Gesamtkunstwerk: New Art from Germany, Saatchi Gallery

Beautiful, evocative, investigative art adorn this eclectic exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery, London. The pieces question a range of political, economic and social issues with little in the way of proselytizing, leaving plenty of opportunity for visitors to reflect. This was especially the case with the stretcher frame sculptures by Alexandra Bircken. Extremely subtle and humbling, but stunning to look at, organic shapes that made different patterns when viewed from various parts of the room.

ImageAlexandra Bircken (Drape, 2007)

ImageAlexandra Bircken (Unit 3, 2008)

ImageAlexandra Bircken (Unit 3, 2008) close up

Georg Herold’s taut, stretchy sculptures were a joy to absorb. I felt like clapping and giving a cheer. At once both comical and startling I found it very hard to resist trying to touch the surface. The pieces seemed so unguarded, free and in some respects almost anarchic in very staid white-walled surroundings. I hope to see them in parks one day as they would look amazing out in the open air.

ImageGeorg Herold (Untitled, 2010) close up

ImageGeorg Herold (Untitled, 2011)

ImageGeorg Herold (Untitled, 2010)

Mirror Wall (2010), an interactive piece by Jeppe Hein, was a lot of fun, watching your image shimmer and contort as you approach it was a more pleasing experience than I had anticipated. There were so many other challenging pieces. Kristine Roepstorff has an interesting body of work. I spent a long time looking at the one below. For me it was the highlight of the exhibition – a visually stunning and thought-provoking piece. Although, when I took the picture the reflection of someone standing close by was captured, I have included the photo anyway as in some respects it feels like there has been a lot of standing around in the past, and even now, while the human rights of so many are being violated by conflicts globally.

ImageKristine Roepstorff (Exercise version 2 – from the series “it’s not the eye of the needle that changed”, 2007)

In a room to itself, the pieces by Thomas Zipp are thunderous, icy and immense – even those that are just  images on the wall. The emotive quality of his pieces are derived from the way they seem forced and constrained – a reflection of the rigid, clinical structures that are used to convey information about violent events that have a direct impact on the emotional psyche and well-being of people. It left me with a sense of worry and isolation, and the pieces still remain in my thoughts.

ImageThomas Zipp (Schwarze Ballons, 2005)

ImageThomas Zipp, (World Kantzler Office, 2004)

Overall, this was a very revelatory exhibition in a unique space – a gallery which is free to visit and allows people to move pretty unhindered and record images for later study and discourse. There were many other artists that had pieces that I  wanted to spend a long time with. This was an exhibition where I  fell in love with some of the art on display. Do go see it if you get a chance (the exhibition runs until the 15th of April 2012). Information about the artists and their work can be found on the gallery website.

ImageGert & Uwe Tobias (Untitled, 2009)


Looking back

eyes like lanterns

carried us through the darkness

i turn to see you wave

a goodbye -

i curse the night

Thank you very much to the Poetry Palace  for this award.

I nominate mirror mosaic of sounds for the next award.

 


Undertow

Reecket sat in her chair

planning and plotting,

an ego the size of a minor galaxy

she loved stomping on boundaries

ignoring limits,

tearing through dreams

painting black spirals round lives

generating dramas and revelling in schemes

she would assess, manipulate and abandon

at a snap

- teasing timorous toys

removing their defences

peeling them like grapes

for a homemade pie.

Then one day, Autumn knocked on her door

turned the cards, layer by layer

returned Reecket the favour

ripping through her frozen space

squashing blueberries in her frame

Reecket’s fallen mask in tatters

revealed she had the sensitivity of stone

her ego shrank to the size of a pea

her targets sighed deeply in relief

and Empathy finally had her peace.

(also submitted to Poetry Picnic at The Gooseberry Garden)

Thank you to the Poetry Palace for this award.

I nominate mind feathers for the next award.

Thank you to the Poetry Palace for this award.

I nominate Cindy Eksuzian for the next award.


