 1000054 1000002 | Ingrid Pollard MBE | 1,989 | [] | <p><span>The Cost of the English Landscape </span>1989 is a unique multipart work comprising a number of framed photographs and collaged elements. A central section consists of four frames, two of which are divided into three sections, with the other two divided into twelve. They contain photographs, in both black and white and colour, and a range of collaged elements including maps, postcards and printed text. Six further framed photographs, three on each side, flanking the central section, depict the artist climbing over a stile. Signs reading ‘keep out’, ‘private property’ and ‘no trespass’ are placed between them.</p> | false | 1 | 15859 | paper unique 14 works printed papers lithographs photographs c-prints gelatin silver prints | [
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"id": 14176,
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"venueName": "MK Gallery (Milton Keynes, UK)",
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"dateText": "9 July 2022 – 25 September 2022",
"endDate": "2022-09-25",
"id": 14737,
"startDate": "2022-07-09",
"venueName": "Turner Contemporary (Margate, UK)",
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"id": 11708,
"startDate": "2022-03-11",
"title": "Ingrid Pollard",
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"dateText": "21 November 2024 – 5 May 2025",
"endDate": "2025-05-05",
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"dateText": "21 November 2024 – 5 May 2025",
"endDate": "2025-05-05",
"id": 15490,
"startDate": "2024-11-21",
"venueName": "Tate Britain (London, UK)",
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],
"id": 12717,
"startDate": "2024-11-21",
"title": "The 80s: Photographing Britain",
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] | The Cost of the English Landscape | 1,989 | Tate | 1989 | CLEARED | 5 | Overall dimensions 1980 × 3000 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Cost of the English Landscape </i>1989 is a unique multipart work comprising a number of framed photographs and collaged elements. A central section consists of four frames, two of which are divided into three sections, with the other two divided into twelve. They contain photographs, in both black and white and colour, and a range of collaged elements including maps, postcards and printed text. Six further framed photographs, three on each side, flanking the central section, depict the artist climbing over a stile. Signs reading ‘keep out’, ‘private property’ and ‘no trespass’ are placed between them.</p>\n<p>All the images relate to the area of the Lake District, arguably the most idealised rural landscape in England. Alongside images of flora, rivers, fields and lanes, Pollard has depicted herself in the landscape: in one shot she is rowing a boat on a lake, in others she is a lone figure walking. The collages and captions point to a darker aspect of this rural idyll. Short pieces of text taken from tourist brochures extolling the beauty of the area are juxtaposed with statements such as ‘nuclear energy: don’t be left in the dark’, ‘plutonium is stored or manufactured into fuel for fast reactors’, and the question ‘what is radiation?’. <i>The Cost of the English Landscape </i>explores the public face of tourism within the Lake District National Park, contrasting the language used around writers such as Beatrix Potter and William Wordsworth and tourist marketing with that relating to Sellafield Power Station, a nuclear power station commissioned in the Lake District in 1956. Infamously, in 1957, it was the site of the worst nuclear accident in British history, spreading a plume of radioactive vapour around the region due to a nuclear reactor fire. It subsequently became a key target for protests by the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.</p>\n<p>In 2016 Pollard wrote:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>During the 1980s and 1990s I produced photographic artworks that challenged ideas of the British landscape as a romantic rural idyll of timeless, unchanging nostalgia This was done through an interrogation of photographic aesthetics and British landscape histories … the work has been primarily addressed through certain notions of ‘Britishness’, including race, identity, and exclusion.<br/>(Ingrid Pollard, <i>Home and Away: Home, Migrancy, and Belonging Through Landscape Photographic Practice</i>, PhD thesis, Centre for Research and Education in Arts and Media, University of Westminster, London 2016, pp.15–16, <a href=\"https://westminsterresearch.westminster.ac.uk/item/q56vq/home-and-away-home-migrancy-and-belonging-through-landscape-photographic-practice\">https://westminsterresearch.westminster.ac.uk/item/q56vq/home-and-away-home-migrancy-and-belonging-through-landscape-photographic-practice</a>, accessed 25 May 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>Pollard was one of a generation of young Black and Asian artists who came to prominence in Britain in the 1980s and challenged their comparative lack of visibility in the art world with works that engaged with the social, cultural, political and aesthetic issues of the time. Pollard became known for work that explored issues around migration, family, home, ethnicity and public spaces (see also <i>Seaside Series </i>1989, Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/pollard-seaside-series-t13884\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T13884</span></a>, and <i>Oceans Apart</i> 1989, Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/pollard-oceans-apart-t13885\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T13885</span></a>). By picturing the black figure in the Lake District, with both its much-heralded natural beauty and its association with the dangers of nuclear power, <i>The Cost of the English Landscape </i>suggests that the constructs of national identity, race, class and landscape are inherently linked. With <i>The Cost of the English Landscape</i>, Pollard deconstructs historically dominant codes of Britishness, contesting the supposed notion that the black experience in Britain is a purely urban phenomenon.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>The Lie of the Land</i>, exhibition catalogue, MK Gallery, Milton Keynes 2019, reproduced pp.74–5.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>May 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Aluminium, 2 screenprints on glass, mirrors, concrete, wood, paint, and other materials | [
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] | 1,989 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/xiao-lu-26854" aria-label="More by Xiao Lu" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Xiao Lu</a> | Dialogue | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Leo Shih 2017 | T15540 | {
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} | 7002078 1000111 1000004 | Xiao Lu | 1,989 | [] | <p><span>Dialogue</span> is an installation that comprises two life-size aluminium alloy telephone booths, a mirror, a pedestal, a red telephone and cement paving stones. On the left phone booth, an image of the back of a female figure holding a receiver is silkscreened over the glass, and on the right phone booth the back of a male figure is depicted. In the middle of the two phone booths is a red telephone on a white plinth, with the receiver dangling down. Behind the phone is a mirrored panel with two bullet holes referencing an action carried out by the artist when the work was displayed in the exhibition <span>China/Avant-Garde</span> at the National Art Gallery, Beijing in 1989. The sculpture is raised on cement paving stones, and purposely resembles the public phone booths found on the streets of China in the late 1980s.</p> | false | 1 | 26854 | installation aluminium 2 screenprints glass mirrors concrete wood paint other materials | [
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] | Dialogue | 1,989 | Tate | 1989, remade 2015 | CLEARED | 3 | object: 2350 × 2780 × 3010 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Leo Shih 2017 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Dialogue</i> is an installation that comprises two life-size aluminium alloy telephone booths, a mirror, a pedestal, a red telephone and cement paving stones. On the left phone booth, an image of the back of a female figure holding a receiver is silkscreened over the glass, and on the right phone booth the back of a male figure is depicted. In the middle of the two phone booths is a red telephone on a white plinth, with the receiver dangling down. Behind the phone is a mirrored panel with two bullet holes referencing an action carried out by the artist when the work was displayed in the exhibition <i>China/Avant-Garde</i> at the National Art Gallery, Beijing in 1989. The sculpture is raised on cement paving stones, and purposely resembles the public phone booths found on the streets of China in the late 1980s.</p>\n<p>This is a replica of the work made by Xiao Lu in 1989 for her graduation show at the Zhejiang Academy of Fine Arts in Hangzhou. The original was discarded by the artist in the 1990s. In 2003 she made an initial replica as a unique object, now in the collection of Taikang Life insurance company in China. In 2015, with permission from the owner, she decided to make a second replica – this time as an edition of three artist’s proofs with no main edition – to a slightly different scale from the first replica, being ten centimetres shorter in height. This copy is the second of these three artist’s proofs.</p>\n<p>The <i>China/Avant-Garde</i> exhibition was a landmark event conceptualised in 1986 by a group of Chinese art critics and academics, with a focus on experimental and radical approaches to art. Unlike socialist realism or other academic styles that dominated artmaking in China at the time, this exhibition showcased new and more experimental forms of photography, installation and performance, as well as conceptual paintings and sculptures – representing the first generation of avant-garde artists in China. Almost three hundred artworks were included in the exhibition, all by Chinese artists, spread over the three levels of the National Art Gallery in Beijing. It opened on 5 February 1989, on the eve of Chinese New Year, but was shut down immediately by officials after Xiao Lu, unbeknownst to the exhibition preparatory committee or any of the exhibiting artists, shot two bullets of a pellet gun at the central mirror panel of her installation <i>Dialogue</i>. Xiao’s action caused a huge controversy and her immediate detention by the police, since using or carrying firearms is illegal in China, as well as the arrest of fellow artist Tang Song, who was at the scene. The incident was quickly picked up by the international press in Beijing, resulting in widespread news coverage. Alongside other unauthorised performances that occurred on the opening day of the exhibition by Wu Shanzhuan and Wang Deren, Xiao’s action provoked heated debates on the limits of artistic expression, and specifically performance art, in communist China.</p>\n<p>Xiao’s ‘shooting’ performance was filmed by her friend Wen Pulin on his video recorder; a still photograph of the artist pointing a gun at the work exists as documentation of the performance and can be displayed alongside the installation. This image was produced in an edition of ten, but Tate’s copy is aside from this edition and of a different size. The documentation of Xiao’s performance has been shown in several international exhibitions including <i>Inside Out: New Chinese Art</i> at Asia Society Galleries and P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center in New York in 1998, and <i>Global Conceptualism: Points of Origins 1950s</i>–<i>1980s</i> at Queens Museum of Art, New York in 1999. The event remains one of the most mythologised moments in the history of Chinese contemporary art, especially evocative given the Tiananmen Square Massacre that would follow just four months after. When the Tiananmen Square Protest (also known as the June Fourth Incident in China) occurred, Xiao’s performance was quickly dubbed ‘the first gunshots of Tiananmen’, partly due to the close proximity of the National Art Gallery to the square.</p>\n<p>At the time, Xiao’s action was presumed to be a political comment, but she later explained in her novel <i>Dialogue</i> (published in 2010) and several media interviews that it was more of a personal act related to her emotional and artistic anxiety. Discussing the subject matter of the <i>Dialogue</i> installation, she stated that, ‘I made <i>Dialogue</i> just because at the time I felt very stifled, really quite suffocated. I felt I could not communicate with men. <i>Dialogue</i> was about that.’ (In an interview with Tate researcher Monica Merlin, November 2013). The images of the woman and man with their backs turned away and the phone with its receiver dangling between them seem to suggest the absence or difficulty of communication between the sexes. Xiao’s later works, such as <i>Sperm</i> 2006 and <i>Wedding</i> 2009, show her continuing struggle with relationships and the conventional roles of women in Chinese society.</p>\n<p>There is a view within the Chinese artistic community that Xiao’s shooting was an irresponsible act that overshadowed the ambition and purpose of the most experimental and modernist art exhibition in China up to that time, but her actions remain an iconic performance. The installation is a symbolic reminder of the new artistic ideals that enabled the organisation of the <i>China / Avant-Garde</i> exhibition and an important reflection of the political, social and artistic discourse taking place during a period of transition in China.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Xiao Lu, <i>Dialogue</i>, Hong Kong 2010.<br/>Hu Xiaolan, ‘Focus and Freeze – Revisiting Dialogue’, in <i>Image, History, Existence: Taikang Life 15th Anniversary Art Collection Exhibition</i>, exhibition catalogue, Culture and Art Publishing House 2011, pp.135–43.<br/>Liau Shu Juan, ‘Redefining Art in the China / Avant-Garde Exhibition’, <a href=\"https://mondaymuseum.wordpress.com/2012/02/27/1989-china-avant-garde-exhibition/\">https://mondaymuseum.wordpress.com/2012/02/27/1989-china-avant-garde-exhibition/</a>, accessed 17 July 2017.</p>\n<p>Sook-Kyung Lee<br/>July 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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] | 1,964 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/mikhail-roginsky-27674" aria-label="More by Mikhail Roginsky" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Mikhail Roginsky</a> | Railway Platform | 2,020 | [] | Purchased with funds provided by the Russia and Eastern Europe Acquisitions Committee 2020 | T15541 | {
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} | 7002435 7012974 7018215 7018214 1000004 7008038 7002980 7002883 1000070 | Mikhail Roginsky | 1,964 | [] | <p><span>Railway Platform</span> 1964 is a painting in oil on canvas by the Russian nonconformist artist Mikhail Roginsky that depicts a typical Soviet suburban railway station complete with Stalin-era benches, rubbish bins and a standard issue station clock. The metal electric cable posts double as pillars for boards with train timetable and station announcements. Above the posts, and dominating the composition, is the date ‘1964’ with a small Cyrillic ‘г.’ – meaning ‘year’ in Russian – roughly painted in red. Three railway lines trace the brick-red ground and disappear beyond the blue horizon. A lonely passenger reads a book while waiting for his train. The scene is dramatically lit from the left. While the setting is mundane and recognisable as depicting the daily commute, its composition is based on flattened surfaces, simplified perspective and bold colours, evoking the appearance of posters and information boards. <span>Railway Platform</span> is one of the artist’s earliest paintings, in which he explored varying themes and stylistic approaches that would become key characteristics of his practice. A much later work, <span>Interior with a Ladder</span>, is also in Tate’s collection (Tate T15481).</p> | false | 1 | 27674 | painting oil paint canvas | [] | Railway Platform | 1,964 | Tate | 1964 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 906 × 611 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the Russia and Eastern Europe Acquisitions Committee 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Railway Platform</i> 1964 is a painting in oil on canvas by the Russian nonconformist artist Mikhail Roginsky that depicts a typical Soviet suburban railway station complete with Stalin-era benches, rubbish bins and a standard issue station clock. The metal electric cable posts double as pillars for boards with train timetable and station announcements. Above the posts, and dominating the composition, is the date ‘1964’ with a small Cyrillic ‘г.’ – meaning ‘year’ in Russian – roughly painted in red. Three railway lines trace the brick-red ground and disappear beyond the blue horizon. A lonely passenger reads a book while waiting for his train. The scene is dramatically lit from the left. While the setting is mundane and recognisable as depicting the daily commute, its composition is based on flattened surfaces, simplified perspective and bold colours, evoking the appearance of posters and information boards. <i>Railway Platform</i> is one of the artist’s earliest paintings, in which he explored varying themes and stylistic approaches that would become key characteristics of his practice. A much later work, <i>Interior with a Ladder</i>, is also in Tate’s collection (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/roginsky-interior-with-a-ladder-t15481\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15481</span></a>).</p>\n<p>In 1964 Roginsky, along with other nonconformist artists in the Soviet Union such as Oskar Rabin (born 1928), began to introduce verbal and visual properties of written language into his paintings, releasing text from its traditional descriptive role. In <i>Railway Platform</i> as well as in <i>Pokrovskoe-Streshnevo</i> or <i>Mosgaz</i> (The State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow), all created in 1964, he utilised a distinctive red colour and typeface reminiscent of official Soviet warning signage. In the visual environment of the Soviet Union in the 1960s, ostensibly free of advertising but filled with noticeboards announcing slogans or warnings, Roginsky was particularly interested in railway posters. Paintings relating to the visual language of boldly coloured railway placards constitute one of the key themes in his work throughout the 1960s to the 1990s. He progressively increased the visual role of words and text in his pictures, switching to French after his emigration to Paris in 1978. Prior to taking up painting, Roginsky, having trained as a stage designer, worked for provincial theatres. Speaking about how stage design taught him to approach setting a scene, he commented: ‘The landscape is to be painted using just a few details featured on a homogeneous background of a bold blue skyline. It’s the play, it’s the theatre, it’s the method.’ (Mikhail Roginsky, ‘Khudozhnik oformliaet spektakli v narodnom teatre’, in <i>Obraz sovremennika na stsene narodnogo teatra</i>, no.3, Moscow 1964, pp.56–7.) <i>Railway Platform </i>perfectly illustrates this approach.</p>\n<p>The year 1964 was marked in the Soviet Union by the dismissal of Nikita Khrushchev as head of state, which signalled the end of a brief period of cultural and political appeasement known as ‘the Thaw’ that had seen the emergence of the first generation of unofficial artists in the Soviet Union. Roginsky’s official employment as an art professor at the Moscow City Art School from 1963 provided him with a studio space and necessary tools for his own practice. The result was his first series of paintings of suburban landscapes and still lifes featuring individual everyday objects that he gradually imbued with an existential subtext. He referred to the works as ‘documentary paintings’. His next step would be to move towards treating the painting itself as an object, which was achieved with <i>Door</i> 1965 (State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow). This piece of plywood, painted an intense red, had a red tin door handle complete with a keyhole and was considered the first Russian pop art work. The same year Roginsky participated in his only group public exhibition, which authorities closed on its opening day. His first retrospective in Russia, at the State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, did not take place until 2002, just two years before his death.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Alena Romanova, Nadezhda Vasilevskaia (eds.), O Mikhaile Roginskom. Duraki ediat pirogi. Vospominania, intervyu, stati, Moscow 2009 (in Russian).<br/>\n<i>Mikhail Roginsky. Beyond the Red Door</i>, Moscow 2014.<br/>Olga Yoshkova, <i>Mikhail Roginsky: narisovannaia zhizn</i>, Moscow 2017 (in Russian).</p>\n<p>Natalia Sidlina<br/>April 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Ink and correction fluid on paper, 60 digital prints on paper, lead, plastic and dice | [
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] | 2,007 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/olivia-plender-12600" aria-label="More by Olivia Plender" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Olivia Plender</a> | Set Sail Levant A Board Game About Debt or a Social Satire | 2,020 | [] | Purchased 2020 | T15542 | {
"id": 8,
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} | 7009861 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Olivia Plender | 2,007 | [] | <p>Olivia Plender’s <span>Set Sail for the Levant: A Board Game About Debt (or a Social Satire)</span> 2007 is a board game based on the sixteenth-century British ‘Royal Game of the Goose’, the earliest commercially produced board game involving dice. Plender’s game parodies the historical struggle of the commoner to achieve social and material success in life by presenting debt as the only realistic outcome in life. The game tells the story of the ‘enclosure of the commons’, which began in Britain during the sixteenth century and continued into the nineteenth century. It was the legal process of consolidating (enclosing) small landholdings into larger farms. Once enclosed, use of the land became restricted to the owner, and it ceased to be common land for communal use. This was a period when wealthy landowners used their control of state processes to appropriate public land for their private benefit. Enclosure was essentially a privatisation of the land, whereby ‘commoners’ lost their traditional rights of access to ‘the commons’.</p> | false | 1 | 12600 | sculpture ink correction fluid paper 60 digital prints lead plastic dice | [] | Set Sail for the Levant: A Board Game About Debt (or a Social Satire) | 2,007 | Tate | 2007 | CLEARED | 8 | Overall display dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>Olivia Plender’s <i>Set Sail for the Levant: A Board Game About Debt (or a Social Satire)</i> 2007 is a board game based on the sixteenth-century British ‘Royal Game of the Goose’, the earliest commercially produced board game involving dice. Plender’s game parodies the historical struggle of the commoner to achieve social and material success in life by presenting debt as the only realistic outcome in life. The game tells the story of the ‘enclosure of the commons’, which began in Britain during the sixteenth century and continued into the nineteenth century. It was the legal process of consolidating (enclosing) small landholdings into larger farms. Once enclosed, use of the land became restricted to the owner, and it ceased to be common land for communal use. This was a period when wealthy landowners used their control of state processes to appropriate public land for their private benefit. Enclosure was essentially a privatisation of the land, whereby ‘commoners’ lost their traditional rights of access to ‘the commons’. </p>\n<p>When the game begins, the player – a commoner – has been forced off the land and is obliged to take to the road. The player is given ten gold pieces and a loaf of bread, represented by small hand‑painted lead components, but is immediately forced by the rules of the game to pay two gold pieces to the authorities in lieu of rent. The commoner is instantly disadvantaged due to their position in society. From that point on, the game is rigged so that capitalism always wins, and the commoner can never improve their circumstances. The only way in which a player can escape penury is to steal or borrow money and then ‘set sail to the Levant’, to escape the repercussions, as explained by Angus Cameron in an essay on Plender’s work:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>If at any point you want for succour or funds you may go back to the square marked <i>The Church </i>to beg for monies and miss a turn. If you have no capital to secure the loan then the interest is equal to the loan itself and your debt doubles, at which point you may beg for more monies to repay the increased debt and so on. So it would seem that there is only one way out of this predicament: to set sail for lands where the law can’t reach you. The winner absconds to the edge of the known world leaving their debts unpaid. The losers are financially ruined and cast into a state of penury where they are greeted by <i>Death</i>.<br/>(Angus Cameron, ‘Games of Exception’, in de Blaaij, van Noord and Plender 2015, p.189.)</blockquote>\n<p>\n<i>Set Sail for the Levant: A Board Game About Debt (or a Social Satire)</i> exemplifies Plender’s practice, much of which is research-based and interrogates the ideological frameworks underpinning the narration of history. Her work has addressed such subject matter as early twentieth-century social and religious movements, educational systems, the history of the suffragettes, and the collapse of the distinction between work and leisure and the new identity of the entrepreneur.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Remco de Blaaij, Gerrie van Noord and Olivia Plender (eds.),<i> Rise Early, Be Industrious</i>,<i> </i>Berlin 2015.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>March 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint, ink and graphite on board | [
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] | 1,955 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/denis-williams-24668" aria-label="More by Denis Williams" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Denis Williams</a> | Painting in Six Related Rhythms | 2,020 | [] | Purchased 2020 | T15543 | {
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} | 7005275 7002571 1000054 1000002 | Denis Williams | 1,955 | [] | <p>This painting was inspired by organic growth, mathematics and geometric abstraction. Denis Williams structured it on a grid of one-inch squares that he then segmented to create a lattice. The result resembles an irregular crystal or a complex architectural space. This was a brief exploration into geometric abstraction for the artist. Williams’s daughter Evelyn A Williams has observed that ‘it is interesting to consider to what extent non-European “survival rhythms” are embedded in the subconscious personal iconography of Williams’ abstract work.’</p><p><em>Gallery label, September 2023</em></p> | false | 1 | 24668 | painting oil paint ink graphite board | [
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"id": 11148,
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"title": "Life Between Islands: Caribbean-British Art 1950s - Now",
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] | Painting in Six Related Rhythms | 1,955 | Tate | 1955 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 789 × 786 mm
overall: 855 × 855 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Painting in Six Related Rhythms</i> 1955 is a geometric abstract painting on wood, the square panel being displayed in a diamond format. The basis of the painting is a marked-out grid of one-inch squares that are bisected and segmented to create a lattice representing an irregular crystalline form. A vertical tapering shaft of white divides the painting centrally, running vertically from the red square that marks the bottom corner of the painting and cutting through the grey square that marks the top corner. Either side of this shaft is a succession of grey similar elongated shapes that frame it but also ambiguously define a point of view as both looking-in and looking-out. Filling the rest of the panel, the latticework provides a structure that is syncopated by irregular areas of blues, whites, greys, ochres and reds. Evelyn A. Williams, the artist’s daughter, has observed that:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>the painting has not been developed ‘on a wholly systematic basis of mathematical proportion. Whilst a geometric control is supplied by the grid, the painting is spontaneous in its balance of relationships and in its use of colour … In places, the underlying grid comes to the surface above the colours; in other areas it disappears or is masked; sometimes the grid is scratched back through the paint … He uses a wide range of techniques, creating a richness and subtlety that counters the severe geometry. Scumbling, sgraffito, fine brush hatching and overlays lead to soft textural effects.<br/>(Williams 2012, p.53.)</blockquote>\n<p>The painting was made in London and is the last of a series that Williams designated as <i>Plane Compositions</i>, some of which were exhibited in his exhibition at Gimpel Fils, London in 1954 (shared with Roger Hilton [1911–1975]) and at the New Burlington Galleries, London in the <i>Young Artists’ Exhibition</i> of 1955. A related painting also entitled <i>Painting in Six Related Rhythms</i> of 1954 won a prize at the latter exhibition and was acquired by the Beaverbrook Foundation (Beaverbrook Art Gallery, Fredericton, New Brunswick). The paintings exhibited at Gimpel Fils had titles such as <i>Painting in Five Related Rhythms</i> and <i>Painting in Four Related Rhythms</i>, both 1954, or <i>Vertical Composition with Arc of a Circle</i> 1953, and were exhibited with a group of works designated <i>Reliefs</i> and another group designated <i>Constructions</i>. Although none of these works appears to have survived, they attest to the artist’s closeness to the constructionist group of artists working in London at this time.</p>\n<p>Prior to this, in his previous exhibition at Gimpel Fils in 1950 (shared with the outsider artist ‘Scottie’ Wilson [1889–1972]), Williams had shown paintings whose imagery reflected the landscape and experience of his native British Guiana – as typified by his 1949 <i>Plantation</i> series of oil paintings and the cycle of paintings <i>Four Dimensions of Anguish</i> 1950, in particular <i>Human World</i> 1950 (National Gallery of Art, Georgetown, Guyana). In contrast, his 1954 exhibition reflected the allegiances he had formed with the constructionists and related abstract painters while he was teaching at the Central School in London through the early 1950s – alongside artists such as Victor Pasmore and William Turnbull, John Ernest, Anthony Hill and Roger Hilton. Many of these artists gathered and exhibited in Fitzroy Street at the studio of the painter Adrian Heath (1920–1992) and, in 1953, Williams exhibited two of his column <i>Plane Compositions</i> at the third such exhibition in May 1953, alongside Hill, Hilton and Pasmore, as well as Robert Adams, Terence Conran, Kenneth Martin, Ben Nicholson, Eduardo Paolozzi and William Scott. His connection with these artists and the constructionist tendency was short-lived, however, culminating in his involvement with Group 5’s presentation within the exhibition <i>This is Tomorrow</i> (Whitechapel Art Gallery, London, 1956) – for which Ernest, Hill and Williams positioned their own work alongside replicas they had also made of work by Soviet constructivists Aleksander Rodchenko (1891–1956) and Kazimir Malevich (1879–1935), as a way of expressing a direct linkage between their work and pioneering abstract work from the second decade of the century. By this time, however, Williams felt typecast within the London avant-garde, and the following year he left Britain having accepted a teaching post in the Sudan. </p>\n<p>\n<i>Painting in Six Related Rhythms </i>signals both an integration within the mainstream of British modernism and a clear break with the artist’s earlier paintings that directly evoke figurative motifs. Evelyn A. Williams, however, has observed that, although ‘the influence of non-European sources within the iconography of twentieth-century modernism is readily appreciated in the figurative legacy, as a vital source these influences are less immediately apparent in abstract art’ (Williams 2011, p.166). She then describes how the artist Wyndham Lewis (1882–1957) had compared the sustained use of yellow in many of Williams’s paintings to the effect of a tom-tom; that the Guyanese writer Wilson Harris referenced the timbre and rhythms of the West Indian steel bands; and that Williams himself recalled this particular painting as being described as ‘Mau Mau Mondrian’ (Williams 2011, pp.166–7). In this way the ‘rhythms’ of the painting can be defined formally through the interplay of the lattice composition and the restricted palette that evokes the action of a crystal. The rhythms can also be understood through Williams’s own understanding of books then current and inspirational for those artists in his circle, such as d’Arcy Wentworth Thompson’s <i>On Growth and Form</i> (2nd edition 1942), Paul Klee’s <i>On Modern Art</i> (1948) and Charles Biederman’s <i>Letters on the New Art</i> (1951) that, taken together, suggested a rational formal language that translated structures in nature into abstract composition. However, Evelyn A. Williams has further observed that ‘it is interesting to consider to what extent non-European “survival rhythms” are embedded in the subconscious personal iconography of Williams’ abstract work … a resounding repetition of motifs around the central composition; a roughly vertical symmetry, a primal punctuation of line; a balancing of massive three-dimensional form; parallel hatching; interlacing curves and the interlocking of planes.’ (Williams 2012, p.57.)</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Charlotte and Evelyn A. Williams (eds.), <i>Denis Williams: A Life in Works. New and Collected Essays</i>, Amsterdam 2010.<br/>Evelyn A. Williams, ‘Denis Williams in London: 1946–1957’, <i>Third Text</i>, vol.25, no.2, April 2011, pp.157–68, reproduced p.166 (incorrectly identified as <i>Painting in Six Related Rhythms</i> 1954).<br/>Evelyn A. Williams, <i>The Art of Denis Williams</i>, Leeds 2012, reproduced p.53.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson<br/>December 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint, acrylic paint, spray paint and marker pen on canvas | [
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} | 7019097 7002444 7008591 | France-Lise McGurn | 2,019 | [] | <p><span>Get in the Car 2019</span> is a large landscape-format painting in oil, acrylic, spray paint and marker pen on canvas. The composition is dominated by a central figure that presides over two others. Drawing on autobiographical references, the painting relates to universal concerns and themes related to self-identification. The central character is based on a photograph of the artist’s mother, Rita McGurn, in a long double-breasted coat. Deliberately restyled in the painting to allude to an imperial army uniform or jacket, the garment transforms the artist’s mother into a masculine archetypal figure. McGurn’s subjects are often depicted as androgynous; she has explained how their gender can change during the course of the painting process or can remain undefined: ‘I like to see the figures as personifications of thoughts, or as tropes or archetypes. To me, they’re glyphic, signature-like gestures rather than depicting the physical form of a person.’ (Quoted in <span>Art Now: Sleepless</span>, exhibition leaflet, Tate Britain, London 2019.)</p> | false | 1 | 26294 | painting oil paint acrylic spray marker pen canvas | [
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] | Get in the Car | 2,019 | Tate | 2019 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2002 × 3000 × 45 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999780" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Patrons</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Get in the Car 2019</i> is a large landscape-format painting in oil, acrylic, spray paint and marker pen on canvas. The composition is dominated by a central figure that presides over two others. Drawing on autobiographical references, the painting relates to universal concerns and themes related to self-identification. The central character is based on a photograph of the artist’s mother, Rita McGurn, in a long double-breasted coat. Deliberately restyled in the painting to allude to an imperial army uniform or jacket, the garment transforms the artist’s mother into a masculine archetypal figure. McGurn’s subjects are often depicted as androgynous; she has explained how their gender can change during the course of the painting process or can remain undefined: ‘I like to see the figures as personifications of thoughts, or as tropes or archetypes. To me, they’re glyphic, signature-like gestures rather than depicting the physical form of a person.’ (Quoted in <i>Art Now: Sleepless</i>, exhibition leaflet, Tate Britain, London 2019.)</p>\n<p>McGurn’s painterly style is characterised by a distinctive combination of gestural virtuosity with a throwaway aesthetic. Working directly on unprimed canvases, appreciating their raw quality, McGurn paints in brisk brush strokes using acrylic and oil, in seemingly automated, intuitive gestures. Quickly sketched linear drawings are complemented with washes of colours that bleed into each other in places, underlining the unlaboured aesthetic quality of the work. Such works can be understood as a playful painterly exercise in expressive efficiency and as a subversive response to the traditional understanding of painting as the highest form of art. </p>\n<p>McGurn has said that the title of this painting is a phrase her mother would use when commanding her five children on family excursions. Here, it embodies the shift of concerns that occurs with becoming a parent, having new responsibilities but also feeling fortified through building a family: ‘Life becomes the vehicle you’re driving,’ the artist has explained (McGurn, email correspondence with Tate curator Helen Delaney, July 2019).</p>\n<p>This painting was the first McGurn created as part of a body of work made specifically for her solo exhibition <i>Sleepless </i>at Tate Britain, London in 2019. The title of the show is a reference to the state of mind she herself was experiencing in the early days of motherhood. The fragmented and overlapping limbs in this and other paintings in the exhibition (<i>On my Tab </i>2019; <i>Dream and Drunkenness </i>2019) allude to the deliriously ecstatic sense of being out of one’s own body. The light-headedness and the blur of physical feelings, as well as the sense of empowerment that the central role of motherhood gives, are formally reflected in the overlapping compositional elements of the painting. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Christiana Spens, ‘France-Lise McGurn – Interview’, <i>Studio International</i>, 12 August 2019, <a href=\"https://www.studiointernational.com/index.php/france-lise-mcgurn-interview-sleepless-tate-britain\">https://www.studiointernational.com/index.php/france-lise-mcgurn-interview-sleepless-tate-britain</a>, accessed 10 September 2019.</p>\n<p>Zuzana Flaskova<br/>September 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Gouache and tempera on canvas | [
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} | 7008136 7000811 7017584 1000193 7001242 | Lisa Brice | 2,019 | [] | <p><span>Untitled</span> 2019 is a painting in gouache and synthetic tempera on canvas measuring roughly two metres high by one metre across. It shows a naked woman in stockings standing before her own reflection in an arched mirror. A plume of smoke billows upwards from the cigarette which dangles from her lips. She holds paintbrushes loosely in one hand and, at her feet, a palette lies discarded onto which blue paint from her brush drips and pools. With one hand on her hip, her stance is relaxed and confident and, though her head is turned away towards the mirror, her reflection boldly confronts the viewer with empty white eyes reminiscent of those painted by the early twentieth-century artist Amedeo Modigliani (1884–1920). Her position recalls the contrapposto posture which first appeared in the Early Classical Greek sculpture <span>Kritios Boy </span>c.480 BC (Acropolis Museum, Athens). This was arguably the first time in Western art that the human body had been used to express a particular psychological disposition; in the case of <span>Kritios Boy</span>, the calm evenness of temperament associated with the highest ideal of man. For Brice, this subversion of the traditionally misogynistic visual tropes of the canon of Western art history is key to her practice. She has explained:</p> | false | 1 | 27522 | painting gouache tempera canvas | [
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] | Untitled | 2,019 | Tate | 2019 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2000 × 950 mm
