Rachel Whiteread at Tate Britain

My first recollection of seeing Whiteread's work was Embankment 2005, a commission for the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern inspired by an old cardboard box found in her mother's basement when she was clearing the house after her death. The box was worn, sagging and faded, scarred with tape marks and well used over the years for children's toys, Christmas decorations and a range of ordinary but pivotal family possessions. Whiteread cast thousands of boxes in polyethylene and stacked them throughout the Turbine Hall, in columns and in irregular piles; seen from above it looked like a giant sugar bowl. The boxes seemed anonymously identical and yet, close up, the casting process had captured every tiny dent and crease from the original. I found it both visually impressive and unexpectedly poignant.



Tate Britain is currently hosting the largest exhibition of her work to date, including new work Chicken Shed 2017 on the lawn outside and Untitled (One Hundred Spaces) 1995 in the Duveen Galleries as you enter. The latter is a series of casts of the underneath of chairs — the most humble, anonymous and overlooked of spaces — in jewel-like coloured resin. This concept of unoccupied space, making it something rather than just an absence, is a thought-provoking one and is found in the work of another of my favourite artists, Antony Gormley.

Rachel Whiteread was the first woman to win the Turner Prize and is probably most widely known for House 1993. The artist took a condemned Victorian terraced house in the East End within sight of Canary Wharf, touchingly domestic and utterly ordinary - and cast the entire building in concrete. It drew admiring crowds and public criticism in equal measure before being controversially demolished after just 80 days. Whiteread was present at the demolition and subsequently fell ill for several months.

Familiar domestic architecture and artefacts figure largely in the exhibition. Untitled (Stairs) 2001 is a cast of the stairs from her home and studio, previously a synagogue and then a textile warehouse, capturing the signs of wear and tear from generations of daily use.



Found objects, often ugly and unwanted items, also take centre stage in her work alongside homely, intimate objects such as these hot water bottle sculptures, disconcertingly titled Torsos.

I really liked these library bookshelves which I found familiar and comforting (I love a library) but then chillingly reminiscent of Whiteread's Holocaust memorial in Vienna, which features regimented rows of books with their spines turned inwards - unwritten books by murdered would-be authors.

Whiteread has long been interested in dolls' houses, starting a collection after she left college that would eventually number around 150 and be used to create Place, now on permanent exhibition at the V&A Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. This cast version is intriguing; its symmetry and emptiness give it grace and simplicity. People still peer in to view the interior but there is no furniture, no posed dolls, no tiny plated meals or pictures on the walls - just architecture and space.

I won't give any more of the exhibition away (as I strongly recommend you go for yourself) but I'm going to finish with my favourite piece, largely due to the story behind it. This is Untitled (Room 101) 2003, a plasticised plaster cast of the room in Broadcasting House where George Orwell worked during his time at the BBC and reputed to be the inspiration for Room 101 in his iconic novel Nineteen Eighty-Four. This inversion of empty space gives it a solidity and blankness that is utterly perfect, as well as revealing the tiny cracks and irregularities that are inevitable when people create, and live or work in, an environment. It couldn't be more fitting.

Yours, looking at the everyday in a whole new way,
London Girl About Town xx

teamLab: Transcending Boundaries at the Pace Gallery

Formed in 2001, teamLab is a Japanese collaborative group of digital experts from a number of different disciplines including art, programming, animation, mathematics and design. Preferring the term 'ultratechnologists' they aim to transcend the traditional boundaries between these fields, with influences ranging from pre-modern art and ancient calligraphy to contemporary anime.

In this exhibition at the Pace Gallery in Mayfair the worlds of art, technology and nature blur around you and blend into a fascinating new landscape.

We were first shown into a small side-room where we were able to leave our coats and were swathed in white shawls. Our guide then led us into Flowers Bloom on People, a completely dark room, and instructed us to keep as still as possible (FYI, sitting down with your legs outstretched gives you the best balance between comfort, effect and viewing options).

What happened next was captivating. Slowly, gradually, on us (hence the shawls) and on the floor beneath us, flowers started to bud, blossom and - if you moved, or touched them - disappear in a flurry of scattered petals. My companion and I changed positions at one point and the flowers gradually regrew and, rather wonderfully, formed a bridge between us.

I can see why there are strictly controlled time slots for visitors; it was so absorbing that not only did the time fly by ridiculously quickly but we could both have stayed in there for hours, enthralled. Courteously, firmly, we were ushered out and into the main room.

This was equally magical. Universe of Water Particles, Transcending Boundaries is basically a virtual waterfall that streams down the entire far wall and then along the floor, flowing around the feet and hands of the viewers as it comes into 'contact' with them. What is particularly cool is that, like the flower room, this is not a pre-recorded or looped video; the installations react to you, to the other people in the room and even to each other, meaning that what you are looking at has never been seen before - and will never be seen again.

