BogeArt Review: Pipilotti Rist, Worry Will Vanish at the Hauser and Wirth

Pipilotti Rist, Worry Will Vanish, 2014 Image courtesy of Time Out:

Pipilotti Rist, Worry Will Vanish, 2014
Image courtesy of Time Out:

The Hauser and Wirth Gallery seems like an ideal choice for Pipilotti Rist’s Worry Will Vanish: small, with blackened out windows and an entrance that is not the easiest to find (it took us two attempts to find the right door), but thus making the experience all the more gratifying, as if finding a hidden, bejeweled, secret cave amongst the hustle and bustle of Savile Row. With its dimmed lighting, the exhibition hall immediately reduces its visitors to a whisper so that the numerous video installations that spurt out onto objects from hidden locations (like the shoe rack opposite the entrance) are duly noted.

Yes, the shoe rack. Worry Will Vanish also invites you to take off your shoes, so that you can fully absorb the sensory experience that you are about to be subjected to, for its only after you’ve taken off your shoes that you notice the squidgy, grass coloured carpet under foot. As you cross the black curtained boundary that separates the exhibition into two parts, you begin to realise why the de-shoeing was important. The large cloud like duvets on the floor spell it out a little more clearly: Rist wants us to completely immerse ourselves in her work, not only through sight, but also through sound and touch.

This makes the spectator experience unlike any other. Once comfortably positioned on a duvet, the only thing left to do is stare up to the screens of the video installation Worry Will Vanish (2014) and watch Rist’s images unfold. Some might describe these intertwining images of the human body, space and nature as mesmerising, others may see them as slightly distressing, but its clear that this swirling psychedelic experience allows the viewer to take the time to delve into their own thoughts, unlocked by the images projected on the screens. Rist allows us to travel through space, earth, the ocean and even the human body, accompanied by the soothing sounds of crickets in a field or bubbles rushing up to the surface.

But are her works successful in diminishing our worry? Yes, the pillows, the spongy floor and the stunning visuals seen throughout the exhibition are an outstanding effort in trying to relax the spectator in such a usually uptight environment like the gallery, some may say even the privileged area of Savile Row, or to offer a ten minute interlude from the stresses of everyday life. Some people had even fallen asleep to the work (it is believed that Rist based her video on a number of relaxation techniques). However, in some cases (rather ironically) worry did not vanish, as was the experience of a friend, who found the images and bright lights had brought on a sort of motion sickness and a headache, so maybe not the best idea to go with a hangover.

Still, through her ingenious installation work, Rist successfully emphasises the power that sight, sound and touch can have on our state of mind as well as our physical condition, be it positive or negative. This absorbing exhibition offers us a chance to leave our busy, city lives at the door and enter into a delicious array of sights and sounds on a large scale which tap into the self through her clever manipulation of the senses. Rist’s exhibition is perhaps not the most ambitious of recent years (in regards to her Eyeball Massage exhibition at the Hayward Gallery in 2011), but her kaleidoscope images do not cease to entice and literally attack the senses.

Maddy Martin: BogeArt


BogeArt Review: Lights of Soho Presents God’s Own Junkyard


The neon sign. A symbol of capitalism, consumerism, seediness, Soho and the sex trade. In the middle of Soho, next to a sex shop with multiple neon signs of its own, is Lights of Soho’s farewell exhibition to the king of neon: Chris Bracey. Consisting of signs taken from his Walthamstow gallery God’s Own Junkyard, the exhibition is right next to a sex shop with its own collection, albeit a less sophisticated one, of neon signs. It feels like the perfect place for this show, as these sex shops were where Bracey’s career began.