frame: 2026 × 974 × 46 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Harry and Lana David 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Untitled</i> 2019 is a painting in gouache and synthetic tempera on canvas measuring roughly two metres high by one metre across. It shows a naked woman in stockings standing before her own reflection in an arched mirror. A plume of smoke billows upwards from the cigarette which dangles from her lips. She holds paintbrushes loosely in one hand and, at her feet, a palette lies discarded onto which blue paint from her brush drips and pools. With one hand on her hip, her stance is relaxed and confident and, though her head is turned away towards the mirror, her reflection boldly confronts the viewer with empty white eyes reminiscent of those painted by the early twentieth-century artist Amedeo Modigliani (1884–1920). Her position recalls the contrapposto posture which first appeared in the Early Classical Greek sculpture <i>Kritios Boy </i>c.480 BC (Acropolis Museum, Athens). This was arguably the first time in Western art that the human body had been used to express a particular psychological disposition; in the case of <i>Kritios Boy</i>, the calm evenness of temperament associated with the highest ideal of man. For Brice, this subversion of the traditionally misogynistic visual tropes of the canon of Western art history is key to her practice. She has explained: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>As a figurative painter looking at art historical work, it is significant that the figuration is invariably created by white men for an audience of white men. Sometimes the simple act of repainting an image of a woman previously painted by a man, and thus re-authoring the work as a woman, or the use of strong colour to tweak the slant of eyes or mouth, <br/>(Lisa Brice, quoted in Mehrez 2018, p.18.)</blockquote>\n<p>Borrowing a multitude of art historical references, including characters, gestures, props and interiors, from artists such as Pablo Picasso, Edgar Degas and Edouard Manet, Brice paints strangely familiar scenes in new and often unsettling ways. Where the figures in her paintings might previously have been depicted as an objectified nude or a damsel in distress – there for the pleasure or amusement of others – Brice recasts them in new or altered situations with a strong sense of autonomy. In <i>Untitled </i>such roles are reversed one step further as the model now also assumes the position of the artist.</p>\n<p>This painting was first exhibited in the artist’s solo exhibition at Stephen Friedman Gallery, London in 2019. In her essay to accompany the exhibition, curator Laura Smith explained that Brice’s ‘works are not portraits of specific women, but they represent an idea, an escape towards ambiguity, emancipation and empowerment that reclaims the female body on both an international and transhistoric level (Laura Smith, ‘Lisa Brice: It’s a Feeling Thing’, in Stephen Friedman 2019, p.5). This deliberately ambiguous and universal nature of her subjects is echoed by Brice’s extensive use of cobalt blue to interrupt any obvious reading of the figures in terms of ethnicity. Blue has a multiplicity of art historical associations: it is traditionally the colour of the Virgin Mary’s cloak in early religious iconography; for Henri Matisse (1869–1954) the colour blue allowed him to focus intensely on the female form; for Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) it was associated with the deepest depths of sadness; and Yves Klein (1928–1962) employed his own trademarked shade of blue to create paintings using women as living paintbrushes. For Brice, who is South African but has strong ties to the Caribbean island of Trinidad, the colour also hints at the sense of liberation experienced by those involved with J’ouvert, a festival which marks the beginning of Carnival. As part of J’ouvert, revellers cover themselves with mud or coloured (usually blue) paint, freeing themselves from the limitations of their own character. The blue paint is possibly made from Reckitt’s powder, which historically was used throughout the colonies of the British Empire for blueing white cloth. The powder is also associated with skin bleaching, something that takes on particular relevance considering the roots of Brice’s work in Trinidad where shadeism – discrimination based on degrees of skin colour – is prevalent. The artist has explained:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>While I did the first blue drawing in an attempt to imitate the blue light of neon signs, which led to attempting to capture the fleeting colour of twilight in paint, the transitional gloaming hour, it has gone on to accumulate further meaning as the work has progressed. Drawing in paint and using a colour which is not usually associated with traditional monochrome drawings moves the work towards its painterly end.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>Anyone who has had the experience of playing J’ouvert could testify to the liberating transformation achieved from being covered in mud, (or coloured paint) and released from the usual perception of oneself and others. This notion of transformation is something I allude to in the figures depicted as veiled in paint, combined with the painterly spectacle of the Blue Devil – a formidable Trinidadian carnival character. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Brice, quoted in Mehrez 2018, p.19.)</blockquote>\n<p>In this particular work the fact that the blue shading of the figure’s reflection does not match her own means that her identity and intention are further veiled. Brice’s paintings consistently refuse straightforward readings; just as the activities or ethnicities of her subjects are hard to pin down, there is no clear sense of time or place in her work. Scenes take place in threshold spaces – not quite inside or outside and often partially hidden from view. This work is roughly the size of a door, underlining this liminal sense of space. Throughout Brice’s work there are repeated motifs of doorways, windows, curtains, grills, ironwork, screens and, as see in <i>Untitled</i>,<i> </i>mirrors, all of which provide stolen glimpses into other people’s spaces or reflections of other people’s private worlds.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Aïcha Mehrez and Lisa Brice in Conversation’, <i>Tate Etc.</i>, no.43, Summer<br/>2018; an edited version of this interview is also available at <a href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/tate-etc/issue-43-summer-2018/lisa-brice-art-now-interview-aicha-mehrez\">https://www.tate.org.uk/tate-etc/issue-43-summer-2018/lisa-brice-art-now-interview-aicha-mehrez</a>, accessed 28 October 2019.<br/>Laura Smith, <i>Lisa Brice:</i> <i>It’s a Feeling Thing</i>, exhibition booklet, Stephen Friedman Gallery, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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} | 7008136 7013154 7005685 | Elizabeth Magill | 1,999 | [] | <p>Elizabeth Magill’s <span>Verge Near Flyover</span> 1999 is a large-scale painting that depicts a motorway flyover in half-light; whether it is dusk or dawn is unclear. Despite being almost two metres wide, the canvas offers only a partial account of the scene. The landscape is painted with monochromatic washes of dark blue, and much of the detail is swallowed up by an inky darkness. The flyover bridge is silhouetted darkly against the sky. The other prominent feature is a single sodium motorway light, its pole rising up from the slanted verge at a slight angle, not quite vertical, casting a pale light from each of its two bulbs. Beyond the flyover, the onward path of the road is delineated by pairs of bulbs snaking into the distance. The blurry swathes of deep blue paint are evidence of Magill’s tendency to work partially with the canvas on the horizontal. Embracing unpredictability, she builds up layer upon layer of thinly diluted poured paint, which pools here and there across the surface. Areas of thickly congealed paint return any illusion of a fading sky back to the materiality of the paint. Magill’s distressed surfaces are complex, combining various approaches to using paint within each canvas, and show evidence of the very physical approach to their making.</p> | false | 1 | 29756 | painting oil paint canvas | [] | Verge Near Flyover | 1,999 | Tate | 1999 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 1678 × 1982 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>Elizabeth Magill’s <i>Verge Near Flyover</i> 1999 is a large-scale painting that depicts a motorway flyover in half-light; whether it is dusk or dawn is unclear. Despite being almost two metres wide, the canvas offers only a partial account of the scene. The landscape is painted with monochromatic washes of dark blue, and much of the detail is swallowed up by an inky darkness. The flyover bridge is silhouetted darkly against the sky. The other prominent feature is a single sodium motorway light, its pole rising up from the slanted verge at a slight angle, not quite vertical, casting a pale light from each of its two bulbs. Beyond the flyover, the onward path of the road is delineated by pairs of bulbs snaking into the distance. The blurry swathes of deep blue paint are evidence of Magill’s tendency to work partially with the canvas on the horizontal. Embracing unpredictability, she builds up layer upon layer of thinly diluted poured paint, which pools here and there across the surface. Areas of thickly congealed paint return any illusion of a fading sky back to the materiality of the paint. Magill’s distressed surfaces are complex, combining various approaches to using paint within each canvas, and show evidence of the very physical approach to their making. </p>\n<p>\n<i>Verge Near Flyover</i> presents itself initially as familiar, with instantly recognisable subject matter and references to the genre of landscape painting. However, there is an immediate friction between figurative legibility and the insistent visceral materiality of the work. As with many of Magill’s paintings, it also creates a sense of disquiet and unease. The places that Magill depicts, although rarely relating to a specific place, are mainly drawn from her memories of the landscape where she grew up in Northern Ireland. <i>Verge Near Flyover</i> is one of a number of paintings from this period whose titles emphasise a sense of being on the periphery of something, perhaps the edge of a city or a forest, or in this case a motorway (others include <i>Forest Edge</i> 1998 and <i>Outside Stadium</i> 2000). The motorway location is banal, and yet the painting suggests a disquieting narrative possibility, something that the curator Annie Fletcher has described in writing about the artist’s work: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>There is a constant, maybe even fraught relationship between Magill’s dramatic use of representation and the more mundane but very present reality. Magill likes to think of her rendering of landscape as the creating of non-places, and that is exactly what they are – half imagined, vaguely located and instantly recognisable. But not isolated. Instead they are precariously balanced on the edge, nearing something that threatens their staged tranquillity.<br/>(Annie Fletcher, ‘Elizabeth Magill’, in <i>The Glen Dimplex Artists Award Exhibition 2001</i>, exhibition catalogue, Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin 2001, p.4.) </blockquote>\n<p>This narrative sensibility is a feature of <i>Verge Near Flyover:</i> its composition, with the flvover and motorway lights positioned high on the canvas, appears to draw on the low, wide-angle shot from cinematography which is frequently used to convey a sense of threat. </p>\n<p>Though born in Canada, Magill grew up in Northern Ireland and her childhood there coincided with The Troubles, a particularly violent period of territorial tension and conflict in the region which began in the 1960s. Her ambivalent treatment of landscape has been associated with this history. For example, the critic and art historian Declan Long has written that ‘particular places are not often identified in any reductive, literal way in Magill’s art, but the assumption tends to linger that wherever we are – and however alien and absurd the content of the pictures becomes – we are not very far away from the formative world of her youth in the “divided landscapes” of Northern Ireland’ (Declan Long, ‘Elizabeth Magill’, <i>RES</i>, no.11, October 2014, pp.22–9). Indeed, Magill has spoken of how her experience of viewing the landscape in her native County Antrim, an area of great beauty, was never without an accompanying awareness of the violent atrocities that occurred within it.</p>\n<p>Magill’s ambivalent, uneasy landscapes can also be understood within a wider context in the 1990s of Irish artists interrogating the landscape genre, so important for the construction of a nationalist identity for earlier generations. Curator Caoimhín Mac Giolla Léith has written: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>One of the stories that can be told of Irish art in the 1990s is a story of geographic dispersal and concomitant cultural diffusion and cross-pollination. This is reflected in different ways in the art produced during these years. A case in point is the reinterpretation of traditional representations of the landscape. Where an earlier generation of artists was happy to celebrate and romanticise the native landscape, much recent art prefers to subject it to various interrogations, reconfigurations and mutations … Elizabeth Magill de-romanticises conventional touristic areas of outstanding natural beauty, such as her native Country Antrim … In so doing, she has produced a series of distressed, hybrid landscapes that partake equally of a melancholic beauty and a toxic dystopianism. <br/>(Caoimhín Mac Giolla Léith, ‘Irish Art in the 1990s’, in <i>Shifting Ground: Selected Works of Irish Art 1950–2000</i>, exhibition catalogue, Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin 2000, pp.51–2.)</blockquote>\n<p>Elsewhere, Mac Giolla Léith has discussed Magill’s work as both engaging with and resisting the legacy of such Irish landscape painters as Paul Henry (1876–1958), whose paintings of the west of Ireland’s landscape held a specifically nationalist significance in the 1920 and 1930s. Their focus on the rural west had political resonance as this was the celebrated cradle of Gaelic culture. While Antrim is geographically removed from the west coast of Ireland, Mac Giolla Léith has argued that the ‘much vaunted beauty of its isles and coastline allows for its east assimilation into a generalised image of the romantic Irish landscape, which is intrinsically associated with the western seaboard’ (Mac Giolla Léith, ‘Elizabeth Magill’, in PS1 1999, p.100). Invoking W.J.T. Mitchell’s claim that ‘landscape is an object of nostalgia in a postcolonial and postmodern era’, Mac Giolla Léith maintains that, by contrast, ‘no such nostalgia for a prelapsarian past is entertained in Elizabeth Magill’s fractured, hybrid landscapes’ (Mac Giolla Léith, ‘Elizabeth Magill’, 1999, p.100).</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Caoimhín Mac Giolla Léith, ‘Elizabeth Magill’, in <i>0044: Contemporary Irish Art in Britain</i>, exhibition catalogue, PS1, New York 1999, pp.96–101.<br/>Declan Long, ‘Elizabeth Magill’, <i>RES</i>, no.11, October 2014, pp. 22–9.<br/>\n<i>Elizabeth Magill: Headland</i>, exhibition catalogue, New Art Gallery Walsall, Walsall 2018.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Acrylic paint, enamel paint and rhinestones on wood panel | [
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} | 7011781 7001523 1001977 7000198 1000004 | Raqib Shaw | 2,014 | [] | <p><span>Self Portrait in the Studio at Peckham (After Steenwyck the Younger) II</span> 2014–15 is a large-scale, rhinestone-encrusted painting on wood by Raqib Shaw. At over two metres high, the painting’s composition is dominated by an imposing, richly decorated classical interior. A raised platform in the foreground is framed by arches and columns, as if it were a stage set. In the lower right-hand corner of the composition, a table is weighed down with an ostentatious display of riches, featuring a number of items from the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom, including the Imperial State Crown. A crate full of champagne bottles sits beneath the table. The display of wealth extends across the canvas with extravagant floral presentations, overflowing cornucopia and roaming peacocks. Amongst the riches, a large number of skeletons cavort, enacting a particularly macabre <span>memento mori</span>. A group of them hold champagne bottles aloft, while some attempt to pour the foaming liquid into their gaping, skinless jaws. Above them another group swing from the ceiling on ropes, performing a grotesque trapeze act, while another of their number plays on a grand piano. Behind these skeletal figures, an exterior view can be glimpsed, with the tip of The Shard, London’s tallest building, visible. Seated on the ground, closer to the foreground, is the skeleton to which the eye is primarily drawn. With ankle irons attaching it to ball and chains, its mask-like face has brightly painted lips, opened to reveal a forked tongue. Flesh remains on parts of its body, notably the thighs which are wide apart to reveal the white fangs of the <span>vagina dentata</span>.</p> | false | 1 | 9784 | painting acrylic paint enamel rhinestones wood panel | [] | Self Portrait in the Studio at Peckham (After Steenwyck the Younger) II | 2,014 | Tate | 2014–15 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2134 × 1521 mm
frame: 2170 × 1558 × 72 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the Mottahedan Family 2019 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Self Portrait in the Studio at Peckham (After Steenwyck the Younger) II</i> 2014–15 is a large-scale, rhinestone-encrusted painting on wood by Raqib Shaw. At over two metres high, the painting’s composition is dominated by an imposing, richly decorated classical interior. A raised platform in the foreground is framed by arches and columns, as if it were a stage set. In the lower right-hand corner of the composition, a table is weighed down with an ostentatious display of riches, featuring a number of items from the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom, including the Imperial State Crown. A crate full of champagne bottles sits beneath the table. The display of wealth extends across the canvas with extravagant floral presentations, overflowing cornucopia and roaming peacocks. Amongst the riches, a large number of skeletons cavort, enacting a particularly macabre <i>memento mori</i>. A group of them hold champagne bottles aloft, while some attempt to pour the foaming liquid into their gaping, skinless jaws. Above them another group swing from the ceiling on ropes, performing a grotesque trapeze act, while another of their number plays on a grand piano. Behind these skeletal figures, an exterior view can be glimpsed, with the tip of The Shard, London’s tallest building, visible. Seated on the ground, closer to the foreground, is the skeleton to which the eye is primarily drawn. With ankle irons attaching it to ball and chains, its mask-like face has brightly painted lips, opened to reveal a forked tongue. Flesh remains on parts of its body, notably the thighs which are wide apart to reveal the white fangs of the <i>vagina dentata</i>.</p>\n<p>Shaw was born in Calcutta and has lived and worked in London since he moved to the United Kingdom in 1998. His work draws on a wide range of cultural references, from art history, mythology, theatre, science and natural history. His highly detailed technique is achieved by using porcupine quills to apply enamel painted lines, which are subsequently filled in with acrylic paint. Glitter and semi-precious stones are added to these elaborate, densely patterned surfaces. <i>Self Portrait in the Studio at Peckham (After Steenwyck the Younger) II </i>is one of a number of paintings made for the artist’s exhibition at White Cube, London in 2016, which was titled <i>Self Portraits</i>. The exhibition included a series of paintings based, in part, on old masters from the collections of the National Gallery, London, and Prado Museum, Madrid. In this case, the painting being referenced is <i>Croesus and Solon</i> c.1610 by <a href=\"https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/artists/hendrick-van-steenwyck-the-younger\">Hendrick van Steenwyck the Younger</a> (c.1580–1640) and <a href=\"https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/artists/jan-brueghel-the-elder\">Follower of Jan Brueghel the Elder</a> (1568–1625), which is in the collection of the National Gallery. This painting depicts a moment recounted by the ancient Greek historians Herodotus and Plutarch, when the Athenian philosopher Solon disputes with Croesus, King of Lydia, on the subject of happiness. As Solon passes though the palace of the immensely wealthy king, Croesus asks the philosopher to name the happiest man in the world, believing it to be himself. He is disappointed when Solon argues that, contrary to Croesus’s belief, human happiness is dependent not on wealth but on the good fortune of a person’s life overall. Shaw reimagines this exchange as a nightmarish display of ostentation and grotesque reminders of the inevitability of death.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Raqib Shaw: Reinventing the Old Masters</i>, exhibition catalogue, National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh 2018.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Paint, plastic doll’s eyes and beads on hardboard | [
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} | 7003154 7003120 1000080 | Carol Rama | 1,968 | [] | <p><span>Bricolage</span> 1968 is a work on Masonite with collaged elements by the Italian artist Carol Rama. It is thickly painted with brown, yellow, red and black paint, with four groupings of dolls’ eyes embedded in the surface. It measures 700 by 600 millimetres, a size which is consistent with that of Rama’s other works of this period. It was made in Turin and is signed and dated in the lower left corner. The title is a French word for something that has been constructed from a diverse range of objects and materials.</p> | false | 1 | 29332 | painting paint plastic dolls eyes beads hardboard | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Bricolage</i> 1968 is a work on Masonite with collaged elements by the Italian artist Carol Rama. It is thickly painted with brown, yellow, red and black paint, with four groupings of dolls’ eyes embedded in the surface. It measures 700 by 600 millimetres, a size which is consistent with that of Rama’s other works of this period. It was made in Turin and is signed and dated in the lower left corner. The title is a French word for something that has been constructed from a diverse range of objects and materials.</p>\n<p>After a period in the 1950s where she made watercolour drawings, often featuring explicit imagery, and geometric abstract paintings, in the 1960s Rama created a number of bricolages using a variety of materials, including metal shavings, dolls’ eyes, wire, syringes, fur and animal claws, in combination with paint and ink. In the early 1970s, engaging with the materials of the local industries of her home town of Turin in northern Italy, and particularly its car production, she began to use rubber, car tires, bicycle inner tubes and electric wire in her work. </p>\n<p>This particular work is one of a number of bricolages that Rama made using dolls’ eyes; here they are larger than in many other works and some have lashes. The support is also more substantial that a number of her other dolls’ eye bricolages, some of which are on paper (see, for example, <i>Spurting Out</i> [Schizzano via] 1967, Museum of Modern Art, New York). In all these works, Rama usually set the eyes in grounds of loosely brushed or splashed paint or ink. The handling of the painted medium derives from tendencies in post-war abstraction such as <i>art informel</i> and abstract expressionism. Meanwhile, Rama’s treatment of eyes and her dismembering of dolls connects to numerous examples of surrealist literature, film and art as seen in, for example, the French theorist George Bataille’s novella <i>Histoire de l’œil</i> (‘Story of the Eye’, 1928); Salvador Dalí and Luis Buñuel’s short silent film <i>Un Chien Andalou</i> (1929); Hans Bellmer’s photographs of dolls in his book <i>Die Puppe</i> (1934); or Dora Maar’s photomontage <i>Les Yeux: Element Pour Photomontage</i> 1935, which Maar made by photographing dolls’ eyes set against pools of water. </p>\n<p>Curator Flavia Frigeri has written of Rama’s dolls’ eye works: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Certainly one of the most intriguing and puzzling features of Rama’s art is her use of doll eyes. Of different colours and sizes, they become powerful tools in engaging the viewer. Singly or <i>en masse</i>, the eyes represent vision as both a concept and an action. Viewing and being viewed become one as the doll eyes, with their perky gaze, coerce the viewer into looking. Never squinting, they hold the stare, as if the artist herself were looking and beholding through these accoutrements, alternatively borrowed from taxidermy and child’s play. <br/>(Flavia Frigeri, ‘How Much Light in Black’, in Lévy Gorvy 2019, pp.34–5.)</blockquote>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Beatriz Preciado and Anne Dressen (eds.), <i>The Passion According to Carol Rama</i>, MACBA, Barcelona 2014.<br/>Helga Christoffersen and Massimiliano Gioni (eds.), <i>Carol Rama: Antibodies</i>, New Museum, New York 2017.<br/>Flavia Frigeri (ed.), <i>Carol Rama: Eye of Eyes</i>, Lévy Gorvy, New York 2019.</p>\n<p>Mark Godfrey <br/>June 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on board | [
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"date": "1928–1995",
"fc": "Michael Andrews",
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] | 121,435 | [
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{
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] | 1,959 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/michael-andrews-649" aria-label="More by Michael Andrews" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Michael Andrews</a> | SelfPortrait | 2,020 | [] | Accepted by HM Government in Lieu of Inheritance Tax from the collection of Lord & Lady Attenborough and allocated to Tate 2018 | T15554 | {
"id": 6,
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} | 7012005 7008160 7002445 7008591 7011781 7008136 | Michael Andrews | 1,959 | [] | <p>In <span>Self-Portrait</span> 1958–9 Michael Andrews represents his head and torso in a frontal pose, his gaze raised and projected ahead. He is wearing ordinary, informal clothes: a shirt with the collar unbuttoned, a red jumper and a dark jacket. It is one of very few known self-portraits by Andrews. In this work the painter confronts his own image without self-regard or sentimentality; his image lacks the theatricality of Francis Bacon’s (1909–1992) self-portraits or the intensely self-assured stance of many of those by Lucian Freud (1922–2011), both of whom were Andrews’s friends and contemporaries in post-war London. <span>Self-Portrait</span> shows a painter who is not aiming to create an iconic image of himself, but who is appraising himself, searching and seeking knowledge through visual scrutiny. In this respect, the painting can be seen in relation to the teaching of William Coldstream, Professor at the Slade School of Fine Art in London at the time Andrews was a student there, as well as the work of Freud, who also taught Andrews at the Slade and became his close friend.</p> | false | 1 | 649 | painting oil paint board | [
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"dateText": "1 January 2026 – 31 May 2026",
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],
"id": 13151,
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"title": "School of London - The Hague",
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] | Self-Portrait | 1,959 | Tate | 1959 | CLEARED | 6 | frame: 797 × 698 × 46 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Accepted by HM Government in Lieu of Inheritance Tax from the collection of Lord & Lady Attenborough and allocated to Tate 2018 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>In <i>Self-Portrait</i> 1958–9 Michael Andrews represents his head and torso in a frontal pose, his gaze raised and projected ahead. He is wearing ordinary, informal clothes: a shirt with the collar unbuttoned, a red jumper and a dark jacket. It is one of very few known self-portraits by Andrews. In this work the painter confronts his own image without self-regard or sentimentality; his image lacks the theatricality of Francis Bacon’s (1909–1992) self-portraits or the intensely self-assured stance of many of those by Lucian Freud (1922–2011), both of whom were Andrews’s friends and contemporaries in post-war London. <i>Self-Portrait</i> shows a painter who is not aiming to create an iconic image of himself, but who is appraising himself, searching and seeking knowledge through visual scrutiny. In this respect, the painting can be seen in relation to the teaching of William Coldstream, Professor at the Slade School of Fine Art in London at the time Andrews was a student there, as well as the work of Freud, who also taught Andrews at the Slade and became his close friend.</p>\n<p>In contrast to Andrews’s large compositions of figures from this period, such as <i>The Deer Park</i> 1962 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/andrews-the-deer-park-t01897\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T01897</span></a>), which relied heavily on photographic sources taken from magazines as well as art historical reproductions, his portraiture is seemingly more naturalistic and was executed from both observation and imagination. Of portraiture, Andrews said: ‘All true appreciations of people are bound to be blurred (I think this goes for images too). Finding a bit here, a bit there – its [sic] all approximate. Everything is “more or less” in my opinion.’ (Quoted in Tate Britain 2001, p.14.) The genre occupied Andrews in the late 1950s and early 1960s particularly, though he pursued it to a lesser extent throughout his career. His ambition to convey a sense of the approximation of the experience of life was channelled in his use of disparate sources, painting the same image from memory and from life as well as using photographic references. As in other paintings from this period, such as <i>Portrait of Tim Behrens </i>1962 (Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid), the face in <i>Self-Portrait</i> is the part of the image described with more clarity and precision. </p>\n<p>Andrews painted the picture on board rather than on canvas, possibly because this support allowed him to manipulate the paint more easily. Built up in layers of paint over an initial darker tone, the background of the picture and the jacket register the painter’s vigorous brushstrokes. The paint is applied with different and often contrasting directionality and tonalities, which confer to these elements an abstract and gestural quality. By contrast, the face is painted in a more detailed and naturalistic manner, reflecting the fact that when we look at a person in real life, the face is what we mostly focus on, while other details, such as clothes and background, are of lesser importance and are often registered less clearly.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Paul Moorhouse, <i>The Transformation of Appearance: Andrews, Auerbach, Bacon, Freud, Kossoff</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Gallery, London 1991.<br/>Colin St John Wilson,<i> The Artist at Work: On the Working Methods of William Coldstream and Michael Andrews</i>, London 1999.<br/>Paul Moorhouse, ‘“Strange Consolation”: The Art of Michael Andrews’, in <i>Michael Andrews</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Britain, London 2001.</p>\n<p>Elena Crippa<br/>January 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Aluminium, acrylic sheets, led lamps and pvc | [
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] | 121,436 | [
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] | 2,000 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/sejla-kameric-27576" aria-label="More by Šejla Kameric" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Šejla Kameric</a> | EUOthers | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Tate Members 2019 | T15555 | {
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} | 7015438 7018774 7006664 | Šejla Kameric | 2,000 | [] | false | 1 | 27576 | installation aluminium acrylic sheets led lamps pvc | [] | EU/Others | 2,000 | Tate | 2000 | CLEARED | 3 | object, each: 350 × 1500 × 300 mm. Display dimensions variable. | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2019 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p></p>\n<p>Kamerić’s practice is characterised by what the artist calls a ‘copy and paste’ method: the dislocation of material borrowed from the real world into a new environment to offer it a new reading (Koleček 2009, p.67). <i>EU/Others </i>borrows the visual language of airport signs, which direct passengers to join particular passport queues at border controls. The work was produced in direct reference to the artist’s own experience of travelling to Slovenia as a citizen of Bosnia and Herzegovina following the break-up of Yugoslavia, where the countries had been part of a contiguous territory. Kamerić commented that: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Travelling to Ljubljana back then was an extremely frustrating task for someone with a Bosnian passport. You had to get a visa and the application process was difficult and humiliating. It was just after the war and one was inclined to imagine that one was free; the siege was over, there were no more frontlines and no more captivity … But again there were a lot of new things to confront. The EU integration process was at its early stages, and two different signs were placed at the border crossings of member countries, which read ‘EU Citizens’ and ‘Others’ during those days. These signs were changed later on, and have been replaced with politically correct versions which read ‘EU Citizens’ and ‘Non-EU Citizens’. I had never questioned whether I was a European citizen or not until that moment I had to stand in a queue which bore the sign of ‘Others’ at the Slovenian border. Slovenia and Bosnia had been part of the same country (Yugoslavia) just a few years back in time. <br/>(Quoted in ‘Başak Doğa Temür in Conversation with Šejla Kamerić’, in <i>Šejla Kamerić: When the Heart Goes Bing Bam Boom</i>, p.24.)</blockquote>\n<p>In dislocating the signs from their original context, the artist interrogates notions of belonging and exclusion and the arbitrariness behind this designation, decided by circumstances beyond the individual’s control, such as the shifting of territorial boundaries and place of birth. </p>\n<p>Kamerić’s practice addresses issues of trauma and memory through her own experiences of the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina in characteristically oblique ways. The visual language of segregation within <i>EU/Others</i> indirectly refers to the specific conflict she had experienced, as she has explained:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Today we know that one of the most important factors that started the Bosnian war was the plan … to divide Bosnia and Herzegovina into cantons separated according to ethnicity … Ethnic minorities were driven out of the various cantons, whose borders were, on top of that, still disputed. Anyone might wake up and discover that he had become an OTHER overnight. <br/>(Quoted in Anselm Wagner, ‘Sarajevo, Mon Amour’, in Temür 2015, p.23.)</blockquote>\n<p>In placing her work as an intervention in public space, Kamerić creates an artificial environment that momentarily enforces the arbitrary segregation and categorisation of those who experience it, while giving visitors choice and therefore control over which category they fall into. This indirect strategy, in the context of conflict and trauma, can be seen as being capable of shifting the dynamics of power, as described by the art historian Anselm Wagner: ‘Kameric works against current clichés about victims (poor, desperate, submissively seeking help etc.), because they only serve to produce a permanent condition of dependency, so that the “helpers” can extend their position of power.’ (Anselm Wagner, ‘Sarajevo, Mon Amour’, in Kamerić and Solioz 2009, p.28.) In a broader context, within Tate’s collection, the work gains local resonance in light of the United Kingdom’s relationship with the European Union.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Šejla Kamerić and Christophe Solioz (eds.),<i> Šejla Kamerić: TWO WORDS/DEUX MOTS. Medley/Medlee</i>, Geneva 2009.<br/>Michal Koleček, ‘Is it rain or is it a hurricane?’, in <i>Is it rain or is it a hurricane, I don’t know</i>, Ústí nad Labem, Czech Republic 2009.<br/>Başak Doğa Temür,<i> Šejla Kamerić: When the Heart Goes Bing Bam Boom</i>, Istanbul 2015.</p>\n<p>Dina Akhmadeeva<br/>April 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, projection, black and white and sound (mono) | [
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] | 2,012 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/sir-steve-mcqueen-2387" aria-label="More by Sir Steve McQueen" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Sir Steve McQueen</a> | End Credits | 2,020 | [] | Presented by the artist and Thomas Dane Gallery in honour of Sir Nicholas Serota 2017 | T15557 | {
"id": 10,
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} | 7011781 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Sir Steve McQueen | 2,012 | [] | <p><span>End Credits</span> 2012 is a single-screen projection with audio, shown on a continuous loop. The work is inspired by the life of the African American singer, actor and political activist Paul Robeson (1898–1976). It consists of black and white copies of scans of every document in Robeson’s recently declassified FBI file, the majority of which have been heavily redacted with black marker. A successful movie star in the 1930s, Robeson became increasingly committed to political and social issues. A powerful voice for social justice, Robeson was actively involved with the Civil Rights Movement in America and is considered an important symbol of the fight against fascism abroad and racism at home. In 1946, together with W.E.B DuBois and Albert Einstein, Robeson organised the National Crusade to End Lynching. His advocacy of anti-imperialism and affiliation with communism resulted in him being blacklisted by the United States government during the McCarthy era and his career as a performer was destroyed. His championship of the rights of workers and blacks, a trip to the Soviet Union and public appearances both at home and abroad not only made Robeson one of the most celebrated figures in the African American movement; he was also perceived as a serious threat to the anti-Communist politics of the Cold War. FBI documents obtained by McQueen through the Freedom of Information Act reveal that United States surveillance agencies had begun investigating Robeson as early as 1941. This scrutiny continued throughout the rest of his life. In poor health, he spent his final decade in seclusion in New York and Philadelphia.</p> | false | 1 | 2387 | time-based media video projection black white sound mono | [
{
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],
"id": 9152,
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] | End Credits | 2,012 | Tate | 2012–20 | CLEARED | 10 | Video duration: 12hours, 54min
Audio duration: 42hours, 6min, 20sec | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the artist and Thomas Dane Gallery in honour of Sir Nicholas Serota 2017 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>End Credits</i> 2012 is a single-screen projection with audio, shown on a continuous loop. The work is inspired by the life of the African American singer, actor and political activist Paul Robeson (1898–1976). It consists of black and white copies of scans of every document in Robeson’s recently declassified FBI file, the majority of which have been heavily redacted with black marker. A successful movie star in the 1930s, Robeson became increasingly committed to political and social issues. A powerful voice for social justice, Robeson was actively involved with the Civil Rights Movement in America and is considered an important symbol of the fight against fascism abroad and racism at home. In 1946, together with W.E.B DuBois and Albert Einstein, Robeson organised the National Crusade to End Lynching. His advocacy of anti-imperialism and affiliation with communism resulted in him being blacklisted by the United States government during the McCarthy era and his career as a performer was destroyed. His championship of the rights of workers and blacks, a trip to the Soviet Union and public appearances both at home and abroad not only made Robeson one of the most celebrated figures in the African American movement; he was also perceived as a serious threat to the anti-Communist politics of the Cold War. FBI documents obtained by McQueen through the Freedom of Information Act reveal that United States surveillance agencies had begun investigating Robeson as early as 1941. This scrutiny continued throughout the rest of his life. In poor health, he spent his final decade in seclusion in New York and Philadelphia.</p>\n<p>McQueen chose to pay tribute to the civil rights activist and actor in the form of ‘end credits’, structuring his single-screen projection so that the scanned files are reminiscent of the rolling credits at the end of a film. Thousands of pages of heavily censored material from FBI files are translated into nearly six hours of film footage, highlighting the explicitly political nature of the discrimination, marginalisation and persecution that destroyed Robeson’s career. This is combined with a spoken-word soundtrack in which the documents are individually read out by a range of male and female voices. The visual and acoustic material soon shifts out of kilter so that there is a noticeable discrepancy between the two, and the work creates an asymmetrical loop.</p>\n<p>\n<i>End Credits </i>was produced in an edition of four with two artist’s proofs. Tate’s copy is number four in the main edition.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Isabel Friedli (ed.), <i>Steve McQueen Works</i>, Heidelberg 2012, pp.168–71.<br/>Stephen Hauser (ed.), <i>I Want the Screen to be a Massive Mirror: Lectures on Steve McQueen</i>, Heidelberg 2013, pp.115, 175.</p>\n<p>Clarrie Wallis<br/>May 2017</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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] | 1,955 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/max-bill-15616" aria-label="More by Max Bill" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Max Bill</a> | Accents six zones | 2,020 | Akzente aus sechs Zonen | [] | Purchased with funds provided by the Ampersand Foundation, the Nicholas Themans Trust and Tate Members 2020 | T15559 | {
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} | 7011731 7003712 7003670 7000084 | Max Bill | 1,955 | [] | <p>Max Bill believed that art could be used for political and social good. Working as an artist, architect and designer, he was very active in the 1950s. Bill’s art was mainly abstract, although he based it on logic rather than feeling or expression. ‘A work of art’, he wrote, ‘must be entirely conceived and shaped by the mind before its execution.’ Bill was awarded the prize for sculpture at the first Sao Paulo Biennal in 1951. He also gave a series of influential lectures when he visited Brazil as a member of the jury of the second Biennal. He made Accents from Six Zones in 1955. While Bill used geometrical structures within his work, he balanced them with instinct, later declaring ‘Art is an expression of freedom’.</p><p><em>Gallery label, December 2020</em></p> | false | 1 | 15616 | painting oil paint canvas | [] | Accents from six zones | 1,955 | Tate | 1955 | CLEARED | 6 | frame: 915 × 1267 × 73 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the Ampersand Foundation, the Nicholas Themans Trust and <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>Max Bill’s <i>Accents from Six Zones</i> 1955 is a landscape-format oil painting that has a plain ground on which are located the six coloured ‘accents’ of the title. Each is bilateral and broadly rectangular, made up of paired colours brushed out from their borderline and linked in sequence. The four vertical and two horizontal borderlines between these ‘accents’ reveal the underlying geometrical structure of the composition. This is confirmed by the dimensions of the canvas (which the artist took care to inscribe on the reverse of the stretcher as ‘105 x 70’ centimetres) and equates to an alignment of six 35 x 35-centimetre squares, arranged in two horizontal rows of three.</p>\n<p>Geometrical analysis of the painting shows that Bill must have sub-divided the six major squares further by eighths to yield the smaller grid which determines the size of the colour blocks. This, in turn, reveals Bill’s system which is based on a simple, if concealed, additive sequence governing the geometry. It may be unravelled as follows. Starting with the major square at the top right, the orange block is located in the seventh grid square in from the right side along the horizontal half-way line. Moving clockwise and rotating the major square in the bottom right corner, locates the next colour in the sixth grid square (now counting up the vertical dividing line). In the major square in the bottom centre, the blue block slides into the fifth grid square. A further clockwise rotation to the bottom left major square places the red colour block in the fourth grid square in from the left edge. For the major square at the top left, the colour block (again following rotation), falls in the third grid square from the top. The sequence is resolved in the central major square at the top, where the colour block is located in the second grid square from the top. The pairing of the colour blocks, and the numerical differentiation between eight subdivisions and six division results in the satisfying location of both of the colour blocks in the top right major square within the second grid square (one on the vertical and the other on the horizontal dividing line).</p>\n<p>None of this hidden geometry is immediately revealed. However, it is strongly implied by the rotational pattern laid out through the orientation of the paired colours around the vertical and horizontal axes. From the top right, the colours are as follows: purple/orange, orange/magenta, magenta/blue, blue/red, red/green and green/purple. These colours do not, however, follow an orthodox artistic colour wheel nor do they fall into a pattern of paired complementaries. It would appear, therefore, that Bill broke with strict serialism in this process. This is typical of his practice and shows his willingness, following the example of Paul Klee (1879–1940), to infuse rigour with randomness in achieving a harmonious composition.</p>\n<p>Made in 1955, <i>Accents from Six Zones </i>comes from an important period in Max Bill’s activity. In 1953, with Inge Aicher-Scholl and Otl Aicher, he co-founded the Hochschule für Gestaltung Ulm (the School of Art and Design in Ulm), serving as the school’s architect and Director. The institution was explicitly Bauhaus-inspired and drew from his own experience as a student at the Bauhaus in Dessau between 1927 and 1929, where he studied under Klee, Wassily Kandinsky (1866–1944) and László Moholy-Nagy (1895–1946). Like the Hochschule, <i>Accents from Six Zones</i> falls into a significant period heralded by Bill’s major exhibition at the Museu de Arte de São Paulo in Brazil in 1951, which coincided with his being awarded the Prize for Sculpture at the São Paulo Biennal. He was a member of the jury of the Second São Paulo Biennal in 1953 and gave lectures during that visit. As a result of this exposure, Bill was acknowledged as a point of inspiration and challenge for a subsequent generation of Brazilian artists that included Hélio Oiticica (1937–1980) and Lygia Clark (1920–1988).</p>\n<p>Bill conceived his paintings and sculptures as ‘concrete’, meaning that they were conceived aside from any reference to the natural world. He maintained this designation from the pioneering practices of the Bauhaus, through the international alignment of Abstraction-Création (to whose annual publication he contributed regularly from 1933 to 1936) and in the foundation of the Allianz group in Zurich in 1937. In an important suite of lithographs of that moment, <i>Fifteen Variations on a Single Theme </i>1936–8, Bill explored a set of structural systems that could generate compositions of extremely varied appearance. This ability to work creatively within a set of limits reflected Bill’s admiration and interpretation of Paul Klee’s practices and such strategies provided the foundations for <i>Accents from Six Zones</i> and other works of variation. Addressing this in his ‘Fifteen Statements on Art’ in 1969, Bill asserted: ‘Art is an expression of freedom. If it ever loses this function, it will lose its point.’ (Bill 1969, p.21.) </p>\n<p>The painting remained in the artist’s collection until his death and was retained by his estate until 2017. It has been widely exhibited as a result. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Max Bill, ‘Fifteen Statements on Art’, <i>Chroniques de l’Art Vivant</i>, no.5, 1969, pp.20–1.<br/>Valentina Auber, <i>Max Bill ou la recherche d’un art logique</i>, Lausanne 1979.<br/>Marta Herford, <i>Max Bill: Ohne Anfang ohne Ende; No Beginning No End</i>, Zurich 2008.</p>\n<p>Matthew Gale<br/>March 2019, updated September 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Wood, plastic, polystyrene, plaster and paint | [
