Five Storey Projects: Matter of Time James Taylor gallery Josie Faure Walker |
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A huge warehouse off Well Street in E9 recently hosted the inaugural exhibition for young curatorial collective, Five Storey Projects. Amongst the numerous sheets of explanatory text on offer was an informative curator’s statement giving background and justification to the exhibition. It explains that twenty emerging to mid career artists were given an ‘intentionally vague proposal’, suggesting keywords for them to work around rather than a directed theme. These aims, directed for the most part by chance, were led by critically engaging with theory, practice, history and site as well as keeping the non-profit ethos at the forefront. It seems reactionary to white cube commercial galleries to make the authoritative voice of the curators so prominent and the site the main attraction, but is common to artist-run group shows. Yet the challenge of the James Taylor gallery’s unsterile, graffiti ravaged state is that it threatens to engulf and distract from shy and subtle works. Recent Goldsmiths graduates, collaborative duo PaulMart have four sculptures spread throughout the show. Three of these are powerfully dominant; collages of various woods in striking symbolic formations that stand out by stealing attention away from the building itself. It isn’t clear in the work listing that they are replica Art Nouveau window frames, which is to their benefit since they succeed for their familiar, but ambiguous oddness. One of the most thoughtfully placed sculptures, 'The Bastard Children of Skill', sits in front of a wall covered with graffiti, its shadow neatly thrown amongst the scribbles and tags. Its symbolic form is well placed in engaging directly with its surroundings. Nearby is collective They Are Here’s response to the uncertain future of the James Taylor gallery in 'Uninvited Future(s)', involving a spangly silver, glitter floor plan accompanied by props from past performances since the private view. There is also Kathryn Ferguson’s short video 'FLOP' re-enacting the, ‘lowest form of doss house’; the flop house. The Victorian homeless paid for a place to stay but space was so limited in these east end buildings that they had to sleep whilst hanging over a rope. Imagining this ridiculous activity was interrupted by Ferguson’s bizarre video, involving dancers who dramatically wave around in slow motion, dropping as the rope is cut. The performance couldn't - and doesn't - do justice to the squalor and desperation of its historical subject matter. Alongside, a dark room booms out strange glitchy white noise coming from a little radio on the ground within glow of a projector. It forms part of full room installation 'Super Natural', a collaboration between Kim Coleman, Haroon Mirza and Jenny Hogarth. On one of the projections a big white disc fades in and out and changes colour, a backdrop to the unpredictable soundtrack. In the middle of the space a column has been wrapped in blue fairy lights. It’s a dark and moody space, satisfyingly slowing down the rhythm of the show and in contrast to the other more self explanatory and conventional object and wall based placements. The garage space is a huge room running the length of the site, which would have been visually arresting even without any art. A green corrugated sliding door big enough for a bus to fit through sideways and enormous pile of tyres are challenged by the central placement of PaulMart’s dominant sculpture 'The Emperor of Brussels'. Formally related to the roof beams’ pattern, it is all consuming, somehow carrying the authoritative aura of church architecture.
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In comparison, the works that don't relate to their environment feel like afterthoughts, verging on interior decoration. Clive A. Brandon’s light table beckons from the far garage door; up close, it’s topped with a sickly coloured map of Hackney, with mesh cuboids and plastic domes over seemingly random locations. It is a shame not to have invested more than a hint in the expectation of more unsold debt-ridden flats in this glorious Olympic host borough. On the other end of the room, Bianca Brunner’s photos address the clash of site and work, alien in their pristine frames against the rough brick wall. 'White Rabbit', a black and white photo of what look like stacked wooden crates alongside 'Hidden’s leafy twigs is the exhibition’s most consciously aesthetic moment. Although in content they may not be explicitly linked to the site they are have great presence without any tenuous justifications. This is significant, since as a whole, 'Matter of Time' seems more driven by theory than than the intention of actually placing works with a bold site-specific strategy. David Raymond Conroy’s 'Prop' pieces seem to have been directly addressed at the curator's proposal and made particularly for the show. Two mutations of the same book and image/slogan propped up by a piece of wood lean against the wall. The card sticking out of the book in 'Prop (Give Happiness a Chance)' reads ‘KEEP POLITICS OUT OF’ with the last word hidden. I'd like to think that the missing word is ‘CURATING’. Impossible. Both imply on crude terms the theatrical possibility of a balance being about to tip. I wondered, when first seeing them, whether the precariousness was staged and the books were actually nailed to the wall; but in the private view one took a tumble which was a refreshing affirmation of the ethos of the show. Crucially, ‘Matter of Time’ was remarkable in its visibility and promotion and the accompanying events to the week-long exhibition saved it from having faded into the milieu of similar ethos artist-run group shows. A programmed discussion between critics Peter Suchin and Rachel Withers, although loath to go into depth on the individual works, involved a productive interrogation of the non profit, site specific approach and the problematics of exhibiting works in such a fascinating space. A point raised by this was the difficulty of distinguishing art from its context, but Five Storey Projects were bold in their reaction to these possibilities. Without tarting up the space, they allowed chance to enter into their curatorial strategy and unexpected clashes of site and work to occur. Such curatorial prominence entails an ownership of artists' intentions and risks using the works as instruments. However, as an audience member mentioned at the talk, the ‘goalie syndrome’ is perfectly equated with the long sufferance of the curatorial mission: all of the blame and none of the glory. In this case the only blame rests on a space that is probably more interesting than any art you could throw in it.
josie@newartcriticism.co.uk
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