- Venue
- Tate Modern
- Location
I had particularly tired legs when attending Altermodern, the Tate Triennial, at Tate Britain, so on entering the first room I instantly became seduced by the large communal bean bag that was before Spartacus Chetwynd’s TV wall, ‘Hermitos Children’. I sat immersed before the flickering screens, which were surprisingly engrossing. The wall constituted a bank of thirty-two TV screens, of varying makes and sizes, each depicting the film with slightly different timing and colour saturation. The film split across the four larger screens in the centre of the main section. The homemade bean bag, a mass of vibrant fabrics, dominated the space before it.
I was fortunate to be in possession of one of the five headphones, isolating me in a muted, confused state. Without the headphones I doubt I would have stayed as long as I did. The installation, deranged in every sense; the viewer follows a nymphomaniac entrepreneur who is murdering female dancers. Verging on the edges of porn, the narrative skitters from reality to fantasy.
The work I later learned was a depiction of Chetwynd’s parody of a TV soap opera. The actors were friends and family dressed in tacky homemade costumes and the film was set in a recreation of a 60’s club and restaurant. I felt even as a parody of a soap opera the film was unconvincing and not fully considered, the storyline being difficult to follow and the acting of a poor quality. Despite being a desultory performance, I was surprised to find myself strangely compelled. I feel this was due to the way Chetwynd’s work was presented combined with the mesmerising colours and shapes in the different screens. I can liken the experience to watching a disturbing version of the ‘Teletubbies’ and it was because of this ‘tune out and gawp factor’ that made it so absorbing and particularly hard to leave, especially when sitting in complete comfort, with very tired legs.
It was while I sprawled enveloped within the striking visuals and provoking sounds that I realised that I may not specifically like the content of a piece of work but through the attention to detail in the presentation, I was enticed to view the piece in comfort and that has left it in higher esteem in my mind.
Looking back on the experience I have dismissed the actual piece as it is very vague and abstract in my memory but it is to the experience, the platform of viewing this piece that makes it stand out. It was while I was laying there I began to question what makes a piece of work successful? To dislike the content of a piece of work does not instantly rule it out as being unsuccessful. There are many works out there that one can view and take at a superficial level and this I believe is one of them.
The shock value of this piece was tedious rather than stimulating. The predictable sexual nature particularly sent it past its sell by date. Are we fazed by sexual content anymore? Ostensibly getting by on the brash ‘high-spirited and anarchic’ level I just found it slight and shallow. The genre of Chetwynd’s work was safe, a cheap shot at appearing wild and titillating, having been over done, it is twenty years too late to leave a lasting impression. What was it exactly that we were to take away from this piece of work? It just all seemed far too easy and haven’t we seen enough of these warped fetishes that can be categorised purely as idiotic and pointless.
Having stepped into Chetwynd’s esoteric work; with cabalistic imagery and arduous script I found myself lost within the abstruse video, which seemed to be aimed at the artist’s inner circle rather than the general viewer.
It was while I was submerged in the enormous bean bag, surrounded by fellow viewers, caught in a moment, I found I was thinking about the presentation. Often when one enters a gallery the works are hung in a way which allow you to wander by with your tired legs, sniffing out the exit, a chair and some cake that they are convinced that will revive them. However, having been sucked in by the thought of comfort I couldn’t resist sitting it out for a little longer. It is this moment, of intrigue that has played on my mind. Despite the work that was presented Chetwynd still managed to captivate the viewer and I believe this is the crucial part in making a piece of work successful. So despite the bromidic nature of the piece, its amateurish retro narrative and incoherent manic images, I begrudgingly feel it doesn’t make it any less valid as a piece of work. But is that really enough though? Isn’t art suppose to communicate something to the viewer even on a low level? I have no idea of what it was Chetwynd intended but I had a realisation. The space for viewing the piece of work is weighted equally with the experience of viewing the actual piece. However, good or bad the piece may be, the different ingredients involved in presenting a piece of work all play a vital role. It is just a shame that the actual piece in Chetwynd’s case was not up to the mark in relation to the presentation.
Compared to the other exhibits, Chetwynd’s work lacked a sustainable connection, either emotional or intellectual for the viewer to link to and seemed to say nothing new. The work although inviting is not a piece that can be stepped into at any point, it demands an investment of time and despite my weary legs the amateur tumultuous 60’s take on a female detective TV pilot did not convince me to stay for the long haul.
Chuckling to myself in disbelief as I took the headphones off and clawing my way off the bean bag, I reflected, is this really all it takes to get a piece of work in an exhibition like this?