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] | 121,441 | [
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] | 1,986 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/edward-allington-643" aria-label="More by Edward Allington" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Edward Allington</a> | Architectural Fragment Third column | 2,020 | [] | Presented by the artist's estate 2020 | T15560 | {
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} | 7008117 7002445 7008591 | Edward Allington | 1,986 | [] | <p>This sculpture is made of fake plastic bricks. The top is a painted plaster version of an architectural feature which would have been placed at the top of a column in ancient Greece. However, its ambiguous title gives no indication of Allington’s original source. The loose bricks at its base suggest that it is about to collapse or is still being built. For the critic Michael Newman, Allington used ‘the degradation of a classical heritage’ to convey ‘a sense of falsity and loss’.</p><p><em>Gallery label, October 2020</em></p> | false | 1 | 643 | sculpture wood plastic polystyrene plaster paint | [
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] | Architectural Fragment / Third column | 1,986 | Tate | 1986 | CLEARED | 8 | Overall display dimensions variable
| accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the artist's estate 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Architectural Fragment / Third Column</i> 1986 is a free-standing square-sided column measuring almost two and a half metres in height and made up of fake plastic bricks topped by an Ionic capital roughly rendered in painted plaster. The somewhat loose arrangement of the bricks in the column, with a corresponding ad hoc arrangement of loose bricks and fragments scattered about its base, suggest that it is in the process of being built or would suffer collapse under any weight rather than offer support. The title of the work reflects this as a fragment and as one of an unspecified number of columns; in an earlier work entitled <i>Architectural Fragment</i> from 1984 (collection FRAC, Pays de Loire, France), the artist used the same materials and format though with the column being made of plastic bricks that appear to flow in a swirl from the capital. </p>\n<p>Allington was identified – alongside other British artists such as Bill Woodrow, Tony Cragg and Julian Opie, many of whom, like him, were supported by the Lisson Gallery in London – with the emergence of so-called new image sculpture at the end of the 1970s and in the early 1980s, corresponding with the growing prominence of neo-expressionist, new image painting. Their work was characterised by a use of cheap found materials that connected with a contemporary everyday life. This outlook was based on a collage approach, not only of different and contrasting materials but also including a mix of source imagery or style, ideals and principles; within the field of architecture it was signalled by the AT&T Building on Madison Avenue, New York, of 1978–84 by Philip Johnson (1905–2006) – a modernist office building topped by an open pediment design often identified as close to the cabinet maker Thomas Chippendale (1718–1779). </p>\n<p>Allington’s <i>Architectural Fragment / Third Column</i> and the related <i>Unsupported Support</i> 1987 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/allington-unsupported-support-t15561\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15561</span></a>) follow parallel strategies to those that underlaid Johnson’s buildings, and architectural postmodernism more generally. At the root of Allington’s work is his engagement with a clash of traditions and philosophies between classical forms and ideals and the street, an engagement that questions where philosophical or material truth might be recognised. Allington’s sculpture in the 1980s did not simply involve a straightforward collision of different styles and historical periods but was driven by the urge to communicate what the critic Michael Newman identified as ‘a sense of falsity and loss … framed as the degradation of a Classical heritage.’ (Michael Newman, ‘Discourse and Desire, Recent British Sculpture’, <i>Flash Art</i>, no.115, January 1984, pp.54–5.)</p>\n<p>Where Allington’s work of the early 1980s communicated this through Dionysian arrangements of plastic fruit and other fake objects spilling from cornucopia or ‘horns of plenty’ – as seen in the sculpture <i>Oblivion Penetrated</i> 1982 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/allington-oblivion-penetrated-t06895\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T06895</span></a>) – from the mid-1980s onwards he turned to the orders of classical architecture in works which present fragments of architectural motifs removed of built function and isolated out of context to convey a similar slippage between truth and falsehood. The displaced architectural fragments indicate a loss of fixity that in turn provided, for Allington, a touchstone for the present condition, at a time when much philosophical and artistic discourse engaged with the idea of ‘simulation’ – the fake and the real could not be identified as such since, in the words of the theorist Jean Baudrillard, simulation ‘bears no relation to reality whatsoever’ (Jean Baudrillard, <i>Simulations</i>, New York 1983, p.11). From such a perspective as this, Allington was involved in an absurdist re-presentation of classical order to underline what he held to be the ‘cultural paradox of the reality of today’ (Edward Allington, untitled statement, on the invitation card for the exhibition <i>Edward Allington</i>, Lisson Gallery, London 1984.)</p>\n<p>\n<i>Architectural Fragment / Third Column</i> was included in the exhibition <i>Edward Allington: Things Unsaid</i>, a retrospective survey of the artist’s work held at the Henry Moore Institute, Leeds from October 2019 to February 2020.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Edward Allington, In Pursuit of Savage Luxury</i>, exhibition catalogue, Midland Group Nottingham 1984.<br/>\n<i>Edward Allington: New Sculpture</i>, exhibition catalogue, Riverside Studios, London 1985.<br/>\n<i>Edward Allington</i>, exhibition catalogue, Cornerhouse, Manchester 1993.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Wood, zinc and paint | [
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} | 7008117 7002445 7008591 | Edward Allington | 1,987 | [] | <p><span>Unsupported Support</span> is a pilaster capital – the top section of a classical column. Removed from its column, it is mounted high on the wall, just below the ceiling line. As the title suggests, it does not support anything, nor is it supported by anything.Allington’s recreations of classical architecture are purposely absurd. They reflect his concern with truth and simulation. These ideas were explored by many artists and philosophers in the 1980s.</p><p><em>Gallery label, October 2020</em></p> | false | 1 | 643 | sculpture wood zinc paint | [
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] | Unsupported Support | 1,987 | Tate | 1987 | CLEARED | 8 | object: 1230 × 1383 × 510 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the artist's estate 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Unsupported Support</i> 1987 is a painted wood sculpture that represents a Classical pilaster capital made up of three Ionic-style ‘S’ curve consoles but with the pilaster’s pier itself removed. Installed high up on a wall but just below the ceiling line, the capital is neither supporting anything (the consoles themselves just support the stepped cornice above it) nor is it supported by the absent pilaster pier, hence the title of the work. </p>\n<p>Allington was identified – alongside other British artists such as Bill Woodrow, Tony Cragg and Julian Opie, many of whom, like him, were supported by the Lisson Gallery in London – with the emergence of so-called new image sculpture at the end of the 1970s and in the early 1980s, corresponding with the growing prominence of neo-expressionist, new image painting. Their work was characterised by a use of cheap found materials that connected with a contemporary everyday life. This outlook was based on a collage approach, not only of different and contrasting materials but also including a mix of source imagery or style, ideals and principles; within the field of architecture it was signalled by the AT&T Building on Madison Avenue, New York, of 1978–84 by Philip Johnson (1905–2006) – a modernist office building topped by an open pediment design often identified as close to the cabinet maker Thomas Chippendale (1718–1779). </p>\n<p>Allington’s <i>Unsupported Support</i> and the related <i>Architectural Fragment / Third Column</i> 1986 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/allington-architectural-fragment-third-column-t15560\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15560</span></a>) follow parallel strategies to those that underlaid Johnson’s buildings, and architectural postmodernism more generally. At the root of Allington’s work is his engagement with a clash of traditions and philosophies between classical forms and ideals and the street, an engagement that questions where philosophical or material truth might be recognised. Allington’s sculpture in the 1980s did not simply involve a straightforward collision of different styles and historical periods but was driven by the urge to communicate what the critic Michael Newman identified as ‘a sense of falsity and loss … framed as the degradation of a Classical heritage.’ (Michael Newman, ‘Discourse and Desire, Recent British Sculpture’, <i>Flash Art</i>, no.115, January 1984, pp.54–5.) </p>\n<p>Where Allington’s work of the early 1980s communicated this through Dionysian arrangements of plastic fruit and other fake objects spilling from cornucopia or ‘horns of plenty’ – as seen in the sculpture <i>Oblivion Penetrated</i> 1982 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/allington-oblivion-penetrated-t06895\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T06895</span></a>) – from the mid-1980s onwards he turned to the orders of classical architecture in works which present fragments of architectural motifs removed of built function and isolated out of context to convey a similar slippage between truth and falsehood. The displaced architectural fragments indicate a loss of fixity that in turn provided, for Allington, a touchstone for the present condition, at a time when much philosophical and artistic discourse engaged with the idea of ‘simulation’ – the fake and the real could not be identified as such since, in the words of the theorist Jean Baudrillard, simulation ‘bears no relation to reality whatsoever’ (Jean Baudrillard, <i>Simulations</i>, New York 1983, p.11). From such a perspective as this, Allington was involved in an absurdist re-presentation of classical order to underline what he held to be the ‘cultural paradox of the reality of today’ (Edward Allington, untitled statement, on the invitation card for the exhibition <i>Edward Allington</i>, Lisson Gallery, London 1984.)</p>\n<p>\n<i>Unsupported Support</i> was included in the exhibition <i>Edward Allington: Things Unsaid</i>, a retrospective survey of the artist’s work held at the Henry Moore Institute, Leeds from October 2019 to February 2020.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Edward Allington, In Pursuit of Savage Luxury</i>, exhibition catalogue, Midland Group Nottingham 1984.<br/>\n<i>Edward Allington: New Sculpture</i>, exhibition catalogue, Riverside Studios, London 1985.<br/>\n<i>Edward Allington</i>, exhibition catalogue, Cornerhouse, Manchester 1993.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint and ink on paper | [
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] | 2,018 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/jeff-mcmillan-7786" aria-label="More by Jeff McMillan" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Jeff McMillan</a> | Biblio CT | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Tate Members 2020 | T15562 | {
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (CT) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 478 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint and ink on paper | [
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (DS) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 475 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (Hi-Lo) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 475 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint and ink on paper | [
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (Shark) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 485 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (WmH) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 477 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (AR) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 483 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint and ink on paper | [
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (DF) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 485 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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] | 2,018 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/jeff-mcmillan-7786" aria-label="More by Jeff McMillan" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Jeff McMillan</a> | Biblio Met | 2,020 | [] | Presented by Tate Members 2020 | T15569 | {
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (Met) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 480 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint and ink on paper | [
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} | 7013976 2002032 7007826 7012149 | Jeff McMillan | 2,018 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<span> Biblio</span> 2019 (see Tate T15562–T15570). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <span>Biblio </span>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p> | false | 1 | 7786 | paper unique oil paint ink | [] | Biblio (SR) | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 650 × 480 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in oil and India ink on Japanese rice paper in Tate’s collection from a wider series entitled<i> Biblio</i> 2019 (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-ct-t15562\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15562</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/mcmillan-biblio-sr-t15570\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15570</span></a>). McMillan made them using his personal library of books, which he had shipped from America to Britain as part of his move to London in the late 1990s. He would select a book from his collection, wrapping each one in paper and then dipping the wrapped package into ink or oil paint. The paper was then unfolded and laid flat to create each <i>Biblio </i>work. The way in which the paper has been dipped and then unfolded, leaving diagonal creases and x-shaped fold-marks, creates an object with a sculptural quality; where folds were tightly made and then unmade, a landscape of wrinkles and creases appears, over which ink or paint has flowed, pooled and dripped. Though the book itself is removed after the folded paper has been dipped, it is still visually present through the mapping which occurs in the process of making, its outline and form recorded in the dark rectangle at the centre of each work. The books used were largely monographs of influential twentieth-century painters and had personal significance for the artist, who was born in Texas and studied at university in Alabama:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>These books were bought in various places, sometimes on my drive back from Alabama to Texas for summer on the Christmas break. I would always stop off to stretch my legs and see an exhibition and often buy books from the museum bookshop. My collection came from Ft Worth Modern, the Dallas Museum of Art, and some from Strand Books in New York. All over really. All those days ago before Amazon, when browsing a good art bookshop was such a thrill.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, quoted in Levy 2019, p7.)</blockquote>\n<p>When McMillan moved to London in the 1990s, his first studio was in Shoreditch, in the East End of the city, which at the time was a gritty industrial area. He found himself working next door to a clothing importer called Eker Furs, whose staff would regularly leave the street outside his studio full of detritus after morning deliveries. It was the cardboard boxes McMillan found in this street that led to a series of minimalist box paintings that he began in 2002. Gathering up these boxes, he found that when their planes were dipped into paint, the creases or what he describes as the ‘muscle memory’ of the box were revealed and, when unfolded, they became new objects which spoke of their own material history. In discussing these works, McMillan has referenced the American artist Robert Rauschenberg’s (1925–2008) work in cardboard, agreeing with Rauschenberg’s description of cardboard as ‘a material of softness and waste, something yielding’ (Jeff McMillan in conversation with Tate curator Aïcha Mehrez, September 2019).</p>\n<p>In conversation with the critic and writer Darian Leader during McMillan’s exhibition at Peer, London in 2009, the artist described the way in which his move to Britain had altered his practice:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>It was a big shift moving here from the US in 1998. I saw it more or less as an opportunity to start over. I wanted to be really reductive and to not begin with a white canvas or have to make a decision about what to paint. I didn’t even want to use a paintbrush. I was thinking of putting an object directly into paint and I remember seeing a box in my street and recognizing that it had potential. Once I splayed out the edges and put it on a wall, it immediately had a sort of elevation about it. Those works hover between painting and sculpture and reference high minimalist work like Donald Judd, yet they’re also very low-fi, a totally inexpensive and a simple way of making a painting … Once I had found a box with the right proportions and not too battered up, I would pour out a pool of house paint and press the box down straight into it then and lift it out as cleanly as I could. This process tends to make an envelope-type X-shape, I think it’s something to do with the viscosity. It’s not too mechanical, but it’s not a signature brush style either, it’s somewhere in between. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Jeff McMillan, in Peer 2009, accessed 23 November 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>McMillan has long had an interest in making work out of the everyday materials by which he is surrounded. In his native Texas he followed in the footsteps of American folk artists, using soil collected from the nearby cotton fields to make pigment. In an essay in the book published to accompany the <i>Biblio </i>series, Darian Leader suggested that McMillan reduces the most mundane qualities of everyday life to practices which are spare, essential and, ultimately, truthful. Just as McMillan had been transplanted from Texas to the United Kingdom, so too had his books, packed up as portable vehicles of knowledge and experience. The philosopher and theorist Walter Benjamin discussed the feelings elicited by the unpacking of one’s library from boxes onto bookshelves, positing that a collection of books offers a biography of sorts of the owner (<i>Walter Benjamin</i>, ‘Unpacking My <i>Library</i>: A Talk About Book Collecting,’ in Hannah Arendt (ed.), <i>Walter Benjamin: Illuminations</i>, New York 1978, pp.59–68). Writing specifically about McMillan’s <i>Biblio </i>series, Bill Sherman, Director of the Warburg Institute, described<i> </i>how books ‘record the lives we have used them to live and the work we have used them to do’ (in Levy and Sherman 2019).</p>\n<p>McMillan’s selection of books to make his <i>Biblio </i>works reveals a hidden portrait of the artist. The titles of the books or the artists on which they focus are known only to the artist himself and are hidden from view by being wrapped in paper in the process of making the works. Where his earlier cardboard boxes were chosen for visual reasons, the books carry personal associations which are only revealed to the viewer through occasional colour references or the individual cryptic subtitles, such as <i>Met</i>, <i>AR </i>or <i>Shark</i>. As well as providing a portrait of the artist, the vivid drips and blooms of the oil paint and inks used convey the geometric form of the book, the flow of the black ink giving a sense of the object and transforming the literary into the visual. Here the object is not painted; in a sense it paints itself. The book that was once printed now becomes the equivalent of the printing block, each volume creating its dark form at the centre of each work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Jeff McMillan in Conversation with Darian Leader’, Peer, London, 4 June 2009, <a href=\"https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf\">https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55095cc2e4b0b6baebd8203a/t/55310b91e4b05dc27c61355b/1429277585036/DL%26JM+pdf+version_logo.pdf</a>, accessed 23 November 2019.<br/>Deborah Levy and Bill Sherman, <i>Biblio</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Aïcha Mehrez<br/>November 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Metal, wood, barbed wire, mailbox, hat and handbag | [
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} | 7002157 7002004 7000231 1000004 7014080 2001025 7007521 7012149 | Siah Armajani | 2,017 | [] | <p><span>Room for Deportees</span> 2017 is a large-scale installation by the Iranian-American artist Siah Armajani, comprising a metal fence topped with barbed wire, wood panels, an American-style mailbox, a hat and a handbag. On one side the mailbox sits against a chain-link fence, which separates two uncomfortable looking seats – a bench and a chair – suggesting a temporary holding space for the deportees referred to in the work’s title. Traces of absent figures linger in the fedora hat resting on the single chair, as well as the handbag perched on the bench. A model of a red house sits lopsidedly against one arm of the bench, perhaps gesturing to a place once lived in or a desired dwelling. At the end of the fence stands a narrow gable-roofed guard booth recalling early American wooden balloon-frame structures from the mid-nineteenth century. In the booth hangs a black and white photograph given to the artist in the 1970s, documenting a nineteenth-century American bridge construction site. Armajani has annotated this, designating it as the location of the first US-Iranian cooperative space probe, identifying two of the three figures in the image as ‘HRH Shah of Iran’ and ‘B. Dowlatshahi, architect’. The third figure, sitting in a wagon, is named as ‘Siah Armajani, on the launch pad’ (Walker Art Center 2018, pp.86–7). A pencilled dotted line suggests the projected path of the vehicle, which would allegedly travel a distance of 10.7 light-years before reaching the star system Cygni. The inclusion and manipulation of the image highlights Armajani’s interest in the spirit of early American vernacular architecture, as well as in the most cutting-edge advances in technology, namely space travel, themes he has continuously explored throughout his career.</p> | false | 1 | 17094 | sculpture metal wood barbed wire mailbox hat handbag | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Room for Deportees</i> 2017 is a large-scale installation by the Iranian-American artist Siah Armajani, comprising a metal fence topped with barbed wire, wood panels, an American-style mailbox, a hat and a handbag. On one side the mailbox sits against a chain-link fence, which separates two uncomfortable looking seats – a bench and a chair – suggesting a temporary holding space for the deportees referred to in the work’s title. Traces of absent figures linger in the fedora hat resting on the single chair, as well as the handbag perched on the bench. A model of a red house sits lopsidedly against one arm of the bench, perhaps gesturing to a place once lived in or a desired dwelling. At the end of the fence stands a narrow gable-roofed guard booth recalling early American wooden balloon-frame structures from the mid-nineteenth century. In the booth hangs a black and white photograph given to the artist in the 1970s, documenting a nineteenth-century American bridge construction site. Armajani has annotated this, designating it as the location of the first US-Iranian cooperative space probe, identifying two of the three figures in the image as ‘HRH Shah of Iran’ and ‘B. Dowlatshahi, architect’. The third figure, sitting in a wagon, is named as ‘Siah Armajani, on the launch pad’ (Walker Art Center 2018, pp.86–7). A pencilled dotted line suggests the projected path of the vehicle, which would allegedly travel a distance of 10.7 light-years before reaching the star system Cygni. The inclusion and manipulation of the image highlights Armajani’s interest in the spirit of early American vernacular architecture, as well as in the most cutting-edge advances in technology, namely space travel, themes he has continuously explored throughout his career.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Room for Deportees </i>is from a body of large-scale work collectively titled <i>Seven Rooms of Hospitality </i>2017, based on smaller 3D models, which was exhibited in the artist’s retrospective exhibition at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York in 2018–19. The artist began the series by creating axonometric drawings on graph paper and subsequently transformed the drawings into handcrafted models produced from balsa wood, cardboard and paint. Each handmade model was then rendered as a plastic model through 3D printing techniques; a set of these are also in Tate’s collection. The title of the entire body of work refers to the publication <i>Of Hospitality</i> (1997), a dialogue between philosophers Jacques Derrida and Anne Dufourmantelle on the ethics of hospitality, prompted by the increasingly harsh immigration laws in Europe during the 1990s.</p>\n<p>The chain link fence in the installation functions to split the space into two, so that the viewer has to circumnavigate the fence to see both sides of the work. In this way, the work carves out an architectural space that evokes the state of in-betweenness which Armajani – as an Iranian-American – has characterised as his ‘condition of life’ (conversation with Victoria Sung, Assistant Curator, Walker Art Center, 17 August, 2017 in Walker Art Center 2018, p.88). As much a response to the nationalist politics driving the global refugee crisis, the work has also been read as self-referential. Clare Davies, curator of Siah Armajani’s recent retrospective <i>Follow this Line</i> at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, has argued that Armajani’s practice has been guided by an ‘aesthetic of exile: an aesthetic with clear ethical implications and one that makes space – real and conceptual – for those individuals fleeing political, religious and economic injustice and inequality’ (in Walker Art Center 2018, p.34).</p>\n<p>Like much of Armajani’s work, the formal aspects of <i>Room for Deportees</i> point to the spirit of collectivity at the heart of vernacular American building practices and, in the associated 3D-printed models, Russian constructivism and the internationalist energy of the modernist avant-garde.<i> </i>In this, the work<i> </i>continues the architectural and sculptural language first established in Armajani’s early body of work, <i>Dictionary for Building </i>1974–5. This seminal project comprised over 1,000 small-scale architectural maquettes made of balsa wood and cardboard, in which the artist dissected discrete elements of architectural interiors (window, doors, stairs, wall, closet, etc.), referencing the basic archetypes of domestic architecture (kitchen, bedroom, cellar, etc.). </p>\n<p>\n<i>Room for Deportees</i> is emblematic of Armajani’s socially engaged practice in which the position of the migrant and the exile has been a defining subject matter. Known primarily for his public art projects up to the mid-2000s, Armajani’s <i>Seven Rooms of Hospitality </i>series represents a pivotal moment in his work as he describes it: ‘Public sculpture has some kind of social function. It has moved from large scale, outdoor, site specific sculpture into sculpture with social content.’ (Siah Armajani, ‘Manifesto: Public Sculpture in the Context of American Democracy 1968–78’, in Walker Art Center 2018, p.379.) This installation raises the viewer’s awareness of the precarious spaces which refugees, exiles and deportees are forced to navigate.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Siah Armajani</i>, exhibition catalogue, Rossi & Rossi, Hong Kong 2017.<br/>Clare Davies and Victoria Sung (ed.), <i>Siah Armajani: Follow This Line</i>, exhibition catalogue, Walker Art Center, Minneapolis and Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York 2018.<br/>Jadine Collingwood, ‘The Crime of Hospitality’, <i>Sightlines</i>, December 2018,<br/>\n<a href=\"https://walkerart.org/magazine/siah-armajani-the-crime-of-hospitality\">https://walkerart.org/magazine/siah-armajani-the-crime-of-hospitality</a>,<br/>accessed 30 July 2019.</p>\n<p>Nabila Abdel Nabi<br/>July 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Plastic | [
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} | 7002157 7002004 7000231 1000004 7014080 2001025 7007521 7012149 | Siah Armajani | 2,017 | [] | <p>This multi-part work by the Iranian-American artist Siah Armajani comprises seven 3D-printed plastic architectural models, individually titled, which relate directly to the artist’s large-scale works in his series <span>Rooms for Hospitality </span>2017 (one of which is also in Tate’s collection; see the installation <span>Room for Deportees </span>2017 [Tate T15571]). The models began as a response to an incident that took place in August 2015, in which seventy-one refugees and asylum seekers from Iraq, Syria and Afghanistan were found suffocated in the back of a lorry that had been abandoned on the side of an Austrian motorway. Using 3D printing techniques, Armajani created a miniature replica of the truck; titled <span>Room for Asylum Seekers</span>, it features the logo of the Hyza meat company and the banner text: ’71 ASYLUM SEEKERS • 60 MEN • 8 WOMEN • 3 CHILDREN • ALL DEAD’. Also in the group are six other architectural evocations of the conditions suffered by migrants and refugees, largely equated with the experiences of confinement, liminality and invisibility. (At the time of the tragedy, HYZA as. did not own the lorry, it having been sold the previous year to a third party who, in breach of their obligations, failed to remove the HYZA logo and advertising. HYZA has condemned the act and expressed its sympathy with the victims.)</p> | false | 1 | 17094 | sculpture plastic | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This multi-part work by the Iranian-American artist Siah Armajani comprises seven 3D-printed plastic architectural models, individually titled, which relate directly to the artist’s large-scale works in his series <i>Rooms for Hospitality </i>2017 (one of which is also in Tate’s collection; see the installation <i>Room for Deportees </i>2017 [Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/armajani-room-for-deportees-t15571\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15571</span></a>]). The models began as a response to an incident that took place in August 2015, in which seventy-one refugees and asylum seekers from Iraq, Syria and Afghanistan were found suffocated in the back of a lorry that had been abandoned on the side of an Austrian motorway. Using 3D printing techniques, Armajani created a miniature replica of the truck; titled <i>Room for Asylum Seekers</i>, it features the logo of the Hyza meat company and the banner text: ’71 ASYLUM SEEKERS • 60 MEN • 8 WOMEN • 3 CHILDREN • ALL DEAD’. Also in the group are six other architectural evocations of the conditions suffered by migrants and refugees, largely equated with the experiences of confinement, liminality and invisibility. (At the time of the tragedy, HYZA as. did not own the lorry, it having been sold the previous year to a third party who, in breach of their obligations, failed to remove the HYZA logo and advertising. HYZA has condemned the act and expressed its sympathy with the victims.)</p>\n<p>The titles of these are: <i>Room for Deportees</i>,<i> Room for Detainees</i>,<i> Room for Displaced</i>,<i> Waiting Room for Refugees</i>,<i> Room for Exile</i> and<i> Room for Migrant Worker</i>. Many of the structures suggest prison cells and even those seemingly characterised by openness – for example <i>Room for Detainees</i>, with its simple, self-evident design and the red and black colours evocative of constructivism – are punctuated by violence and a collapse in utility as the structural vertical beams pierce through the furniture inside. The title of the series refers to the publication <i>Of Hospitality </i>(1997), a dialogue between philosophers Jacques Derrida and Anne Dufourmantelle on the ethics of hospitality, prompted by the increasingly harsh immigration laws in Europe during the 1990s.</p>\n<p>Armajani began the series by creating axonometric drawings on graph paper and subsequently transformed the drawings into handcrafted models produced from balsa wood, cardboard and paint. Each handmade model was then rendered in plastic through 3D printing techniques, before becoming the basis for the series of seven life-size sculptures which comprise the installation <i>Rooms for Hospitality </i>2017.</p>\n<p>Born in Iran but living in America since 1960, Armajani has long been interested in the ‘nobility of usefulness’ in vernacular architecture and public sculpture. Between 1968 and 1978 he worked on his ‘Manifesto: Public Sculpture in the Context of American Democracy’ (published in Walker Art Center 2018, pp.378–9), arguing that art should aim at general social improvement. It was around 1968 that Armajani became drawn to architecture’s broad social function and he began immersing himself in the study of vernacular forms of architecture, the kind that he could observe in his adopted Midwest context. These ‘common-sense buildings’, as Armajani calls them, were prevalent in Minnesota in the 1970s and appealed to him for the way that the impulse of the collective is inherent in their simplified assembly technique and communal construction methods (Siah Armajani, ‘Site: The Meaning of Place in Art and Architecture’, <i>Design Quarterly</i>, no.122, 1983, p.6).</p>\n<p>As the artist has explained:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>In the early American log cabins, grain elevators, silos, farm houses, barns, and bridges, the structure, the framing, and the boarding were open. There were gaps in the process in order to reveal the construction … It showed why and how things were put together. One part was not erased by the other … One part was always next to the other part … one resided next to the other. One looked after the other. One belonged to the other and the two belonged to a totality. <br/>(Siah Armajani, ‘The Glass Front Porch for Walter Benjamin’, <i>Critical Inquiry</i>, vol.28, no.2, 2002, p.368.)</blockquote>\n<p>The <i>Rooms for Hospitality </i>continue the architectural and sculptural language first established in Armajani’s early body of work, <i>Dictionary for Building </i>1974–5. This seminal project comprised over 1,000 small-scale architectural maquettes made of balsa wood and cardboard, in which the artist dissected discrete elements of architectural interiors (window, doors, stairs, wall, closet, etc.), referencing the basic archetypes of domestic architecture (kitchen, bedroom, cellar, etc.). Yet, here, Armajani has evolved this language to engage with issues around migration and exile, some of the most urgent socio-political questions of our time.</p>\n<p>The <i>Seven Roons of Hospitality</i> are to be displayed together as a group. They were included in the artist’s solo exhibition at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York in 2018–19.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Siah Armajani</i>, exhibition catalogue, Rossi & Rossi, Hong Kong 2017.<br/>Clare Davies and Victoria Sung (ed.), <i>Siah Armajani: Follow This Line</i>, exhibition catalogue, Walker Art Center, Minneapolis and Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York 2018.<br/>Jadine Collingwood, ‘The Crime of Hospitality’, <i>Sightlines</i>, December 2018, <a href=\"https://walkerart.org/magazine/siah-armajani-the-crime-of-hospitality\">https://walkerart.org/magazine/siah-armajani-the-crime-of-hospitality</a>, accessed 30 July 2019.</p>\n<p>Nabila Abdel Nabi<br/>July 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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Video, high definition, projection, colour, and sound (stereo) | [
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| T15575 | {
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} | 1000953 1000119 1000004 | Dor Guez | 2,015 | [] | <p><span>The Sick Man of Europe </span>is an expansive video installation project by the Israeli artist Dor Guez that, at the time of writing, is still ongoing. Once complete, it will comprise five works. Made between 2015 and 2017, <span>The Painter</span>,<span> The Architect</span> and <span>The Composer</span> are the first three works in the project and are all in Tate’s collection (see Tate T15575, T15576 and T15577). The project’s title is derived from a nineteenth-century term used to describe The Ottoman Empire – the ‘sick man’ referring to perceived economic, political or cultural weakness. It has since been used to describe numerous other European powers. Each section of Guez’s project takes as its point of departure the account of a real-life individual whose artistic practice becomes interrupted by their conscription into military service. Guez uses the ‘sick man’ as an analogy both for those individuals who are impinged upon and for the structures that enable different forms of injustice. Using the modernist technique of re-presenting archival material, Guez gives the past an active voice in an attempt to navigate the complex cultural trauma of war.</p> | false | 1 | 29364 | time-based media video high definition projection colour sound stereo | [] | The Sick Man of Europe: The Painter | 2,015 | Tate | 2015 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 20min | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Outset Contemporary Art Fund 2019
| [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Sick Man of Europe </i>is an expansive video installation project by the Israeli artist Dor Guez that, at the time of writing, is still ongoing. Once complete, it will comprise five works. Made between 2015 and 2017, <i>The Painter</i>,<i> The Architect</i> and <i>The Composer</i> are the first three works in the project and are all in Tate’s collection (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-painter-t15575\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15575</span></a>, <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-architect-t15576\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15576</span></a> and <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-composer-t15577\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15577</span></a>). The project’s title is derived from a nineteenth-century term used to describe The Ottoman Empire – the ‘sick man’ referring to perceived economic, political or cultural weakness. It has since been used to describe numerous other European powers. Each section of Guez’s project takes as its point of departure the account of a real-life individual whose artistic practice becomes interrupted by their conscription into military service. Guez uses the ‘sick man’ as an analogy both for those individuals who are impinged upon and for the structures that enable different forms of injustice. Using the modernist technique of re-presenting archival material, Guez gives the past an active voice in an attempt to navigate the complex cultural trauma of war.</p>\n<p>The first part of the project, <i>The Painter</i> 2015,<i> </i>is the story of an unnamed Jewish Tunisian painter whose conscription into the Yom Kippur War ended his nascent artistic practice. Shot in colour and lasting eighteen minutes, the film comprises archival images, including photographs of the painter’s military service and his paintings, which scroll across the screen in a form reminiscent of many biographic documentaries. Often the image is embellished with simple graphic animation that accentuates a pattern or design. Over the images, Guez’s voice recounts, through letters and dairy entries, the life of the ‘painter’. The theme of lost potential is reinforced by the narration in which Guez talks about aspirations and unfulfilled dreams. A brief prologue is followed by two shots of digital scanners: the first overlaid with the film’s title and the second showing one of the painter’s charcoal drawings. Each shot evokes a desire to capture and relocate the past. The fragility of the aged paper is juxtaposed with the seeming permanence of the digital image. Moreover, Guez suggests that the metaphorical ‘Sick Man of Europe’ is indelibly tied to material history. </p>\n<p>The second work in the series, <i>The Architect </i>2015, is presented as a two-channel video dealing with the life of architecture student Kemal P., who, only two days after graduating, was recruited into the Turkish Army. Shot in colour and lasting fifteen minutes, the diptych is arranged with thirteen of Kemal’s photographs in a slideshow on the right-hand side. Guez imbues the still image with cinematic language: the pan, the wipe, the fade. These photographs, taken in 1939, depict the Turkish Republic’s Victory Day Parade. The left-hand image again explores how re-presenting images can prompt a re-evaluation of the past. Here we see the locations and their architectural plan, referenced in the photos and narration, which is recorded in the process of being sketched out. The two-channel video concludes as both screens synchronise, becoming a crimson, panoramic lithograph. The double image forms an ultra-wide frame that evokes a sweeping cinematic landscape.</p>\n<p>The third section of the project, <i>The Composer</i> 2017, details the journey of Armenian composer Hagop and of Guez himself, as they venture to reclaim cultural identity. Hagop, whose family was forced to relocate to Jerusalem during the First World War, vows only to complete his musical works once he has visited Armenia. The video, which lasts ten minutes, is formed of a black-and-white photographic negative of the Armenian landscape shot from a moving car. Made abstract by the panning movement, this wave of chalk-like lines connects the compositional form of Armenian music to the natural form of the Armenian landscape. The narration by two well-known Armenian early twentieth-century composers, Komitas and Suni, is heard throughout the video. This audio is taken from an archival radio recording in which the composers reiterate the link between musical and aesthetic form. They go on to compare the act of composing music to a journey, which connects to Hagop’s own journey. Bookending the work are two scenes in which, from a top-down view, white-gloved hands arrange glass slides containing images of the Ottoman army during the First World War.</p>\n<p>\n<i>The Sick Man of Europe </i>exemplified Guez’s practice to date. Of mixed Christian Palestinian and Tunisian Jewish origin himself, his work interrogates the complex relationship between politics and culture, looking specifically at art-making. Drawing on his own complex cultural identity, he engages with the Christian Palestinian community – whose histories from the early twentieth century he has documented as founder of <i>The Christian Palestinian Archive</i> – using history as a means to ask questions about how we define identity. His practice is situated between photography and the moving image, often drawing upon archival and found material to interrogate the lingering traces of trauma and injustice. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading </b>\n<br/>Dor Guez, Chelsea Haines and Kemal P.,<i> Dor Guez: The Sick Man of Europe: The Architect</i>, exhibition catalogue, Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit 2015.<br/>Achim Borchardt-Hume and Dor Guez,<i> Dor Guez: The Sick Man of Europe: The Painter</i>, exhibition catalogue, A.M. Qattan Foundation and Institute of Contemporary Arts, London 2015.<br/>Helen Mackreath, ‘Interview with Dor Guez’, <i>The White Review</i>, November 2015, <a href=\"http://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/interview-with-dor-guez\">http://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/interview-with-dor-guez</a>, accessed 15 July 2019.<br/>Sarah Rose Sharp, ‘Understanding an Empire Through the Lives of Its Soldiers’, <i>Hyperallergic</i>, 29 December 2015, <a href=\"https://hyperallergic.com/264752/understanding-an-empire-through-the-lives-of-its-soldiers\">https://hyperallergic.com/264752/understanding-an-empire-through-the-lives-of-its-soldiers</a>, accessed 15 July 2019.<br/>\n<br/>Andrea Lissoni and George Watson <br/>July 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, high definition, projection, colour, and sound (stereo) | [
