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.
CREAKE ABBEY
Fig. 1
The abbey of St. Mary of the Meadows at Creake (Fig. 1) belonged to the most popular of religious orders in medieval Norfolk, the Augustinians. The abbey started out as a chapel in 1206 and shortly thereafter became a small hospital for Christian paupers. It then became a priory under the patronage of Henry III, before its elevation to an abbey. A terrible fire struck in 1484 and whilst money was forthcoming, including a generous payment from Richard III, the abbey was reduced in scale. Then, one by one, the canons died of plague and, finally, the abbot succumbed in 1506 and the abbey and its property passed to the Crown before Lady Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII, used the Creake estates to endow Christ’s college, Cambridge.
Fig. 2 Fig. 3
It was, again, a frozen February morning that I strolled around the remains, alone, trusty camera in hand. In truth, not much remains now, though the interaction of the arches can work well from certain angles, especially when warped (Figs. 2 & 3), but I nevertheless was able to use my imagination to good effect, as I could picture, as I wandered, not only the canons performing their tasks – from cellarer to infirmarian, from almoner to cantor – to praying to be spared the fatal pestilence, as I stood at where the High Altar would have been located. Although small, these ruins proved to be quite affecting and provide me with thoughts for my work.
I am not interested in showy things and that is why I like visiting these small, out of the way sites. I look for simple connections that convey the medieval, grand structures do not really impress me.
Fig. 4 Fig. 5
I took these images (Figs. 4 {north facing} & 5 {south facing}) of the stone work that lead from the nave into the ante-chapel; I just liked their arrangement and colour. I felt that there was something wonderfully medieval about them.
Fig. 6 Fig. 7
I came across these strange cuts in these two columns (Figs. 6 & 7) facing one another – presumably something to support doors or some form of bracing? I find that medieval buildings often have unfathomable features.
Fig. 8 Fig. 9
One thing I love to find is a block-up doorway. This doorway (Fig. 8) was originally between the Choir and the South Transept which, in turn, led to the Cloister (now private gardens). It is also nice to see the strange juxtaposition of a ruin being stripped from bottom to top (Fig. 9), not the other way around, which gives a strange, top-heavy appearance.
