Tate Modern:
Bruce Nauman
On 17th November 2017, I was, like a moth, instantly attracted to the bright lights of the Bruce Nauman exhibition (Tate Modern). His work demanded the viewer to (literally) take a step back and consider the purpose and context of his work. Nauman's extensive and imaginative use of media transmits a multitude of different ideas simultaneously. It is clear that his previous studies in Mathematics and Physics informed his practice and are a domineering influence on his work. One piece which caught my attention was 'Violins, Violence, Silence' (1981).
Violins, Violence, Silence
1981
Bruce Nauman
The artwork itself was made of coloured neon tubing with a clear glass suspension frame. As the letters overlap, it is hard to initially distinguish what the piece is actually conveying, proving rather disorientating. Additionally, the buzzing noise which accompanies the piece (originating from the neon tubing) is somewhat distracting. However, it is ironic that while reading 'violins' evokes a pure and unpolluted noise, in reality you are faced with a low, droning buzz. I enjoy the irony of Nauman's work and the complex ideas which lie behind the lights. There is much more to this piece than is initially apparent and I hope that other visitors to the gallery take the time to consider its complexity.
Another piece in the exhibition which caught my attention was 'Raw Material Washing Hands'(1996). The video, which documents one individual washing their hands constantly for 55 minutes is difficult viewing. It is reminiscent of a person suffering from obsessive–compulsive disorder (OCD) in which the individual is performing a routine repeatedly, as though it were a ritual. The video becomes painful to watch as we see the individuals skin being overworked by the soap and water and I must admit that although the video runs for just under an hour, I watched it for no longer than 10 minutes.
Raw Material Washing Hands,
Bruce Nauman
1996
After seeing Nauman's work, it is clear that he questions and stretches the boundaries of what it is to make art. He has purposefully left behind traditional notions of 'fine art' and has distanced himself from paint as a medium.
IN SEARCH OF MEDIEVAL INSPIRATION: PART 1(iv)
Fig. 73 Fig. 74
Figures 73 and 74 show misericords used by old and infirmed monks during lengthy services at Cley Church. The upturned seats show small seats underneath which allowed such monks to sit whilst appearing to stand. The misericords date from the 15th century, whereas the carving is from the 16th century. Having sat on a seat with the seat in the down position, I carefully brought the seat up and sat on the seat underneath, which raises you up so that, indeed, from the side (the view the congregation would get from the nave) it does indeed look as though one is standing. I enjoyed doing this very much. The carving on the arms of these misericords is fine (Figs. 75-81) and I am sure I can use these images in the future.
Fig. 75 Fig. 76
Fig. 77 Fig. 78
Fig. 79 Fig. 80
Fig. 81
However, the greatest sense of the position the clergy held in the 14th century came from when I sat in a misericord at St. Margaret’s Church, King’s Lynn. This was a very strange experience, creating a real sense of not only ecclestiastical power, but seperation (from the laity). These misericords date from 1375-1376. Sitting on the highly polished and superbly decorated armed seats (Figs. 82–95) has left a lasting impression.
Fig. 82 Fig. 83
Fig. 84 Fig. 85
Fig. 86 Fig. 87
Fig. 88 Fig. 89
Fig. 90 Fig. 91
Fig. 92 Fig. 93
Fig. 94 Fig. 95
Figures 92–95 were hidden under boards due to repair work above the chancel and I had to scrambled in under the boards on hands and knees. These photographs were taken in virtually pitch darkness which meant that the only images I could get were taken with a flash, hence the light.
Fig. 96
One of these misericords (Fig. 96) had, underneath the seat, a carving of the Green Man (see Visits: Norwich Cathedral).