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} | 1000953 1000119 1000004 | Dor Guez | 2,016 | [] | <p><span>The Sick Man of Europe </span>is an expansive video installation project by the Israeli artist Dor Guez that, at the time of writing, is still ongoing. Once complete, it will comprise five works. Made between 2015 and 2017, <span>The Painter</span>,<span> The Architect</span> and <span>The Composer</span> are the first three works in the project and are all in Tate’s collection (see Tate T15575, T15576 and T15577). The project’s title is derived from a nineteenth-century term used to describe The Ottoman Empire – the ‘sick man’ referring to perceived economic, political or cultural weakness. It has since been used to describe numerous other European powers. Each section of Guez’s project takes as its point of departure the account of a real-life individual whose artistic practice becomes interrupted by their conscription into military service. Guez uses the ‘sick man’ as an analogy both for those individuals who are impinged upon and for the structures that enable different forms of injustice. Using the modernist technique of re-presenting archival material, Guez gives the past an active voice in an attempt to navigate the complex cultural trauma of war.</p> | false | 1 | 29364 | time-based media video high definition projection colour sound stereo | [] | The Sick Man of Europe: The Architect | 2,016 | Tate | 2016 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 15min | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Outset Contemporary Art Fund 2019 | [
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Made between 2015 and 2017, <i>The Painter</i>,<i> The Architect</i> and <i>The Composer</i> are the first three works in the project and are all in Tate’s collection (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-painter-t15575\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15575</span></a>, <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-architect-t15576\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15576</span></a> and <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-composer-t15577\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15577</span></a>). The project’s title is derived from a nineteenth-century term used to describe The Ottoman Empire – the ‘sick man’ referring to perceived economic, political or cultural weakness. It has since been used to describe numerous other European powers. Each section of Guez’s project takes as its point of departure the account of a real-life individual whose artistic practice becomes interrupted by their conscription into military service. Guez uses the ‘sick man’ as an analogy both for those individuals who are impinged upon and for the structures that enable different forms of injustice. Using the modernist technique of re-presenting archival material, Guez gives the past an active voice in an attempt to navigate the complex cultural trauma of war.</p>\n<p>The first part of the project, <i>The Painter</i> 2015,<i> </i>is the story of an unnamed Jewish Tunisian painter whose conscription into the Yom Kippur War ended his nascent artistic practice. Shot in colour and lasting eighteen minutes, the film comprises archival images, including photographs of the painter’s military service and his paintings, which scroll across the screen in a form reminiscent of many biographic documentaries. Often the image is embellished with simple graphic animation that accentuates a pattern or design. Over the images, Guez’s voice recounts, through letters and dairy entries, the life of the ‘painter’. The theme of lost potential is reinforced by the narration in which Guez talks about aspirations and unfulfilled dreams. A brief prologue is followed by two shots of digital scanners: the first overlaid with the film’s title and the second showing one of the painter’s charcoal drawings. Each shot evokes a desire to capture and relocate the past. The fragility of the aged paper is juxtaposed with the seeming permanence of the digital image. Moreover, Guez suggests that the metaphorical ‘Sick Man of Europe’ is indelibly tied to material history. </p>\n<p>The second work in the series, <i>The Architect </i>2015, is presented as a two-channel video dealing with the life of architecture student Kemal P., who, only two days after graduating, was recruited into the Turkish Army. Shot in colour and lasting fifteen minutes, the diptych is arranged with thirteen of Kemal’s photographs in a slideshow on the right-hand side. Guez imbues the still image with cinematic language: the pan, the wipe, the fade. These photographs, taken in 1939, depict the Turkish Republic’s Victory Day Parade. The left-hand image again explores how re-presenting images can prompt a re-evaluation of the past. Here we see the locations and their architectural plan, referenced in the photos and narration, which is recorded in the process of being sketched out. The two-channel video concludes as both screens synchronise, becoming a crimson, panoramic lithograph. The double image forms an ultra-wide frame that evokes a sweeping cinematic landscape.</p>\n<p>The third section of the project, <i>The Composer</i> 2017, details the journey of Armenian composer Hagop and of Guez himself, as they venture to reclaim cultural identity. Hagop, whose family was forced to relocate to Jerusalem during the First World War, vows only to complete his musical works once he has visited Armenia. The video, which lasts ten minutes, is formed of a black-and-white photographic negative of the Armenian landscape shot from a moving car. Made abstract by the panning movement, this wave of chalk-like lines connects the compositional form of Armenian music to the natural form of the Armenian landscape. The narration by two well-known Armenian early twentieth-century composers, Komitas and Suni, is heard throughout the video. This audio is taken from an archival radio recording in which the composers reiterate the link between musical and aesthetic form. They go on to compare the act of composing music to a journey, which connects to Hagop’s own journey. Bookending the work are two scenes in which, from a top-down view, white-gloved hands arrange glass slides containing images of the Ottoman army during the First World War.</p>\n<p>\n<i>The Sick Man of Europe </i>exemplified Guez’s practice to date. Of mixed Christian Palestinian and Tunisian Jewish origin himself, his work interrogates the complex relationship between politics and culture, looking specifically at art-making. Drawing on his own complex cultural identity, he engages with the Christian Palestinian community – whose histories from the early twentieth century he has documented as founder of <i>The Christian Palestinian Archive</i> – using history as a means to ask questions about how we define identity. His practice is situated between photography and the moving image, often drawing upon archival and found material to interrogate the lingering traces of trauma and injustice. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading </b>\n<br/>Dor Guez, Chelsea Haines and Kemal P.,<i> Dor Guez: The Sick Man of Europe: The Architect</i>, exhibition catalogue, Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit 2015.<br/>Achim Borchardt-Hume and Dor Guez,<i> Dor Guez: The Sick Man of Europe: The Painter</i>, exhibition catalogue, A.M. Qattan Foundation and Institute of Contemporary Arts, London 2015.<br/>Helen Mackreath, ‘Interview with Dor Guez’, <i>The White Review</i>, November 2015, <a href=\"http://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/interview-with-dor-guez\">http://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/interview-with-dor-guez</a>, accessed 15 July 2019.<br/>Sarah Rose Sharp, ‘Understanding an Empire Through the Lives of Its Soldiers’, <i>Hyperallergic</i>, 29 December 2015, <a href=\"https://hyperallergic.com/264752/understanding-an-empire-through-the-lives-of-its-soldiers\">https://hyperallergic.com/264752/understanding-an-empire-through-the-lives-of-its-soldiers</a>, accessed 15 July 2019.<br/>\n<br/>Andrea Lissoni and George Watson <br/>July 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 1000953 1000119 1000004 | Dor Guez | 2,017 | [] | <p><span>The Sick Man of Europe </span>is an expansive video installation project by the Israeli artist Dor Guez that, at the time of writing, is still ongoing. Once complete, it will comprise five works. Made between 2015 and 2017, <span>The Painter</span>,<span> The Architect</span> and <span>The Composer</span> are the first three works in the project and are all in Tate’s collection (see Tate T15575, T15576 and T15577). The project’s title is derived from a nineteenth-century term used to describe The Ottoman Empire – the ‘sick man’ referring to perceived economic, political or cultural weakness. It has since been used to describe numerous other European powers. Each section of Guez’s project takes as its point of departure the account of a real-life individual whose artistic practice becomes interrupted by their conscription into military service. Guez uses the ‘sick man’ as an analogy both for those individuals who are impinged upon and for the structures that enable different forms of injustice. Using the modernist technique of re-presenting archival material, Guez gives the past an active voice in an attempt to navigate the complex cultural trauma of war.</p> | false | 1 | 29364 | time-based media video high definition projection colour sound stereo | [] | The Sick Man of Europe: The Composer | 2,017 | Tate | 2017 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 10min | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Outset Contemporary Art Fund 2019 | [
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Made between 2015 and 2017, <i>The Painter</i>,<i> The Architect</i> and <i>The Composer</i> are the first three works in the project and are all in Tate’s collection (see Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-painter-t15575\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15575</span></a>, <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-architect-t15576\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15576</span></a> and <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/guez-the-sick-man-of-europe-the-composer-t15577\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15577</span></a>). The project’s title is derived from a nineteenth-century term used to describe The Ottoman Empire – the ‘sick man’ referring to perceived economic, political or cultural weakness. It has since been used to describe numerous other European powers. Each section of Guez’s project takes as its point of departure the account of a real-life individual whose artistic practice becomes interrupted by their conscription into military service. Guez uses the ‘sick man’ as an analogy both for those individuals who are impinged upon and for the structures that enable different forms of injustice. Using the modernist technique of re-presenting archival material, Guez gives the past an active voice in an attempt to navigate the complex cultural trauma of war.</p>\n<p>The first part of the project, <i>The Painter</i> 2015,<i> </i>is the story of an unnamed Jewish Tunisian painter whose conscription into the Yom Kippur War ended his nascent artistic practice. Shot in colour and lasting eighteen minutes, the film comprises archival images, including photographs of the painter’s military service and his paintings, which scroll across the screen in a form reminiscent of many biographic documentaries. Often the image is embellished with simple graphic animation that accentuates a pattern or design. Over the images, Guez’s voice recounts, through letters and dairy entries, the life of the ‘painter’. The theme of lost potential is reinforced by the narration in which Guez talks about aspirations and unfulfilled dreams. A brief prologue is followed by two shots of digital scanners: the first overlaid with the film’s title and the second showing one of the painter’s charcoal drawings. Each shot evokes a desire to capture and relocate the past. The fragility of the aged paper is juxtaposed with the seeming permanence of the digital image. Moreover, Guez suggests that the metaphorical ‘Sick Man of Europe’ is indelibly tied to material history. </p>\n<p>The second work in the series, <i>The Architect </i>2015, is presented as a two-channel video dealing with the life of architecture student Kemal P., who, only two days after graduating, was recruited into the Turkish Army. Shot in colour and lasting fifteen minutes, the diptych is arranged with thirteen of Kemal’s photographs in a slideshow on the right-hand side. Guez imbues the still image with cinematic language: the pan, the wipe, the fade. These photographs, taken in 1939, depict the Turkish Republic’s Victory Day Parade. The left-hand image again explores how re-presenting images can prompt a re-evaluation of the past. Here we see the locations and their architectural plan, referenced in the photos and narration, which is recorded in the process of being sketched out. The two-channel video concludes as both screens synchronise, becoming a crimson, panoramic lithograph. The double image forms an ultra-wide frame that evokes a sweeping cinematic landscape.</p>\n<p>The third section of the project, <i>The Composer</i> 2017, details the journey of Armenian composer Hagop and of Guez himself, as they venture to reclaim cultural identity. Hagop, whose family was forced to relocate to Jerusalem during the First World War, vows only to complete his musical works once he has visited Armenia. The video, which lasts ten minutes, is formed of a black-and-white photographic negative of the Armenian landscape shot from a moving car. Made abstract by the panning movement, this wave of chalk-like lines connects the compositional form of Armenian music to the natural form of the Armenian landscape. The narration by two well-known Armenian early twentieth-century composers, Komitas and Suni, is heard throughout the video. This audio is taken from an archival radio recording in which the composers reiterate the link between musical and aesthetic form. They go on to compare the act of composing music to a journey, which connects to Hagop’s own journey. Bookending the work are two scenes in which, from a top-down view, white-gloved hands arrange glass slides containing images of the Ottoman army during the First World War.</p>\n<p>\n<i>The Sick Man of Europe </i>exemplified Guez’s practice to date. Of mixed Christian Palestinian and Tunisian Jewish origin himself, his work interrogates the complex relationship between politics and culture, looking specifically at art-making. Drawing on his own complex cultural identity, he engages with the Christian Palestinian community – whose histories from the early twentieth century he has documented as founder of <i>The Christian Palestinian Archive</i> – using history as a means to ask questions about how we define identity. His practice is situated between photography and the moving image, often drawing upon archival and found material to interrogate the lingering traces of trauma and injustice. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading </b>\n<br/>Dor Guez, Chelsea Haines and Kemal P.,<i> Dor Guez: The Sick Man of Europe: The Architect</i>, exhibition catalogue, Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit 2015.<br/>Achim Borchardt-Hume and Dor Guez,<i> Dor Guez: The Sick Man of Europe: The Painter</i>, exhibition catalogue, A.M. Qattan Foundation and Institute of Contemporary Arts, London 2015.<br/>Helen Mackreath, ‘Interview with Dor Guez’, <i>The White Review</i>, November 2015, <a href=\"http://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/interview-with-dor-guez\">http://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/interview-with-dor-guez</a>, accessed 15 July 2019.<br/>Sarah Rose Sharp, ‘Understanding an Empire Through the Lives of Its Soldiers’, <i>Hyperallergic</i>, 29 December 2015, <a href=\"https://hyperallergic.com/264752/understanding-an-empire-through-the-lives-of-its-soldiers\">https://hyperallergic.com/264752/understanding-an-empire-through-the-lives-of-its-soldiers</a>, accessed 15 July 2019.<br/>\n<br/>Andrea Lissoni and George Watson <br/>July 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7000198 1000004 | Vivan Sundaram | 1,968 | [] | <p>In 1966 Sundaram moved to London from India to study at the Slade School of Fine Art. Here he was influenced by British pop artists, such as David Hockney and Richard Hamilton, as well as his American tutor, the artist R. B. Kitaj. Sundaram started making paintings referencing political issues using the bold colours and shapes of pop art. This painting refers to the student protests and civil unrest that broke out in Paris during May 1968. Recognisable forms, including a police helmet, flame gun, barricades, and a figure behind a tree, are suggestive of a troubled street scene.</p><p><em>Gallery label, January 2022</em></p> | false | 1 | 24700 | painting oil paint canvas | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This large oil painting by the Indian artist Vivan Sundaram references the student protests and ensuing civil unrest that took place across France in May 1968. Beginning with a series of occupation protests by student populations on the streets of Paris, the revolt grew to involve striking factory workers across France. Produced in the following months, Sundaram’s picture incorporates imagery adopted from various media sources documenting the events within an abstracted multi-coloured composition. Forms that allude to a gendarme’s helmet and flame gun are depicted on the left side of the painting, pointing towards the outline of a figure behind a tree trunk that stretches the height of the canvas on the right side of the painting. At the base of the trunk is a pool of light blue with wavy blue lines suggesting a moving body of water. Bands of coloured stripes ascend vertically and at angles along the left side and top of the painting, partially framing the action and forms of the uprisings on the streets. </p>\n<p>\n<i>May 68 </i>is characteristic of Sundaram’s early painting practice in which he employed pop art strategies, incorporating everyday elements and images from the media into his paintings. Sundaram first studied painting at the Maharaja Sayajirao University, Baroda, India (1962–5) where he was introduced to the work of British pop artists, such as David Hockney (born 1937) and Richard Hamilton (1922–2011), by his friend Bhupen Khakhar (1934–2003) and the visiting British artist Jim Donovan. In 1965 he became a Commonwealth scholar at the Slade School of Fine Art, London, and was mentored by R.B. Kitaj (1932–2007), an established figure of the London School and British pop. While there, Sundaram also undertook a course in the history of experimental cinema led by Sir William Coldstream (1908–1987). Influenced by these encounters, Sundaram used montage to juxtapose elements from various sources and differing aesthetic registers to reflect the politically charged zeitgeist of the period. Curator Deepak Ananth has reflected on the artist’s use of abstracted forms to suggest broader associations, with specific reference to this painting: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The heraldic aspect of <i>May 68</i> would appear to evoke the ebullient mood of the momentous events of that month; on closer scrutiny one intuits that the parallel coloured bands that appear as an abstract compositional device could allude to the barricades in the streets of Paris, and that the seemingly decorative flourish in red, partially outlined against the white cut out shape of a head and torso, describes the form of a sickle. <br/>(Deepak Ananth, ‘Precarious Poetics’, in Haus der Kunst 2018, p.14.)</blockquote>\n<p>Although Sundaram was geographically distant from the Paris revolts, he engaged with student-led activism in London that aligned with the anti-apartheid movement and civil protests from across the world. Reflected in the energised atmosphere of the painting through the development of a geometric abstraction, the artist’s engagement with politics during these formative years has continually influenced his practice. Later works in which he combined drawing, sculpture, photography and film in conceptual installations of varying scales, meditate on moments of historic significance and injustice. His major installation <i>Memorial</i> 1993–2014 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sundaram-memorial-t15329\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15329</span></a>) expands from a press photograph of a fallen victim to the riots that followed the destruction of the Babri Masjid mosque in Bombay, now Mumbai, in 1992. </p>\n<p>Both <i>Memorial </i>and <i>May 68 </i>were included in Sundaram’s retrospective exhibitions held at the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, Delhi and Haus der Kunst, Munich in 2018. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Vivan Sundaram, ‘Outside the Cubicle’, talk given for Tate Research Centre: Asia conference ‘Transnational Cities: Tokyo and London’, Tate Britain, London, 30 September 2017, <a href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1p6DKaezpE\">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1p6DKaezpE</a>, accessed 7 May 2019.<br/>\n<i>Vivan Sundaram: Distunctures</i>, exhibition catalogue, Haus der Kunst, Munich 2018, reproduced p.51.<br/>Natasha Ginwala, ‘In the Living Present: Vivan Sundaram’, <i>Mousse Magazine</i>, April-May 2018, <a href=\"http://moussemagazine.it/natasha-ginwala-vivan-sundaram-2018/\">http://moussemagazine.it/natasha-ginwala-vivan-sundaram-2018/</a>, accessed 7 May 2019.</p>\n<p>Priyesh Mistry<br/>May 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7002066 1001290 1000111 1000004 | Wang Guangyi | 1,992 | [] | <p>Wang grew up during China’s Cultural Revolution, an era of radical cultural, political and social change. In the 1970s he worked as a painter of propaganda posters. During the 1980s, government reforms led to a shift away from China’s previous communist system towards increasing levels of foreign investment and consumerism. Wang sought to unite these opposing forces on the canvas by bringing together popular political and commercial symbols in a style that came to be known as 'political pop’. In doing so, he aimed to depict the reality of Chinese society. Chinese communist imagery and Western logos and brands appear together, alongside numbers representing Chinese barcodes.</p><p><em>Gallery label, January 2022</em></p> | false | 1 | 29250 | painting oil paint canvas | [
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] | Great Criticism - Pop | 1,992 | Tate | 1992 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2000 × 3400 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the artist 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Great Criticism – Pop</i> 1992 is a large painting in oil on two abutting canvases. It was one of a group of three paintings that Wang Guangyi exhibited at the 1993 Venice Biennale in a special thematic exhibition titled <i>Passage to the East</i> – one of the earliest presentations of Chinese contemporary art on the international stage. It is emblematic of the artist’s <i>Great Criticism</i> series; begun in 1990. This series is distinctive for its synthesis of Chinese propaganda imagery, painted in a socialist realist style, with Western brands and logos emblazoned around the canvas. Here, Wang has depicted three ‘heroes’ of the Chinese Cultural Revolution (1966–76), seen clutching Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book in one hand and sharp ink pens as weapons in the other. They are shown on a red painted background with the large words ‘NO’, ‘Swatch’ and ‘POP’ punctuating the composition. A series of numbers – barcodes found on consumer goods in China at the time the work was made – are stencilled all over the surface of the painting.</p>\n<p>This work, together with Wang’s other early <i>Great Criticism</i> paintings, has become synonymous with Chinese ‘political pop’ – a term coined in 1992 by the critic Li Xianting to describe the work of artists who were responding to ‘the reality of dissolved meaning’ in a context where consumerism had infiltrated communist ideologies. He saw this type of painting as representative of a time of ‘sober awakening from the grandiose questioning of man and art – and a turning towards the real space of Chinese existence’ (Li Xianting, ‘Apathy and Deconstruction in Post-’89 Art: Analyzing the Trends of Cynical Realism and Political Pop’, in Wu Hung [ed.], <i>MoMA Primary Documents: Contemporary Chinese Art</i>, Durham, North Carolina 2010, p.165). In the earliest of these paintings, <i>Rembrandt Criticized!</i> 1990, Wang appropriated a painting by the Dutch old master Rembrandt (1606–1669), <i>The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp</i> 1632 (Mauritshuis, The Hague), and integrated into it a socialist-realist-style emblem of the fist and red sun. The historian Andrew Cohen has described how, ‘In a dialectical synthesis, Wang submits the old Western master to Chinese revolutionary “criticism and struggle” (pidou)’ (Cohen 2012, accessed 25 May 2019). </p>\n<p>Wang then began to take on socialist realist imagery more overtly, returning to his former profession as a painter of propaganda posters. He utilised dominant symbols of the Cultural Revolution – workers, farmers and soldiers – and combined them with Western advertising techniques and branding. In doing so, Wang looked to the synthesis of two different ideological systems – Western capitalism and Chinese communism – which was becoming a stark reality in the context of Deng Xiaoping’s China of the 1980s and 1990s. Li Xianting stated that, ‘Acting as a sort of sign, Wang Guangyi’s <i>Great Criticism</i> series made an antagonistic juxtaposition between two extremely different sets of pop symbols, one political and one commercial: critical images from Cultural Revolution era “art for the masses” propaganda posters and the logos of Western commercial products that had shot to popularity in China.’ (Li Xianting, ‘Three Critical Perspectives on Wang Guangyi’, in Smith et al. 2002, p.38.)</p>\n<p>Wang’s works make clear reference to North American and European pop art, as well as acting as a critique of the rampant modernisation that characterised China in the 1980s and 1990s. Writing about the emergence of ‘political pop’ and ‘cynical realism’, Li Xianting stated that: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>both [movements were] interested in the dissolution of certain systems of meaning … [and] adopt a comical approach … With a revolutionary momentum resembling that of the ’85 New Wave, these artists raised the flag of Western deconstruction and rallied under slogans such as ‘purging humanist enthusiasm’ … They stripped the lofty veil off the metaphysical ’85 New Wave and attempted to give rise to a new movement through the ‘materiality and immediacy’ of Pop Art. </blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Li Xianting, ‘Political Pop and a Deconstructivist Attempt’, 1992, published in <i>MoMA Primary Documents: Contemporary Chinese Art</i>, Durham, North Carolina 2010, p.178.)</blockquote>\n<p>This painting was originally titled <i>Great Criticism – Swatch</i>, after the popular watch brand that dominates the bottom edge of the composition. It was exhibited under this title in the 1993 Venice Biennale and recorded as such in the accompanying catalogue. The artist has since retitled it <i>Great Criticism – Pop</i>. Following the Venice presentation, the work was shown in <i>Post Pop: East Meets West</i> at the Saatchi Gallery in London in 2014 and <i>Observations of Artistic Practices in East Asia at the Transition between the 1980s and the 1990s</i> at Beijing Inside-Out Art Museum in Beijing in 2017.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Karen Smith, Yan Shanchan, Charles Merewether, Li Xianting, Huang Zhuan and Lu Peng,<i> Wang Guangyi</i>, Hong Kong 2002.<br/>Andrew Cohen, ‘Reasoning with Idols: Wang Guangyi’, <i>Art Asia Pacific</i>, no.77, March–April 2012, <a href=\"http://artasiapacific.com/Magazine/77/ReasoningWithIdolsWangGuangyi\">http://artasiapacific.com/Magazine/77/ReasoningWithIdolsWangGuangyi</a>, accessed 25 May 2019.</p>\n<p>Clara Kim<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, high definition, projection, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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] | 2,010 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/minouk-lim-29444" aria-label="More by Minouk Lim" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Minouk Lim</a> | Weight Hands | 2,020 | [] | Purchased with funds provided by the Asia-Pacific Acquisitions Committee 2020 | T15582 | {
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} | 7016542 7000299 1000004 | Minouk Lim | 2,010 | [] | <p><span>The Weight of Hands</span> 2010 is a single channel video installation with image and sound by the South Korean artist Minouk Lim. It was originally commissioned by FACT (Foundation for Creative Art and Technology) in Liverpool and presented as part of the 2010 Liverpool Biennial entitled <span>Touched</span>. The video lasts just under fourteen minutes and was shot in Seoul, South Korea. It follows a group of young city dwellers travelling on a tour bus to a restricted-access building site. Captured using an infrared camera which gives it an otherworldly, haunting feel, the video documents the night-time passengers engaging in an almost ritualistic journey of pilgrimage. The sequence begins with a drummer, sounding a drum, beckoning the tour bus forwards and leading it through a forest of densely built apartment complexes characteristic of modern-day Seoul. The camera footage alternates between normal video and the infrared footage. The image of the night landscape is replaced by hues of red, orange, pink and purple, registering temperature and heat onto the camera. Without an overt narrative, the film continues as the tour bus stops at a construction site and passengers get out and walk silently around the freshly razed land while construction cranes and equipment are at work. The last part of the film takes the viewer inside the tour bus where a young woman, in a state of rapture, sings a ballad of loss and alienation while being carried overhead and passed from person to person.</p> | false | 1 | 29444 | time-based media video high definition projection colour sound stereo | [] | The Weight of Hands | 2,010 | Tate | 2010 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 13min, 50sec | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the Asia-Pacific Acquisitions Committee 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Weight of Hands</i> 2010 is a single channel video installation with image and sound by the South Korean artist Minouk Lim. It was originally commissioned by FACT (Foundation for Creative Art and Technology) in Liverpool and presented as part of the 2010 Liverpool Biennial entitled <i>Touched</i>. The video lasts just under fourteen minutes and was shot in Seoul, South Korea. It follows a group of young city dwellers travelling on a tour bus to a restricted-access building site. Captured using an infrared camera which gives it an otherworldly, haunting feel, the video documents the night-time passengers engaging in an almost ritualistic journey of pilgrimage. The sequence begins with a drummer, sounding a drum, beckoning the tour bus forwards and leading it through a forest of densely built apartment complexes characteristic of modern-day Seoul. The camera footage alternates between normal video and the infrared footage. The image of the night landscape is replaced by hues of red, orange, pink and purple, registering temperature and heat onto the camera. Without an overt narrative, the film continues as the tour bus stops at a construction site and passengers get out and walk silently around the freshly razed land while construction cranes and equipment are at work. The last part of the film takes the viewer inside the tour bus where a young woman, in a state of rapture, sings a ballad of loss and alienation while being carried overhead and passed from person to person.</p>\n<p>Lim’s is a multidisciplinary practice that locates artistic expression within deeply held political ideals and ethics around democracy and human rights. Merging performance, video and documentary, her work critiques the social and political conditions of contemporary society, responding particularly to the marginalisation of people and the suppression of dissent during the process of rapid democratisation and industrialisation in South Korea. Upholding the importance of direct physical engagement, for Lim, seeing involves the acts of sensing and touching – a poetic achieved by the embodiment of real time and space through film and performance. As such, her works often directly engage people or audiences as witnesses to a lost time, space or memory – in this case, the erasure of neighbourhoods in the name of real estate development that displaces communities.</p>\n<p>Lim’s work operates as an intervention that engages testimonies of lived experience, through the body, mind and senses. In doing so, she is inspired by the French philosopher Jacques Rancière’s notion of ‘dissensus’ by which ‘genuine political and artistic activities always involve forms of innovation that tear bodies from their assigned places’ and ‘have to do with reorienting general perceptual space and disrupting forms of belonging’ (Steven Corcoran, ‘Editor’s Introduction’, in Jacques Rancière, <i>Dissensus: On Politics and Aesthetics</i>, London 2010, pp.1–2.) For Lim, shifting perceptual and sensorial experience is deeply tied to a politics of dissent and a practice of art that lives within these spaces of new possibility. By using an infrared camera typically used for military surveillance, Lim attempts to transgress these cordoned off spaces – both physical and psychological – and calls upon other sensory devices to see through and beyond physical reality. The song that forms the soundtrack to <i>The Weight of Hands</i> was written by the artist and performed by Sangah Nam, with music by Younggyu Jang. It is a funerary rite of sorts, both elegy and send-off. As the artist has noted:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>In my installations, performances, and videos, I aim to give the disappearing present a proper send-off while also constructing a memory of it with the hope of seeing it again in the future. These works are different from the traditional format of a documentary in that they include the intervention of staged actions. So my sense of time does not follow the common sequence of past-present-future, but rather of past-future-present. The existence and the traces of what disappeared and became invisible are presented along the boundary between fiction and reality. This approach enables me to fully embrace the fear and pain of separation, which has already begun at the moment of meeting. I may have internalized this kind of compulsion because I was born in a country [South Korea] that went through colonialism, war, and division. My family had to move 12 times after the day of my birth. They accepted each parting in the name of love and hope. I learned that without some intervention, some people are put in the position of being forced to disappear. All too often, the places and people that disappeared too soon form images in front of my eyes, just like the haze of fiction.</blockquote>\n<blockquote>(Minouk Lim, <i>Journeys of the 25th Hour</i>, <a href=\"https://walkerart.org/magazine/minouk-lim-walker-art-center\">https://walkerart.org/magazine/minouk-lim-walker-art-center</a>, accessed 9 August 2019.)</blockquote>\n<p>\n<i>The Weight of Hands </i>exists in an edition of eight plus two artist’s proofs; Tate’s copy is number four in the edition. Other copies are in the collections of Samuso: Space for Contemporary Art, Seoul; Platform-L Contemporary Art Center, Seoul; and ACC Gwangju Archive, Gwangju. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Seyeon Ahn (ed.), <i>The Promise of If</i>, exhibition catalogue, Plateau, Samsung Foundation of Culture, Seoul 2015.<br/>Fabian Schöneich (ed.), <i>United Paradox</i>, exhibition catalogue, Portikus, Frankfurt 2017.</p>\n<p>Clara Kim<br/>August 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Reindeer moss, wood, wire | [
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} | 7003474 7018281 1000066 | Olafur Eliasson | 1,994 | [] | <p><span>Moss wall</span> 1994 is installation that is made anew each time it is displayed. A grid of chicken wire is attached to the wall and the plant <span>Cladonia rangiferina</span>, commonly known as Reindeer Moss or Lichen, is stuffed into the holes. This moss is purchased from commercial suppliers who source it from Scandinavia and treat it with saline or glycerine, ensuring it is preserved and inflammable. The dimensions of the work vary according to the site, but the moss must cover an entire wall with a small lip extending about a foot onto the floor of the display space. Where possible, visitors may be allowed to touch the work. A statement on the artist’s website about the work reads:</p> | false | 1 | 5239 | installation reindeer moss wood wire | [
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"dateText": "10 May 2024 – 30 August 2026",
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"dateText": "10 May 2024 – 22 September 2024",
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"id": 15926,
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"venueName": "Singapore Art Museum (Singapore, Singapore)",
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{
"dateText": "1 October 2024 – 30 April 2025",
"endDate": "2025-04-30",
"id": 15927,
"startDate": "2024-10-01",
"venueName": "Auckland Art Gallery (Auckland, New Zealand)",
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"venueName": "Taipei Fine Arts Museum (Taipei, Taiwan)",
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"id": 15929,
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"venueName": "Museum MACAN (Jakarta, Indonesia)",
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"title": "Olafur Eliasson",
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] | Moss wall | 1,994 | Tate | 1994 | CLEARED | 3 | displayed: 60000 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the New Carlsberg Foundation 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Moss wall</i> 1994 is installation that is made anew each time it is displayed. A grid of chicken wire is attached to the wall and the plant <i>Cladonia rangiferina</i>, commonly known as Reindeer Moss or Lichen, is stuffed into the holes. This moss is purchased from commercial suppliers who source it from Scandinavia and treat it with saline or glycerine, ensuring it is preserved and inflammable. The dimensions of the work vary according to the site, but the moss must cover an entire wall with a small lip extending about a foot onto the floor of the display space. Where possible, visitors may be allowed to touch the work. A statement on the artist’s website about the work reads:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Reindeer moss (Cladonia rangiferina), a lichen native to countries in the northern latitudes including Iceland, is woven into a wire mesh and mounted on the wall of a gallery. As the lichen dries, it shrinks and fades; when the installation is watered, the moss expands, changes colour again, and fills the space with its fragrance.<br/>(<a href=\"https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK101810/moss-wall\">https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK101810/moss-wall</a>, accessed 10 July 2020.)</blockquote>\n<p>Eliasson first presented <i>Moss wall</i> in 1994 at the Art Cologne art fair. At the time, he was making installations that were pitched against the commercialism of the art world and so <i>Moss wall</i> was deliberately ‘unsaleable’. Now one of the best-known works of Eliasson’s early career, it has featured in almost all of his major solo exhibitions including his 2007–8 retrospective <i>Take your time</i> – which toured to multiple venues in the United States from San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2007 – and Tate Modern’s exhibition <i>Olafur Eliasson: In real life</i>, where it was installed along the length of a twelve-metre wall.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Moss wall</i> speaks to Eliasson’s interest in disrupting the appearance and experience of gallery architecture, and in dissolving the boundaries dividing interior and exterior environments, either by opening up space or bringing natural materials inside. It also evokes the moss that covers the lava fields found in several locations around Iceland. Having visited Iceland regularly throughout his life to see his grandparents, the country’s unique climate, geology and fauna have impressed themselves upon the artist. This has led him to use materials like lava and glacial ice in some works, and to translate Icelandic waterfalls and riverbeds into sculptures. In bringing natural materials into the gallery space, Eliasson also drew upon a legacy of land art and sculptural history that includes Hans Haacke’s <i>Grass Grows</i> 1967, Robert Smithson’s <i>Non-sites </i>1968, Walter de Maria’s <i>Earth Room</i> 1977 and Richard Long’s various mud walls.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Madeleine Grynsztejn, <i>Take Your Time: Olafur Eliasson</i>, exhibition catalogue, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art 2007.<br/>Olafur Eliasson,<i> Experience</i>, London 2018.<br/>Mark Godfrey, <i>Olafur Eliasson: In real life</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Modern, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Mark Godfrey and Emma Lewis<br/>July 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, high definition with sound (stereo) and screen printed plastic bags | [
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] | 2,018 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/rory-pilgrim-30536" aria-label="More by Rory Pilgrim" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Rory Pilgrim</a> | Software Garden | 2,021 | [] | Purchased with funds provided by Tate International Council 2021 | T15585 | {
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} | 7011198 7019018 7002445 7008591 | Rory Pilgrim | 2,018 | [] | <p><span>Software Garden</span> 2018 is an eleven-track collaborative music video album, presented in a spatial installation, that has become recognised as Rory Pilgrim’s defining work to date for the way in which a wide range of practice and subject matter are brought together in a single piece. It responds to the political climate in post-Brexit Britain and more specifically to reforms in healthcare and social care. It was developed over a two-year research period that included live performances, concerts and workshops at institutions such as the Transmediale, Berlin, the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art, Gateshead and the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam. Footage of these performances has been edited and is included in the final video album that lasts just under fifty-one minutes; it is produced in an edition of six, of which Tate’s is number one.</p> | false | 1 | 30536 | time-based media video high definition sound stereo screen printed plastic bags | [] | Software Garden | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 51min, 35sec
