Anselm Kiefer at White Cube
Epicurus, the Hellenistic sage, constructed a philosophy upon a “life according to nature”, a materialistic and individualised existence in which pursuit of pleasure and avoidance of pain were the only viable tenets. This outlook had its foundations in Epicurean atomic theory, a world of constantly moving particles, which would, every now and then, randomly ‘swerve’. This ‘swerve’ reaffirms a structure-less, meaningless world.
On the floor of one of the White Cube Bermondsey’s vast clinical galleries lies a huge corroding metal book, upon which leer a number of repulsive, dead sunflowers. It’s a strange mess of seemingly discarded objects. Scrawled on top of the dull lead are the words ‘Hortus Philosophorum’ – Garden Philosopher – an epithet for Epicurus; a lonely reference, seemingly discordant with the titular themes of the other sculptures and paintings. Yet the implications of Epicurus’ chaotic theory, void of ideological significance, resonate through the cavernous halls.
The title of the exhibition, Il Misterio delle Cattedrali, derives from an esoteric manual written by the illusive alchemist Fulcanelli in the 1920s. The mystery of alchemy hovers throughout the exhibition. Strange chemicals are weighed from complicated apparatus. The first room you encounter, South Gallery I, houses five large sculptures. Each is enigmatic and strange, grappling with the metaphorical dissection of alchemical ideals. A work called Alkahest depicts an upturned bucket upon a fragile chair. From the bucket unfurls a strand of photographic transparencies, each capturing an enigmatic seascape. Waves lap on the beach. We perceive the ebb and flow of history and the tide of ages. An ethereal, shadowy figure is glimpsed in the photographs, mythical and portentous.
Alchemy is Kiefer’s point of departure, the mystical shell that draws the exhibition together into a coherent experience. Yet he is ultimately interested in ideas. Alchemy signifies man’s compulsion to dominate nature through mastering the transformative process, the vain search for qualitative progress – turning lead into gold. In the final room, scientific instruments hang in front of huge canvases depicting the wildness of nature and bleak human edifices, paralleling man’s search for hidden codes in the real world. As in all Kiefer’s work, everything is ambiguous and multi-faceted, and from this mystical base he speculates upon history.
Across all the paintings and sculptures within the exhibition there is an unsavoury corrosion or calcification, a chemical corruption of material. Enormous fungal plants sprout from the canvases and from the lead, reaching aimlessly, blackened and sordid. This process of decay seems to capture the inescapable passing of time, the inevitable, unharnessed course of change to which all must succumb. Kiefer reveals the inner frailty of man’s twin ambitions, to maintain the present state of things, and to order and direct progress. Both signify a self-nourishment within the constructed cage of existence, the aversion of the eyes from the pulsating chaotic reality beyond.
Through this, man denies also the precariousness of his situation. There is something unstable about the pieces here. Spindly slatted chairs are crushed between weighty leaden tomes. Samson depicts a heavy rock, under which is wedged a rusting miniature plane. The sculpture is confusing, the natural stone seems as though it may roll off its stone plinth at any moment, having been destabilised by the human construction. Within this allegorical work is captured the cyclical nature of history, undermining itself and contributing to the erosion of conviction in our most definite structure – time. In Dat Rosa Miel Apibus, from within the leaden pages of accumulated wisdom and knowledge stutter rusting fighter planes. Our qualitative advancement is undermined, and derided.
This instability is juxtaposed with a sense of heaviness that prevails throughout the exhibition, emanating from the physicality of the canvases. Paintings and sculptures loom oppressively; they weigh upon you, it is a burden of the past, but also the burden of uncertainty. The mind of the artist is tangible throughout, as if he peers judiciously from behind the painted canvas at our vain attempts to decipher his creations.
Kiefer’s other major thematic tract is his homeland, Germany. Within this context the formative relationship between the present and the past is endowed with greater volatility. The bleak depictions of Tempelhof, the airport designed during Nazi rule, are terrifying in their emptiness. Toy planes swarm the exhibition like mosquitoes, as history haunts the present.
Wandering through the exhibition, there is a monumental religiosity about the experience. It is disorientating. The work assaults our convictions, screws up our preconceptions, and flings them into the swirling vortex of doubt. And yet somehow this process is liberating, life-affirming: we experience the mortality of our ideas.
February 13th, 2012 at 6:13 pm
Should an artist’s work be so much about interpretation? I have for a long time had the sense that no one dares to really tackle Kiefer’s work for what it IS. It is a given for most that he is a great artist and his work is not questioned. Viewers and reviewers bow under the weight of the interpretation. But what is truly there? Kiefer is a German who carries the weight of the past and seemingly hasn’t progressed, personally or artistically. Without the weight of German past what would his work be? And how would non-Germans relate to his work without the past? He appears to be so sensitive to the German past, which is why Jewish collectors and Israelis love him, but does he need to be so demonstrative? Is it not, in fact, overdressed and rather trivial? A lot of weight, but no substance?
February 23rd, 2012 at 3:32 pm
Upon reflection, I do agree with you, to an extent. His work is a little like an intellectual exercise. He superficially arms the viewer with a body of information – in this case facts about an obscure alchemist. It does seem a little contrived, fabricated. It’s very difficult to directly relate to his work on a personal level: it doesn’t actually MEAN very much to the viewer who refuses to assume his perspective. But is there not a value to momentarily embracing its German/Jewish/historic context as an intellectual exercise of interpretation, which we can then apply to ourselves and to our own socio-historical context? Surely through honing our interpretative method, we develop our self-awareness, and an understanding of our own existence i.e. how we relate to society, and our own past. This seems to me a valuable object in itself.