I was excited to hear that there was going to be an exhibition focusing
on light art at the Hayward this year. I worked on the UK’s largest light festival (yes, there is such a thing) in 2011, and it was without doubt the
most interesting project I’ve worked on in my (admittedly short) career to
date. So I was really looking forward to seeing an exhibition dedicated to artists
working with the medium of light. My experience of light art previously had been
primarily through the aforementioned outdoor festival, where many of the works
were site-specific, and much of the magic came from art popping up in an
unusual and unexpected public spaces around this beautiful city of Durham. This
exhibition, in a traditional gallery setting, was bound to be quite a different
experience.
The Hayward has made some quite interesting programming choices of late,
such as this show – and I’m also thinking of last year’s Art of Change: New
Directions from China. They’re throwing in some unexpected choices alongside
the ‘big name’ shows they’ve had over the past few years, such as Tracey Emin:
Love is What You Want. The Light Show is in some ways quite a daring choice.
Light art is not something you see very much of in the big museums and galleries,
aside from the odd Dan Flavin piece or Tracey Emin neon. But equally, it’s
quite a populist artform I think. There’s something quite primitive about our
enjoyment of light in and of itself – mimicking as it does the sun, essential
to the existence of life on earth; and equally harking back to mankind’s discovery
of fire, the production and control of light and heat. Having heard that the
Light Show had been sold out the previous weekend, my initial feelings that this
exhibition may appeal to people en mass seems to have been right. The
title of the exhibition, also, I think is a clever bit of marketing to encourage a large and diverse audience: calling it a
‘show’ confers it with just the right level of casualness, making it seem like some sort of spectacular experience suitable for all the family.
Luckily, as I work part-time, I was able to go to the show on a Friday
morning, thereby avoiding the weekend crowds and being able to buy a ticket
without booking in advance. Nonetheless, The Hayward was busier than I’d ever
seen it on a weekday. I usually go to the Hayward on a Friday, and have never
had to queue to buy a ticket, and I’m usually one of very few people in the
galleries. This time, I had a to queue for a little while to buy a ticket. That
little while was actually longer than it should have been due to some pretty
confusing signage in the foyer that led me and several other people to queue in
the wrong place. Apparently the Cloakroom/Tickets desk doesn’t actually sell tickets – whoever
produces the onsite signage at The Hayward apparently didn’t think this might be a bit misleading. Anyway, after watching various Hayward members smugly speed
through in the fast lane I finally bought my ticket – and as I’m an Art Fund
member it was only £5. With the standard ticket price being £11, that’s quite a
bargain. I’m always glad to get a reduced price ticket, because when I pay over
£10 entrance I feel a bit pressured to spend hours there to get my money’s
worth if you see what I mean. At a fiver I feel like I can spend as much or
little time in there as I want, and come back again at a later date if I want
to, making for a more relaxed experience.
The first room starts with one of the most striking pieces in the
exhibition – Cylinder II (2011) by Leo Villereal. That’s the piece they’ve been
using as the lead image on all the promotional materials for the show, so you
will probably already have been exposed to it in some way before visiting. Due
to the dynamic nature of the work, any still image doesn’t do it justice. The
piece is like a shimmering industrial chandelier – it’s made of
mirror-finished stainless steel and 19,600 white LED lights. The piece is
programmed to produce a constantly changing and never repeated series of
patterns and shapes. It’s really beautiful, and I could have watched it for
quite some time.
Cylinder II by Leo Villereal (2011)
However, the placement of David Batchelor’s Magic Hour (2004/7)
in the same room was quite distracting, because at most angles I was constantly aware of the
colourful lights shining elsewhere in the room. Because light changes a space so
dramatically, I do find it quite problematic to have so many light works sharing
rooms together in the exhibition. However, it is a gallery space so I
understand that this is a necessary evil, unless they dramatically reduce the number of
pieces or erect dividing walls everywhere.
Moving on from the issue of ‘light pollution’ in the space - Batchelor’s is a good piece. I actually really like his work, which often uses
recycling/rubbish that he’s found on the streets, combined with fluorescent
lighting. I like how the two elements (here, the ‘rubbish’ is steel and
aluminium lightboxes) both contrast (rubbish vs. beautifully coloured light)
and complement eachother (both being products of an industrial heritage).
