Tag Archives: Islington

An Exhibition of Everything – Lines of Thought at Parasol

29 Feb

Because it’s not right in the heart of Mayfair Parasol Unit often gets missed off the PV lists but art enclaves now exist all over London and Islington isn’t really as out of the way as many people think.  Last night, with dinner plans only a five minute drive away in Clerkenwell, I was determined and went to see Parasol’s new exhibition – Lines of Thought.

A mixed show, the exhibition includes work by Helene Appel, Hemali Bhuta, James Bishop, Raoul De Keyser, Adrian Esparza, Özlem Günyol & Mustafa Kunt, Sol LeWitt, Richard Long, Jorge Macchi, Nasreen Mohamedi, Fred Sandback, Conrad Shawcross, Anne Truitt, and Richard Tuttle.

Özlem Günyol & Mustafa Kunt, Ceaseless Doodle, 2009. Image via www.designweek.co.uk.

Line is one of most powerful forms of artistic expression in history.  The exhibition, therefore, was based around a very simple premise.  Whether seen as continuous, broken, curved or straight, it’s everywhere and forms the basis for everything.  Some of the works show the magnitude and extravagance that can now be achieved through a focus on linear exploration.

Fred Sandback, Untitled Nr 4, 1968/1983. Image via www.designweek.co.uk.

Raoul De Keyser’s paintings, upstairs at Parasol, recall the workings of such Abstract Expressionists as Mark Rothko, where he has divided the small canvases into black and white fields, playing with the horizontal.  His paintings are introverted, self-reflections on his varied life.

Downstairs is more dramatic; Hemali Bhuta’s Stepping down is a site-specific installation using thousands of wax stalactites to mimic candles.  The impressive installation is somewhat diminished by the range of works in the gallery but the piece is still visually striking, transforming one corner of the room into a cave-like space where dripping formations evolve out of the ceiling.

Hemali Bhuta, Stepping down, 2010. Image via www.parasol-unit.org.

Adrian Esparza’s new work, So Fast and Slow, shows a mounted Mexican blanket that has been partially unravelled.  Much of his inspiration comes from his borderland experience in El Paso, where he lives and works, and his daily encounters with political divides.  Although So Fast and Slow is a new work this year, Esparza has created similar pieces before.  Here, guided through a loom-like maze of nails, the cotton thread becomes a strikingly geometric colourful landscape looking at the turbulent history it represents.  Esparza shows the blanket both as a constructed object and as a deconstructed form suggesting the potential for new possibilities from past forms.

Adrian Esparza, So Fast and Slow, 2012. Image via www.parasol-unit.org.

Of course, no exhibition on line would be complete without Richard Long (fresh from Haunch of Venison) and Sol LeWitt’s Wall Drawing #103 from 1971.

For me, Conrad Shawcross’s Harmonic Manifold 1 (5:4) stands out and still has the same mysterious enigma as when I first saw it at Turner Contemporary and then again at Frieze – it’s been around quite a lot.  Placed on a raised platform surrounded by Shawcross’s drawings the work commands respect, bringing its own inspirational gravitas to Parasol.

Conrad Shawcross, Harmonic Manifold 1 (5:4), 2011. Own photograph.

The exhibition is a well-thought out idea, nothing radical, nothing subversive.  My fellow gallery-goer thought it had crossed the line and was dull.  I thought the strength of the disparate works kept it interesting.  The main problem is that line can be so manipulated that, in fact, the theme of the exhibition is everything, as everything uses line.

Outside at Parasol. Own photograph.

Parasol will always have the advantage that their stunning gallery space shows off works to their best no matter what they are.  It was a warm evening and people were milling outside by the pond, sipping champagne under Yamada’s SAD light and returning to the exhibition with smiles on their faces.

Lines of Thought is at Parasol unit until 13th May 2012, www.parasol-unit.org.

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No need to be SAD: Victoria Miro and Parasol Unit

28 Nov

You may remember that I missed a couple of openings last Tuesday so after lunch and a few meetings at The Charles Lamb in Islington on Friday afternoon, I decided to head over to Victoria Miro and Parasol Unit to see their two, much-talked about new exhibitions.

Victoria Miro’s artist, Alex Hartley, has had his fair share of press recently – and not much of it positive – regarding his 2012 Cultural Olympiad Project, Nowhere Island.  The sculpture is formed from six tonnes of rock cut from a Norwegian glacier and will visit numerous venues across the UK next summer.  Hartley’s aim is for the project to highlight the dangers of climate change but the ‘island’ has been slated as a waste of public money.  Rarely do all the different newspapers unite but here they found a common cause.

Alex Hartley’s Nowhere Island. Image via www.dailymail.co.uk

However, Hartley’s current exhibition at Victoria Miro serves to remind us what a great artist he is.   Presenting a series of mixed-media photographs, the exhibition seeks to explore his on-going investigation into dystopian architecture, secular habitation and the construction of a sanctuary.  Not only do his photographs concentrate on built environments, but the works become built environments themselves as well, as Hartley constructs and transforms traditional wall-mounted photographs, turning elements of them into sculptural jungles.

Alex Hartley, A city in my mind, 2011. Own photograph.

The interventions are all scaled architectural models which come together to allude to the creation of something that has now become uninhabitable, a building or form of shelter occupying an uninhabited landscape.  In some of the images, Hartley even digs crevices into the flat surface of the photograph – ingenious!  From a distance they look like just photographs but up close they are sculptural landscapes.

Alex Hartley, I’m tired of travelling, 2011. Own photograph.