Overall display dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by Tate International Council 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Software Garden</i> 2018 is an eleven-track collaborative music video album, presented in a spatial installation, that has become recognised as Rory Pilgrim’s defining work to date for the way in which a wide range of practice and subject matter are brought together in a single piece. It responds to the political climate in post-Brexit Britain and more specifically to reforms in healthcare and social care. It was developed over a two-year research period that included live performances, concerts and workshops at institutions such as the Transmediale, Berlin, the Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art, Gateshead and the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam. Footage of these performances has been edited and is included in the final video album that lasts just under fifty-one minutes; it is produced in an edition of six, of which Tate’s is number one. </p>\n<p>The video foregrounds Pilgrim’s collaborative relationship with Sheffield-based poet and disability advocate Carol R. Kallend, whose poetry functions as a personal narrative throughout the album, giving insight into her desire to build a new relationship with a robotic caring companion. When asked to elaborate on the title <i>Software Garden</i>, Pilgrim explained: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The image of the garden appears a lot throughout my work as a space built on nurture, growth and renewal. You have to be patient with a garden and as the gardener you have to work with the garden to see how it wants to take shape dealing with elements also beyond your control. In this sense it is a political space. What is more political than the earth and how humans choose to live on it? <br/>(Rory Pilgrim, Artist Statement, <a href=\"https://www.rorypilgrim.com/software-garden-cycle-1/\">https://www.rorypilgrim.com/software-garden-cycle-1/</a>, accessed 1 July 2020)</blockquote>\n<p>Pilgrim has stated that ‘as a queer person, it feels very natural to have to navigate fluidly between binary or fixed histories that you don’t relate to’ (quoted in Human Poney, <i>The evolution of care: a conversation with Rory Pilgrim on technology + activism through the lens of spirituality + joy</i>, 14 June 2017, <a href=\"https://www.aqnb.com/2017/06/14/the-evolution-of-care-a-conversation-with-rory-pilgrim-on-activism-through-the-lens-of-spirituality-and-joy/\">https://www.aqnb.com/2017/06/14/the-evolution-of-care-a-conversation-with-rory-pilgrim-on-activism-through-the-lens-of-spirituality-and-joy/</a>, accessed 1 July 2020). The eleven videos switch between different film locations and live recordings, offering a layered and sometimes overwhelming visual experience. The work echoes Pilgrim’s interest in how information is experienced through the internet and how technology could be employed to foster interactions between people. He has explained, ‘the project centres the question: how to meet from both behind and beyond our screens’ (Rory Pilgrim, Artist Statement, <a href=\"https://www.rorypilgrim.com/software-garden-cycle-1/\">https://www.rorypilgrim.com/software-garden-cycle-1/</a>, accessed 1 July 2020). </p>\n<p>The videos are projected sequentially on a gallery wall or glass screen in the centre of the display space. Scattered around the projection screen are a series of plastic bags that have parts of the lyrics screenprinted onto them. Two related works on paper, titled <i>Government Lover</i> 2018 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/pilgrim-government-lover-t15586\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15586</span></a>) and <i>Energise Me</i> 2019 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/pilgrim-energise-me-t15587\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15587</span></a>), are also in Tate’s collection. These take the form of banners hand-painted with poetic texts relating to <i>Software Garden</i>. They can be suspended from the ceiling in direct proximity to the projection or displayed separately on a wall.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Arnisa Zeqo, <i>Rory Pilgrim, Can We Leave Things As They Are?</i>, exhibition catalogue, Paul Andriesse, Amsterdam 2012.<br/>Rory Pilgrim, <i>The Open Sky</i>, exhibition catalogue, Flat Time House in London, London 2016.</p>\n<p>Mels Evers <br/>July 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Emulsion paint on paper | [
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] | 2,018 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/rory-pilgrim-30536" aria-label="More by Rory Pilgrim" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Rory Pilgrim</a> | Government Lover | 2,021 | [] | Presented by Andriesse Eyck Gallery 2020 | T15586 | {
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} | 7011198 7019018 7002445 7008591 | Rory Pilgrim | 2,018 | [] | <p><span>Government Lover</span> 2018 is a hand-painted poster on paper made by Rory Pilgrim in close collaboration with Sheffield-based poster maker David Andrews. It – and another related poster, <span>Energise Me</span> 2019 (Tate T15587), also in Tate’s collection – relates to the artist’s eleven-track collaborative music video album and installation <span>Software Garden</span> 2018 (Tate T15585). The posters can be presented as banners hanging from the ceiling of the <span>Software Garden </span>installation space or separately hung on a wall. They bear poetic phrases from the lyrics featured in <span>Software Garden</span>. Here the text reads: ‘Government Lover, Intimacy is Freedom, My Freedom is Your Freedom, My Freedom Defends yours’.</p> | false | 1 | 30536 | paper unique emulsion paint | [] | Government Lover | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | CLEARED | 5 | image: 800 × 500 mm
support: 800 × 500 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Andriesse Eyck Gallery 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Government Lover</i> 2018 is a hand-painted poster on paper made by Rory Pilgrim in close collaboration with Sheffield-based poster maker David Andrews. It – and another related poster, <i>Energise Me</i> 2019 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/pilgrim-energise-me-t15587\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15587</span></a>), also in Tate’s collection – relates to the artist’s eleven-track collaborative music video album and installation <i>Software Garden</i> 2018 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/pilgrim-software-garden-t15585\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15585</span></a>). The posters can be presented as banners hanging from the ceiling of the <i>Software Garden </i>installation space or separately hung on a wall. They bear poetic phrases from the lyrics featured in <i>Software Garden</i>. Here the text reads: ‘Government Lover, Intimacy is Freedom, My Freedom is Your Freedom, My Freedom Defends yours’.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Software Garden</i> has become recognised as Pilgrim’s defining work for the way in which a wide range of practice and subject is brought together in a single piece. It responds to the political climate in post-Brexit Britain and more specifically to reforms in healthcare and social care. The work foregrounds Pilgrim’s collaborative relationship with Sheffield-based poet and disability advocate Carol R. Kallend, whose poetry functions as a personal narrative throughout the album, giving insight into her desire to build a new relationship with a robotic caring companion. </p>\n<p>Pilgrim has stated that ‘as a queer person, it feels very natural to have to navigate fluidly between binary or fixed histories that you don’t relate to’ (quoted in Human Poney, <i>The evolution of care: a conversation with Rory Pilgrim on technology + activism through the lens of spirituality + joy</i>, 14 June 2017, <a href=\"https://www.aqnb.com/2017/06/14/the-evolution-of-care-a-conversation-with-rory-pilgrim-on-activism-through-the-lens-of-spirituality-and-joy/\">https://www.aqnb.com/2017/06/14/the-evolution-of-care-a-conversation-with-rory-pilgrim-on-activism-through-the-lens-of-spirituality-and-joy/</a>, accessed 1 July 2020). The eleven videos switch between different film locations and live recordings, offering a layered and sometimes overwhelming visual experience. The work echoes Pilgrim’s interest in how information is experienced through the internet and how technology could be employed to foster interactions between people. He has explained, ‘the project centres the question: how to meet from both behind and beyond our screens’ (Rory Pilgrim, Artist Statement, <a href=\"https://www.rorypilgrim.com/software-garden-cycle-1/\">https://www.rorypilgrim.com/software-garden-cycle-1/</a>, accessed 1 July 2020). </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Arnisa Zeqo, <i>Rory Pilgrim, Can We Leave Things As They Are?</i>, exhibition catalogue, Paul Andriesse, Amsterdam 2012.<br/>Rory Pilgrim, <i>The Open Sky</i>, exhibition catalogue, Flat Time House in London, London 2016.</p>\n<p>Mels Evers <br/>July 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Elastane fabric, resin, wire mesh, nylon, aluminium, plastic, acrylic sheet and other materials | [
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} | 7006541 | Daiga Grantina | 2,016 | [] | <p><span>Buff in Bloom, Glow and Thumos </span>2016 is a large-scale sculptural work by the Latvian-born artist Daiga Grantina. It comprises three large sculptures, each four and a half metres high. They are displayed as a group, suspended from the ceiling on metal wire at one end and resting on the floor at the other. The objects are made of nylon resin and lycra. Each one also includes colourful plastic elements. Grantina frequently works with found, everyday materials and this group is representative of this approach.</p> | false | 1 | 29269 | installation elastane fabric resin wire mesh nylon aluminium plastic acrylic sheet other materials | [] | Buff in Bloom, Glow and Thumos | 2,016 | Tate | 2016 | CLEARED | 3 | Overall dimensions variable
| accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the Russia and Eastern Europe Acquisitions Committee 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Buff in Bloom, Glow and Thumos </i>2016 is a large-scale sculptural work by the Latvian-born artist Daiga Grantina. It comprises three large sculptures, each four and a half metres high. They are displayed as a group, suspended from the ceiling on metal wire at one end and resting on the floor at the other. The objects are made of nylon resin and lycra. Each one also includes colourful plastic elements. Grantina frequently works with found, everyday materials and this group is representative of this approach. </p>\n<p>The work was shown for the first time in the exhibition <i>Adhesive Objects</i>, which was part of the Bergen Assembly in 2016. Taking as a starting point Linda Benglis’s (born 1941) eponymous experiments with industrial materials, the show featured contemporary artists who transgress the limitations of sculpture. Grantina’s contribution – monumental objects made of liquid plastic and elastane – not only evoked Benglis’s investigations into the processes of pouring and casting but also challenged the physical qualities of the materials used, reflecting the artist’s ongoing commitment to exploring the medium of sculpture matter and its processes. Typical of Grantina’s practice, the semi-translucent layers of nylon resin in <i>Buff in Bloom, Glow and Thumos </i>incorporate light as an active element of their structure, contributing to their gravity-defying appearance. Furthermore, exploiting lycra’s elasticity and strength and covering the fabric with coats of resin, Grantina tested its shaping qualities and ability to achieve organic forms reminiscent of the human body.</p>\n<p>This corporeal aspect gains prominence thanks to the title of the work, which points towards the importance of the beige, fleshy colour of the sculptures. The smooth resin shells<i> </i>are indeed redolent of skin and trigger associations with fragmented bodily shapes. Curator Martha Kirszenbaum has compared Grantina’s practice to that of to the post-war Polish sculptor Alina Szapocznikow (1926–1973), while also situating her works in the broader context of art in the aftermath of World War II, specifically<i> </i>European art informel. Writing in 2015 about slightly earlier work than this, she described the: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>haunting and formidable ensemble of organic sculptures intertwined on the floor and walls of the gallery – pieces of flesh and rough components, suspended, floating or leaning on the walls of the white cube, suggesting an entire body dislocated and distorted. The idea of the living flux appears at the core of the artist’s practice, evoking the notion of ‘formless’ coined by French writer George Bataille. <br/>(Kirszenbaum 2015, p.61.)</blockquote>\n<p>Unlike the traumatised bodies formed by Szapocznikow, Jean Dubuffet (1901–1985) or their contemporaries, <i>Buff in Bloom, Glow and Thumos </i>represent bodies that flourish, as implied by the individual sculptures’ names. Growing up in a foreign country, in Germany as opposed to her native Latvia, Grantina developed a keen interest in linguistics. The titles of her works, frequently borrowed from classical languages, always hint at their meaning. The Greek term <i>thumos</i>,<i> </i>for instance,<i> </i>translates to ‘spiritedness’ and indicates an association with breath and blood. By choosing it for the work’s title, the artist suggests the presence of animate matter within the synthetic substance and thus inscribes her work into contemporary debates on post-humanism. The neon-coloured plastic elements disturb the organic flow of curvy shapes to remind us of the industrial origins of the materials used. This visual tension raises questions about the relationship of our bodies to technology, a recurring motif in Grantina’s work.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Martha Kirszenbaum, ‘Daiga Grantina’, <i>Kaleidoscope</i>, no.25, 2015, p.61.<br/>Stephanie Seidel, ‘Daiga Grantina’, <i>Cura</i>, no.24, 2017, pp.202–5.<br/>Inga Lāce and Valentinas Klimašauskas, <i>Saules Suns</i>, exhibition catalogue, The Pavilion of Latvia at the 58th Venice Biennale, 11 May–24 November 2019. </p>\n<p>Kasia Redzisz<br/>June 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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} | 7011781 7008136 7002445 7008591 7011961 | Paul Nash | 1,929 | [] | <p><span>Month of March</span> 1929 is a painting in oil on canvas that shows the view from Nash’s studio at Oxenbridge Cottage near Iden in Sussex, where he lived between 1925 and 1930. The viewer looks through an open window whose white frame bisects that of a fruit-picking ladder. To the right is a gate also intersected by the window frame and to the left a wattle hurdle, traditionally made from woven willow or hazel. Beyond this is an orchard of young trees, planted in precise rows, and a hedge. The composition of the painting is formed around the contrasting straight lines created by these natural objects, setting up an opposition between manmade and natural objects in nature. These are all framed by the device of the open window, which creates a landscape within a landscape and whose relationship with the real picture edge creates an ambiguity about the space of the painting and the space of the viewer.</p> | false | 1 | 1690 | painting oil paint canvas | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Month of March</i> 1929 is a painting in oil on canvas that shows the view from Nash’s studio at Oxenbridge Cottage near Iden in Sussex, where he lived between 1925 and 1930. The viewer looks through an open window whose white frame bisects that of a fruit-picking ladder. To the right is a gate also intersected by the window frame and to the left a wattle hurdle, traditionally made from woven willow or hazel. Beyond this is an orchard of young trees, planted in precise rows, and a hedge. The composition of the painting is formed around the contrasting straight lines created by these natural objects, setting up an opposition between manmade and natural objects in nature. These are all framed by the device of the open window, which creates a landscape within a landscape and whose relationship with the real picture edge creates an ambiguity about the space of the painting and the space of the viewer.</p>\n<p>In his autobiography <i>Outline</i>, published posthumously in 1949, Nash identified 1928 as the beginning of ‘a new vision and a new style’ in his work. He first saw the work of Giorgio de Chirico (1888–1978) in London in 1928 and paintings made after this year, such as <i>Landscape at Iden</i> 1929 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/nash-landscape-at-iden-n05047\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>N05047</span></a>) and <i>Northern Adventure</i> 1929 (Aberdeen Art Gallery and Museums) show de Chirico’s influence. They suggest mysterious narratives through strange juxtapositions of objects, enigmatic architectural structures and framing devices in the landscape, as well as the use of accentuated perspective to create a sense of the uncanny. Like <i>Landscape at Iden</i>, <i>Month of March</i> shows the view from Nash’s studio window, but it represents a new development in the artist’s treatment of space. Here Nash explored the intersection of geometrical forms to create multiple perspectives, framing part of the landscape within the open window of the studio. This both demonstrates the importance of cubist multiple perspectives to Nash’s work in this period and draws on surrealist ideas in offering the alternate reality of a landscape within a landscape. The painting thus demonstrates the significant impact of cubism and surrealism on both Nash’s work and British cultural life in the inter-war period. Nash was influential in bringing the developments of European inter-war modernism to Britain both in his art and his writing, later forming the group Unit One to promote the work of British abstract and surrealist artists.</p>\n<p>The complex intersection of the wooden frameworks of the window, fruit-picking ladders and fences in <i>Month of March </i>accentuates the effect of a landscape defined by manmade structures and anticipates the framing devices that Nash would use in one of his greatest surrealist landscapes, <i>Landscape from a Dream</i> 1936–8 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/nash-landscape-from-a-dream-n05667\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>N05667</span></a>).<i> </i>The art historian Andrew Causey has interpreted <i>Month of March</i> as one of a sequence of three paintings dating from 1929 relating to the death of Nash’s father in February of that year (the others being <i>February</i> [private collection] and <i>Landscape at Iden</i>). He suggests that the fruit-picking ladder may be a ‘Jacob’s Ladder’ ascending to heaven (Causey 1980, p.173) and notes ‘the tangle of gates, fences and hedges that close off access to further landscapes insisting that the only accessible pathway is upwards’ (Causey 2013, p.69).</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Margot Eates, <i>Paul Nash</i>, London 1948, plate 52.<br/>Paul Nash, <i>A Memorial Exhibition</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Gallery, London 1948, cat. no.26, p.12.<br/>Paul Nash, <i>Paintings and Watercolours</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Gallery 1975, cat. no.114.<br/>Andrew Causey, <i>Paul Nash</i>,<i> </i>Oxford 1980, pp.174, 406, cat. no.638.<br/>David Fraser Jenkins, <i>Paul Nash: The Elements</i>, exhibition catalogue, Dulwich Picture Gallery, London 2010, p.115.<br/>Andrew Causey, <i>Paul Nash: Landscape and the Life of Objects</i>, Farnham 2013, pp. 56, 69–71, 77, 93, 101. <br/>Emma Chambers (ed.), <i>Paul Nash</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Britain, London 2016, pp.102, 182.</p>\n<p>Emma Chambers <br/>August 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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} | 1030489 7008116 7002445 7008591 | John Opie | 1,784 | [] | <p>This painting caused a sensation when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1784. It was remarkable for its frank and touching representation of ordinary life. John Opie modelled the school mistress on his mother. Contemporary viewers particularly admired its realism and dramatic light effects. John Opie launched into the London art world as the ‘Cornish wonder’, a self-taught prodigy. This picture only added to his celebrity. The popularity of <span>A School</span> – and condescension towards Opie because of his working-class background – is apparent in one critic’s quip that ‘Could people in vulgar life afford to pay for pictures, Opie would be their man’.</p><p><em>Gallery label, February 2024</em></p> | false | 1 | 406 | painting oil paint canvas | [
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] | A School | 1,784 | Tate | 1784 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 1023 × 1270 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Accepted in lieu of Inheritance Tax by HM Government and allocated to Tate 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This work (previously known as <i>The School Mistress</i>) launched Opie’s London career when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1784. It shows a group of boys receiving instruction in a plain Cornish schoolroom. One of the children stands before the schoolmistress with an open book in his hand, while the schoolmistress herself is also consulting an open volume. To the left, another child holds the paw of a tabby cat. Inspired by seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Dutch examples, especially the work of Rembrandt (1606–1669), Opie’s painting combines a sense of acute naturalism and a dramatic handling of light effects. The artist apparently used family members as models for the various figures in the scene. Tate holds a painted study by Opie of his mother, <i>The Artist’s Mother</i> c.1791 (<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/opie-the-artists-mother-n03518\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>N03518</span></a>), which relates closely to the figure of the schoolmistress in this picture, and a portrait of <i>Master William Opie </i>c.1788 (<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/opie-master-william-opie-n01408\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>N01408</span></a>), which may show the boy standing at the centre of this composition, aged four or five years older.</p>\n<p>The picture was highly admired when it was first exhibited in 1784. The influential connoisseur Horace Walpole called it ‘great nature; the best of his works yet’ (quoted in Earland 1911, p.54). However, it also represented a challenge to established ideas about the legitimate subjects and styles of art, bringing the apparently frank and unaffected representation of daily life into the rarefied context of the Royal Academy. Opie, the son of a mine carpenter, was often condescendingly viewed as rough and unsophisticated in his personal qualities. Together, the artist and his art seemed to strike a new note of democratic engagement in British culture. Responding to the original display of the picture, one newspaper critic quipped: ‘Could people in vulgar life afford to pay for pictures, Opie would be their man.’ (Quoted in Waterhouse 1994, p.282.) However, the artist was knowingly evoking the art of the past, and the strong visual qualities and affecting subject matter were aimed at ensuring that the painting would stand out in the highly competitive context of the annual Royal Academy exhibitions. The composition was engraved in mezzotint in 1785, the year after its exhibition, by the leading engraver Valentine Green, further suggesting that the image was expected to have strong commercial appeal. The picture has retained its high reputation, heralded in the art historian Ellis Waterhouse’s seminal narrative history of British art (first published 1953) as introducing ‘a new voice in English painting’ (Waterhouse 1994, p.282). </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Jope Rogers, <i>Opie and his Works</i>, London 1878, p.223.<br/>Ada Earland, <i>John Opie and His Circle</i>, London 1911, p.54, reproduced p.354.<br/>Ellis K. Waterhouse, <i>Painting in Britain, 1530–1790</i> (1953), 5th edition, New Haven and London 1994, p.282.</p>\n<p>Greg Sullivan and Martin Myrone<br/>July 2017, revised February 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This painting caused a sensation when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1784. It was remarkable for its frank and touching representation of ordinary life. John Opie modelled the school mistress on his mother. Contemporary viewers particularly admired its realism and dramatic light effects. John Opie launched into the London art world as the ‘Cornish wonder’, a self-taught prodigy. This picture only added to his celebrity. The popularity of <i>A School</i> – and condescension towards Opie because of his working-class background – is apparent in one critic’s quip that ‘Could people in vulgar life afford to pay for pictures, Opie would be their man’.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Ink, graphite, charcoal, shellac, gouache and acrylic paint on paper on wood | [
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] | 1,990 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/john-virtue-4829" aria-label="More by John Virtue" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">John Virtue</a> | Landscape 109 | 2,021 | [] | Purchased with funds provided by The Rothschild Foundation, The Estate of Mollie Winifred Vickers and Robert Hiscox 2020 | T15594 | {
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} | 7010423 7008154 7002445 7008591 | John Virtue | 1,990 | [] | <p><span>Landscape No. 109</span> 1990−1 is a large mixed media work on paper by the British artist John Virtue. It is made up of eighty landscape-format black and white drawings in ink, graphite, charcoal, shellac, gouache and acrylic paint on paper, abutted in a grid ten high and eight across. Once mounted together on board, the surface of the drawings – made predominantly in black ink – has been enlivened by gestural marks of white acrylic. Individually, each of the drawings shows a distinct landscape view with a dominant motif – a tree or treeline, house, church and roads; however, brought together in a grid, this individuality dissolves into a different unity that is closer to an abstraction. The addition of white acrylic marks variously tessellates and fragments the picture, as well as pulling together and unifying the individual drawings as one abstract image.</p> | false | 1 | 4829 | paper unique ink graphite charcoal shellac gouache acrylic paint wood | [] | Landscape No. 109 | 1,990 | Tate | 1990–91 | CLEARED | 5 | frame: 1491 × 1695 × 33 mm
support: 1483 × 1687 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by The Rothschild Foundation, The Estate of Mollie Winifred Vickers and Robert Hiscox 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Landscape No. 109</i> 1990−1 is a large mixed media work on paper by the British artist John Virtue. It is made up of eighty landscape-format black and white drawings in ink, graphite, charcoal, shellac, gouache and acrylic paint on paper, abutted in a grid ten high and eight across. Once mounted together on board, the surface of the drawings – made predominantly in black ink – has been enlivened by gestural marks of white acrylic. Individually, each of the drawings shows a distinct landscape view with a dominant motif – a tree or treeline, house, church and roads; however, brought together in a grid, this individuality dissolves into a different unity that is closer to an abstraction. The addition of white acrylic marks variously tessellates and fragments the picture, as well as pulling together and unifying the individual drawings as one abstract image. </p>\n<p>\n<i>Landscape No. 109</i> was made not long after Virtue had moved from the small Lancashire village in which he had lived for just under twenty years and where he had evolved the parameters of his landscape practice. This involved the creation of drawings during his daily walks around his immediate surroundings (at that time he worked as a local postman). Once home, these would be mounted on board and the drawing, made initially in graphite or charcoal, would be worked over in ink and also shellac. By 1980 he started to mount these individual drawings together. The character of line in these drawings was crisp – obsessive in its observation and communication of the detail of the scene. By 1988, and following a move to South Lawton in Devon, this line started to loosen up. The looser line, alongside the artist’s presentation of the drawings in a grid overlaid by gestural marks of white paint, suggest a distance from the immediate landscape source of the work. This contrast of mark-making within the composition reveals the degree to which Virtue’s work is less about topography or creating a visually recognisable record of a given landscape motif, but more concerned with the communication of both a visual and subjective understanding of walking and the experience of being in the landscape. </p>\n<p>After 1991 this impulse evolved within Virtue’s practice as he abandoned the idea making a work from an assemblage of drawings and started making large, often seemingly abstract, paintings on canvas tarpaulins. Painted directly on the ground in the landscape as well as in the studio, these paintings took their lead from the collision of the grid of drawn images and the freedom of the painted mark seen in works like <i>Landscape No. 109</i>. The critic Andrew Graham-Dixon has observed that what is common throughout, however, is Virtue’s enduring ‘fascination with mobility and change as the perpetual unchanging principles of a perpetually un-still universe’ (in <i>John Virtue New Works</i>, exhibition catalogue, Douglas Hyde Gallery, Dublin 1995, unpaginated).</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>John Virtue Works 1985–</i>86, exhibition catalogue, Lisson Gallery, London 1986.<br/>\n<i>John Virtue Forty Years</i>, exhibition catalogue, Albion Barn 2017.<br/>Paul Moorhouse, <i>John Virtue</i>, London 2019.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson<br/>March 2018, updated March 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Photograph, c-print on paper | [
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} | 7008591 1040868 1003123 7003677 7000084 | Wolfgang Tillmans | 2,008 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<span> Lighter</span> 2005–ongoing (Tate T15599–T15602). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p> | false | 1 | 2747 | paper unique photograph c-print | [
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] | Lighter 44 | 2,008 | Tate | 2008 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 600 × 505 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Tate International Council 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<i> Lighter</i> 2005–ongoing (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-44-t15599\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15599</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-blue-up-ix-t15602\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15602</span></a>). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p>\n<p>Tillmans’s diverse body of work is distinguished by a keen observation of his surroundings and an ongoing investigation into, and experimentation with, the foundations of photography and its processes. Playing with the methodologies of exhibition-making, he often pins or tapes his work to gallery walls, builds museological vitrines, or creates wall-based cases for selected works. He also simultaneously challenges the parameters of photographic practice by manipulating technological and chemical processes to distort and abstract his images, as well as reassessing established photographic genres or conventions such as still life, portraiture and landscape. Since 2003 Tillmans has deepened his exploration of photographic abstraction whilst expanding photography into the practices of painting, sculpture and – most recently – performance and activism. It is an important part of his approach that different kinds of images – abstract, representational, various print types and scales – exist equally and democratically within the logic of his picture and exhibition-making. In a statement for a wall text at his solo exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery, London in 2010, he commented: ‘I try to approximate the way I see the world, not in a linear order but as a multitude of parallel experiences. Multiple singularities, simultaneously accessible as they share the same space or room.’</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Lighter</i>, Berlin 2008.<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Abstract Pictures</i>, Berlin 2011.<br/>\n<i>2017</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Modern, London 2017.</p>\n<p>Kate Bush<br/>April 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7008591 1040868 1003123 7003677 7000084 | Wolfgang Tillmans | 2,008 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<span> Lighter</span> 2005–ongoing (Tate T15599–T15602). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p> | false | 1 | 2747 | paper unique photograph c-print | [
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] | Lighter yellow/green I | 2,008 | Tate | 2008 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 575 × 505 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Tate International Council 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<i> Lighter</i> 2005–ongoing (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-44-t15599\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15599</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-blue-up-ix-t15602\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15602</span></a>). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p>\n<p>Tillmans’s diverse body of work is distinguished by a keen observation of his surroundings and an ongoing investigation into, and experimentation with, the foundations of photography and its processes. Playing with the methodologies of exhibition-making, he often pins or tapes his work to gallery walls, builds museological vitrines, or creates wall-based cases for selected works. He also simultaneously challenges the parameters of photographic practice by manipulating technological and chemical processes to distort and abstract his images, as well as reassessing established photographic genres or conventions such as still life, portraiture and landscape. Since 2003 Tillmans has deepened his exploration of photographic abstraction whilst expanding photography into the practices of painting, sculpture and – most recently – performance and activism. It is an important part of his approach that different kinds of images – abstract, representational, various print types and scales – exist equally and democratically within the logic of his picture and exhibition-making. In a statement for a wall text at his solo exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery, London in 2010, he commented: ‘I try to approximate the way I see the world, not in a linear order but as a multitude of parallel experiences. Multiple singularities, simultaneously accessible as they share the same space or room.’</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Lighter</i>, Berlin 2008.<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Abstract Pictures</i>, Berlin 2011.<br/>\n<i>2017</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Modern, London 2017.</p>\n<p>Kate Bush<br/>April 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | 7008591 1040868 1003123 7003677 7000084 | Wolfgang Tillmans | 2,010 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<span> Lighter</span> 2005–ongoing (Tate T15599–T15602). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p> | false | 1 | 2747 | paper unique photograph c-print | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<i> Lighter</i> 2005–ongoing (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-44-t15599\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15599</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-blue-up-ix-t15602\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15602</span></a>). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p>\n<p>Tillmans’s diverse body of work is distinguished by a keen observation of his surroundings and an ongoing investigation into, and experimentation with, the foundations of photography and its processes. Playing with the methodologies of exhibition-making, he often pins or tapes his work to gallery walls, builds museological vitrines, or creates wall-based cases for selected works. He also simultaneously challenges the parameters of photographic practice by manipulating technological and chemical processes to distort and abstract his images, as well as reassessing established photographic genres or conventions such as still life, portraiture and landscape. Since 2003 Tillmans has deepened his exploration of photographic abstraction whilst expanding photography into the practices of painting, sculpture and – most recently – performance and activism. It is an important part of his approach that different kinds of images – abstract, representational, various print types and scales – exist equally and democratically within the logic of his picture and exhibition-making. In a statement for a wall text at his solo exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery, London in 2010, he commented: ‘I try to approximate the way I see the world, not in a linear order but as a multitude of parallel experiences. Multiple singularities, simultaneously accessible as they share the same space or room.’</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Lighter</i>, Berlin 2008.<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Abstract Pictures</i>, Berlin 2011.<br/>\n<i>2017</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Modern, London 2017.</p>\n<p>Kate Bush<br/>April 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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] | 2,013 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/wolfgang-tillmans-2747" aria-label="More by Wolfgang Tillmans" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Wolfgang Tillmans</a> | Lighter blue up IX | 2,021 | [] | Presented by Tate International Council 2021 | T15602 | {
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} | 7008591 1040868 1003123 7003677 7000084 | Wolfgang Tillmans | 2,013 | [] | <p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<span> Lighter</span> 2005–ongoing (Tate T15599–T15602). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p> | false | 1 | 2747 | paper unique photograph c-print | [] | Lighter, blue up IX | 2,013 | Tate | 2013 | CLEARED | 5 | support: 600 × 505 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Tate International Council 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This is one of a group of works in Tate’s collection from Wolfgang Tillmans’s extensive series<i> Lighter</i> 2005–ongoing (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-44-t15599\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15599</span></a>–<a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/tillmans-lighter-blue-up-ix-t15602\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15602</span></a>). In this series, the artist plays with photographic process to create abstract works of luminous colour and light. The series was initially inspired by the most mundane occurrence: a paper jam in a printer which caused the sheet of paper to crumple. Each individual work in the series is a unique chromogenic print where the paper has been in some way folded, crumpled or creased to give the two-dimensional sheet a sculptural quality. Sometimes the photographic paper is exposed to light before being manipulated, sometimes afterwards. The process results in a range of alternately vivid and subtle, single or multiple colour fields. Each work is titled with a description that alludes to its physical colouration and a numerical sequence. They are encased in specially designed deep acrylic box frames, giving them an object quality which extends the way in which these works play with the viewer’s perception of where flatness and form begin and end.</p>\n<p>Tillmans’s diverse body of work is distinguished by a keen observation of his surroundings and an ongoing investigation into, and experimentation with, the foundations of photography and its processes. Playing with the methodologies of exhibition-making, he often pins or tapes his work to gallery walls, builds museological vitrines, or creates wall-based cases for selected works. He also simultaneously challenges the parameters of photographic practice by manipulating technological and chemical processes to distort and abstract his images, as well as reassessing established photographic genres or conventions such as still life, portraiture and landscape. Since 2003 Tillmans has deepened his exploration of photographic abstraction whilst expanding photography into the practices of painting, sculpture and – most recently – performance and activism. It is an important part of his approach that different kinds of images – abstract, representational, various print types and scales – exist equally and democratically within the logic of his picture and exhibition-making. In a statement for a wall text at his solo exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery, London in 2010, he commented: ‘I try to approximate the way I see the world, not in a linear order but as a multitude of parallel experiences. Multiple singularities, simultaneously accessible as they share the same space or room.’</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Lighter</i>, Berlin 2008.<br/>\n<i>Wolfgang Tillmans: Abstract Pictures</i>, Berlin 2011.<br/>\n<i>2017</i>, exhibition catalogue, Tate Modern, London 2017.</p>\n<p>Kate Bush<br/>April 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Mattress and paint | [
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] | 1,962 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/marta-minujin-19313" aria-label="More by Marta Minujín" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Marta Minujín</a> | Mattress | 2,021 | Colchón | [] | Presented by Tate Americas Foundation, courtesy of the Latin American Acquisitions Committee 2017, accessioned 2021 | T15604 | {
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} | 7006287 1000840 7006477 1000002 | Marta Minujín | 1,962 | [] | <p>What does colour add to an everyday object?</p><p><span>The first was a mattress from my bedroom. Once the colours arrived, it was a full explosion of colour. The metaphor is simple: Why not take the language of art to a place where we spend half of our life? </span>Marta Minujín</p><p><span>Mattress</span> is a handmade futon stitched by Marta Minujín and painted in bright neon colours. As a familiar object, you can look at the material and imagine how it feels to touch. It’s part of a series of works that the artist started making in 1961, when she lived in Paris. Minujín would take old mattresses from local hospitals or dumps and transform them into colourful artworks. For Minujín, mattresses represent human life and experience, because we spend so much time using them. Can you think of any other everyday objects that should be turned into works of art?</p><p><em>Gallery label, January 2022</em></p> | false | 1 | 19313 | sculpture mattress paint | [
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"id": 11452,
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12 panels, ink and screenprint on clayboard | [
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} | 2068222 1002328 7007568 7012149 | Lorna Simpson | 2,016 | [] | false | 1 | 12577 | painting 12 panels ink screenprint clayboard | [
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"title": "The Yageo Exhibition: Capturing the Moment",
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"dateText": "29 June 2024 – 16 November 2024",
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"id": 11558,
"startDate": "2024-06-29",
"title": "Capturing the Moment",
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Soap, tin bowl and water | [
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] | 1,998 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/anu-poder-29271" aria-label="More by Anu Põder" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Anu Põder</a> | Tongues Activation Version | 2,021 | [] | Purchased with funds provided by the Russia and Eastern Europe Acquisitions Committee 2021 | T15611 | {
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} | 7006540 | Anu Põder | 1,998 | [] | <p>The Estonian artist Anu Põder’s installation<span> Tongues</span> 1998 (Activation Version) consists of fifteen tongue forms of identical size, cast from one mould in soap of different colours, ranging from pink to brown hues. Fourteen tongues rest directly on the floor, while one tongue rests in a tin bowl filled with water that is placed on the floor alongside them. Over the course of display, this tongue melts away, turning the water into a thick soapy substance and filling the air with the smell of soap. The work can be remade using the artist’s mould once it has deteriorated to a certain point.</p> | false | 1 | 29271 | sculpture soap tin bowl water | [
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"id": 14156,
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"id": 13774,
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],
