2022 Turner Prize Review – Clown, Clouds, and Poetry Nets at the End of the World | art

TThis year’s Turner Prize exhibition opens at Heather PhillipsonA replica of her makeup at Tate Britain in 2021, Rip No. 1: Burning Peach. Newly reconfigured upstairs at Tate Liverpool, Phillipson’s installation benefits from alteration. A succession of mystery, culled from nature documentaries, looks at us accused, as if the environmental crisis were all our fault, and it clearly is. The gallery walls are washed with a film of brewing storms and migrating swans. Even the curlews complain. On a big screen, the sun shines like a peach, and the earth, Phillipson tells us, in a new audio commentary available in a forest of dangling headphones, is a fiery tomato.

Phillipson’s vocal work is a collection of sounds (has She has won several awards for her poetry volumes), prompted by her sarcastic rendition. In the middle of their apocalyptic comic installation, large propane gas cylinders are exposed to lumps of metal, heralding our end times in a swinging shed.

Philipson The end, at the fourth base of Trafalgar Squaresnatch gladly and disgust. Lots of people hated it. It was always supposed to be horrible and sick. Going too far has always been part of her shenanigans, a mirror of the atrocities of consumer culture.

A flaming world... gallery assistant poses with Sin Wai Kin's A Dream of Wholeness in Parts at Tate Liverpool.
A flaming world… gallery assistant poses with Sin Wai Kin’s A Dream of Wholeness in Parts at Tate Liverpool. Photo: Adam Vaughan/EPA

This situation also provides a working method Sin Way KenVideos, objects and photos. The Toronto-born artist plunges us into an adrenaline rush as all four members of a sexy but cheesy boy/girl band perform. The multiple people who go on confronting each other in a dream in their longest video (also appearing at the current 9 British Art Gallery in Plymouth) are all a long, interconnected performance of the self, whatever. The artist, formerly known as Victoria Sen, was walking the dark side streets of Taipei, playing chess with her husband, riding a perilous hotel elevator, and standing on a rocky beach with crashing waves. One minute they were under the guise of Botticelli Venus, the next noodle soup as if they ate the world. Little sacks of meat in soup ton quiver with exciting life began to speak again.

Is the artist a boy girl and doing the drawing as a girl? Sometimes with a six-pack, sometimes a mustache, and always made like a superhero or a deity from Chinese opera, it’s all a game of probability. All clothes, hairstyles, and makeup are kind of a drag anyway. The artist slips between genders and symbols, appearing and disappearing in the gaps between roles.

The best thing here is a small collection of massively lit, cosmetically painted selfies. As you get close, the images fit neatly into the shadow of your head casting over them the dramatic gallery lighting. This is intentional. These images are almost miraculous, the kind of Veronica’s veil that hovers in front of your shady head and threatens to swallow you.

Works by Veronica Ryan.
A source of anxiety and frustration… by Veronica Ryan. Photo: Adam Vaughan/EPA

Veronica Ryan Her sculptures are presented in a rough yellow environment. Designed in such a way that you can’t get close to any of the meticulously designed tangibles, this is a source of anxiety and frustration. Her little bags crocheted from manufactured seeds and bulbs, magnolia pods cast in bronze and sweets from stucco, hair net and thread, arrangements of fishing twine and cloth, grapefruit peel, bronze and twine that invoke closeness. There are sweet and whimsical moments in its piles of avocado grooves, copper rings and large sewn tea bags, medicinal and recycled cream pillows, bagged butter beans, and dangling grooved nets. But where it’s all about touch, tenderness, intimacy and sudden pairing, why keep us at a distance? Do you think we’ll break her stuff? I think she thinks of a whole environment of these forms, about their private conversations and their secret lives, from which we are partly excluded.

Ingrid Pollard's portraits depicting a little black girl cut short.
Ingrid Pollard’s portraits depicting a little black girl cut short. Photography: Rob Harris/Ingrid Pollard

Ingrid PollardThe presentation includes landscape photographs, pub signs, sculpted busts, and photographs documenting public homes called Black Boy and a road sign called Black Boy Wood on a residential property. Her material asks about the place of black portraits in rural England and still is. This lexicon is only one of several topics. A series of photographs found in the archives of the Glasgow Women’s Library document protests against the murder of a black teacher. Colin Roach; Anti-gay Section 28; and the Occupation of Grenada. For Pollard, all of these protests are interconnected and the underlying racism and homophobia in British culture is self-evident everywhere.

Pollard displays his work from the 1990s to the present, culminating in a group of found photographs depicting a young black girl who falls short. It is accompanied by three moving mechanical sculptures. Almost agricultural in its brazen manufacture and mechanics, one is a noisy coupling of large saw blades that undulate, scratch and tilt a kind of stick. In another image, a primitive rope shape is swaying and bent, and in the third a baseball bat is used back and forth. Developed and manufactured with sculptor Oliver Smart, I don’t get this brutal and knockout thing at all. They add nothing more than noise and violent conclusion to her presentation that somehow lacks focus.

Pollard and Ryan were born in 1953 and 1956, respectively, and are big fans here. They both have had long careers but have been somewhat overlooked and have been lately Enjoy a welcome revival. Phillipson has been in the public eye a lot with her 4th and Tate, while Sin Wai Kin is, I think, the wild card. Going only to the Liverpool presentations, Sean and Keane and Phillipson feel their work is more lively, while Pollard and Ryan feel formally reserved, serious, but somehow a bit sober.

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