WORDS GABIJA PURLYTĖ
The Turner Prize, without doubt one of the most important contemporary art awards today, is hosting its shortlist exhibition outside of England for the first time. For Derry~Londonderry, the current UK City of Culture, this is definitely a big deal. Notorious for shocking and outraging the public, this year’s exhibition contains nothing truly controversial (although particularly sensitive visitors might be discomforted by a certain degree of “male nudity”). What we have, however, is a very well put together show that is certainly worth visiting.
First is David Shrigley’s “life drawing class”. The model is not exactly live, however — it is a sculptural caricature which blinks and occasionally pees into a bucket. Visitors are invited to grab a clipboard with paper, a set of pastels, and draw a portrait to be displayed, at some point, on the gallery walls. The catch is that the sculpture itself is very badly proportioned, so that even a very well executed drawing will look “wrong”. This makes any fears about “lack of talent” redundant, and brings back the sheer joy of art-making.
One of the favourites for the main prize, Laure Prouvost, gives us two related video-installations, which, depending on the day, you will need to queue for. But they are well worth the wait. The first, set in a dark atmospheric space which echoes that shown in the video, introduces viewers into the life of Prouvost’s fictional grandfather — an unsuccessful conceptual artist of tragic fate. The second room, claustrophobic and sickeningly pink, is a foray into the grandmother’s dream world, where her husband admits that “he is not interested in conceptual art at all, he is just interested in painting bottoms”. Prouvost’s skill at telling the story by adding up fragments is remarkable, making the viewer go through various stages of misunderstanding until the full picture emerges.
Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s oil portraits — a medium and genre steeped in tradition – might at first appear unexpected in a show of leading contemporary art. Their complexity is more subtle. The images of fictional people, with hints of never revealed narratives, are displayed in a darkened room, illuminated with spotlights. The glares on the paint are annoying at first — until you realise that they are unlikely to be a mishap in such a highbrow exhibition. Walking from one side of the painting to the other, light plays on the textured surface, transforming the picture entirely.
Finally, Tino Sehgal, a second serious contender according to experts, asks the visitors to become the work themselves by engaging in a discussion with one of his “interpreters” in an otherwise empty gallery. Drawing on a solid tradition of activism-as-art, which goes against the commercialisation of the art object, Sehgal goes to the heart of the matter and asks you to share your views on the market economy in exchange for a pound. Though not the most exciting experience for this writer, it is nevertheless a useful (at the very least profitable) exercise.
On the whole, the slogan of this year’s Turner Prize — “How will you react?” — expresses the character of the exhibition perfectly. Devoid of anything to be outraged by, this show has nothing to do with the stereotype of alienating and impenetrable contemporary art. It welcomes you with open arms and does its best to give you something positive to take away.