In Flutter of Butterflies Beyond Borders, Ephemeral Life, a cloud of butterflies appears from wherever you are standing and flutters around, heading off into the other artworks and interacting with them; for example the butterflies will gravitate towards the flowers generated by Flowers and People, Transcending Boundaries - A Whole Year per Hour which sees a seasonal year of different flowers bloom and die over one hour.

Enso is a work in progress for teamLab, who have been working on 'spatial calligraphy' since the collective first formed. Enso is the Zen discipline of drawing a circle with a single stroke, either as a written brushstroke or drawn in mid-air using a stick or cane, representing enlightenment, truth and unity. This three-dimensional version encompasses the speed, direction and pressure of the brush stroke as well as the visual aspects of the ink mark, so you are caught up in the process of creation as well as the finished result.

We left, reluctantly, feeling as refreshed and uplifted as if we had just finished a yoga class or spent half the day in a spa. When I grow up I want this in a dedicated relaxation room in my house (I read somewhere that the Spellings had three separate gift-wrapping rooms in their Los Angeles mansion, so hey, why not?). The only way it could potentially be any better would be the addition of some kind of subtle fragrance to make it even more immersively sensory — a series of different florals for the flower room? Something fresh and ozone-y for the waterfall? (Oh, and perhaps an ice bucket tucked away in the corner for some fizz . . .)

This exhibition transcends boundaries of many kinds: those between art and technology, technology and nature, between art and the gallery space and between art and the viewer. It achieved all you can ask of art; it provoked an immediate emotional reaction and raised questions we were still debating for days afterwards. Come on, teamLab; this needs to be a permanent installation somewhere in London. I'd go back in a heartbeat.

Yours, creating flowers from darkness,

London Girl About Town xx

STAR WARS Identities at the O2

Just a quick post this week folks, with a whistle-stop tour of my recent visit to the Star Wars exhibition at the O2. The exhibition runs until 3rd September and includes over 200 exhibits including original artwork, costumes and props from the films.

It has an engaging twist; rather than simply mooching round from room to room, you go on a journey to find/create your own character - your Star Wars identity (see what they did there?). Visitors are given a fob that they can use to register their interactions throughout the exhibition, starting with choosing a species.

This is predominantly geared towards families, probably those with slightly older children caught up in the new Star Wars hype and parents who fondly remember the original films. There is plenty here to satisfy both; detailed technical drawings and models for the die-hard adult fans and lots of interactive options for the kids.

At each stage there is a selection of displays plus a video section covering one aspect of identity from a physical or psychological point of view: genetics, upbringing, early experiences and so on.

Helpfully you are also given headphones that connect with the displays when you are in range and play the audio feed; this avoids the background hubbub of looped commentary and gives the exhibition an oddly calm feel.

All of your favourite characters are here somewhere, from Hans and Chewie to Yoda and Jabba the Hutt. The Jabba display is fabulous but I felt that some of the other characters - Darth Maul, for example - perhaps weren't showcased to their full potential.

So in summary, a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend an hour or so over a lazy weekend - we visited as a pre-Sunday lunch activity on a drizzly day - and I'm happy to say I wasn't tempted to join the dark side (unlike my companion - shame on you!).

Yours, getting my geek on,

London Girl About Town xx

Abstract Expressionism at the RA

 When I have mentioned to friends and colleagues that I went to this exhibition, I have generally been met with a kind of rabbit-in-the-headlights look somewhere between fear and bafflement. If you're not familiar with contemporary art it might sound a bit highbrow but please, PLEASE don't let that put you off; you absolutely do not need to be any kind of expert to go and to enjoy it (exhibit A, my good self). Perhaps more than any other kind of art, it is all about feeling, not knowing. However, if some kind of definition helps . . .

What is Abstract Expressionism (or Ab Ex to its friends)? Well, if we agree that abstract art is generally art that is not 'representative' - i.e. is not a 'representation', or copy, of something in the outside world - and that expressionism is about expressing your thoughts, feelings and ideas - then I guess a reasonable working definition would be that Abstract Expressionists aim to communicate something from the artist's inner world without necessarily using anything in the external world to do this. (Apologies to all the art historians out there who are currently doing a very good impression of Munch's Scream, but hey, it works for me.)

Actually, there are those who would argue that Abstract Expressionism is not a movement or group at all - primarily, most of the artists within it. Rothko famously stated, 'I am not an abstractionist. I'm not interested in relationships of colour or form or anything else. I'm interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on'. The paintings don't really share a particular style; in fact, the canvasses are so full of spontaneity and individuality that apparently the CIA covertly funded Abstract Expressionist exhibitions during the Cold War as an act of propaganda, to lure intellectuals and artists away from Communism by comparing the freedom of these deeply subjective works with the the rigid confines limiting creativity under Soviet rules.