In the late 70’s, he catered to West End’s burgeoning sex industry, helping shape the Soho we know and love today with his provocative and alluring signage. “I did 99 percent of every sex establishment in Soho for 20 years,” he told the BBC last year. “For me, it was an artistic endeavour.” He influenced and helped other more famous artists who wanted to dabble in neon. Grayson Perry was a frequent visitor to God’s Own Junkyard, Tracy Emin had her own neon series, and Martin Creed even used Bracey to illuminate some of his works. The exhibition alludes to the art world connotations with prints of different pieces by Emin and Gilbert & George. By doing this Lights of Soho also raises the question/ draws to attention that the neon king was viewed by critics very much as a craftsman- less so as an artist. Unlike Emin and Creed who enlisted others to fabricate their concepts, Bracey made each neon sign himself.

Definitely worth a visit whilst you are doing your Christmas shopping nearby. When I asked my friends what they thought of the show they both came to the same conclusion: ‘neon signs are cool- I wish my flat looked like this’. Worth a visit purely for interior inspiration, and the tacky light up Jesus Christmas card is the best thing I have seen all December.

Photos courtesy of Jessica Miley

Isabella Bornholt; BogeArt

BogeArt: Humans of Art


Ross, History Student, 19, at Late at the Tate’s final and biggest 2014 event:

‘Tonight is my first experience of the Tate Britain and I felt like I’ve done it a disservice by barely seeing what it has to offer. I’m really here for the music. The crowd seemed to expect a boiler room-type set from Koreless and were left disappointed, but SOPHIE more than made up for it’


BogeArt Film Review: Jean Michel Basquiat, The Radiant Child

This weekend I watched the documentary Jean Michel Basquiat: The Radiant Child, not to be confused with the 1996 film Basquiat (worth a watch purely to see David Bowie play Andy Warhol). The documentary is the kind of film that makes you wish you were born in another decade. The first 30 minutes are spent describing the uber-cool artistic scene, in downtown Manhattan in the late 70’s-early 80’s, from which Basquiat arose. We hear of the ‘romantic allure’ that NYC carried in those days, how everyone ‘did everything: you were in a band, you were a painter, sculpture, actor’ and the general buzz that the time had, with our narrators beings those who were at the center of it. All the snaps of these beautiful young things in ’78 NYC make Dalston 2014 seem rather brash and predictable in comparison.

Of course the documentary is shot in a fittingly edgy style; in between interviews with friends and art dealers there are cuts to old footage of Basquiat saying profound sounding things whilst puffing on cigarettes. The director Tamra Davis filmed this herself 2 years before the artist’s untimely death. Throughout the film we also see shots of his paintings and him working in his studio.

The film does track his artistic development, from starting out as a ‘graffer’, going by the name ‘Samo’. Through his street poems we see the graffiti culture expanding from simple ‘tags’, moving towards other possibilities, which are now defined by the term ‘street art’. We go on to see how Basquiat became friends with the king of the NYC art scene: Mr Warhol himself. Interestingly, the angle from which the documentary seems to approach this is one that suggests the friends were mutually using each other to help their own career, rather than attributing it as a completely genuine partnership. For Basquiat, Warhols fame would help elevate his status in the art world; for Warhol, Basquiat provided a new energy to his image, keeping his flagging reputation relevant. Warhol dies during a rift in the friendship and it seems Basquiat never seems to recover from it. The rest of the film tracks his descend, ending with his overdose.

Basquiat was beyond cool (I forgot to mention the affair with Madonna), and his art was cool too. His paintings were not overly conceptual nor traditionally ‘beautiful’, they explored relevant themes such as culture and race, not to mention how great they look hanging on the walls of Manhattan lofts. I think I would have liked to have seen a bit more in regards to his work; the doc could have delved a little deeper, especially in regards to the hardships in Basquiat’s life (which the doc charts) effecting his artistic practice.

Was Basquiat simply one of the last flings of American expressionism, a symbol of the dying NY art scene in favour of the British and Asian markets? This documentary seemed to come from a place counteracting this argument; I just wish it had done a better job defending its case. Saying this, Basquiat was fucking cool, his work is fucking cool, and watching this film is a fucking cool way to spend a Sunday evening.

Isabella Bornholt; BogeArt