David Hockney painting "Felled Trees on Woldgate", 2008, Photo Credit: Jean-Pierre Gonçalves de Lima © David Hockney

Hockney is first out of the gate with the launch of A Bigger Picture this past weekend [and some rather feisty jabs at Hirst’s integrity as an artist because of his use of assistants]. The current show features the artist’s depictions of the landscape of his native Yorkshire, many specifically made for the Royal Academy’s grand spaces. Hockney links himself with England proper in responding specifically to its geography. Is this allegiance to the countryside meant to invoke a modern reference to British landscape painting? The artist also revives his original Polaroid/proto-cubist joiners project by mounting paintings in multiple parts and creating multi-faceted videos. The artist, thus, in a way reminds us of his earliest projects, transposing his artistic vision throughout his oeuvre. For me, however, Hockney’s strength lies in the paintings of his American period and his role within the Pop Art movement. I can’t help but feel that the current show falls short of representing England here and now. Hockney just seems to be one of those long-lingering stalwarts of British art, whose golden age has passed.

Damien Hirst, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living, 1991

While the Hockney show has been forcibly underlined to not be a retrospective, the Tate Modern’s upcoming show of Damien Hirst announces itself to be just that. It is tough to include Hirst in the cannon of British sculptors such as Henry Moore, Barbara Hepworth and Lynn Chadwick.  Yet, he has – for better or for worst – been a defining force of British (and international) art of the 1990s and 2000s. Just as his complete set of spot paintings currently on display in every single Gagosian Gallery worldwide is polarizing opinions, the most prominent of the Young British Artists (YBAs) has always been a sensationalist playing with the art market. In his art, he has articulated and preserved an era of the art world much like – forgive the analogy – a shark suspended in formaldehyde.

His 2007 skull encrusted with diamonds called For the Love of God was created at the height of the art market bubble and remains the most expensive work of art ever created. Controversy aside, Hirst’s work does draw from a British tradition, prominently influenced by the great Francis Bacon. For his part, Tate Director Nick Serota understood the importance of billing a prominent contemporary British artist in 2012, to capture the world’s attention. I have no doubt that the Hirst show will be a podium-worthy exhibition, an Olympic event in its own right.

Hirst at his usual antics with For The Love of God, 2007

The truth, I think, is simple: big names capture attention. And it is difficult to encapsulate national identity with just one artist – controversy and discussion will always tag along. Even group exhibits will inflame discussion as to omissions (the Royal Academy’s uneven Modern British Sculptors show of last year is a prime example). Museums elsewhere in London have chosen different strategies for the big year: The Hayward Gallery will install contemporary artist Jeremy Deller’s first retrospective while The National Portrait Gallery will mount the unnervingly well-timed exhibit of portraits by the late Lucian Freud. The National Gallery will stage a Turner show earlier in the year but will focus on Titian during the Games, and the V&A will go the group-route, surveying British Design from 1948 to 2012. Freud is probably the best choice for 2012, honouring a fallen hero and a great of British art.

The duality of collective national identity and individuality is especially appropriate in an Olympic year, when solo athletes distinguish themselves from a group representing their country. However, the very foundation of contemporary art today, in my opinion, transcends national barriers. Which begets the question: Am I only scrutinizing the offerings of the art world in 2012 and testing their British-ness because of the abundance of Olympic news floating around?

Ai Weiwei, Circle of Animals/ Zodiac Heads, 2011, London Installation. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Ai Weiwei, Circle of Animals/ Zodiac Heads, 2011, London Installation. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

The twelve bronze heads representing the animals of the Chinese Zodiac sit on stands looking like knotty twisted roots running into the ground. The sculptures are a re-creation of those that were once part of the fountain-clock of the imperial palace (called Yuanming Yuan. The palace, today, is in ruins, sacked by Europeans in the 1860s. Some of the original heads have gone up for auction, others have been lost. Weiwei engages with the ideas of cultural heritage and its value, both in its lack of preservation in China as well as its migration around the world and its loss of meaning.

Ai Weiwei, Circle of Animals/ Zodiac Heads, 2011, London Installation. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

The Somerset House installation is the latest in a world tour (also on display in New York at the Grand Army Plaza until July 15) and marks the 3-prong presence of the artist in London this past year, including a small feature of recent work (including the vases below) currently at Lisson Gallery and the recently concluded installation at Tate Modern.

