An afternoon at the Tate Modern
I’d heard of “expressionism” but had no idea what the word meant. After going to the Tate Modern to see the exhibition “Expressionists: Kandinsky, Münter and the Blue Rider”, I’m little the wiser.
All art is expression: I’m left with the suspicion that “ism” is a suffix you tack on to be taken seriously as an artist.
My friend Julian said the event should have been called “Munich in the early 20th century”. That would have been much clearer.
The focus of the exhibition is “Der Blaue Reiter” (the Blue Rider, if you insist), a collective of artists who came together in Bavaria in the years leading up the First World War.
At the heart of the group were Wassily Kandinsky and Franz Marc. At the time Kandinsky had not yet developed his trademark geometric style. His paintings on displayed here tend to be disjointedly figurative.
I was more impressed by this from Marc:
The exhibition highlights women associated with the group, notably Gabriele Münter.
This one was painted by one Marianne von Werefkin:
My favourite was probably Robert Delaunay’s The City (top picture) — but then I happen to like buildings, either in pictures or real life.
As I came out into the main public area, I was reminded that the days of art for art’s sake were truly over. A 21st-century gallery has a duty to educate the public about tolerance, good citizenship and defiance towards the iniquitous powers that be.
A poster pointing to an exhibition by a South African photographer (sponsored by Hyundai) read thus:
Even sitting down between exhibitions was described as a political act. A panel in the soft-seating area proclaimed: “Historically, the idea of taking a break to practise self-care and reflection has been reserved for those with privileged positions in society. We see deliberate rest as a form of resistance.”
A mirror was made available not for its usual purposes but as a way to “reclaim the gaze”.
I take that to mean that looking at yourself is a supreme act of agency: by refusing to be reduced to the passive object of other people’s vision, you take full control of your own image and confront social prejudice.
The most comforting aspect of this politicisation of the artistic space is that it erases cultural differences.
Galleries featuring works from the four corners of the world used to demand way too much from visitors. Understanding a Cambodian or a Malian item might have required tedious explanations about Khmer or Mandinka traditions.
Now the same pre-digested concepts are ready to be served, whether you’re talking about material from China, the Middle East, Africa or Latin America.
At the Tate, I was immediately on familiar territory when I read that installations by Ming Wong and Tseng Kwong Chi were used “re-enactment to confront and subvert societal construction of race and identity.”
Farah Al Qasimi, a US-based photographer born in the United Arab Emirates, was soothingly said to build “a world in which images transcend borders and decorative interiors tell tales of identity, colonialism and taste.”
As I moved on, however, something disturbing happened. It turned out that some material on display featured nudity — in an ART GALLERY of all places!
Fortunately, the curators had posted a warning and I was able to get assistance in averting my gaze.