"id": 12145,
"startDate": "2022-03-20",
"title": "Ana Mendieta, Anu Põder and Veronica Ryan",
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] | Tongues (Activation Version) | 1,998 | Tate | 1998 | CLEARED | 8 | Overall dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by the Russia and Eastern Europe Acquisitions Committee 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>The Estonian artist Anu Põder’s installation<i> Tongues</i> 1998 (Activation Version) consists of fifteen tongue forms of identical size, cast from one mould in soap of different colours, ranging from pink to brown hues. Fourteen tongues rest directly on the floor, while one tongue rests in a tin bowl filled with water that is placed on the floor alongside them. Over the course of display, this tongue melts away, turning the water into a thick soapy substance and filling the air with the smell of soap. The work can be remade using the artist’s mould once it has deteriorated to a certain point.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Tongues</i> exemplifies Põder’s interest, ongoing throughout her work, in the body and corporeality. The fleshy colour of the sculptures and their form reference the human tongue, dislocated and separated from the rest of the body. The fragmented body or body part featured prominently throughout Põder’s practice from the 1970s onwards, in the recurring forms of the cut-off torso, disembodied limb or other fragmented body parts that obliquely allude to surrealist images of the body, combining references to the sensual with the violent. The exaggerated, distorted scale in <i>Tongues</i>, moreover, points to more violent undertones: taking their scale from that of cows’ tongues, their origins also lie in the artist’s upbringing in rural Kanepi, Estonia and the commonplace slaughter of cattle. The art historian Mari Laanemets has noted the tension within Põder’s practice: ‘The two poles of the artist’s work delineate, oppositional, yet inseparable from one another, tender and ruthless, fetishist and sacrificial. Just like the touch itself is ambivalent, either healing or erotic.’ (Mari Laanemets, ‘Dissected Bodies’, in <i>Estonian Artists 2</i>, Tallinn 2000, p.149.)</p>\n<p>Interested in the fragility, impermanence and human-like ‘lifespan’ of materials, Põder favoured the use of textile, wax, plaster, soap, glue, plastic and wood throughout her artistic career that began in the 1970s within the context of the so-called ‘bronze age’ within Estonian art, when the visual language of heavy and solid materials such as bronze, granite and gypsum was dominant. By contrast, Põder explored the capacity of materials to deteriorate, corrode and change appearance. In <i>Tongues</i> Põder not only caused the gradual disappearance of the soap tongue immersed in water, but made use of soap’s inherent capacity to slowly change colour, dry out and develop a layer of mould over time. </p>\n<p>Born in rural Kanepi and continuing to reside there periodically alongside her time in Tallinn, Põder’s memories of childhood in the countryside likewise fuelled her choice of material in <i>Tongues</i>. The art historian Juta Kivimäe noted that: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>While commenting on her soap sculptures, Anu Põder has always emphasised her childhood memories on the farm in Kanepi … As late as the 1960s–70s, the Estonian peasant women used to boil home-made soap from soiled remnants of grease and caustic soda … according to Anu Põder, the very process of boiling soap, especially the pouring of the liquid soap into moulds was certainly very creative, not entirely unlike sculpting. <br/>(Juta Kivimäe, ‘The Memory Projects of Anu Põder’, in Tallinn 2009, p.35.) </blockquote>\n<p>Soap likewise became the material of choice for Põder’s installation <i>Clodhopper, Stride of a Man of the 20th Century</i> 1999 (Art Museum of Estonia, Tallinn), while other objects and materials found in Kanepi fuelled her practice for years to come. These included <i>Pattern as Sign. Coats </i>1996 (Art Museum of Estonia, Tallinn), in which Põder recovered old clothing that had been worn for generations by families in Kanepi throughout the twentieth century and which, by the 1990s, was outdated and discarded, cutting the items to leave only the seam ‘skeletons’ and lighting them from the inside to reveal the inner space of the bodies that had once occupied them.</p>\n<p>Paraphrasing an Estonian-language interview Anu Põder conducted with the Art Museum of Estonia in 2007, curator Rebeka Põldsam articulated the position Põder took in relation to her choice of impermanent materials for her work: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Anu Põder spoke about how in the early 1990s she made a clear decision about whether to create works that would most likely be infinitely preserved or to become involved in new art forms like performance and happenings, which for the most part lived in the moment they occurred and only left behind a memory or, in the case of an installation using ephemeral materials, a faded conceptual piece that would eventually dissolve. Põder chose something in between, as she realised that for her it was more important to articulate something of the present moment … and thus, her pieces of art would not need to be preserved like bronze sculptures and remain the same forever. <br/>(Põldsam, in Art Museum of Estonia 2017, p.9.) </blockquote>\n<p>\n<i>Tongues</i> occupies this in-between position: a set of objects that make up what Põldsam describes as a ‘faded conceptual piece that would eventually dissolve’, they are continually transformed by degeneration and regeneration. Another version of <i>Tongues</i>,<i> </i>also made in 1998, is held in the collection of the Art Museum of Estonia, Tallinn.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Reet Varblane (ed.), <i>Anu Põder</i>, Tallinn 2009.<br/>Rebeka Põldsam (ed.), <i>Anu Põder</i>. <i>Be Fragile! Be Brave!</i>, exhibition catalogue, Art Museum of Estonia, Kumu Art Museum, Tallinn 2017.<br/>Rebeka Põldsam, ‘Anu Põder’, in Vincent Honoré (ed.), <i>Baltic Triennial 13</i>, exhibition catalogue, Contemporary Art Centre, Vilnius; Tallinn Art Hall, Tallinn; kim?, Riga 2018, pp.132–3.</p>\n<p>Dina Akhmadeeva<br/>June 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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} | Patrick Carpenter | 1,943 | [] | <p><span>The Death of Gabriel Péri</span> 1943 is a landscape-format painting depicting the inner courtyard of a prison complex. The right-hand half of the painting is dominated by a long prison wall in deep perspective receding to a tower that bisects the painting; behind it is another building and tower, and to the left is another wall that sweeps around enclosing the courtyard. The courtyard is paved and littered by sheets of paper on which the French word ‘L’Humanité’ can be made out; a prominent puddle of water sits towards the bottom of the composition. To the right lies the dead figure of a man whose right hand rests over a piece of paper on which is written ‘I die that France may live / Péri’. The painting depicts the execution of Gabriel Péri by the German Gestapo on 15 December 1941 at Fort Mont-Valérien, Suresnes, in the suburbs of Paris. Péri was a prominent French journalist and politician, a member of the Communist Party since 1920 and managing editor of the foreign desk of the newspaper <span>L’Humanité </span>through which he gained a reputation throughout the 1930s as a persistent anti-fascist, denouncing both Hitler and Mussolini as well as France’s non-intervention in the Spanish Civil War. Following the occupation of France in 1940 Péri went into hiding in Paris, during which time he continued publishing, encouraging acts of resistance before he was captured on 18 May 1941 by the Gestapo.</p> | false | 1 | 29990 | painting oil paint canvas | [] | The Death of Gabriel Péri | 1,943 | Tate | 1943 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 1166 × 1524 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the Estate of David King 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Death of Gabriel Péri</i> 1943 is a landscape-format painting depicting the inner courtyard of a prison complex. The right-hand half of the painting is dominated by a long prison wall in deep perspective receding to a tower that bisects the painting; behind it is another building and tower, and to the left is another wall that sweeps around enclosing the courtyard. The courtyard is paved and littered by sheets of paper on which the French word ‘L’Humanité’ can be made out; a prominent puddle of water sits towards the bottom of the composition. To the right lies the dead figure of a man whose right hand rests over a piece of paper on which is written ‘I die that France may live / Péri’. The painting depicts the execution of Gabriel Péri by the German Gestapo on 15 December 1941 at Fort Mont-Valérien, Suresnes, in the suburbs of Paris. Péri was a prominent French journalist and politician, a member of the Communist Party since 1920 and managing editor of the foreign desk of the newspaper <i>L’Humanité </i>through which he gained a reputation throughout the 1930s as a persistent anti-fascist, denouncing both Hitler and Mussolini as well as France’s non-intervention in the Spanish Civil War. Following the occupation of France in 1940 Péri went into hiding in Paris, during which time he continued publishing, encouraging acts of resistance before he was captured on 18 May 1941 by the Gestapo.</p>\n<p>\n<i>The Death of Gabriel Péri</i> was included in and specifically painted for the Artists’ International Association (AIA) exhibition <i>For Liberty</i> which was held at the John Lewis Basement Canteen in Oxford Street, London in 1943. The exhibition was the most substantial result of the AIA’s directive the previous year that called on artists to be propagandists for the war effort. The exhibition was sponsored by <i>The News Chronicle</i>, opened by the Minister of Information Brendan Bracken with the Russian ambassador Ivan Maisky in attendance. Misha Black, in the unsigned foreword for the catalogue of the exhibition, envisioned a new role for the artist in wartime as the creator of a propaganda ‘which appeals to the imagination’ (in Artists’ International Association 1943, p.3). Artists were asked to submit paintings on a group of themes and to standard sizes. At the core of the exhibition was a group of sixteen paintings on the subject of the four freedoms of the Atlantic Charter – freedom of speech, freedom to worship, freedom from want and freedom from fear – all to the same size of four by five feet and all painted in the six weeks before the exhibition; these included <i>The Death of Gabriel Péri</i>. The paintings were hung together in a single room. Each painting was separated from the others by frames specially produced by Peter Ray, who also worked with Misha Black, FHK Henrion and Ronald Dickens on the production and design of the exhibition as a whole. Carpenter’s painting hung next to Kenneth Rowntree’s (1915–1997) <i>Freedom of Worship</i> 1943 (private collection, illustrated in Artists’ International Association 1943, unpaginated insert).</p>\n<p>The subject of Péri’s execution provided a particularly poignant example of the fascist destruction of freedom of speech. He was recognised as a martyr for the French resistance and his death was immortalised in poems by both Louis Aragon (‘Ballad to He Who Sings While Being Tortured’, 1943) and Paul Eluard (‘Gabriel Péri’, 1944). Péri was one of a group of seventy prisoners killed at the same time at the fortress at Suresnes and yet Carpenter has depicted his body alone in the courtyard slumped against the pockmarked wall – drawing direct reference from the nineteenth-century French painter Jean-Louis Gérôme’s (1824–1904) <i>The Execution of Marshal Ney</i> 1868 (Graves Art Gallery, Sheffield). The major difference being that where Gérôme shows the firing squad marching away from the dead body of Ney, Carpenter depicts Péri’s body completely isolated, the architecture of the fortress being otherwise unpeopled. Carpenter’s decision starkly communicates both the manner of Péri’s death and the significance of what he fought for: not just freedom of speech but also the humanity identified in his newspaper’s title. The deserted architecture, describing accentuated recessive space and communicating a repressively cold atmosphere, also suggests the metaphysical painting of the Italian painter Giorgio de Chirico (1888–1978), highlighting the troubling distance between the conviction and ideals that Péri held and was killed for, and the brutal manner of his death.</p>\n<p>The historian Robert Radford has identified the sculptor Peter László Peri (1899–1967) as perhaps the best example of an artist in Britain in the 1930s and 1940s producing a socialist realism that embodied conventional Soviet-style revolutionary romanticism. For painting, however, Radford observed that ‘the number of paintings of stature and conviction which were produced in Britain in the authentic modes of Soviet-style Romantic realism in terms of form and content are very few indeed’. In this respect he identified Carpenter’s <i>The Death of Gabriel Péri</i> as the pre-eminent painting produced in Britain (there being no corresponding painting identifiable from the 1930s). The only other such painting noted by Radford was Derek Chittock’s <i>The Arrest of the Dockers</i> of 1952 (private collection, illustrated in Radford 1987 p.180). That both paintings were owned by Communist Party newspaper <i>The Daily Worker</i> (subsequently <i>The Morning Star</i>), before both were acquired by the graphic designer David King, attests to their status in this regard. (Radford 1987, pp.73–5.)</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>For Liberty</i>, exhibition catalogue, Artists’ International Association, London 1943, illustrated unpaginated insert.<br/>Lynda Morris and Robert Radford, <i>The Story of the Artists’ International Association 1933–1953</i>, exhibition catalogue, Museum of Modern Art, Oxford 1983, reproduced p.69.<br/>Robert Radford, <i>Art for a Purpose, the Artists’ International Association 1933–1953</i>, Winchester 1987, reproduced p.138.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson<br/>December 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Graphite on paper | [
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7007269 7007667 7011731 | Miriam Cahn | 2,018 | [] | true | 1 | 846 | paper unique graphite | [] | Untitled 09.06.2018 | 2,018 | Tate | 2018 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 626 × 940 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the artist 2021 | [] | [] | null | false | false | artwork |
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Watercolour, gouache and crayon on paper | [
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7007269 7007667 7011731 | Miriam Cahn | 2,017 | [] | true | 1 | 846 | paper unique watercolour gouache crayon | [] | Untitled 25.09. 2017 | 2,017 | Tate | 2017 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 303 × 358 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the artist 2021 | [] | [] | null | false | false | artwork |
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Plastic, nylon monofilament and acrylic sheet | [
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] | 1,968 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/ann-sutton-obe-30792" aria-label="More by Ann Sutton OBE" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Ann Sutton OBE</a> | Triform Tricolour | 2,021 | [] | Presented by Tate Patrons 2021 | T15617 | {
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} | 7011049 7008174 7002445 7008591 | Ann Sutton OBE | 1,968 | [] | <p><span>Tri-form Tri-colour </span>1968 is a three-dimensional object whose form is dictated by the rules of its construction. A triangular piece of Perspex, each side of which has been drilled with eight small holes, is at the centre. It has been threaded with lengths of plastic-coated thread in the three primary colours, with each side having eight pieces of thread of one colour inserted through the drilled holes. On both sides of the triangular Perspex, each piece of yarn is threaded through a short piece of clear plastic tubing. The emerging threads are then pushed through half the number of tube pieces, and the threads are doubled up. This doubling of threads into ever fewer piece of tubing continues until all the threads of different colours are bound tightly together by a strip of nylon monofilament in a single end piece, on either side of the central structure.</p> | false | 1 | 30792 | sculpture plastic nylon monofilament acrylic sheet | [] | Tri-form Tri-colour | 1,968 | Tate | 1968 | CLEARED | 8 | object: 107 × 350 × 107 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999780" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Patrons</a> 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Tri-form Tri-colour </i>1968 is a three-dimensional object whose form is dictated by the rules of its construction. A triangular piece of Perspex, each side of which has been drilled with eight small holes, is at the centre. It has been threaded with lengths of plastic-coated thread in the three primary colours, with each side having eight pieces of thread of one colour inserted through the drilled holes. On both sides of the triangular Perspex, each piece of yarn is threaded through a short piece of clear plastic tubing. The emerging threads are then pushed through half the number of tube pieces, and the threads are doubled up. This doubling of threads into ever fewer piece of tubing continues until all the threads of different colours are bound tightly together by a strip of nylon monofilament in a single end piece, on either side of the central structure. </p>\n<p>A pioneer in the field of weaving, Ann Sutton has experimented with the possibilities of the medium since the late 1950s. In the 1960s she was one of only three weavers in the United Kingdom (the others being Peter Collingwood [1922–2008] and Tadek Beutlich [1922–2011]) who were working in non-functional, experimental ways that engaged very directly with what fellow artists were exploring in painting and sculpture. The work she made at that time shows the crystallisation of her thinking and emerged out of the intense dialogue she had with artists associated with constructivism and the Systems group, such as Kenneth and Mary Martin, Michael Kidner and Jeffrey Steele. She met them in the mid-1960s at the Barry Summer School in Wales, an influential artist-run course which was based on Bauhaus principles and encouraged much cross-fertilisation between its departments of crafts, painting, music and language. It became an important annual gathering of artists, many of whom were associated with constructivism and Systems art. Sutton taught the weaving course there, having taken over from Beutlich. </p>\n<p>Sutton’s dialogue with these artists was critical to the development of her conceptual approach. Taking Kenneth Martin’s construction course allowed her to work out the viability of weave and yarn as constructive mediums with which to express certain abstract concepts and systems. She was impressed with the systems that Martin was using to determine the structure of artworks – mathematical systems such as the Fibonacci sequence and the pendulum permutations, as well as playing with symmetry, such as rotation, mirror reflection and glide symmetry. Sutton adopted these and similar systems to structure her own work, while the materials she used expanded to include such unconventional components as metal rods, plastic tubes, Perspex and stainless-steel washers. According to the Systems art approach, each work was constructed strictly according to a generative scheme. For Sutton, the concept and system carried the logic of the work to its own conclusion, with form being secondary to process: ‘part of my rules were that no form was an aim, but was a result of the process’ (email correspondence with Tate curator Helen Delaney, 15 August 2020).</p>\n<p>Sutton’s ‘weave polemics’, as they were described by curator Diane Sheehan in her essay for the artist’s exhibition catalogue for the Crafts Council, London in 2003, have continued in multifarious ways over the last five decades. One example is the use of a nineteenth-century sock-knitting machine, found by Sutton in an antiques shop, with which she could produce endless tubes of knitted material. She regarded, and used, these knitted tubes (stuffed with Dacron to maintain their dimensions) as the equivalent of macrofilaments, creating large-scale structures woven with this oversized ‘yarn’. One such work is <i>Floor Pad</i> 1972, which was exhibited in the exhibition <i>The Craftsman’s Art </i>at the Victoria & Albert Museum, London in 1973. Following a period during the 1970s when she and her then husband, furniture designer John Makepeace, founded an interior design, furniture and textile design company, Sutton wrote and presented a BBC television series on weaving called <i>The Craft of the Weave</i>; she also went on to write nine books on the subject.</p>\n<p>Sutton was an early adopter and promoter of computer-aided design and computer-aided manufacturing in weave technology in the 1980s. It gave her the means to weave complex patterns and multiple layers that would have been impossible otherwise. She began to work more in series, which turned the traditional weaving practice of ‘sampling’ into treatises on permutation. It was a technology that Sutton could capitalise on to develop her rule-driven methods, in this case imposed by the computer, to explore and extend her system-based approach.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Ann Sutton: Textiles, </i>exhibition catalogue, Norrköpings Konstmuseum, Norrköping 1985.<br/>\n<i>Ann Sutton: No Cheating: Serial Woven Studies</i>, exhibition catalogue, The Winchester Gallery, Winchester 1995.<br/>\n<i>Ann Sutton</i>,<i> </i>exhibition catalogue, Crafts Council, London 2003.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>October 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Cow hair, paint and wood | [
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| T15619 | {
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} | 7011049 7008174 7002445 7008591 | Ann Sutton OBE | 1,965 | [] | <p>For <span>Spiral Colour and Area Progression</span>, Ann Sutton wanted to place solid blocks of woven colour next to each other. This wasn’t possible on a conventional loom, so she created a structure using nails pinned onto a board to weave the work. She started with a single square unit at the centre, and then created a spiral by increasing the number of units by one with each colour change. Sutton didn’t decide on the pattern in advance. She explained: ‘part of my rules were that no form was an aim, but was a result of the process.’</p><p><em>Gallery label, September 2023</em></p> | false | 1 | 30792 | sculpture cow hair paint wood | [] | Spiral Colour and Area Progression | 1,965 | Tate | 1965 | CLEARED | 8 | object: 515 × 715 × 22 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999780" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Patrons</a> 2021
| [
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She completed the increments upon reaching the point where she had added six units, when the spiral became a square with all four sides of equal length (having discovered that next number of units to achieve this would be thirty-two by thirty-two).</p>\n<p>A pioneer in the field of weaving, Ann Sutton has experimented with the possibilities of the medium since the late 1950s. In the 1960s she was one of only three weavers in the United Kingdom (the others being Peter Collingwood [1922–2008] and Tadek Beutlich [1922–2011]) who were working in non-functional, experimental ways that engaged very directly with what fellow artists were exploring in painting and sculpture. The work she made at that time shows the crystallisation of her thinking and emerged out of the intense dialogue she had with artists associated with constructivism and the Systems group, such as Kenneth and Mary Martin, Michael Kidner and Jeffrey Steele. 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Cotton, paint and wood | [
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} | 7011049 7008174 7002445 7008591 | Ann Sutton OBE | 1,965 | [] | <p>Ann Sutton has experimented with the possibilities of weaving since the late 1950s. Woven using nails on a board, <span>Diminishing Square Thickness</span> is made with three weights of cotton yarn. The yarn is thickest and coarsest around the outer edges of the grid, becoming lighter towards the central square. This gives the composition a sense of receding space. Sutton worked in dialogue with artists associated with constructivism, such as Kenneth Martin and Mary Martin.</p><p><em>Gallery label, September 2023</em></p> | false | 1 | 30792 | sculpture cotton paint wood | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Diminishing Square Thickness</i> 1965 is a wall-hung work made using cotton fibre on plywood. Three thicknesses of light-coloured cotton yarn have been used to make a grid of woven square sections against a square red ground. Woven not on a loom but using nails on a board, the method allows the artist to isolate each thickness of thread in adjacent sections. With the thickest and coarsest yarn used around the outer edges of the grid, becoming increasingly more delicate towards the central square, the composition acquires a sense of recession and visual weightlessness towards the centre of the grid. </p>\n<p>A pioneer in the field of weaving, Ann Sutton has experimented with the possibilities of the medium since the late 1950s. In the 1960s she was one of only three weavers in the United Kingdom (the others being Peter Collingwood [1922–2008] and Tadek Beutlich [1922–2011]) who were working in non-functional, experimental ways that engaged very directly with what fellow artists were exploring in painting and sculpture. The work she made at that time shows the crystallisation of her thinking and emerged out of the intense dialogue she had with artists associated with constructivism and the Systems group, such as Kenneth and Mary Martin, Michael Kidner and Jeffrey Steele. She met them in the mid-1960s at the Barry Summer School in Wales, an influential artist-run course which was based on Bauhaus principles and encouraged much cross-fertilisation between its departments of crafts, painting, music and language. It became an important annual gathering of artists, many of whom were associated with constructivism and Systems art. Sutton taught the weaving course there, having taken over from Beutlich. </p>\n<p>Sutton’s dialogue with these artists was critical to the development of her conceptual approach. Taking Kenneth Martin’s construction course allowed her to work out the viability of weave and yarn as constructive mediums with which to express certain abstract concepts and systems. She was impressed with the systems that Martin was using to determine the structure of artworks – mathematical systems such as the Fibonacci sequence and the pendulum permutations, as well as playing with symmetry, such as rotation, mirror reflection and glide symmetry. Sutton adopted these and similar systems to structure her own work, while the materials she used expanded to include such unconventional components as metal rods, plastic tubes, Perspex and stainless-steel washers. According to the Systems art approach, each work was constructed strictly according to a generative scheme. For Sutton, the concept and system carried the logic of the work to its own conclusion, with form being secondary to process: ‘part of my rules were that no form was an aim, but was a result of the process’ (email correspondence with Tate curator Helen Delaney, 15 August 2020).</p>\n<p>Sutton’s ‘weave polemics’, as they were described by curator Diane Sheehan in her essay for the artist’s exhibition catalogue for the Crafts Council, London in 2003, have continued in multifarious ways over the last five decades. One example is the use of a nineteenth-century sock-knitting machine, found by Sutton in an antiques shop, with which she could produce endless tubes of knitted material. She regarded, and used, these knitted tubes (stuffed with Dacron to maintain their dimensions) as the equivalent of macrofilaments, creating large-scale structures woven with this oversized ‘yarn’. One such work is <i>Floor Pad</i> 1972, which was exhibited in the exhibition <i>The Craftsman’s Art </i>at the Victoria & Albert Museum, London in 1973. Following a period during the 1970s when she and her then husband, furniture designer John Makepeace, founded an interior design, furniture and textile design company, Sutton wrote and presented a BBC television series on weaving called <i>The Craft of the Weave</i>; she also went on to write nine books on the subject.</p>\n<p>Sutton was an early adopter and promoter of computer-aided design and computer-aided manufacturing in weave technology in the 1980s. It gave her the means to weave complex patterns and multiple layers that would have been impossible otherwise. She began to work more in series, which turned the traditional weaving practice of ‘sampling’ into treatises on permutation. It was a technology that Sutton could capitalise on to develop her rule-driven methods, in this case imposed by the computer, to explore and extend her system-based approach.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Ann Sutton: Textiles, </i>exhibition catalogue, Norrköpings Konstmuseum, Norrköping 1985.<br/>\n<i>Ann Sutton: No Cheating: Serial Woven Studies</i>, exhibition catalogue, The Winchester Gallery, Winchester 1995.<br/>\n<i>Ann Sutton</i>,<i> </i>exhibition catalogue, Crafts Council, London 2003.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney<br/>October 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Masking tape, acrylic paint, plaster and graphite on paper | [
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{
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] | 1,974 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/amikam-toren-16792" aria-label="More by Amikam Toren" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Amikam Toren</a> | Urban Landscape Exchange 20 Warwick Av London W9 | 2,021 | [] | Presented by the Estate of Thomas Frangenberg 2019 | T15624 | {
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7011781 7001371 1000953 1000119 1000004 | Amikam Toren | 1,974 | [] | <p><span>Urban Landscape Exchange (20 Warwick Av. London W9</span>) 1974 is a small work by Amikam Toren in which a piece of masking tape with flakes of dried paint attached to it is displayed above the caption ‘20 Warwick Av. London W9’.<span> </span>Toren used the adhesive tape to gather fragments of the built environment at the location given in the caption, literally creating a piece of landscape art from the material of the urban landscape itself. This notion of ‘exchange’ described in the title of the work exemplifies the conceptual foundation of Toren’s practice, in which the material subjects of his work are transformed but effectively unchanged (making a still life painting from the materials of the still life or, as here, a landscape from the actual fabric of the landscape). Beyond being the site where the materials were gathered, the address in this work had no special significance for the artist. It was one of a number of similar domestic locations, mostly around West London, Camden or Kentish Town, chosen at random by the artist for similar works.</p> | true | 1 | 16792 | paper unique masking tape acrylic paint plaster graphite | [] | Urban Landscape Exchange (20 Warwick Av. London W9) | 1,974 | Tate | 1974 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 275 × 410 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the Estate of Thomas Frangenberg 2019 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Urban Landscape Exchange (20 Warwick Av. London W9</i>) 1974 is a small work by Amikam Toren in which a piece of masking tape with flakes of dried paint attached to it is displayed above the caption ‘20 Warwick Av. London W9’.<i> </i>Toren used the adhesive tape to gather fragments of the built environment at the location given in the caption, literally creating a piece of landscape art from the material of the urban landscape itself. This notion of ‘exchange’ described in the title of the work exemplifies the conceptual foundation of Toren’s practice, in which the material subjects of his work are transformed but effectively unchanged (making a still life painting from the materials of the still life or, as here, a landscape from the actual fabric of the landscape). Beyond being the site where the materials were gathered, the address in this work had no special significance for the artist. It was one of a number of similar domestic locations, mostly around West London, Camden or Kentish Town, chosen at random by the artist for similar works.</p>\n<p>The historian Richard Dyer pointed out that this ‘“museumification of the utilitarian”, this transformation of the lowly object into high art … will be a recurring theme in Toren’s art’ (Dyer 2005, p.155). Similarly, it lies behind works such as<i> neither a painting nor a statue</i> 1979 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/toren-neither-a-painting-nor-a-statue-t15438\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15438</span></a>), in which Toren made a still-life painting from the materials of the still life itself, or his extensive series of paintings known as <i>Of the </i>Times, in which he painted letters in a ‘paint’ produced by pulping an entire copy of <i>The Times</i> newspaper (see, for example, <i>Of the Times, 7th October 1983</i> 1983 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/toren-of-the-times-7th-october-1983-t15439\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15439</span></a>).</p>\n<p>\n<i>Urban Landscape Exchange (20 Warwick Av. London W9</i>) was formerly in the collection of Thomas Frangenberg (1958–2018), a historian of renaissance art but also a passionate collector of contemporary art since the late 1970s. The focus of this collection was artists who work within the traditions of conceptual art and the majority of works were acquired direct from the artists, often early in their careers.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Richard Dyer, ‘Ceci n’est pas un tableau: The Work of Amikam Toren’, in <i>Third Text</i>, vol.19, issue 2, March 2005.</p>\n<p>Helen Delaney and Andrew Wilson <br/>January 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, high definition, projection, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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} | 1003566 7002445 7008591 | Hetain Patel | 2,017 | [] | <p><span>Don’t Look at the Finger</span> 2017 is a 16-minute high-definition film with a cinematic soundscape which, at first, appears to follow the rituals of a West-African marriage ceremony within the setting of a church. Soon it becomes apparent that the protagonists may be deaf and that the couple are participating in an arranged marriage. As the initial vows are delivered in a form of sign language, the couple’s actions and movements become more physical and soon their gestures develop into a high-energy and stylised martial arts fight sequence. The title of the film references a quote by Bruce Lee from the 1973 Kung-Fu film <span>Enter the Dragon</span>, one of the many sources that Hetain Patel draws on in his practice that question the forms of communicating cultural identity through performance and popular culture. For Patel, who grew up in a generation of promoted multiculturalism in Britain, Hollywood and popular films were a source of escapism and a subject of shared interest to connect with his peers across diverse cultural backgrounds.</p> | false | 1 | 28480 | time-based media video high definition projection colour sound stereo | [] | Don’t Look at the Finger | 2,017 | Tate | 2017 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 16min, 9sec | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by <a href="/search?gid=999999780" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Patrons</a> 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Don’t Look at the Finger</i> 2017 is a 16-minute high-definition film with a cinematic soundscape which, at first, appears to follow the rituals of a West-African marriage ceremony within the setting of a church. Soon it becomes apparent that the protagonists may be deaf and that the couple are participating in an arranged marriage. As the initial vows are delivered in a form of sign language, the couple’s actions and movements become more physical and soon their gestures develop into a high-energy and stylised martial arts fight sequence. The title of the film references a quote by Bruce Lee from the 1973 Kung-Fu film <i>Enter the Dragon</i>, one of the many sources that Hetain Patel draws on in his practice that question the forms of communicating cultural identity through performance and popular culture. For Patel, who grew up in a generation of promoted multiculturalism in Britain, Hollywood and popular films were a source of escapism and a subject of shared interest to connect with his peers across diverse cultural backgrounds. </p>\n<p>Using the familiar tropes of Hollywood films, he subverts expectations by including a cast from minority backgrounds and unexpected forms of action. In this film actors of West African heritage perform East Asian martial arts, wearing costumes inspired by Japan and Mongolian dress that are made using Dutch wax fabric, commonly worn by West African communities at times of celebration. The film is set in a Christian church and has the premise of a marriage custom that is rooted in Hindu rituals with the inclusion of family members in the ceremony. Patel has said of his work: ‘I am interested in how we reach each other as human beings, whether it’s our gender, ethnicity, what we’re wearing … I’m interested in making interventions and transforming visually and physically those things that we read as identity.’ (Quoted in <i>Art Newspaper</i>, 3 October 2017, <a href=\"https://www.theartnewspaper.com/news/cross-culture-project-brings-south-asian-artists-to-manchester\">https://www.theartnewspaper.com/news/cross-culture-project-brings-south-asian-artists-to-manchester</a>, accessed 27 November 2018.)</p>\n<p>Patel’s earlier films and performances have been rooted in his autobiography and he has often performed in them himself. This film, for which he employed actors, was produced in collaboration with Film and Video Umbrella, London, is the second part of an as yet incomplete trilogy. The first film of the series, <i>The Jump</i> 2016, presents Patel in the guise of the superhero Spiderman, performing a jump in slow motion in his grandmother’s living room in front of his family, with a dramatic cinematic soundscape. Referencing the moments in his childhood when he would jump from his grandmother’s sofa pretending to be his favoured superhero, he subverts the expectation of an iconic Hollywood scene by reimagining the event within the domestic setting of his British-Indian family home, making complex the notion of identity within popular culture. <i>Don’t Look at the Finger</i> exists in an edition of five, of which Tate’s copy is number one.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Hetain Patel</i>, exhibition catalogue, New Art Exchange, Nottingham 2012.<br/>Immaculata Abba, ‘Don’t Look at the Finger’, <i>Nataal.com</i>, 25 September 2017, <a href=\"http://nataal.com/dont-look-at-the-finger/\">http://nataal.com/dont-look-at-the-finger/</a>, accessed 26 November 2018.<br/>‘Look at the Hands: Discussion with Hetain Patel, Chirag Lukha and Louise Stern’, held at Manchester Art Gallery, 23 November 2017, <a href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1aUHLLEN2mI\">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1aUHLLEN2mI</a>, accessed 26 November 2018.</p>\n<p>Priyesh Mistry<br/>November 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, projection, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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} | 1000185 7001242 | Dan Halter | 2,005 | [] | <p><span>Queen of Rave </span>2005 is a three-and-a-half-minute long single-channel video that intersperses videos of mass rave parties in Europe with found footage of anti-apartheid protests in South Africa, set to the soundtrack of ‘Everybody’s Free (To Feel Good)’ performed by the Zimbabwean singer Rozalla, ‘one of the biggest dance anthems of the 1990s’ (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everybody's_Free_(To_Feel_Good), accessed 7 January 2019). Rozalla released her hit dance single in 1991; top of the charts worldwide, she was a source of pride in Zimbabwe where Halter – who was himself born in Zimbabwe though he now lives in South Africa – has explained she became known as ‘The Queen of Rave’ (http://ensembles.org/items/untitled-the-zimbabwean-queen-of-rave?locale=en, accessed 7 January 2019). Halter’s work resembles a music video, though curator João Laia has also suggested that its fast-paced editing ‘is reminiscent of 80s British scratch videos, which ushered in the appropriation of different archives, combined to the rhythm of popular music’ (quoted at <span>Associação Cultural Videobrasil</span> 2014, accessed 7 January 2019). This work should ideally be projected on a large scale in a dedicated dark room.</p> | false | 1 | 28512 | time-based media video projection colour sound stereo | [] | Queen of Rave | 2,005 | Tate | 2005 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 3min, 33sec | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Emile Stipp 2021 | [
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Rozalla released her hit dance single in 1991; top of the charts worldwide, she was a source of pride in Zimbabwe where Halter – who was himself born in Zimbabwe though he now lives in South Africa – has explained she became known as ‘The Queen of Rave’ (<a href=\"http://ensembles.org/items/untitled-the-zimbabwean-queen-of-rave?locale=en\">http://ensembles.org/items/untitled-the-zimbabwean-queen-of-rave?locale=en</a>, accessed 7 January 2019). Halter’s work resembles a music video, though curator João Laia has also suggested that its fast-paced editing ‘is reminiscent of 80s British scratch videos, which ushered in the appropriation of different archives, combined to the rhythm of popular music’ (quoted at <i>Associação Cultural Videobrasil</i> 2014, accessed 7 January 2019). This work should ideally be projected on a large scale in a dedicated dark room.</p>\n<p>The visuals in the video describe two very different phenomena occurring simultaneously in the early 1990s. The footage from South Africa shows crowds of people toyi-toying, a rhythmical mass movement involving stamping one’s feet and raising one’s arms while chanting and singing, which has become a feature of political protests by black South Africans. Interwoven with this are images of white revellers dancing on flatbed trucks and in open and darkened strobe-lit spaces as rave culture took hold around the world. These images of people dancing – albeit in very different contexts – are punctuated by footage of vehicles being overturned and set alight and of snipers taking aim at crowds of black South Africans. South African artist, art historian and curator Kathryn Smith has noted of Halter’s film that the juxtaposition is an unsettling, even dangerous one: ‘You ask yourself, “Is this okay?” Can you play this sort of sampling game when what the particular scenarios represent seem so fundamentally out of synch with each other?’ (Smith 2015, p.108.) She concluded, however, that ‘Halter’s engagement with play and the dark side of humour is not to make light of complex issues, but rather functions like satire in that it provides a point of access to a truth or reality that is otherwise unspeakable’ (Smith 2015, p.109). The artist meanwhile has explained that ‘the video expresses a personal reality and also the cultural gap between white and black [people] that I was experiencing. These were two fundamentally different scenarios, yet each was guided by crowd psychology and longing for a different reality.’ (Quoted in Regine, ‘Energy Flash: The Rave Movement’, <i>We Make $$$ney not Art</i>, 26 August 2016, <a href=\"http://we-make-money-not-art.com/energy-flash-the-rave-movement/\">http://we-make-money-not-art.com/energy-flash-the-rave-movement/</a>, accessed 7 January 2019).</p>\n<p>Halter made this video in 2005, the same year his family was forced to leave the country of his birth due to Robert Mugabe’s controversial land reform programme, which enabled the seizure of white-owned farms without compensation. In 2015 the Zimbabwean government also initiated Operation Murambatsvina (‘Move the Rubbish’), also officially known as Operation Restore Order, a large-scale campaign to <a href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slum_clearance\">forcibly clear slum</a> areas across the country that affected at least 700,000 people directly, through loss of their homes or livelihood, and likely indirectly affected many more (<a href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Murambatsvina\">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Murambatsvina</a>, accessed 7 January 2019). </p>\n<p>Though video is not Halter’s most common medium, <i>Queen of Rave </i>is typical of his wider practice in being rooted in the artist’s personal experience and seeking to highlight injustice in a way that is accessible to a wide audience. In other works, Halter has used found materials – in particular money, maps and cheap Chinese-made plastic woven bags – reconfiguring them to address notions of a dislocated national identity and the politics of post-colonial Zimbabwe in a broader African context. <i>Queen of Rave</i> exists in an edition of ten with two artist’s proofs; Tate’s copy is number two in the main edition.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Dan Halter: Apartheid, Xenophobia, and Belonging in the Work of the Zimbabwean Artist’, <i>Associação Cultural Videobrasil</i>, 8 July 2014, <a href=\"http://site.videobrasil.org.br/en/news/1784538\">http://site.videobrasil.org.br/en/news/1784538</a>, accessed 7 January 2019.<br/>Kathryn Smith, ‘Culture Games’, <i>Dan Halter Selected works 2005–2015</i>, Johannesburg 2015, pp.108–9.</p>\n<p>Kerryn Greenberg<br/>January 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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] | 2,001 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/moshekwa-langa-28513" aria-label="More by Moshekwa Langa" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Moshekwa Langa</a> | Where Do I Begin | 2,021 | [] | Presented by Emile Stipp 2021 | T15628 | {