However, the term has stuck as a useful way of referring to a group of artists working in New York in the 1940s and 50s. This period just after the Second World War was, as you might expect, a time of freedom and release, of great explosive energy and creativity, of jazz and Jack Kerouac. One of the comments I found most interesting on the audio guide was about Jackson Pollock and the physical act of creating the works, sometimes called 'gesture' or 'action' painting; it did not just involve the wrist and hand, like traditional painting, but the whole arm - even the whole body; expansive, sweeping movements, requiring a completely different energy and control. Also, suddenly the artist was not standing still in front of a vertical canvas but moving around above a horizontal one; in Blue Poles, paint was dropped from up to two feet above the canvas.

Another common factor you will notice is the scale of the canvasses. Pollock was commissioned to paint Mural for the entrance hall of Peggy Guggenheim's Manhattan townhouse; this was his largest canvas to date and was followed by both Rothko and Gorky producing their largest works the following year. The temptation when viewing it is to stand back and look at the whole painting from a distance, but it was always meant to be seen up close, in a relatively confined space compared to a gallery. Viewing it like this you both appreciate the detail and feel almost engulfed by it, drawn into the energy.

At the heart of the exhibition, in the Central room, are the Rothkos. I will always have a special place in my heart for Rothko and these gorgeous, hypnotic, melancholy paintings; years ago, being taken to the Seagram Murals room in the Tate Modern was a revelatory experience for me and sparked my love of contemporary art. For me, in this exhibition, it was No 15 (Dark Greens on Blue with Green Band) 1957 that drew me in and kept me standing there; somehow, once you stop trying to rationalise them, they connect with you in a way I can't explain but which fascinates me. Luminous, intense and captivating, no print or photograph will ever be able to do them justice.

One of the unexpected gifts of this exhibition was the work of Clyfford Still, an artist I wasn't familiar with before this. In my defence, Still rejected the commercialism of the art world (a pet hate of Rothko's too) and moved to a farm in Maryland, selling hardly any of his paintings; 95% of his work is in a museum dedicated to him in Denver, Colorado and this is one of the few times they have loaned it out. I'm very glad they did, as they are powerful and striking pieces, again designed to actively involve the viewer.

So, even if you think you're not into abstract art, go to this exhibition. Go on your own so you don't have to react in any particular way, and go with an open mind. Don't worry about understanding them, don't try to define what they are about, or of; just stand, look and wait.

Yours, enthralled all over again,

London Girl About Town xx

Vogue 100 - A Century of Style

Just a quick blog today, as this is the last week of the Vogue 100: A Century of  Style exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery and I thought you might like to grab a ticket before it closes.

This exhibition concentrates on the photography rather than the fashion itself and there are some stunning portraits in here. As you might expect, there are several designers featured - my favourites were these wonderful shots of Alexander McQueen and Vivienne Westwood. 

Kate's meteoric rise is charted, from dewy-skinned teenage discovery to London Look icon, and there are of course the stalwarts of the supermodel generation - Claudia, Linda, Naomi, Cindy et al. 

My visit was last weekend, when shots of the other famous Kate had been hung (visible here through the arch) and which for me have a slightly retro, almost seventies feel. In the previous room, I particularly liked the striking intensity of this black and white portrait of a boxer.

The exhibition is set up in straightforward fashion, if you'll pardon the pun: it's in reverse chronological order by decade, so you go from current day back to the magazine's birth. There are plenty of the shots I associate with classic Vogue - impossibly beautiful women in impossibly glamorous clothes and/ or surroundings. To address the point raised in other reviews, do these offend my feminist sensibilities? Absolutely not. I might not have Christy Turlington's killer cheekbones or Linda Evangelista's endless legs, and my life largely does not involve standing semi-naked on deserted palm-fringed islands or hanging off the arm of a chiselled, tuxedo-clad man by a private pool with champagne glass in hand - but for me these images provide a harmless fantasy, a girls' version of a James Bond movie. They are escapist, not genuinely aspirational, and surely we all need to dream?

As you move onwards into the exhibition, and back into Vogue's history, you can see how the images reflect the mood of the eras; there is a wonderful portrait of Charlie Chaplin and some languid shots of intellectual and literary greats, as well as the post-war backdrops providing a visual summary of the age. 