Magic Hour by David Batchelor (2004/7)
On the upper level of this first room stands Cerith Wyn Evans’
S=U=P=E=R=S=T=R=U=C=T=U=R=E 'Trace me back to some loud, shallow, chill,
underlying motive’s overspill' (2010). The quote in the title comes from James
Merril’s poem The Changing Light at Sandover, composed from messages transmitted
by spirits during séances. The piece has got something supernatural about it…
the columns look like something aliens might be incubated in. But maybe I’ve just
been watching too much sci-fi. Either way, these columns create a tangible
presence of something ‘other’ in the room, the columns appearing to ‘breathe’, and they also intermittently radiate heat as the lights are illuminated and then dimmed repeatedly.
Having mentioned the problems associated with having several light art
works placed near eachother, the works I enjoyed most throughout the rest of the
exhibition were those that had their own dedicated rooms. With the pieces being
isolated they were able to completely transform the ambience of the space they
inhabit, making for a much more immersive and impactful experience. One such piece
was Anthony McCall’s You and I, Horizontal (2005), a solid-light installation -
which sounds like a bit of an oxymoron. But when passing through it I did feel
like I was moving through some sort of thin skin – a sensation created by the combination
of the projected light looking convincingly solid and the artificial mist
present in the room.
You and I, Horizontal by Anthony McCall (2005)
Conrad Shawcross’ Slow Arc Inside A Cube IV (2009) turns a room into
dizzying planes of moving geometric patterns, reminiscent of a children’s night
light projector, casting images across the room. Ann Veronica Janssens’ Rose
(2007) transforms its room into an area of altered perception, rose-tinted
light flooding your cone cells and producing a calming, borderline-hypnotic
state. When I was in the room, many people stood with their eyes closed in
front of the lights, enjoying the sense of the altered atmosphere that persisted even once removing your sense of vision.
In the last room was what was undoubtedly my highlight of the whole
exhibition: Olafur Eliasson’s Model for a Timeless Garden (2011). I was pretty
excited to see this - I was one of
those people that visited his The Weather Project at Tate Modern over and over
again in 2003. The piece chosen for this exhibition is stunning. Using strobe lighting against
spurting fountains of water, he creates a constantly changing landscape, a
night-time water garden, that feels like you’re watching it on a very low frame
rate black and white film. The strobe lighting has quite an immediate physical
affect on you – rather than simply watching the waterworks, it feels as if their image is being projected directly at you: vision appears and disappears,
images pulsate in quick succession.
Model for a Timeless Garden by Olafur Eliasson (2011)
What I enjoyed most about this exhibition was the fact that a lot of the
pieces could be enjoyed on a purely visceral and sensory level. Unlike a lot of modern and contemporary art, so much of which is conceptual - here you don’t have to worry about any lofty concepts the
artist may have had in mind when creating the piece – you can simply bathe in the light,
absorbing it, casting shadows, playing with it, feeling its warmth, experiencing
the way light can seem to physically alter a space, simply enjoying the sensual nature of it.
When I came out of the exhibition, I felt as if I had emerged from quite
a physical experience. On the one hand, I felt soothed, like I’d just had light
therapy to combat SAD. On the other hand I was a bit dizzy, as if I’d experienced
a sensory overload. An odd combination of sensations. It’s rare to leave a
gallery with such a visceral, physical sensation – usually you may leave
feeling emotionally moved perhaps, or intellectually stimulated – but rarely
does the impact manifest itself as physically as it does here. Especially at this
time of year, exposure to light in so many different forms has a particular
effect, being in such stark contrast to the long nights and grey days.
I’m sure this exhibition will prove to be one of the most popular at The
Hayward this year, and rightly so. The exhibition is really accessible – and
that’s not due to it having been ‘dumbed down’. I think there’s something
inherently alluring and appealing about the sensory experience created by the
use and manipulation of light, which is common to everyone, and completely independent
from a person’s background, interests or knowledge.
If you do visit, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the experience, even if you do stumble
back into the world rubbing your eyes, blinking, and with a slight sense of
giddiness.
Light Show
Hayward Gallery, Southbank Centre
30 January – 28 April 2013
Tickets: £11, Art Fund members £5, other concessions available
Please
note that some installations in the exhibition contain artificial mist,
flashing or strobe lighting.
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