Last kiss

yesterday, the sun burnt white -

filled the entire sky

resting on moss

we sang till daybreak

today monsters rise through the landscape

gargantuan limbs spewing sticky caramel sludge

jasmine petals turn brown

none of the seeds will take

Thank you Thursday Poets Rally for the Perfect Poem Award

 I nominate Muzzle Flashing for the next award.


Kaleidoscope

running through the half empty stream

stumbling over mossy rocks

into the night they follow the fireflies

watching the sparks by the large twisted tree

answerable to none, missed by many

it took late summer’s lingering reach

for them to say goodbye


Quest

Elemental strums her guitar

flexing her hand, releasing a cramp

she begins once more

tripping over chords

written over a decade ago

the same unanswerable question -

the clock strikes

the end of another day

she continues playing

over and over again


Gone


Flux

it was summer

not alone

not forgotten

nestled against each other

folding galaxies in our palms

autumn’s amber smile

becomes a hiatus

your mask slips

our mix tape a sorrow

I don’t dream anymore

( for Bluebell Books Short Story Slam Week 8  )


Ledge

She is unsettled in this sideshow

surrounded by righteous thunder

when she walks she always stumbles

the laughter, makes her sink still further

when she talks she mumbles

so ear’s don’t hear her,

but bullying grins always dig deep

her accent confuses, so she mutes it until

her voice receedes into a silent din

only she can hear

What she wears is a source of ridicule

but she finds comfort in the fabric

the wrap  holds her

when she tries for a spark

she fails to amuse

their blank stares a frozen lake

she shudders

retreating into her machine

surrounded by music

only she can hear

 


Primer

Icy sprays lick my feet

- imagine building sandcastles

beneath the ocean


Mark on the door

he leaps high and meets the beat

it brings them to their feet

many have heard him before

moved, they have returned for more

 

can’t hold back he rushes further forward

unable to find rest now his cover is lowered

he wishes for straw arrows rather than darts

he sings for peace, with the hope it imparts

 

back in his space he takes in their sorrow

he knows somehow they’ll be unable to follow

maybe later they’ll remember the message

take it still further while he’s surrounded by carnage


Take 10

standing here I feel enveloped in solitude

uncertain of the direction my day is going to take

I wonder how many times

the lines around the edges have been tread

the holes in the sky

reflecting the emptiness of Mondays

- when we formed a queue

I wish I had spoken to you


Back again

She rests by the phone box

he never wants to hear from her

she tried to talk to him

she holds back a tear

we tell her to walk away

 

She wants her music back -

he has stolen all her melodies

arrested every single sound

trapped the harmonies

captured all the lyrics

 

We stand by the phone box

he takes our call, he’ll have dead air

he doesn’t know, he’ll never know

he took her tracks without a care

finally, she frees her songs


Corrosion

Your glossy layer tarnished,

the voices sear your soul.

 

A demon, wings of steel, alights on your shoulder

as you stride through debris and charred remains – observing,

just looking, as a storm threatens to tear through the stained sky,

bringing you closer to what you seek.

 

You ravage the path, raging through palms outstretched,

ignoring the cinders that blight the air.

 

Another day in your nirvana.


Paper dreams

the sunlight bleaches the edges

she turns the corner

reaches out for the illusion

the confusion redresses the balance

a lament for thoughts lost to mundanity

in her nightmare the moonlight has lost its lustre


Holding happiness

 


Provenance

I paint small pictures

at a tiny table

in the centre of a room

with an amber light

the walls are lined with pink and white stripes -

l feel like I’m inside a candy cane

some days I hear cracks beneath the floor

and the whispers sound the same

I know you have gone back to yesterday

but did you have to return to the place of shadows?


Facing the sun


Echoes

the timbre of your voice

resonates with the beauty

of an old oak


Melody

‘I hasten to add there are many pieces of pie.’

 your smile

‘I can see that.’

my grin

‘I can slice them into different shapes and sizes.’

your happiness

‘I want a piece that doesn’t fit with the other pieces.’

 my delight

You accidentally flip the tray over

- the pie is upside down.

 our laughter


Supernova

hair untied,

curls frame the glow -

a rush to breathe

in the light

that surrounds you


Missing

wandering alone in the shadow of your height,

outpaced by the memories that consumed my core,

I am yours once more -


Half-light

A narrative so bold I took refuge in its intent,
but your abstraction rendered my faith obsolete,
the receding fragments of dramatic events,
still pierce the cornerstone of my heart.