In summary, Vogue 100 won't change your life, but it is an enjoyable and gently indulgent way to spend an hour or so, looking back at the cultural phenomenon that is Vogue. And FYI ladies, the gift shop is selling the fabulously long-lasting Lipstick Queen lipsticks, including the bizarre and wonderful green Frog Prince lipstick that changes colour on your lips, and some fab hair bands that this summer I'm wearing as festival type wristbands. 

Thanks for being there, Vogue - here's to the next 100 years. 

 Yours, fashionably late, 

Girl About Town xx

Ai Weiwei at the Royal Academy

Like many people, my first introduction to Ai Weiwei was his sunflower seeds installation at the Tate Modern; I remember looking out over the huge space of the Turbine Hall and thinking that the combination of painstaking detail and sheer scale produced a perspective shift that was almost meditative, like looking out over the sea. In his new exhibition at the Royal Academy, Ai Weiwei again delivers work that masters its impressive surroundings and grabs your attention - even before you enter the building, in the case of his courtyard installation 'Trees'. (photo courtesy of the Royal Academy) 

Ai Weiwei is a Chinese artist and political activist, son of a dissident poet and sent along with his family into exile in labour camps as a result of his father's work, not returning to Beijing until Mao's death. I usually like to go round an exhibition once without any form of guide just so that I can come to it without any preconceptions but in this case the historical and political background is so intrinsic that I did take advantage of the audio guide included in the ticket price and I recommend that you do the same.

At every turn there is something beautiful, thought-provoking and challenging. Ai's signature large-scale work, coupled with wonderful curating which allows you to walk around, through and under the installations, means that you can really immerse yourself in the exhibition. You can find one-metre cube versions of much smaller precious objects made of crystal, tea, or intricately-carved wood, or disparate items such as sex toys and human remains reworked in different materials.

In 'Marble Stroller', the worker-bee-like segments of marble grass evoke his famous sunflower seeds, all similar but individual. The stroller, and the petrified surveillance camera, represent a chilling encounter when Ai Weiwei was out with his young son and challenged a man photographing them. Weiwei took the memory card from the man, who claimed to be a tourist; checking it later at his studio, he found hundreds of images of his child.

'Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn' is here, along with 'Coloured Vases', a group of Neolithic vases (or are they?) destroyed/transformed by industrial paint. This, for me, was perhaps the least engaging part of a magnificent exhibition - possibly because the rest is so raw and visceral, this paled by comparison. The questions of value, authenticity and art are interesting but they are ongoing and I feel if they had been exhibited separately they may not have been immediately identifiable as his work; I didn't feel powerfully drawn to these in the same way as the rest of the rooms.

The opposite is true of 'Straight'. This is my absolute favourite section of the exhibition; by which I mean, it brought me close to tears. 'Straight' is a response to the Sichuan earthquake in 2008 in which over 5,000 children died as a result of shoddily-built schools collapsing; film footage shows distraught parents attempting to resuscitate their lifeless children amid the wreckage.

The names of the dead - originally not released by the Chinese authorities - line the walls in bare chart form along with their dates of birth, while in the centre of the room a huge undulating row of rusted metal rods echoing the seismic activity graph of an earthquake, or the wave itself. These are the cheap rebars used to reinforce the concrete in the schools (there is a suggestion that the money intended for rods of a suitable strength may have been diverted to line official pockets) collected by Ai Weiwei and his volunteers and then hammered straight again. It is incredibly moving.

Ai Weiwei started a blog at the end of 2005, stating 'If to express oneself needs a reason, let me say that to express oneself is the reason.' This was shut down by the Chinese authorities after it started getting 100.000 hits a day and he used it to call for freedom of information so now he spends hours a day on Twitter. For me, one of the most elegantly powerful statements about this came in his 2012 Guardian interview: 'The Internet is uncontrollable. And if the Internet is uncontrollable, freedom will win. It's as simple as that.'

S.A.C.R.E.D is set of six large, rusting industrial tanks containing half life-size dioramas of scenes from his illegal incarceration on the vague grounds of alleged 'financial irregularities'. The works show Ai Weiwei eating, showering, sleeping and using the toilet whilst two impassive uniformed guards stand feet away, watching. Disturbing enough, you have to view the scenes by standing on a step to look in a small gap at the top of the tank, or stooping to peer through a narrow window along the side, forcing you to become part of the intrusive voyeurism of the work.

You leave the exhibition under the twinkling glamour of an extravagantly huge chandelier, constructed using thousands of crystals and the humble Forever bicycle, ubiquitous in China.

The Royal Academy have extended their opening hours for the last few weekends, including an unprecedented 56-hour marathon for the final one. So don't miss this; it has gone straight into my top five exhibitions ever and will stay in your mind long after you leave.

Yours, newly thankful for the ability to write and post this at all,

Girl About Town xx