Ai Weiwei, Coloured Vases (detail), 2010, 31 Han Dynasty vases and industrial paint. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Lisson has chosen to vociferously support Weiwei, draping a large banner over one of their buildings with the artist’s likeness and the address of the website FreeAiWeiwei.org.  They also plastered a street corner with posters inscribed with quotes from Weiwei about liberty and creativity (which they give out for free); created a montage of recent news articles about his imprisonment; and set up a computer  in the gallery following all recent tweets about the artist.

Ai Weiwei, Circle of Animals/ Zodiac Heads, 2011, London Installation. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

But it’s the public art installation at Somerset House that resonates most with Weiwei’s absence.  The fountain installation resurrects a lost Chinese monument and confronts its European origins (the original heads were made by Jesuit priests). The re-creation of the fountain harkens to the delicacy of the lives of artifacts over time, and to the fragility of human existence no matter the regime. And it seems rather fitting that it is the animals of the zodiac represented in the installation, imparting a certain element of symbolism and fate which denote a greater presence beyond us all in this universe.

Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads will be at Somerset House until June 26. Lisson Gallery’s Weiwei show runs until July 16.

Yohji Yamamoto Satellite display in the Paintings Gallery at the V&A, 2011. Photo courtesy of V&A Images.

Yohji Yamamoto exhibition at the V&A, 2011. Photo courtesy of V&A Images.

In a room bright (and hot) with fluorescent light, viewers can get up-close to the avant-garde creations of the Japanese designer. The architectural construction, use of unconventional fabrics and daring embrace of asymmetry and unusual curves make Yamamoto’s garments a pleasure to inspect and admire. Beyond the main room, avid fashionistis can wander the museum to find garments installed in a number of different galleries (it’s a bit of a wild goose chase). These installations place garments in breathtaking juxtapositions with the spaces and the artworks that surround them. It is quite special to witness such curatorial play at the hands of Masao Nihei, Yamamoto’s long-time collaborator, scenographer and lighting designer, and guest designer for the V&A show.

Yohji Yamamoto exhibition at the V&A, 2011. Photo courtesy of V&A Images.

Yohji Yamamoto Satellite display in the Norfolk House Music Room at the V&A, 2011. Photo courtesy of V&A Images.

Further east at Bankside, Yamamoto’s power to inspire is showcased in a collection of vintage fashion photographs. Using the Japanese fashion designer’s garments as muse, each photographer subsequently created unusual images that are strong and artistic. The artists (most of them now renown fashion photographers), were all young promising picture-takers when given assignment of Yamamoto’s work. These are not your usual fashion photographs. Maggie Screaming (1999) from Inez van Lamsweerde & Vinoodh Matadin is particularly striking; arms held akimbo in a garment whose sleeves stretch long, Maggie’s long gently pleated hair mimics the stripes of her top, and frame her face, closed eyes and mouth gaping open to bare her lower teeth. The collection of photos is quite varied, their consumption quick, but their staying power endures. Other photographers included in the show are Nick Knight, Peter Lindbergh, Craig McDean, Sarah Moon, Paolo Roversi, and Max Vadukul.

Inez Van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin, Maggie Screaming, Yohji Yamamoto Fall Campaign (1999). Photo Courtesy of Wapping Project Bankside.

Most captivating of all is the installation at The Wapping Project. Within an old hydraulic power station – the venue is part restaurant (in its main hall) and part art gallery space (in the back boiler room) – in a dark flooded room, an enormous white silk wedding dress hangs suspended from the ceiling. The final dress from Yamamoto’s Autumn/Winter 1998 show is caught in a paradoxical moment, it falls yet its skirt billows amply upwards. A row of lights and the glowing mannequin bodice are all that illuminate the room. The coolness of the room, the rhythm of the water, the darkness of the room: it is as if entering a meditation, a dream. There’s even a rowboat — and embarking on it brings you deeper still. Low to the water in the silence of the room, pairs of viewers guided by a boatman can get up close the dress. Yet it is the view below that truly enchants. Reflected in the water, always shimmering with movement, the dress appears to be emanating endlessly from the depths. I am sure it emanated onto the catwalk in 1998 (in which a hat was supported above the model by four men holding long bamboo poles). At The Wapping Project, designer Masao Nihei once again demonstrates his imaginative prowess in evocative design.

Installation view of Yohji Making Waves, 2011. Photo courtesy of The Wapping Project.

Ultimately Nihei shines as an important co-visionary to Yamamoto. Sensitively highlighting the vision of Yamamoto’s garments, Nihei himself demonstrates boundless vision by creating daring installations both around the V&A and at The Wapping Project that captivate and enthrall.

Yohji Yamamoto at The Victoria & Albert Museum and Yohji Making Waves at The Wapping Project both run until July 10. Sign up for boatride at The Wapping Project at the bar of the restaurant upon entering.

