- Venue
- Goldsmiths College
- Location
This time last year I wrote of the problems set before the visitor to a degree show; the pitfalls of trying to piece together a show where the work is connected on the shoestring that is the nature of a graduating cohort. This was in reference to the Nottingham Trent University show, one which continues to demonstrate the professionalism instilled in its students through the meticulous installation of each piece of work. In many ways it would not be fair to compare what has been my own experience of hanging a degree show with one I have no personal or emotional connection with, however that sense of competition is hard to dispel when finding your way around a display of work by those who could be considered your rival.
The degree show at Goldsmiths is a smite confusing. Featuring, I later discover, three courses: Fine Art Practice, Fine Art and History of Art and Textiles. This composite show is not broken down or set out with clear distinction between the different courses to reflect the departments wish to see the courses inter-relate and (as I have heard through the grapevine with some distain) combine. It is spread over three buildings, one I only discover the following day. Each building has its own character providing a different set of challenges to those showing within and each course, I discover later it’s own catalogue.
At this point I want to state something clearly before beginning to discuss any individual work. This is, in most ways, the negative part, a criticism of the show. The curation and display leaves a lot to be desired, there is floor paint on the wall, holes in ceilings, and a confusing lack of names and titles on the wall with those that exist lacking any degree of uniformity. Floor plans have been produced without any obvious communication, in one instance two rooms separated by a stairwell have taken on drastically different forms, the first utilising a map with numbers referring to names, titles and mediums, the other simply stating the artists name with no attempt at providing any other information. I am disappointed, the Goldsmiths brand suggests that in these corridors where much admired names once trod we should be wowed, moved and challenged by the work of the new breed. I realise that the buildings themselves may present challenges which are difficult to surmount, however instances where, for example, three video pieces are displayed in close proximity so the sound bleed makes focussing on any one difficult or video projections not being keystoned onto their screens means that at times the individual works find it hard to shine.
This is both an individual and an institutional responsibility, to hide cables and label works, yet also something which should not be held against the individual work. The show is raw and as a result feels like a group of artists presenting an honest account of their way of working and their philosophy, it does strike me that by being situated in London, filled with hundreds of shiny white spaces, the more ‘underground’ scene wants to stand out by being this way. Ramshackle might be too strong a word to describe this situation, however attention to detail is never a bad thing. Curation in this scenario is more than a challenge, however re-situating works so that they don’t clash not only helps the viewer but lets the work command its own space in the way that was intended. Maybe I’m being too much of a perfectionist, perhaps there is a deliberate chaos, however it doesn’t feel that way, it feels unintentionally disrupted.
There is some good work. A room containing wooden and paper sculptures delicately interwoven with lights contrasting the strong and the fragile with an eminent source of life, a series of monitors seems to host differing views of a documentary concerning pop culture and a Perspex semi-sphere is used to screen video of a rural evening, it’s haunting distortion of the image as you peer into it reminiscent of some of the Kabakov’s dioramas; there is a net the size of Tate Moderns Turbine Hall and an installation of decidedly grotesque fabric heads. Hindsight can prove an interesting thing, and as I reconsider the video depicting the artists journey to re-enacting the Michael and Janet Jackson collaboration ‘Scream’ by coercing his sister into performing with him (involving archive footage of their childhood and her reluctance along with the challenge of reproducing the most expensive music video to date on a minute budget) provides a poignant insight into a family history through taking on a role of a man both famous and infamous for his achievements and mysterious private life. I met the artist (I forget his name) in an old police cell on the opening night. He was dressed as Madonna.