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} | 7017573 1000193 7001242 | Moshekwa Langa | 2,001 | [] | <p>This short colour video with sound lasting just over four minutes focuses on the legs and feet of people in a queue as they board a public bus in the artist’s hometown of Bakenberg, approximately 300 kilometres north of Johannesburg in South Africa. Shot from the perspective of a child, the image is shaky and tightly cropped, focusing on the slow steps of those in the queue, the tyres of the bus and the dusty red ground. As the queue shuffles forwards, we see shoes cracking with age, a missing sock, stained skirt, swollen ankles and bulging bags interspersed with meticulously pressed men’s trousers and shiny shoes. Ambient sounds are overlaid with an extract from Shirley Bassey’s rendition of ‘Where Do I Begin’, a popular song from the film <span>Love Story</span> (1970). The work is number 2 in an edition of 3 plus 2 artist’s proofs. The video can be projected or shown on a monitor.</p> | false | 1 | 28513 | time-based media video colour sound stereo | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This short colour video with sound lasting just over four minutes focuses on the legs and feet of people in a queue as they board a public bus in the artist’s hometown of Bakenberg, approximately 300 kilometres north of Johannesburg in South Africa. Shot from the perspective of a child, the image is shaky and tightly cropped, focusing on the slow steps of those in the queue, the tyres of the bus and the dusty red ground. As the queue shuffles forwards, we see shoes cracking with age, a missing sock, stained skirt, swollen ankles and bulging bags interspersed with meticulously pressed men’s trousers and shiny shoes. Ambient sounds are overlaid with an extract from Shirley Bassey’s rendition of ‘Where Do I Begin’, a popular song from the film <i>Love Story</i> (1970). The work is number 2 in an edition of 3 plus 2 artist’s proofs. The video can be projected or shown on a monitor.</p>\n<p>Like much of Langa’s work, the details in this deceptively simple scene invite the viewer to create their own narrative about who these people are and where they are going. Of this work the artist has said: ‘<i>Where Do I Begin </i>2001 wasn’t exactly found footage but came about as a kind of home video. While filming people getting on a bus, I noticed that just by looking at the hemlines of people’s skirts, or the shoes they were wearing, you could tell quite a lot about them.’ (Quoted in ‘Moshekwa Langa in Conversation with Kobena Mercer’, in Farrell<i> </i>2003, pp.107–8.) </p>\n<p>Although Langa has been an itinerant artist for the past twenty years, moving between Amsterdam, Berlin, Paris and Johannesburg, much of his work remains rooted in Bakenberg where he was born and spent his formative years. Historian Tracy Murinik has observed that Bakenberg ‘has become, for Langa, a space – and an idea of a space – of continual longing; a signifier of home or stable existence’ (in Stevenson Gallery 2017, p.4). In the late 1970s and early 1980s Bakenberg was still a relatively small village. According to Langa, Bakenberg had no street names in the conventional sense, which did not mean that there were no names, but rather that there was another system involving associating places with people and landmarks to navigate the landscape (<a href=\"http://www.goodman-gallery.com/exhibitions/312\">http://www.goodman-gallery.com/exhibitions/312</a>, accessed 18 December 2018). In his earliest works Langa sought to capture an essence of his birthplace, creating map-like drawings that incorporate written descriptors. <i>Where Do I Begin </i>goes further, providing a glimpse not only of the place, but also of its inhabitants.</p>\n<p>The title of the work is taken from the song sung by Shirley Bassey. However, by extracting and repeating the single refrain ‘where do I begin’, Langa evokes a story while withholding the narrative. Murinik has suggested that the title references Langa’s own attempts to explain and acknowledge the multiple aspects of himself and, by reflecting on the place where it all began, is as relevant today as it was when the work was made in 2001 (in Stevenson Gallery 2017, p.3). <i>Where Do I Begin </i>was presented at the Venice Biennale in 2003 and, as one of the artist’s signature works, has been included in numerous other exhibitions including, more recently, <i>Art/Afrique, le nouvel atelier</i> at the Louis Vuitton Foundation, Paris in 2017. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Moshekwa Langa in Conversation with Kobena Mercer’, in Laurie Ann Farrell, <i>Looking Both Ways: Art of the Contemporary African Diaspora</i>, Ghent 2004, pp.98–113.<br/>\n<a href=\"https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1?ie=UTF8&text=Anna+Mattirolo&search-alias=books-uk&field-author=Anna+Mattirolo&sort=relevancerank\">Anna </a><a href=\"https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1?ie=UTF8&text=Anna+Mattirolo&search-alias=books-uk&field-author=Anna+Mattirolo&sort=relevancerank\">Mattirolo</a> (ed.), <i>Moshekwa Langa</i>, Milan 2005.<br/>Tracy Murinik, ‘Traversing Worlds’, in <i>Moshekwa Langa: Fugitive</i>, exhibition catalogue, Stevenson Gallery, Johannesburg 2017.</p>\n<p>Kerryn Greenberg<br/>December 2018</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, 5 projections, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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] | 2,014 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/gabrielle-goliath-28516" aria-label="More by Gabrielle Goliath" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Gabrielle Goliath</a> | Personal Accounts | 2,021 | [] | Presented by Emile Stipp 2021 | T15629 | {
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} | 7000860 7017582 1000193 7001242 | Gabrielle Goliath | 2,014 | [] | <p><span>Personal Accounts</span> 2014 is a five-channel video projection lasting just under six and a half minutes by the South African artist Gabrielle Goliath. Each video presents the portrait of an individual woman – Brenda, Charmaine, Christolene, Mercia and Zipho – and, like much of the artist’s work, takes gender-based violence as its focus. Goliath has used the filmic device of the extreme close-up, depicting the particulars of each subject’s face in larger-than-life detail. The camera pans the folds of ear cartilage, the pores along the bridge of a nose, the alternately fleshy or angular flesh overlaying cheekbone. The hyper proximity to the speakers can be read as a replication of physical closeness or, conversely, as an encroachment into personal space that elicits discomfort and signals potential threat. In this way, Goliath has turned the video camera into an exploratory tool for the study of proxemics, questioning when intimacy might transgress into peril.</p> | false | 1 | 28516 | time-based media video 5 projections colour sound stereo | [] | Personal Accounts | 2,014 | Tate | 2014 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 6min, 20sec | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Emile Stipp 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Personal Accounts</i> 2014 is a five-channel video projection lasting just under six and a half minutes by the South African artist Gabrielle Goliath. Each video presents the portrait of an individual woman – Brenda, Charmaine, Christolene, Mercia and Zipho – and, like much of the artist’s work, takes gender-based violence as its focus. Goliath has used the filmic device of the extreme close-up, depicting the particulars of each subject’s face in larger-than-life detail. The camera pans the folds of ear cartilage, the pores along the bridge of a nose, the alternately fleshy or angular flesh overlaying cheekbone. The hyper proximity to the speakers can be read as a replication of physical closeness or, conversely, as an encroachment into personal space that elicits discomfort and signals potential threat. In this way, Goliath has turned the video camera into an exploratory tool for the study of proxemics, questioning when intimacy might transgress into peril.</p>\n<p>The work was made in South Africa, in the presence of a social worker. The artist invited acquaintances to speak about their experiences of domestic violence hoping that, by giving five individuals a voice, she could help in some way to de-stigmatise the experience of many who suffer in silence. Each subject was filmed and sound-recorded while delivering her personal account – hence the title of the work – of having experienced and survived domestic violence. The soundtrack, however, does not provide verbatim playback of the five harrowing testimonies. Instead, the artist created a soundscape consisting solely of the throaty pauses, sharp intakes of breath, deep exhalations and other halting, non-verbal vocalisations that punctuate the retellings. The artist has stated, ‘I’ve been trying to explore the idea of visualising the facelessness of [domestic violence] and articulate the silences around it’ (quoted in Kumalo-Valentine 2014, accessed 7 January 2019). In so doing, she has resisted having the survivors’ stories offered up for visual or aural public consumption and sensationalism. The weight of what the women have endured remains present between their words. </p>\n<p>\n<i>Personal Accounts</i> exists in an edition of three plus one artist’s proof; Tate’s copy is number one in the edition. Although Goliath works across photography, performance and installation, the video exemplifies the ways in which she deftly denounces the painfully complex terrain of gender-based violence.<b> </b>\n</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Zodwa Kumalo-Valentine, ‘Domestic Abuse: A Goliath Undertaking’, <i>Mail & Guardian </i>(South Africa), 24 January 2014, <a href=\"https://mg.co.za/article/2014-01-23-abuse-a-goliath-undertaking\">https://mg.co.za/article/2014-01-23-abuse-a-goliath-undertaking</a>, accessed 7 January 2019.</p>\n<p>Zoe Whitley<br/>January 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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56 paintings on canvas and paper, textiles and wood | [
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{
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] | 2,016 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/vivian-suter-28564" aria-label="More by Vivian Suter" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Vivian Suter</a> | Nisyros Vivians Bed | 2,021 | [] | Purchased with assistance from Tate International Council and the Latin American Acquisitions Committee 2020 | T15630 | {
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} | 7006287 1000840 7006477 1000002 | Vivian Suter | 2,016 | [] | <p><span>Nisyros (Vivian’s Bed)</span> 2016–17 is an installation comprising fifty-three large-scale gestural, brightly hued abstract oil paintings on untreated, unstretched canvas. The work was made in the village of Panajachel, in the volcanic mountains of southwestern Guatemala, where Suter has been based since 1982 (this setting and Suter’s relationship with her mother, the artist Elisabeth Wild, are the subject of a film in Tate’s collection by artist Rosalind Nashashibi [born 1973] entitled <span>Vivian’s Garden</span> 2017 [Tate T15055]). Suter’s studio is located in the grounds of a former coffee plantation overlooking Lake Atitlán. The nature of this specific geographic situation has played an integral part in Suter’s painting over the past three decades, both in terms of informing the artist’s thinking and her mark-making, and in the way in which the stuff of the earth is physically embedded in the surfaces of her canvases: explicit in the volcanic material, earth, botanical matter and micro-organisms to which the work’s medium line refers.</p> | false | 1 | 28564 | painting 56 paintings canvas paper textiles wood
| [
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"dateText": "13 December 2019 – 16 March 2020",
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"id": 13754,
"startDate": "2019-12-13",
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],
"id": 11358,
"startDate": "2019-12-13",
"title": "Vivian Suter",
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"dateText": "6 November 2021 – 13 February 2022",
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"id": 14616,
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"venueName": "Kunstmuseum (Luzern, Switzerland)",
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"id": 12040,
"startDate": "2021-11-06",
"title": "Vivian Suter. Retrospective",
"type": "Loan-out"
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] | Nisyros (Vivian’s Bed) | 2,016 | Tate | 2016–17 | CLEARED | 6 | Overall display dimensions variable | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with assistance from Tate International Council and the Latin American Acquisitions Committee 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Nisyros (Vivian’s Bed)</i> 2016–17 is an installation comprising fifty-three large-scale gestural, brightly hued abstract oil paintings on untreated, unstretched canvas. The work was made in the village of Panajachel, in the volcanic mountains of southwestern Guatemala, where Suter has been based since 1982 (this setting and Suter’s relationship with her mother, the artist Elisabeth Wild, are the subject of a film in Tate’s collection by artist Rosalind Nashashibi [born 1973] entitled <i>Vivian’s Garden</i> 2017 [Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/nashashibi-vivians-garden-t15055\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15055</span></a>]). Suter’s studio is located in the grounds of a former coffee plantation overlooking Lake Atitlán. The nature of this specific geographic situation has played an integral part in Suter’s painting over the past three decades, both in terms of informing the artist’s thinking and her mark-making, and in the way in which the stuff of the earth is physically embedded in the surfaces of her canvases: explicit in the volcanic material, earth, botanical matter and micro-organisms to which the work’s medium line refers.</p>\n<p>In 2005 Hurricane Stan struck Suter’s studio, causing flooding and damage to her works. She subsequently decided to purposefully leave her canvases outdoors, allowing nature to become an active agent in the work’s making. <i>Nisyros (Vivian’s Bed)</i> is representative of her work since this defining shift in her approach to painting. Suter uses rainwater to wet her pigments and oils, as well as allowing mud to find its way onto the canvases. The untreated canvases in works such as <i>Nisyros (Vivian’s Bed)</i> are ultrasensitive surfaces; they are records not just of what is seen but also of the passage of time, of the traces of daily activity in the rainforest, a register of the environmental conditions in which they were made.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Nisyros (Vivian’s Bed)</i> 2016–17 was first exhibited during <i>documenta 14</i> in Kassel in 2017, where it filled the front windows of the Glass Pavilion on Kurt-Schumacher Strasse. Nisyros is the name of the Greek island where Suter created a number of other works using this title for the Athens iteration of <i>documenta</i> that year. Here, the subtitle ‘Vivian’s Bed’ alludes to the configuration in which the work was shown in Kassel, with a bed occupying the middle of the installation, and two unstretched canvases acting as a bedsheet on it and a rug beneath it. The canvases that comprise the entire installation can be displayed in a number of configurations that allow it to be adapted to a variety of display spaces.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Vivian Suter</i>, exhibition catalogue, Kunsthalle Basel 1981.<br/>\n<i>Vivian Suter: Bilder 1981–1983</i>, exhibition catalogue, Kunstmuseum des Kantons Thurgau Kartause Ittingen, Warth, Switzerland 1983. <br/>Adam Szymczyk and Quinn Latimer (eds.), <i>Documenta14: Daybook,</i> Munich 2017.</p>\n<p>Isabella Maidment and Dina Akhmadeeva<br/>December 2018, updated December 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, 24 monitors, 3 projections, colour and sound (stereo) | [
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] | 1,987 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/gretchen-bender-19998" aria-label="More by Gretchen Bender" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Gretchen Bender</a> | Total Recall | 2,021 | [] | Presented by the Tate Americas Foundation, courtesy of the North American Acquisitions Committee 2016, accessioned 2021 | T15631 | {
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} | 2018160 1002933 7007239 7012149 7007567 1002551 7007568 | Gretchen Bender | 1,987 | [] | <p><span>Total Recall</span> 1987 is an installation lasting just over eighteen minutes and comprising twenty-four television monitors and three projections on large screens. The work has a start and end time akin to a theatre event and each screening is separated by a short break, rather than being looped. The television monitors are arranged in four rows in a pyramid structure with the large projection screens at the two bottom corners and at the top. The monitors are arranged on plinths receding into the space as they grow in height: the lowest layer of monitors on the floor is a few metres nearer the viewer than the fourth and highest layer. Across the twenty-four monitors there are eight channels of content determining the maximum number of different images at any one time; the material projected onto the screens is in addition to these channels. The footage is choreographed very carefully. Images flash on the monitors simultaneously, or repeat in different parts of the pyramid, or appear to move across the whole structure. The images are accompanied by drone music composed by Stuart Argabright. Bender took the images from recordings from network television programmes and from television adverts. She also animated corporate logos, produced animated title images for yet-to-be released Hollywood movies, and worked with computers to create some abstract images based on 3-D polygons. <span>Total Recall</span> predates by three years the Hollywood film of the same name featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger. News stories about the production of the film were circulating in 1987, and Bender’s decision to pre-appropriate a title from the film was part of her subversive approach to mainstream entertainment media.</p> | false | 1 | 19998 | time-based media video 24 monitors 3 projections colour sound stereo | [
{
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"dateText": "7 November 2014 – 8 February 2015",
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"id": 8731,
"startDate": "2014-11-07",
"venueName": "Tate Liverpool (Liverpool, UK)",
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],
"id": 7168,
"startDate": "2014-11-07",
"title": "Gretchen Bender",
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"dateText": "10 June 2021 – 27 June 2021",
"endDate": "2021-06-27",
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"dateText": "10 June 2021 – 27 June 2021",
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"id": 14658,
"startDate": "2021-06-10",
"venueName": "The Glasgow Royal Concert Hall (Glasgow, United Kingdom)",
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],
"id": 11338,
"startDate": "2021-06-10",
"title": "Glasgow International 2020",
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] | Total Recall | 1,987 | Tate | 1987 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 18min | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by the Tate Americas Foundation, courtesy of the North American Acquisitions Committee 2016, accessioned 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Total Recall</i> 1987 is an installation lasting just over eighteen minutes and comprising twenty-four television monitors and three projections on large screens. The work has a start and end time akin to a theatre event and each screening is separated by a short break, rather than being looped. The television monitors are arranged in four rows in a pyramid structure with the large projection screens at the two bottom corners and at the top. The monitors are arranged on plinths receding into the space as they grow in height: the lowest layer of monitors on the floor is a few metres nearer the viewer than the fourth and highest layer. Across the twenty-four monitors there are eight channels of content determining the maximum number of different images at any one time; the material projected onto the screens is in addition to these channels. The footage is choreographed very carefully. Images flash on the monitors simultaneously, or repeat in different parts of the pyramid, or appear to move across the whole structure. The images are accompanied by drone music composed by Stuart Argabright. Bender took the images from recordings from network television programmes and from television adverts. She also animated corporate logos, produced animated title images for yet-to-be released Hollywood movies, and worked with computers to create some abstract images based on 3-D polygons. <i>Total Recall</i> predates by three years the Hollywood film of the same name featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger. News stories about the production of the film were circulating in 1987, and Bender’s decision to pre-appropriate a title from the film was part of her subversive approach to mainstream entertainment media. </p>\n<p>Bender’s earlier work was very much associated with the ‘Pictures’ generation and had been based on appropriated images of paintings by other artists and of media images, silkscreened or printed on tin. She began working with television footage in 1983. <i>Total Recall</i> was Bender’s most ambitious work and was originally shown at The Kitchen in New York in May 1987, where it was billed as an ‘Electronic Theatre’. Bender was aided in the production of the work by her then studio assistant, artist Rirkrit Tirivanija (born 1961); the material was edited largely by hand pressing buttons on and off, and the entirety of the piece was only revealed when first installed. Tirivanija has recalled: ‘When she was working on it we had the two editing monitors and then maybe a small house television and then at some point, slowly these TVs started to show up. So she was really editing the whole thing, basically, on three televisions. None of it was actually played together until we came to The Kitchen.’ (Rirkrit Tirivanija, in ‘Panel Discussion at The Kitchen: Dara Birnbaum, Hal Foster, Tim Griffin, Robert Longo and Rirkrit Tirivanija’, in Vanderhyden 2014, p.80.)</p>\n<p>The artist’s aim in the work was to produce a powerful critique of the way television and computer graphics function in mainstream media, to entertain and pacify viewers and create consensus.<b> </b>According to Bender, <i>Total Recall </i>‘doesn’t critique consumerism in the form of the material commodity, but consumerism as the consuming of ideologies’ (quoted in Peter Doroshenko, ‘Interview with Gretchen Bender’, <i>Gretchen Bender: Work 1981–1991</i>, reprinted in Vanderhyden 2014, p.55). She wanted to ‘make it so that when you see familiar images you’re unable to think of them in the same familiar way’ (ibid., p.51). Instead of doing this by isolating a single image and cropping it in an unusual way or surrounding it with text (as in the work of contemporaries such as Barbara Kruger or Richard Prince), Bender decided to use repetition, motion and the seductiveness of television. In <i>Total Recall</i>, viewers would not only look at mass media images in new ways but, part-immersed in a spectacle, they would understand how mass media functions to create desires and other affects that they would simultaneously experience and analyse. She explained: ‘I wanted to use the media against itself – to have it be entertaining and critical simultaneously. I wanted to see how far I could push using the seduction of the imagery from television and computer graphics without going over the edge.’ (Ibid., p.54.)</p>\n<p>These strategies put Bender at some distance from critical practices of the 1970s which imagined the viewer as a subject who could share with the artist a critical analysis from a position outside the spectacle. Richard Serra’s (born 1939) <i>Television Delivers People</i> 1973 (Museum of Modern Art, New York), for instance, tackled the workings of American commercial television but adopted a deadpan visual style of rolling text, accompanied by absurd ‘muzak’, viewed on a single small monitor. By the time she made <i>Total Recall</i>, Bender would have also known the work of Dara Birnbaum (born 1946), who was also appropriating television footage; but whereas Birnbaum was comfortable with single or two-channel pieces (for instance, <i>Technology/Transformation: Wonder Woman</i> 1978–9 [Museum of Modern Art, New York]), Bender decided to make a more theatrical work whose spatial structure (the tiered pyramid) had affinities with ancient Egyptian architecture and even with Fascist parade grounds. For Bender, to tackle television, it was necessary to ‘infiltrate and mimic the mainstream media’. As she continued in a conversation with fellow artist Cindy Sherman (born 1954) in 1987, recorded while she was working on <i>Total Recall</i>:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>I’m trying to create an overview of an environment and at this point I’m not able to do it on one channel so I create a theatrical exposition of it with multiple channels. In the past three years, I’ve surrounded myself and the audience with an environment and then turned up the voltage – to create a criticality. I’ll mimic the media – but I’ll turn up the voltage on the currents so high that hopefully it will blast criticality out there.<br/>(In<i> </i>Sherman 1987, <a href=\"http://bombmagazine.org/article/844/gretchen-bender\">http://bombmagazine.org/article/844/gretchen-bender</a>, accessed 10 August 2015.)</blockquote>\n<p>Over the eighteen minutes of <i>Total Recall</i>, Bender used many different editing devices and sequenced the footage in various ways. One sequence representative of both her editing strategies and her intentions regarding the appropriated material was described by critic Carol Martin when she reviewed <i>Total Recall </i>at The Kitchen in 1987:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Without warning there was a barrage of commercial images. Playing repeatedly in takes a few seconds long were a series of shots that were clipped before the product message. People greeted one another in a manner that involved friendship, warmth, love and home. This was about the person side of the media’s myth about American life. The series should have achieved narrative closure with a glowing ‘GE brings good things to life.’ This is where Bender intervened. What the spectators actually saw were the sequence of the GE commercial run backwards. Thus the intended message of the images was totally negated. This was further complicated by the multiplication of images on the 24 monitors. Actions and people turned into an abstract visual landscape of shape, color [sic.] and motion. <br/>(Carol Martin, ‘Gretchen Bender: <i>Total Recall</i>, The Kitchen’, <i>High Performance</i>, 1987, issue 38, pp.70–1.)</blockquote>\n<p>Bender was not just interested in negating the messages of commercials, however, but in revealing how they constructed a sense of permanence of life and time. As she worked on her raw material, she became aware of the collapse of temporality in television: ‘I started discovering things that we were saying to ourselves – about a nostalgia for an American heartland that never was; about a simultaneity of the past, present and future; how nothing ever dies.’ (Quoted in Peter Doroshenko, ‘Interview with Gretchen Bender’, <i>Gretchen Bender: Work 1981–1991</i>, reprinted in Vanderhyden 2014, p.54.) Playing material over and over again, forwards and backwards, was a way of visualising stasis in a hyperbolic way, and thereby pointing towards the way commercial television aimed to construct a sense of permanence and immortality. She stated: ‘I’m trying to examine what it is we’re really promoting to ourselves - the cultural lies, the cultural anxieties, the cultural truths.’ (Ibid.)</p>\n<p>The inclusion of film footage on the three large screens, originally projected from 16mm and now digitised, is another important component of <i>Total Recall</i>. Some of the film footage seems to have been recorded by Bender herself (rather than being taken from existing television material) and features crowds of people walking in Manhattan. For critic and historian Hal Foster, this material recalls ‘the first footage and film ever [by] the Lumière Brothers of just people walking’. (Hal Foster, in ‘Panel Discussion at The Kitchen: Dara Birnbaum, Hal Foster, Tim Griffin, Robert Longo and Rirkrit Tirivanija’, in Vanderhyden 2014, p.90.) The juxtaposition of the material on the screen and the material on the monitors suggests, for Foster, that in <i>Total Recall</i> Bender also reflected on ‘what film could have been and what it turned into … There’s real nuance in this piece about different moments of film, different moments of video, different moments of montage.’ (Ibid.)</p>\n<p>Also significant is the ending of the installation. Recordings of fireworks play out across the screens, but in reverse, as Bender rewound the material. The ending therefore gives a visual sense of a spectacle collapsing on itself. Dara Birnbaum has described this moment: ‘All the fireworks are withdrawing themselves, it’s like a sense of entropy pulling in the thing that should be the most explosive out.’ (Dara Birnbaum, in ibid., p.82.)</p>\n<p>The critical importance of <i>Total Recall </i>was recognised very early on. Introducing an exhibition of the work at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Houston in 1988, Jonathan Crary, now Meyer Schapiro Professor of History of Art at Columbia University, wrote: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>Researchers have shown that television is probably most powerful when the eye is immobile for long periods of time … <i>Total Recall</i> completely prevents this possibility. Bender’s setup forces us to become active, critical viewers whose eyes continually move from one screen to another, never resting, never becoming hypnotized. She allows us a glimpse of the awesome fascination of television, almost submerges us in it, but simultaneously preserves for us the autonomous position of stimulated, alert, and analytical observers … Bender does not approach television as a medium that distorts or falsifies a view of the true or real world. She explores how television produces rather than represents a world of experience that, increasingly, becomes more real than so-called everyday life. <br/>(Jonathan Crary, ‘Gretchen Bender: Total Recall’, in Contemporary Art Museum, Houston 1988, unpaginated.)</blockquote>\n<p>\n<i>Total Recall</i> is increasingly recognised as a masterpiece of 1980s video art. Hal Foster has recently pointed to the uniqueness of Bender’s position in the context of the ‘Pictures’ generation, differentiating her from artists mainly concerned with appropriating existing art works or adverts: </p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>When Gretchen took appropriation into a very expanded field, in her milieu appropriation was still mostly about art, maybe film. It was bound up in a particular critique but she took it out towards the military entertainment complex. Even though we didn’t use that term then, she was onto it before the rest of us. She also, rather than resist these effects, wanted to accelerate them. I think her strategy was one of mimetic excess, to see if one could actually speed up the spectacle and somehow go through it.<br/>(Hal Foster, in ‘Panel Discussion at The Kitchen: Dara Birnbaum, Hal Foster, Tim Griffin, Robert Longo and Rirkrit Tirivanija’, in Vanderhyden 2014, p.80.)</blockquote>\n<p>After Bender’s death, the extant works from her estate (including <i>Total Recall</i>) and original master-tapes for her video theatre from the 1980s were deposited with the Mint Museum, North Carolina. In 2012, academic and curator Michelle Grabner worked with curator artist Philip Vanderhyden to reconstruct the work, which has been sanctioned by the Estate of Gretchen Bender as an edition of five. This is the second in the edition; the first is held in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. The installation of the work is guided by the layout employed at The Kitchen in New York and a schematic diagram prepared by Bender in 1987 which gives a sense of the spatial relationship between each screen.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>‘Gretchen Bender by Cindy Sherman’, <i>Bomb magazine</i>, 1 January 1987, <a href=\"http://bombmagazine.org/article/844/gretchen-bender\">http://bombmagazine.org/article/844/gretchen-bender</a>, accessed 10 August 2015.<br/>Jonathan Crary, ‘Gretchen Bender: Total Recall’, in <i>Gretchen Bender: Total Recall</i>, exhibition catalogue, Contemporary Art Museum, Houston 1988, unpaginated.<br/>Michelle Grabner and Brad Killam (eds.), <i>Gretchen Bender: Tracking the Thrill</i>, Poor Farm, Waupaca County, Wisconsin 2013.<br/>Philip Vanderhyden, <i>Gretchen Bender: People in Pain</i>, New York 2014.</p>\n<p>Mark Godfrey<br/>August 2015</p>\n</div>\n",
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Fire hoses, vinyl and wood | [
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} | 7013596 7013649 7007251 7012149 | Theaster Gates | 2,011 | [] | <p>In May 1963, a group of black school children and students were marching peacefully for equal rights in Birmingham, Alabama. Police used powerful fire hoses to break up the march, injuring many of the young protestors. Gates has arranged strips of decommissioned fire hoses to resemble the composition of a 1960s American abstract painting – a form that pointedly failed to engage with the Civil Rights movement. Gates also questions whether the protestors’ goals have been fulfilled. ‘Some of us are slightly better while others are a great deal better’, he has reflected, ‘but… things are far from equal’.</p><p><em>Gallery label, November 2015</em></p> | false | 1 | 17216 | installation fire hoses vinyl wood | [] | Civil Tapestry 4 | 2,011 | Tate | 2011 | CLEARED | 3 | unconfirmed: 1828.8 × 4876.8 × 76.2 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented by Pamela J. Joyner and Alfred J. Giuffrida (Tate Americas Foundation) 2014, accessioned 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Civil Tapestry 4</i> 2011 is a large wall-based work by the American artist Theaster Gates. It is made from strips of decommissioned fire hoses that Gates sourced in Chicago, his home town, and fixed to a wooden support. The hoses vary in tone between white, beige and brown, with three prominent red strips. Some have printed lettering (giving details of the manufacturer) but most are blank. <i>Civil Tapestry 4</i> is one of a number of works that Gates made using fire hoses, and at almost two metres high and five metres wide, it is one of the largest.</p>\n<p>The work’s title points to its political and social content. In May 1963 a group of black children and students in Birmingham, Alabama, embarked on a peaceful march as part of the struggle for equal rights for black people in America. The Birmingham Commissioner for Public Safety, Eugene ‘Bull’ Connor, ordered the police to use fire hoses to spray the crowd with water in order to break up the march and force the demonstrators into submission. The force of the blasts of water was immense, and many of the children and students were injured. Gates has written, ‘For days, fire hoses and canons were used to intimidate America’s wrongly served.’ (Theaster Gates, press release for <i>An Epitaph for Civil Rights and Other Domesticated Structures</i>, Kavi Gupta, Chicago 2011, <a href=\"http://www.re-title.com/exhibitions/archive_KaviGuptaGallery10939.asp\">http://www.re-title.com/exhibitions/archive_KaviGuptaGallery10939.asp</a>, accessed August 2012.) The police brutality was widely condemned, and with President Kennedy criticising the Birmingham police, these events were seen as a pivotal moment in the Civil Rights Movement. Gates commented, ‘The event led to immediate shifts in the American South and created opportunity for Black people to integrate.’ (Gates 2011, accessed August 2012.)</p>\n<p>Gates’s materials for <i>Civil Tapestry 4</i> are extremely politically charged. As well as calling to mind the use of hoses against black people during civil rights struggles, Gates’s fire hoses also evoke the destruction of black churches by fire at this time and specifically the bombing of the Fifteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham in September 1963, in which four young girls were killed. By invoking the history of the Civil Rights Movement, Gates wanted to pay tribute to those people who fought in the struggle at great personal and physical risk. He has explained that he also wanted to raise a number of questions:</p>\n<p class=\"cttext\">\n</p><blockquote>The student sit-ins and peaceful protests were transformative for all of this country. Some of us are slightly better while others are a great deal better, but over the last six decades, things are far from equal. The question then is one of political potency. How do we think of the history of Black political engagement that required acts of unrestrained heroism and life-threatening engagement? What is the state of Civil Rights, especially now that there are splinters of class-based need, new marginalized groups, and the ever present belief that things are better for all because of the election of 2008?<br/>(Gates 2011, accessed August 2012.)</blockquote>\n<p>As such, with works like <i>Civil Tapestry 4</i> Gates addressed the present as well as the past, prompting his audience to consider whether events such as those in Birmingham should be seen as part of a story of resistance that concluded with the election of Barack Obama in 2008, or part of an ongoing and unresolved crisis of inequality and disenfranchisement.</p>\n<p>Gates began to use fire hoses in his work in 2011 following a show at his Chicago gallery Kavi Gupta in which he included a number of works featuring hoses. In the autumn of 2011 he had a solo exhibition at Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art titled <i>An Epitaph for Civil Rights</i>, and <i>Civil Tapestry 4</i> was first exhibited in this show.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Lilly Wei, ‘Theaster Gates in the Studio with Lilly Wei’, <i>Art in America</i>, December 2011, pp.120–6.<br/>Theaster Gates, <i>12 Ballads for Huguenot House</i>, exhibition catalogue, Documenta 13, Kassel, and Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago 2012.<br/>Mark Godfrey, ‘Designs for Life’, <i>Frieze</i>, no.149, September 2012, pp.120–7.</p>\n<p>Mark Godfrey<br/>August 2012</p>\n</div>\n",
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Pigments on stringybark | [
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} | 7001905 7001829 7000490 1000006 | John Mawurndjul | 1,989 | [] | <p>Mawurndjul paints on bark, a material used by Kuninjku people for practical and ceremonial purposes. Painting on bark is relatively contemporary, dating back to the early 1900s in some Aboriginal communities. However, the motifs usually continue imagery from ancient body painting and rock art. This work depicts Buluwana, a female ancestral figure, present at Ngandarrayo, in Northern Territory. Rarrk, the cross-hatching technique used here, is characteristic of the ochre art made in West Arnhem Land. Each Kuninjku artist reinterprets it in a unique, highly personal style.</p><p><em>Gallery label, July 2021</em></p> | false | 1 | 29630 | painting pigments stringybark | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Buluwana, Female Ancestor</i> 1989 is a painting in earth pigments on Eucalyptus bark by the indigenous Australian bark painter John Mawurndjul. The painting depicts a tall, irregular topographical portrait of Buluwana, a woman from Ngandarrayo and an ancestral relative of the artist. Around her figure, against a dark background, are the faces and body parts of ancestors that died at the time the painting was made. Buluwana’s body is filled with <i>rrark</i>: very fine cross-hatching marks in red, brown, yellow and white ochres. The figure is placed against a plain ground in the tradition of classical rock art painting and the composition is dense, taking up most of the space to the edges of the bark. The stringybark that forms the support for the work comes from the Eucalyptus tetradonta tree and is relatively flat but with natural lifts and deviations, given that it is made from a material that has the propensity to flex despite having been rigorously smoked and flattened. The work can be considered more than a painting; with its distinctive natural properties it is an object with the capacity to move, shift and take up space.<br/>\n<br/>\n<i>Buluwana, Female Ancestor</i> depicts Ngandarrayo, a significant site some way from Maningrida in Australia’s remote Northern Territory, which is associated with the female ancestral figure called Buluwana. At the time when Buluwana was alive, the people at Maningrida were suffering a severe drought: many, many people died from thirst and only the strongest survived. Buluwana – a symbol of this time and of the drought – also died, but from the bite of a death adder. Legend has it that she was transformed into a distinctive rock formation, which can be seen today. The bones of the people that died remain there and to this day there is still very little water to be found at Ngandarrayo. This particular painting is one of the most significant examples of Mawurndjul’s work from this period, in which he began to depict the chronicle of Buluwana, and presents a cautionary tale of environmental destruction and drought.</p>\n<p>John Mawurndjul was born at Kubukkan near Marrkolidjban in remote Arnhem Land in the Northern Territory, Australia. Son to Anchor Kulunba, a renowned weaver and sculptural artist, and Mary Wurrdjedje, a skilled craftswoman, Mawurndjul is a fluent Kuninjku speaker – one of the twelve languages of this region. Mawurndjul currently practices at Maningrida, a small community an hour’s flight from the nearest major city of Darwin, and not far from the outstation of Mumeka where he resides. Mawurndjul is a member of an artistic dynasty that connects him to one of Australia’s most important cultural lineages, including the artists Peter Marralwanga, Jimmy Njiminjuma, Ivan Namirrkki, Deborah Wurrkidj and Susan Marawarr, amongst others. Further, Mawurndjul is one of Australia’s most significant artists in terms of national and international recognition, and one of its most celebrated bark painters.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Buluwana, Female Ancestor</i> was one of the earliest works in which Mawurndjul worked on a significantly larger scale; where the majority of barks from his earlier period, from 1979 to the mid-1980s, are usually no bigger than forty or fifty centimetres high, by the late 1980s he was regularly painting on barks up to and over two metres high, like this one. In this period in his work, the imagery filled the bark support and was dominated by creation myth subjects of Buluwana or Ngalyod (the rainbow serpent). This particular painting was also created at a time when Mawurndjul’s artworks became the signifier of contemporary Aboriginal art practice – pinpointing a moment in art history when his work, and that of other Indigenous artists, first gained national and international recognition as important in a postmodern context. That Mawurndjul himself was aware of the unique positioning of his work is evident in the title he chose for his recent survey exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia in Sydney: <i>John Mawurndjul: I Am the Old and the New</i>. He has explained: ‘The old ways of doing things have changed into the new ways. The new generation does things differently. But me, I have two ways. I am the old and the new.’ (Quoted in Murray Garde, ‘I am the Old and the New: John Mawurndjul in Conversation’, in <i>Museum of Contemporary Art Australia 2018, p.49.)</i> For example, upon encountering the work of Pablo Picasso, Mawurndjul found a synergy between the conceptual methodologies he perceived in cubist painting and his own approach to depicting Buluwana and her entombment in the land.<br/>\n<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Rarrk: John Mawurndjul: Journey Through Time in Northern Australia</i>, exhibition catalogue, Museum Tinguely, Basel 2005–6, reproduced p.107.<br/>\n<i>John Mawurndjul: I Am the Old and the New, exhibition catalogue, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney 2018, reproduced pp.170–1 and back cover, </i><a href=\"https://www.johnmawurndjul.com/works/Ngandarrayo/\">https://www.johnmawurndjul.com/works/Ngandarrayo/</a>, accessed 10 October 2019.</p>\n<p>Andrew Wilson and Clothilde Bullen, MCA Australia<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Video, high definition, black and white and sound, vinyl, resin, led light bulbs, gauze, synthetic hair and other materials | [