Yohji’s Women at The Wapping Project Bankside (65a Hopton Street, SE1 9LR) runs until May 14.

Rashid Rana, Desperately Seeking Paradise II, 2010-11. Courtesy the artist and Lisson Gallery. Skyscrapers are made of small images of rural homes--embedded within a slanted metal grid.

In her first solo show at Lisson since 2004 (and since last year’s Turner Prize nomination), de la Cruz presents a selection of entirely new pieces (all made in 2011) that strongly demand attention. While Mini nothing (cream) sits crumpled in a painted canvas pile on the shelves with the exhibit publications, Hung 16 (cream/blue) truly embodies the state of a stretched canvas, re-stretched on an awkwardly sized support and appearing on the verge of bursting.

Angela de la Cruz, Compressed blue, 2011. Courtesy the artist and Lisson Gallery

On the first floor of the 52-54 Bell Street location, the canvas of Deflated (white) hangs on the wall without underlying stretcher like a limp unworn coat. Downstairs, the dynamic series of Compressed sculptures – impacted, mangled volumes of aluminum – look alive and in action. All of de la Cruz’s painted surfaces shine in a high self-reflective gloss; her work overall very confidently challenges the physical structures of art. Yet for all its strength, the work is also spotted with humour. Work with such nuance is simply a pleasure to contemplate and reconsider again and again.

Angela de La Cruz, Hung 16 (cream/blue), 2011. Courtesy the artist and Lisson Gallery

In his work, Rashid Rana, an eminent contemporary artist from Pakistan, embraces the digital era yet also brings it into confrontation with the physical truths of real life. At first glance, Desperately Seeking Paradise II (2010-11) appears to be nothing but a mirror. Farther into the room, the slanted metal grid reveals a countless number of small little images of rural homes. Stepping back from the structure, the small images come together to form a skyscraper-ed cityscape. This reflective (both quite literally and metaphorically) piece confronts rural reality with urban fantasy.

Rashid Rana, detail from Desperately Seeking Paradise II, 2010-11. Courtesy the artist and Lisson Gallery.

Rana ultimately provides the viewer with a sense of loss: in the physical experience of his works of art from near to far, meaning and identity fall away. This idea is perhaps best demonstrated in his Language Series canvases: an innumerable mass of small blocks of text (photographic fragments of commercial signs in Arabic and English) comes together (or rather fails to come together) to create an image of undecipherable static. Rana has gone beyond his previous figurative ‘collages’ (forming Persian carpets from images of slaughter) to step into the nonsense of the overload of imagery in the 21^st century. His conglomerations of images, which now fail to form a decipherable whole (Paradise aside), symptomatically echo the overload of virtualities and realities of contemporary global reality.

Rashid Rana, Language Series #1, 2010-11. Courtesy the artist and Lisson Gallery

Lisson Gallery, thus, presents a very strong duo of artists for its current show. De la Cruz challenges the very physical structure of painting and sculpture, creating a series that incites a dialogue between her works. For his part, Rana plays with levels of perception while giving form to the tensions between reality and virtuality, the urban and the rural, between structure and content.

Rashid Rana and Angela de la Cruz are on exhibit at Lisson Gallery (29 & 52-54 Bell Street) until April 30.

Oil paintings by Briony Anderson in Since Tomorrow. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Attilia Fattori Franchini, the guest curator of the show, sets out to explore the concept of space through the work of the different artists. Defining space as shaped by the relationships between elements, Franchini’s curatorial framework allows the work of each artist to be considered as a space of its own, to be entered, to be explored.

For me, the work of Briony Anderson, Nicholas McLeod and Neil Ayling stood out the most. Briony Anderson creates modern Turner-esque monochromatic paintings which suggest the sublime. The Scottish artist draws from historical paintings, erasing their human presence to focus on the abstract landscape behind. Taken in isolation, her paintings explore a space between the natural and the ethereal. Dylan Culhane similarly captivates with his layered C-Prints; his blurred and saturated portraits of women and his layered prints of natural phenomena are both evocative and stunning, while his superimposed structural shapes create bold geometric patterns.

Dylan Culhane, Warehouse District, 2007, metallic c-print. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Nicholas McLeod, Silent are the Echoes, 2011, acrylic and oil on canvas. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Nicholas McLeod’s very material paintings strike a tragically resonant chord. The depicted built structures overgrown by nature appear haunted and echo the tragedy of Katrina and Japan. To a lesser degree, Ross M. Brown presents the symbiosis and deterioration of architecture in nature; the paintings themselves break down, spattered with paint and dematerializing into thin washes.