Into the night

clambering up a slope made of steel,

I slip

- a slide into a chaotic nightmare of twists and turns

I pass empty boxes where once you lay still,

tomorrow never forgets the graze of past sorrows

will I see you again?


Rainbow

Leave me still in this wonderful dream,

with your arms wrapped around me

I don’t recall a single care


Saffron

Your elfin smile

nuzzles me out of my hollow,

into the light -


Another day

Secrets that take us into another world

where the crisp sheets of my letters lie crumpled

a faint aroma of longing now wiped clean by deception,

with other promises now broken

I await more revelations

while you take to the streets -


Evermore

You soar real high and with a mighty rush

seal the sea in a little bottle where oceans breathe

and the bottle bobs with time’s pulse,

coming closer to the edge of a reasonable pause

enough to make you notice the waves

as you rise again and disappear – this time forever.


Hearts of confetti


Icicles under foot

She walks uphill to the station dragging her boot heels

passing street-dwellers, she responds to appeals

he spots her easily and rushes in agitation

he then stays in step with her and starts a conversation.

 

He weaves a story down the length of the sidewalk

she is filled with worry, but nods at his talk

stranger to stranger, his tale is filled with disaster

he keeps suggesting danger, she just walks faster.

 

Bright lights hover above them, a sound that could stun

she shakes her head, bewildered and starts to run

he crouches low, ‘they’ve found me’ he yells

she grabs his arm ignoring the alarm bells.

 

They break into a store and run out the back

into the night air they are under attack

the stranger falls to the side ‘keep running’ he cries

she picks up her pace there isn’t time for goodbyes.

 

A week later she spots someone near the station

she crosses the road and looks at them in desperation

‘listen to me’ she says ‘I have a story to tell’

they walk straight past her, to late – there goes the bell.


Never sleep

trapped

and not amused

your tail flicks


Search

Night jasmine blooms,

your word a lantern

in the green

(Haiku for The Purple Treehouse )


It wasn’t on the warning label

I had been going to the gym for almost a year and had yet to speak to anyone.

Then I met Sholana.

She wore bright red gym shoes, tight velour training pants with the word ‘Dior’ in mock diamonds emblazoned on a back pocket and chest-hugging slashed t-shirts. She carried a little fake Burberry bag and the obligatory mobile phone. She hadn’t paid me any attention over the past few weeks, but today she glanced at me and smiled.

‘Hi,’ she mouthed. I nodded, moving quickly to the small window on the door of the studio. A class was still in session.

Suddenly, I found myself asking Sholana if she enjoyed last weeks class.

She looked at me briefly before turning her attention back to her phone. Finishing her final text, she crossed over to stand next to me. I apparently had opened some avenue with my simple question. For a while we both stood next to each other looking through the small window at the women engaged in the step class which showed no sign of ending. Sholana turned to me and said, as if continuing from a previous conversation, ‘I was in a car accident. So where once I was a size 8, now I am a size 16. All my clothes are tight.’ I stare at her and nod slowly, I can feel my temple begin to throb. I unclip my drinking bottle and start to sip water slowly.

‘My clothes are really tight and short, she indicates to some space way above her knee.’ My eyes are fixed on her bright red sparkly gym shoes. I sip more water and smile weakly.  Continue reading


Home

My mother grows huge sunflowers

and nurtures them with her smile

- heliocentric gold faces turn towards her in delight,

she is their talk, their song, their dawn, their twilight.

 

Sound pours from her fingers to nourish their roots,

her laughter lights the sky and makes the flowers turn,

I watch her from my window everyday and pray -

that I will be exactly like her someday.


Origin

Cloak cut from light -

stitch me into your inner seam

so I can curl up for a while

and breathe you in.


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