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} | 7017416 7002922 7001095 1000070 | Paul Maheke | 2,018 | [] | <p><span>Levant</span> 2018 is an installation comprised of a single-channel HD video presented on an LED Smart screen behind a taught holographic gauze, a black vinyl dance mat, and fifteen resin light globes inside which are pieces of synthetic hair, dust and other debris. The globes are placed on the mat or on hanging shelves near the ceiling. The video, which lasts just under an hour, was shot in black and white and plays on a loop. The accompanying soundtrack is shorter than the video being just eighteen minutes in length. The overall display dimensions and arrangement of the globes are variable depending on the space in which the work is exhibited. <span>Levant </span>was commissioned by Lafayette Anticipations on the occasion of the group exhibition <span>Le centre ne peut tenir</span> (The centre will not hold) at Fondation d’entreprise Galeries Layafette, Paris in 2018, where it was first shown.</p> | false | 1 | 29478 | installation video high definition black white sound vinyl resin led light bulbs gauze synthetic hair other materials | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Levant</i> 2018 is an installation comprised of a single-channel HD video presented on an LED Smart screen behind a taught holographic gauze, a black vinyl dance mat, and fifteen resin light globes inside which are pieces of synthetic hair, dust and other debris. The globes are placed on the mat or on hanging shelves near the ceiling. The video, which lasts just under an hour, was shot in black and white and plays on a loop. The accompanying soundtrack is shorter than the video being just eighteen minutes in length. The overall display dimensions and arrangement of the globes are variable depending on the space in which the work is exhibited. <i>Levant </i>was commissioned by Lafayette Anticipations on the occasion of the group exhibition <i>Le centre ne peut tenir</i> (The centre will not hold) at Fondation d’entreprise Galeries Layafette, Paris in 2018, where it was first shown. </p>\n<p>The installation was made in collaboration with the dancer and choreographer Ligia Lewis and the musician Nkisi (the alias of Melika Ngombe Kolongo). Like Maheke, Lewis and Nikisi share a commitment to interrogating the politics surrounding black bodies and their exclusion. Ligia Lewis (born 1983) is a choreographer and dancer based in Berlin. Her work takes the form of what she describes as ‘affective choreographies’ that challenge the metaphors, and social inscriptions, of the black body. Nkisi is a London-based musician, artist and co-founder of NON Worldwide, a collective of African artists and African diaspora artists who use sound to articulate the structures that create binaries in society, and in turn distribute power. On the subject of his collaboration with the two practitioners from the fields of music and dance, Maheke explained: ‘I like to look at art as a meeting place and, in this case, I was intrigued by how our respective practices, coming from very different places, could meet in the same room.’ (Maheke, interviewed at Lafayette Anticipations, Paris, <a href=\"https://www.lafayetteanticipations.com/en/oeuvre/levant\">https://www.lafayetteanticipations.com/en/oeuvre/levant</a>, accessed 14 October 2019.)</p>\n<p>Maheke’s practice is centred on the use of performance to explore questions of identity construction and queer black histories. His work investigates gender and racial stereotypes through choreographed performance, installation, video and sound. Illustrative of his practice, <i>Levant</i> shows a performance choreographed by Lewis, who appears in the work alongside Maheke and Nikisi. A central focus of the film is a sequence of movements performed by Lewis which repeat. He performs largely solo, joined only intermittently by the two other protagonists. Dressed in black in a darkened space, the performers appear and disappear, their bodies partially abstracted in a deliberate blurring of the viewer’s field of vision that is further emphasised by the gauze through which the video screen is viewed. Oscillating between visibility and erasure, the bodies of the performers appear almost ghostlike, disconnected from one another throughout. They move to the intense rhythm of the soundtrack by Nikisi, composed of electronic beats overlaid with mumbled spoken words that reverberate in the space. Deep and hypnotic, with a heavy bass, the soundtrack serves to extend the ambiguous dark space the performers inhabit to the dance mat on which the viewer is situated. The overall effect of the installation is both dreamlike and menacing. Titled with the French word for ‘rising’, <i>Levant</i> is a poetic meditation on excluded bodies and black identities. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Ciarán Finlayson,<i> </i>‘Paul Maheke’, <i>Artforum</i>,<i> </i>vol.56, no.8, April 2018, <a href=\"https://www.artforum.com/print/201804/paul-maheke-74669\">https://www.artforum.com/print/201804/paul-maheke-74669</a>, accessed 20 August 2019. <br/>Alice Bucknell, ‘Paul Maheke: A Fire Circle for a Public Hearing’, <i>Mousse Magazine</i>, no.63, Spring 2018. </p>\n<p>Isabella Maidment<br/>October 2019</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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] | 1,794 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/philip-james-de-loutherbourg-145" aria-label="More by Philip James De Loutherbourg" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Philip James De Loutherbourg</a> | Grand Attack on Valenciennes by Combined Armies under Command HRH Duke York | 2,021 | [] | Accepted in lieu of Inheritance Tax by HM Government and allocated to Tate 2020 | T15636 | {
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} | 7008653 7007269 7007667 7011731 1004281 7008136 7002445 7008591 | Philip James De Loutherbourg | 1,794 | [] | <p>The French surrender at Valenciennes in July 1793 was short-lived but widely celebrated in Britain. De Loutherbourg’s painting capitalised on this victory, achieving critical and commercial success when exhibited in 1794. The vast scale and atmospheric effects made it a sublime spectacle. De Loutherbourg’s visit to the battlefield and inclusion of recognisable portraits ensured its credibility too. Above all, the painting offered a celebratory image of British military power at a moment when the war was widely criticised in Britain.</p><p><em>Gallery label, May 2023</em></p> | false | 1 | 145 | painting oil paint canvas | [
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] | The Grand Attack on Valenciennes by the Combined Armies under the Command of HRH Duke of York | 1,794 | Tate | 1794 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2626 × 3722 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Accepted in lieu of Inheritance Tax by HM Government and allocated to Tate 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This very large painting was created in 1794 as a commercial speculation soon after Britain declared war against France, following the French Revolution and the execution of the French king, Louis XVI, in January 1793. It shows the siege of Valenciennes, in northern France, the first military engagement of the war really to engage public attention in Britain. The viewpoint is an elevated spot looking towards the town of Valenciennes, which is shrouded in smoke as the allied bombardment intensified on the 25 July 1793. Various figures from the allied Austrian and British troops occupy the foreground. The British military commander Frederick, Duke of York is the highest-placed figure on horseback to the left, gesturing downwards towards the Austrian commander, Prince Josias of Saxe-Coburg.</p>\n<p>The siege of Valenciennes took place between May and July 1793, during the campaign in Flanders (in modern-day Belgium) led by the Duke of York. Although commemorated by the familiar nursey-rhyme ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, Frederick had limited abilities as a military leader and Valenciennes proved to be the only victory in the campaign. After the surrender of Valenciennes, French troops regrouped and the British retreated back to the coast.</p>\n<p>Nonetheless, after news of the surrender of French troops at Valenciennes on 28 July 1793 reached Britain, there was a rush of military-themed spectacles, musical entertainments, prints and songs, and even fashion items. Several artistic projects were also initiated. The plan to produce a huge painting and an engraving by the prominent French-born artist Philip James de Loutherbourg was announced in the press as early as 1 August 1793. This was a commercial venture, organised by the engraver Valentine Green, his son Rupert Green and the Swiss print-seller Christian von Machel. De Loutherbourg was paid a large fee and, accompanied by the printmaker James Gillray (1757–1815), he went to the battlefield in September 1793. Gillray, best known as a caricature artist, produced portrait studies and details of uniforms and equipment. De Loutherbourg’s painting was produced in London in only nine months. The resulting painting was first exhibited in a private royal viewing at Buckingham House (now Buckingham Palace), before opening to the public in the Historic Gallery in Pall Mall, a commercial gallery space run by the publisher Robert Bowyer.</p>\n<p>The painting was a great success, with many critics commenting on what they considered to be the accuracy as well as the grandeur of the scene. The sheer extent of the picture, with its expansive sky, plumes of smoke and billowing clouds, was intended to create effects that contemporary critics would recognise as Sublime – newly in vogue as the grandest, most emotionally overpowering category of art. However, the painting was also a straightforward piece of propaganda. At a time when Britain’s war against revolutionary France was much criticised by dissenters, pacifists and the range of political radicals who wished also to overthrow the much-hated monarchy and establish democracy in Britain, the picture created a spectacular view of British military triumph that flattered the royal family and political establishment. The Duke of York is given a prominent role, whereas, as the radical writer Thomas Holcroft noted when he saw the picture in 1798, ‘the Austrian General, who actually directed the siege, is placed in a group, where, far from attracting attention, he is but just seen’ (quoted in Shaw 2016).</p>\n<p>De Loutherbourg’s picture remained on display at the Historic Gallery for at least three years. It was joined by another huge painting by de Loutherbourg, dating from 1795 and showing <i>Lord Howe’s Action, or the Glorious First of June</i> (now in the National Maritime Museum, London, under the title <i>The Battle of the First of June, 1794</i>). However, the war with France caused economic decline and the print market collapsed. Valentine and Rupert Green were declared bankrupt in 1798 and the painting was sold at auction in 1799. The large print originally announced in August 1793 was eventually published together with a descriptive key in 1801.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n</p>\n<p>Anthony Griffiths, ‘The Contract for <i>The Grand Attack on Valenciennes</i>’, <i>Print Quarterly</i>, vol.20, no.4, December 2003, pp.374–9.<br/>Oliver Lefeuvre, <i>Philippe-Jacques de Loutherbourg</i>, Paris 2012, pp.287–9.<br/>Philip Shaw, ‘Picturing Valenciennes: Philippe-Jacques de Loutherbourg and the Emotional Regulation of British Military Art in the 1790s’, in Erika Kuijpers and Cornelis van der Haven, <i>Battlefield Emotions 1500–1800: Practices, Experience, Imagination</i>, London 2016.</p>\n<p>Martin Myrone<br/>February 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>The French surrender at Valenciennes in July 1793 was short-lived but widely celebrated in Britain. De Loutherbourg’s painting capitalised on this victory, achieving critical and commercial success when exhibited in 1794. The vast scale and atmospheric effects made it a sublime spectacle. De Loutherbourg’s visit to the battlefield and inclusion of recognisable portraits ensured its credibility too. Above all, the painting offered a celebratory image of British military power at a moment when the war was widely criticised in Britain.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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Video, 2 flat screens, colour and sound (mono) | [
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] | 2,015 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/paul-maheke-29478" aria-label="More by Paul Maheke" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Paul Maheke</a> | Mutual Survival Lordes Manifesto | 2,021 | [] | Purchased with funds provided by Tate International Council 2020 | T15639 | {
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} | 7017416 7002922 7001095 1000070 | Paul Maheke | 2,015 | [] | <p><span>Mutual Survival, Lorde’s Manifesto </span>2015 is a two-channel colour video installation presented on two floor-based forty-two-inch LED smart screens displayed leaning against a wall. The work’s title references the American Black feminist writer and activist Audre Lorde (1934–1992) whose words, borrowed and edited together from her essay ‘I am Your Sister’ published in 1985, caption the video intermittently. ‘As a people, we should most certainly work together to end our common oppression,’ the video subtitle begins. ‘We need to join our differences and articulate our particular strengths in the service of our mutual survivals.’ The work lasts seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds and exists in an edition of five. Tate’s copy is number one in the edition.</p> | false | 1 | 29478 | time-based media video 2 flat screens colour sound mono | [
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] | Mutual Survival, Lorde’s Manifesto | 2,015 | Tate | 2015 | CLEARED | 10 | duration: 17min, 50sec | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by Tate International Council 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Mutual Survival, Lorde’s Manifesto </i>2015 is a two-channel colour video installation presented on two floor-based forty-two-inch LED smart screens displayed leaning against a wall. The work’s title references the American Black feminist writer and activist Audre Lorde (1934–1992) whose words, borrowed and edited together from her essay ‘I am Your Sister’ published in 1985, caption the video intermittently. ‘As a people, we should most certainly work together to end our common oppression,’ the video subtitle begins. ‘We need to join our differences and articulate our particular strengths in the service of our mutual survivals.’ The work lasts seventeen minutes and fifteen seconds and exists in an edition of five. Tate’s copy is number one in the edition.</p>\n<p>The videos were shot in Rose Lipman Community Centre, in De Beauvoir Town in East London where the artistic collaborative learning centre Open School East was based from 2013 to 2017. While studying at Open School East, Maheke became wary of art’s renewed turn to ‘community’ but interested in the actual community groups with whom the school shared its location. <i>Mutual Survival, Lorde’s Manifesto </i>captures two performances. The left-hand screen documents London’s Tropical Isles Carnival Dance Troupe as they rehearse in the community hall. The screen on the right shows British artist and choreographer Jamila Johnson-Small performing solo in the same space. Through her ongoing performance project <i>Last Yearz Interesting Negro</i>, Johnson-Small explores dance as a radical social proposition’, specifically in relation to the Black queer body and its visibility.</p>\n<p>(<a href=\"https://jamilajohnsonsmall.wordpress.com/\">https://jamilajohnsonsmall.wordpress.com/</a>, accessed 23 August 2019). Maheke’s decision to feature her dancing in this work links to his own interest in the representation of Black subjectivities. Here the individual is presented alongside the collective and dance is proposed as an activity through which both the individual and the collective come into being. On one screen, the viewer sees Johnson-Small dancing freely, alone in the community hall, seemingly uninhibited by the presence of the camera, side by side with the other screen on which the young dancers of the Carnival Dance Troupe rehearse together as a group. The videos are accompanied by a single soundtrack composed of deep bass that plays through a subwoofer placed on the floor. Deep and hypnotic, the soundtrack serves to unify the two videos, inviting a visceral experience. The video ends with the subtitle statement: ‘In the end, no one will free us but ourselves’.</p>\n<p>\n<i>Mutual Survival, Lorde’s Manifesto </i>2015 exemplifies French-born Maheke’s investigation of the politics surrounding Black people and their representation. His work investigates gender and racial stereotypes, exploring questions of identity construction and queer Black histories through choreographed performance, video and sound as well as installation.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Ciarán Finlayson,<i> </i>‘Paul Maheke’, <i>Artforum</i>,<i> </i>vol.56, no.8, April 2018, <a href=\"https://www.artforum.com/print/201804/paul-maheke-74669\">https://www.artforum.com/print/201804/paul-maheke-74669</a>, accessed 20 August 2019.<br/>Alice Bucknell, ‘Paul Maheke: A Fire Circle for a Public Hearing’, <i>Mousse Magazine</i>, no.63, Spring 2018.</p>\n<p>Isabella Maidment<br/>August 2019, updated April 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Plywood, aluminium composite sheeting, acrylic paint, paper on board, beeswax, pigment and other materials | [
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} | 7001215 1001091 7001413 7016833 7001242 | Anna Boghiguian | 2,019 | [] | <p><span>Institution vs The Mass</span> 2019 is a large-scale multi-part installation that comprises a huge, hand-fabricated chess set and a checkerboard floor of alternating mirrored and black aluminium tiles with a map of the world painted on its surface. As in a true chess set, there are thirty-two pieces in total, sixteen for each opponent. One side of the chess set represents the ‘Institution’ and the other the ‘Masses’, who are protesting against the Institution. The two-dimensional figures are all life-size or bigger, measuring between 175 centimetres and 230 centimetres, and are painted in encaustic on paper, glued to plywood cut-outs. These are hung over the chessboard from metal cables in the ceiling. The composition of the two sets of pieces illustrates how historical systems of control persist in the present and interrogates the ability of social movements to facilitate change. The viewer is immersed in a world created by the artist, oscillating between history and reality on one hand, and the surreal and imaginary on the other.</p> | false | 1 | 28246 | installation plywood aluminium composite sheeting acrylic paint paper board beeswax pigment other materials | [
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] | Institution vs. The Mass | 2,019 | Tate | 2019 | CLEARED | 3 | displayed: 10000 × 10000 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by <a href="/search?gid=999999973" data-gtm-name="tombstone_link_bequest" data-gtm-destination="list-page--search-results">Tate Members</a> and Tate International Council 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Institution vs The Mass</i> 2019 is a large-scale multi-part installation that comprises a huge, hand-fabricated chess set and a checkerboard floor of alternating mirrored and black aluminium tiles with a map of the world painted on its surface. As in a true chess set, there are thirty-two pieces in total, sixteen for each opponent. One side of the chess set represents the ‘Institution’ and the other the ‘Masses’, who are protesting against the Institution. The two-dimensional figures are all life-size or bigger, measuring between 175 centimetres and 230 centimetres, and are painted in encaustic on paper, glued to plywood cut-outs. These are hung over the chessboard from metal cables in the ceiling. The composition of the two sets of pieces illustrates how historical systems of control persist in the present and interrogates the ability of social movements to facilitate change. The viewer is immersed in a world created by the artist, oscillating between history and reality on one hand, and the surreal and imaginary on the other. </p>\n<p>On the Institution side, an army of pawns, represented by soldiers bearing antiquated guns and wearing uniforms reminiscent of the First World War, protect the lavishly dressed King and Queen. Next to them, two horsemen act as the knights while the bishops, described by the artist as ‘partially mystics, fools or ministers’ (email correspondence with Tate curator Clara Kim, 16 June 2019) act as the Institution’s advisors. The two rooks are shaped like towers, in which the King and Queen live protected. Boghiguian has described how, for her, the Institution reflects outdated global power structures inherited from the early twentieth century which still benefit from the protection of the armed forces.</p>\n<p>The other side of the set lays out different mechanisms of dissent. The Mass’s pawns are activists, demonstrators and thinkers, fighting for the rights of the collective people. Some of them hold placards demanding better living conditions, such as money to buy food and cheaper motorway tolls. Cars full of demonstrators with their hands raised represent the knights. According to the artist, the hands raised in demand represent the only hope for the lives of the Masses to improve (email correspondence with Tate curator Clara Kim, 16 June 2019), and so the rooks on this side are depicted as giant hands, embodying protest itself. In Boghiguian’s work, the ear is a recurring motif, symbolising the act of listening and an ability to connect with the world around one. Here, two big ears holding a brain are the Mass’s bishops; they assist in proposing alternative and better living conditions for the people. Finally, the King and Queen of the Mass appear as surreal composite figures; the king standing over a light bulb that illuminates his mind, represented by nerves on the lower part of the figure; the Queen with a massive brain perched upon her head, her clothes composed of a web representing her nervous system. The two figures embody enlightenment, empathy and active problem-solving. </p>\n<p>\n<i>Institution vs The Mass</i> reveals a tension between two systems – one that controls the wealth and benefits from military protection, but whose structure and organisation seem obsolete, and one that is poor, yet trying to produce its own solutions through publicly voiced demands and protests. The elements of the set can be arranged in various configurations, with some of the already captured pieces displayed to one side of the board if so desired. </p>\n<p>The work builds upon Anna Boghiguian’s ongoing themes of protest and revolution, as well as her practice of walk-through installations with cut-out figures which resemble giant open books for the viewer to read, works such as <i>Salt Traders</i> 2015 (Castello di Rivoli Museo d’Arte Contemporanea, Turin) and <i>A Tin Drum That Has Forgotten Its Own Rhythm</i> 2019 (artist’s collection). Created to be displayed in the Cour Vitrée of the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Paris in 2019, <i>Institution vs The Mass</i> combines with a second large-scale chess set titled <i>Philosophers vs Politicians</i> to form an installation called <i>The Square, the Line, and the Ruler</i>. When displayed together, both sets converse with each other and engage with questions on the dynamics of social and political change. </p>\n<p>Born in Cairo to an Armenian family, Boghiguian is an inveterate traveller who has moved across the world, from Egypt to Canada and from France to India, and this international experience feeds knowledge of world cultures and politics into her work. As a diasporic figure who straddles geographies, cultures and influences, her distinctive style delves into history and literature, mixing poetry, politics and a critique of the modern world. Artist Hassan Khan has described how Boghiguian’s work actively engages the viewer, seeing it ‘not as a silent totalized corpus to be interpreted, but rather as a dynamic discourse in constant engagement with various other discourses. The work is open and thus positions the viewer within an encounter.’ (Khan 2001, p.272.)</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>Hassan Khan, ‘Towards a Poetics of Dispersal: An Encounter with Anna Boghiguian / ﻧﺤﻮ ﺷﻌﺮﻳﺔ ﺍﻟﺘﺸﺘﺖ: ﻟﻘﺎﺀ ﻣﻊ ﺃﻧّﺎ ﺑﻮﻏﻴﺠﻴﺎﻥ’, <i>Alif: Journal of Comparative Poetics</i>, no.21, 2001, pp.271–84.<br/>\n<i>Anna Boghiguian</i>, exhibition catalogue, Carré d’art – Musée d’art contemporain, Nîmes 2016.<br/>\n<i>Anna Boghiguian</i>, exhibition catalogue, Museo d’Arte Contemporanea, Castello di Rivoli, Turin 2017.</p>\n<p>Carine Harmand<br/>July 2019<br/>Updated January 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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10 photographs, c-prints on paper, mounted on board | [
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} | 7011781 7001766 7000508 1008380 1000226 1000006 | Alexis Hunter | 1,977 | [] | <p><span>Approach to Fear: XVII: Masculinisation of Society – exorcise</span> 1977 is a unique photographic work comprising ten photographs mounted in two rows of five on two horizontal panels. From top left to bottom right, the images depict a hand casting a shadow over and then smearing black paint onto the image of the muscular body of a naked man. The man’s head is partially cropped so that only the lower half of his face can be seen, and his feet are also cropped out of the frame. The series of photographs shows different stages in the smudging of paint across the man’s body, starting from the area of the genitalia and progressively covering a good proportion of the image. The subtitle <span>Masculinisation of Society – exorcise</span> suggests that the work records the performance of an exorcism to counteract the worshipping of physical attributes championed in the mass media as virile and desirable.</p> | false | 1 | 18289 | paper unique 10 photographs c-prints mounted board | [] | Approach to Fear: XVII: Masculinisation of Society - exorcise | 1,977 | Tate | 1977 | CLEARED | 5 | support, each: 250 × 202 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>Approach to Fear: XVII: Masculinisation of Society – exorcise</i> 1977 is a unique photographic work comprising ten photographs mounted in two rows of five on two horizontal panels. From top left to bottom right, the images depict a hand casting a shadow over and then smearing black paint onto the image of the muscular body of a naked man. The man’s head is partially cropped so that only the lower half of his face can be seen, and his feet are also cropped out of the frame. The series of photographs shows different stages in the smudging of paint across the man’s body, starting from the area of the genitalia and progressively covering a good proportion of the image. The subtitle <i>Masculinisation of Society – exorcise</i> suggests that the work records the performance of an exorcism to counteract the worshipping of physical attributes championed in the mass media as virile and desirable. </p>\n<p>This is one of a number of works made by Hunter in 1976–7, all of which are titled <i>Approach to Fear</i> with different subtitles (see also <i>Approach to Fear XIII: Pain – Destruction of Cause</i> 1977 [Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/hunter-approach-to-fear-xiii-pain-destruction-of-cause-t13926\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T13926</span></a>]). They take the form of photo-narrative sequences in which hands perform actions that confound gendered expectations and resist the objectification of self. As had become common in conceptual art practices, Hunter here emphasises the perception of the viewer, so that they could imagine the represented hands as their own and feel directly implicated in the work and the action represented. </p>\n<p>Through her work, Hunter hoped ‘to explain feminist theory to a non-art audience’ (Roberts 2006, n.p.), hence the importance of using striking images to grab the viewer’s attention: ‘The female viewer could then identify with the hand in the narrative and reach the resolution in the title.’ Nonetheless, Hunter also stated that her intent ‘was in the aesthetics of accident and misrepresentation’ and that her work acted as an intellectual proposition rather than being the visual manifestation of an existing theory (Roberts 2006, n.p.). </p>\n<p>Originally from New Zealand, Hunter moved to London in 1972 to progress her career. She was politically active and deeply involved in the emerging feminist scene. Between 1972 and 1975 she was a member of the Women’s Workshop of the Artists’ Union and was a member of the Women’s Art Alliance from 1976 to 1977. Her work of this period, which predominantly took the form of photo-narrative sequences, focused on feminist politics, and she used the visual language of advertising and commercial art to address issues around sexual violence and the construction of gender. Hunter’s previous experience of working for commercial film companies informed her appropriation of this commercial visual language. The image of the man featured in this particular work was taken from a double-page spread Hunter found in a magazine. It was one among many magazine pages the artist collected, often advertisements of commodities aimed at women. The hand, with rings and immaculate red fingernails, mimics the disembodied hand that was at the time often found in advertising. </p>\n<p>\n<i>Approach to Fear: XVII: Masculinisation of Society – exorcise</i> 1977 has been shown in numerous exhibitions around themes of identity, social change and feminist art, including <i>Arts for Society</i> at the Whitechapel Gallery, London in 1979 and <i>Identity / Desire</i>, a touring exhibition organised by the Scottish Arts Council in 1986. </p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Alexis Hunter: Fears/Dreams/Desires</i>, exhibition catalogue, Auckland City Art Gallery, Auckland 1989.<br/>John Roberts, interview with Alexis Hunter, in <i>Alexis Hunter: Radical Feminism in the 1970s</i>, exhibition catalogue, Norwich Gallery, Norwich 2006.<br/>\n<i>Alexis Hunter, Sexual Warfare</i>, exhibition catalogue, Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Art, London 2018.</p>\n<p>Elena Crippa<br/>July 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Oil paint on canvas | [
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} | 7007269 7007667 7011731 | Miriam Cahn | 2,008 | [] | <p><span>The Beautiful Blue </span>(Das Schöne Blau) is an oil painting on canvas measuring 2500 x 1800 millimetres. Two figures appear as if under water. A female figure to the left reaches upwards, her hair streaming above her head; a male figure to the right is upside down, as if sinking, his arms by his sides. The figures are painted very loosely in blue tones related to the blue of the sea, so that they almost fuse into their watery environment. Very near the top of the composition there is a horizon line, and above this the profile of some red-brown hills with the sky above.</p> | false | 1 | 846 | painting oil paint canvas | [
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] | The Beautiful Blue | 2,008 | Tate | 2008–2017 | CLEARED | 6 | support: 2504 × 1803 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Purchased with funds provided by The Joe and Marie Donnelly Acquisition Fund 2020 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>\n<i>The Beautiful Blue </i>(Das Schöne Blau) is an oil painting on canvas measuring 2500 x 1800 millimetres. Two figures appear as if under water. A female figure to the left reaches upwards, her hair streaming above her head; a male figure to the right is upside down, as if sinking, his arms by his sides. The figures are painted very loosely in blue tones related to the blue of the sea, so that they almost fuse into their watery environment. Very near the top of the composition there is a horizon line, and above this the profile of some red-brown hills with the sky above. </p>\n<p>Having become known for her large-scale drawings and works on paper in the 1980s, Cahn only began to paint in the 1990s. She started this particular painting in 2008, when she was looking at images of migrants who were crossing the Mediterranean from North Africa, many drowning as overcrowded vessels capsized. Another important reference for her painting was Bill Viola’s video installation <i>Five Angels for the Millennium</i> 2001, a work in Tate’s collection featuring five video projections: in each, a clothed male figure plunges into a pool of water at irregular intervals (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/viola-five-angels-for-the-millennium-t11805\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T11805</span></a>). </p>\n<p>As is characteristic of her studio practice, Cahn set aside the canvas for several years and returned to it in May 2017, struck by more news reports about migrants in the Mediterranean region fleeing ISIS and crossing to Europe from North Africa (3,100 migrants drowned that year attempting crossings). This was one of a series of works with similar themes and imagery, including <i>Blau </i>2017. In 2019 Cahn displayed <i>The Beautiful Blue</i> in her solo exhibition <i>Everything is Equally Important </i>at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid.</p>\n<p>Cahn also made drawings related to themes of migration, such as <i>Untitled 09.06.2018</i> 2018 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/cahn-untitled-09-06-2018-t15614\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15614</span></a>) and <i>Untitled 25.09. 2017</i> 2017 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/cahn-untitled-25-09-2017-t15615\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15615</span></a>), both of which evoke the plight of refugees in new cities, as well as the vulnerability of the body.</p>\n<p>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>\n<i>Miriam Cahn, Das Genaue Hinschauen</i>, exhibition catalogue, Kunsthaus Bregenz 2019.<br/>\n<i>Miriam Cahn, Ich Als Mehsch (I as Human)</i>, exhibition catalogue, Haus der Kunst, Munich, Kunstmuseum Bern and Museum of Modern Art, Warsaw 2019.<br/>Jörg Scheller and Juliette Blightman, ‘The Body Electric - The Necessary Effrontery of Miriam Cahn’, <i>frieze</i>, no.204, June–August 2019, <a href=\"https://www.frieze.com/article/body-electric-necessary-effrontery-miriam-cahn\">https://www.frieze.com/article/body-electric-necessary-effrontery-miriam-cahn</a>, accessed 23 July 2020.</p>\n<p>Mark Godfrey<br/>July 2020</p>\n</div>\n",
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Watercolour and graphite on paper | [
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,885 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour graphite | [] | Basilica S.Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice | 1,885 | Tate | 1885 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 322 × 234 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group. </p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour. </p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Watercolour, gouache and graphite on paper | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group. </p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour. </p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,885 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour | [] | Boats on the Nile, Luxor | 1,885 | Tate | c.1885–1929 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 254 × 356 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
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} | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,901 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | false | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour gouache graphite | [
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,885 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour gouache graphite | [] | Pyramid with Figures | 1,885 | Tate | c.1885–1929 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 358 × 470 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,902 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour graphite | [] | Dead Sea | 1,902 | Tate | 1902 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 356 × 470 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,885 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour gouache graphite | [] | Rocky Landscape | 1,885 | Tate | c.1885–1929 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 254 × 355 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group. </p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour. </p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Watercolour and graphite on paper | [
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{
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] | 1,885 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/emily-sargent-30785" aria-label="More by Emily Sargent" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Emily Sargent</a> | Landscape with Houses | 2,021 | [] | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | T15653 | {
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,885 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour graphite | [] | Landscape with Houses | 1,885 | Tate | c.1885–1929 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 255 × 354 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group. </p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour. </p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Watercolour, gouache and graphite on paper | [
{
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{
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] | 1,902 | <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/emily-sargent-30785" aria-label="More by Emily Sargent" data-gtm-name="header_link_artist" data-gtm-destination="page--artist">Emily Sargent</a> | Biscra Easter Scene with Camels and Other Animals | 2,021 | [] | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | T15654 | {
"id": 5,
"meta": {
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,902 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour gouache graphite | [] | Biscra, Easter Scene with Camels and Other Animals | 1,902 | Tate | 1902 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 252 × 353 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
{
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour.</p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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"content": "<div><p><span>This painting depicts Biskra, a city in northeastern Algeria, at the beginning of the twentieth century. Emily Sargent painted hundreds of watercolours during this period. Each acted like a picture postcard, recording scenes from her travels across Southern Europe, North Africa and parts of West Asia. She often travelled with her brother, portrait painter John Singer Sargent. Unlike her brother, she received no formal art training and these works were never exhibited.</span></p></div>",
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Watercolour on paper | [
{
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{
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{
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"id": 5,
"meta": {
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,901 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour | [] | Landscape Scene (Siena?) | 1,901 | Tate | 1901 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 254 × 356 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
{
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour.</p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Watercolour on paper | [
{
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{
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} | prints_and_drawings | 7000874 7003138 7003080 1000080 7011731 | Emily Sargent | 1,885 | [] | <p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate T15646– T15682) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p> | true | 1 | 30785 | paper unique watercolour | [] | View of Naples | 1,885 | Tate | c.1885–1929 | Prints and Drawings Rooms | CLEARED | 5 | support: 254 × 354 mm | accessioned work | Tate | Presented at the request of the artist's family 2021 | [
{
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"content": "<div class=\"text\">\n<p>This group of thirty-seven watercolours by Emily Sargent (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-basilica-s-maria-gloriosa-dei-frari-venice-t15646\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15646</span></a>– <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-sea-and-shore-t15682\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15682</span></a>) were made between 1885 and 1929, with the majority of them dating from around 1900. The selection aims to be representative of Sargent’s career, encompassing the key subjects and geographical areas in her output. These include street scenes bathed in light and colour, with figures economically notated with confident, dark calligraphic strokes. Some work needs to be done to date and identify all the subjects in this group.</p>\n<p>Sargent’s vigorous handling of the watercolour medium and the opacity of Italian works such as <i>Boboli Gardens</i> 1908 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-boboli-gardens-t15657\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15657</span></a>) and <i>Pergola at Villa Varramista</i> 1902 (Tate <a class=\"acno-pop\" data-gtm-destination=\"page--artwork\" data-gtm-name=\"body_text_link\" href=\"https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/sargent-pergola-at-the-villa-varramista-t15659\" title=\"View the details of this artwork\"><span>T15659</span></a>) highlight similarities with the technique of her brother, John Singer Sargent technique, but overall the selection showcases her distinct style. She established the main lines of her composition and perspective in pencil before applying broad washes of watercolour.</p>\n<p>The grouping also reflects the peripatetic life of Emily and her family as American expatriates. Born in Rome in 1857, she moved across Europe through her youth and developed a strong bond with her siblings John and Violet. Their mother was an avid sketcher who encouraged her three surviving children to record their travels in pencils or watercolours. However, unlike John, who trained in Florence and Paris, Emily stayed with her family.After her father’s death in 1889, she continued travelling as a companion to her mother in Southern Europe, the Near-East and North Africa. She received some training from American artist Julius Rolshoven and from Charles Wellington Furse after she and her mother took up a house in Cheyne Walk, London, in 1892.</p>\n<p>The selection of these works reflects Sargent’s increased output around 1900. She continued travelling with her mother until the latter’s death in 1908, and also accompanied her brother during his travels. Her itinerant lifestyle provided her with a constant source of new subjects for landscapes and cityscapes, and she reportedly continued producing watercolours until her death in Zurich in 1936. However, no works from the last decade of her life have yet been identified.</p>\n<p>Caroline Corbeau-Parsons<br/>October 2020<br/>\n<b>Further reading</b>\n<br/>John Singer Sargent archive, Museum of Fine Art, Boston.<br/>Stanley Olson, <i>John Singer Sargent, his Portrait</i>, New York 1986.</p>\n</div>\n",
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Subsets and Splits