His works directly reference Drop City, the first rural hippy commune built in a desolate area of Colorado in the mid-1960s.  Living in makeshift shelters, the radical artists and film-makers sought to create a live-in, and living, work of art.  In practice, it wasn’t quite so successful and was disbanded within ten years.  But, on Victoria Miro’s terrace, Hartley has made a Drop City dome, rusted, aged and out of time which he will apparently inhabit during the exhibition.  I saw a pair of boots outside the tent mouth but didn’t spot him lurking inside, only a few hens pecking away at the water’s edge.  Dropper is beautiful and so brilliantly brings to life the ideas in his photographs.

Alex Hartley, Dropper, 2011. Own photograph.

One other sculpture accompanies this exhibition.  Upstairs, a work shows a life-size, one-man tent, partly submerged in a snowdrift.  Is the inhabitant inside?  Has he/she survived or escaped?  Although the message reinforces that of the photographs the sculpture, in my opinion, was slightly unnecessary and seems a bit random placed by itself.

Upstairs at Victoria Miro showing Bivvy, 2011. Own photograph.

The project space by reception includes artefacts and objects from Hartley’s past two expeditions to the High Artic that relate to the controversial Nowhere Island.  As this space is separate, it doesn’t distract us too much but I wish they hadn’t dredged up the Olympic debate here and, therefore, brought all of our doubts about Hartley to the surface.

However, regardless of your views on that, the mixed-media photographs are superb and deserve attention in their own right.  Pretend Hartley has had nothing do with the Olympics and look at these stunning works afresh as he re-builds the photograph, forcing us to think about place, community, shelter and surroundings.

Alex Hartley at Victoria Miro. Own photograph.

Looking at the Hartley installation on the terrace, it’s impossible not to be struck by Parasol Unit’s installation by James Yamada.  The summer shelter retreats darkly among the trees is a sculptural work addressing the phenomenon of light and is the first in Parasolstice – Winter Light, a series of outdoor projects on this theme.

Complementing Victoria Miro’s exhibition, Yamada’s work is a shelter but in no ordinary sense.  Integrated into the roof are lights normally used in the treatment of SAD (seasonal affective disorder).  Yamada is known for such ingenious constructions as this that merge nature and technology but here the main question is, is it art or therapy?  The artist doesn’t want it pigeon-holed as either.  Art is therapeutic for a lot of people and, regardless of whether you suffer from SAD (and I think we all do a little bit), after ten minutes of exposure, the lights are meant to elevate your mood and change your body dynamic.  Yamada thinks that London is dreary in winter and wants the artwork to give people hope.  We visited just as it was getting dark and, although I didn’t have time for my ten minute stint, it did make me happy looking at the warm glow emanating across the terrace.

James Yamada, The Summer shelter retreats darkly among the trees, 2011. Own photograph.

Inside at Parasol is an exhibition of two Swedish artists – Cecilia Edefalk and Gunnel Wåhlstrand – that focuses on time and memory.

Cecilia Edefalk at Parasol. Own photograph.

Edefalk’s work carries a strong Scandinavian haunting melancholy.  Beautifully painted, her twelve completely different versions of the same nude (a Venus statue) focus on ideas of repetition, reproduction and historical memory.  Although all the paintings concentrate on the same subject, they could not be more different.  They allude to one another and form a complex exchange until all that remains is an abstracted, silhouetted image.  The artist is heavily involved in the exhibition and the physical set-up is an integral part of her practice – some works are displayed at angles, some upside down and so on until the exhibition becomes a performance of the artist’s own sensibilities.

Cecilia Edefalk at Parasol. Own photograph.

Upstairs, Wåhlstrand’s work blew me away.  Images do not do these justice – they are photo-realistic ink drawings, focusing on memory, that reconstruct her own personal history.  Exploring motifs from the family album, Wåhlstrand re-approaches her family history and the harrowing story of her father’s suicide when she was only one year old.  Although the images themselves are not particularly special by re-drawing them, Wåhlstrand gives them a poignant immediacy as she re-explores the past of her family that she never knew.

Gunnel Wåhlstrand, Walk, 2011. Own photograph.

As she approaches and moves beyond the stories they tell, the drawings are greatly enlarged from a normal family snapshot.  The images are soft and lacking in resolution, showing the fading of memories over time.  The softening dilutes the power of the photograph and the memory.  Both artists’ works have a profound sense of loss and distance.  We cannot get close to the figures depicted, we will never truly understand.

Gunnel Wåhlstrand upstairs at Parasol. Own photograph.

Three brilliant exhibitions and they’re next door to each other so what a bonus (I confess to having been in flats otherwise this would have been a perfect totter for me).  All the works deserve attention in different ways and then, if you’re tired from an art overload, you can sit down in Yamada’s happy house and get some energising light.  It’s a win win situation!

Alex Hartley: The world is still big is at Victoria Miro until 21st January 2012, www.victoria-miro.comJames Yamda: The summer shelter retreats darkly among the trees is at Parasol unit until 18th March 2012 and Time and Memory: Cecilia Edefalk and Gunnel Wåhlstrand is at Parasol Unit until 12th February 2012, www.parasol-unit.org.

Closed for August

26 Aug

When my friend and I sat down to lunch yesterday, I hadn’t decided which gallery to visit in the afternoon. As we named various Mayfair galleries we realised the majority were shut.  And so the unusual (and light-hearted) nature of today’s post emerged.  Wandering around Mayfair and Islington, I was constantly confronted with closed signs and barricaded doors.

August seems to have become a no-go zone – a holiday month when smaller exhibitions are not open to us.  I appreciate all the practical and financial reasons and, yes, some argue in favour of the European mentality of closing in the hot summer months, but we don’t have hot summer months.  Do we?  Yesterday, for example, there was another monsoon.  Why do we close?!

So, here is what I saw.  Enjoy and, as you admire these wonderful ‘exhibits’, enjoy August because, seemingly, that is what the art world intends us to do!

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