Neil Ayling, Cut and FLoat, 2010, perspex, transparent vinyl. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Sculptor Neil Ayling (an artist who has worked in the studios of Anish Kapoor, Antony Gormley and Sir Anthony Caro) presents a series of structurally complex objects in which he integrates fragments of the built environment into rich formal realities. Equally perceptually challenging are the installations of Katie Louise Surridge, amalgams of found objects re-assembled into tribal arenas of shamanistic queerness.

Katie Louise Surridge, Untitled, 2011, mixed media. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

The intricate etchings of Gemma Anderson are unfortunately swallowed up by their surroundings while the duo of rooms (one containing 3 video installations, the other filled with earth and knifed string intruments) by Alessandro Librio do not inhabit the space they are meant to challenge. [Usually, Librio, a sound artist exhibiting at the 2011 Venice Biennale, uses live performance and video to create soundscapes using the built environment.] EB&Flow definitely presented an enthusiastic inaugural display, packing their two-floor gallery full of various artistic visions. Their mission to discover emerging artists, host talks, feature guest curators as well as run a series of education programs (collecting, curatorial practice and professional development) is honourable and ambitious – hopefully they take the space they need to properly articulate their vision.

This initial show is a lot to take in and perhaps amounts to a medley in too many parts. With some wonderful and fascinating talent on display, a visit to this new Shoreditch gallery is however definitely worthwhile.

Dylan Culhane, Woman in Rapeseed Field, 2009, c-print. Photo: Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Since Tomorrow starts tomorrow (April 2) at EB&Flow and runs until May 26. EB&Flow is located at 77 Leonard Street, Shoreditch, London, EC2A 4QS.

Installation view of Meekyoung Shin's Translation - Greek, 1998. Photo by Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Mounted on shipping crates and mirrors, variously shaped copies of Chinese porcelain vases fill a room in dappled formal rhythm. Get close enough in inspecting these colourful creations and you can smell their material. These copies, like the translations into soap of Western antiquities, embody multiple layers of intellectual thought. A Korean artist has transplanted a foreign cultural tradition not only geographically (from origin to Korea to London) but also in terms of media (from marble or porcelain to soap). The creations call into question notions of originality as well as national identity. These artistic forms (Chinese porcelain and Western antiquities) have become languages recognizable the world over. The languages transcend location and, as Shin demonstrates, material as well.

Installation view of Meekyoung Shin's Translation Series, 2009. Photo courtesy of Haunch of Venison.

In her Ghost Series (2009), Shin groups vases of various shapes and translucencies into colours to further explore notions of identity. These luminous shapes have no indication of original markings – colour is all that separates these shadows of their former selves one from the other. Excellently curated, the glowing soap sculptures haunt the space and capture the viewer (much like the Golden Buddha [2010] in the neighbouring blackened room).  They are simultaneously placeless and timeless.

Meekyoung Shin, Ghost Series (Blue), 2010. Photo courtesy of Haunch of Venison.

Soap as a medium ultimately betrays this eternal quality. A tension exists between the eternal and the ephemeral. Do these soap sculptures have commercial value and longevity? Or are they doomed in their use of a transient material (excellently demonstrated in the variously worn iterations of wear shown in the Toilet Buddha Series [2010])? I imagine these sculptural objects could melt and collapse like the Crushed Gilded Vase (2009) if not properly maintained. The fragmented Crouching Aphrodite (2002) demonstrates this fragility, cracking where flesh folds quite realistically. The space at the left shoulder reveals the towel-rack-like inner armature. Aside from evoking the timeless model of the goddess of love with its name, the sculpture uses non-ideal human modeling along with delicate material to capture the very transience of time.

Meekyoung Shin, Crouching Aphrodite, 2002. Photo courtesy of Haunch of Venison.

The appropriately titled show Translation vividly navigates a complicated space of artistic traditions, transmutations and dislocations. The setting, framing a clash of contemporary art in historic architectural space, quite deftly creates an exchange with the art that it houses. Shin’s layered (and scented) work with its rich visual attributes compels the viewer to approach, a movement that leads to a transposition from sensorial to ideological.

Meekyoung Shin, Crushed Gilded Bronze Vase, 2009. Photo by Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Meekyoung Shin’s Translation runs until April 2 at Haunch of Venison, 6 Burlington Gardens, London, W1S 3ET.

My mother left the film industry in 1997 to return to school and become a photographer. Thus, since I was 11 years old, my mother has undertaken her journey to become an artist. Ever since, I have witnessed her work, and, have even been a part of her creative process in shaping projects. With her latest show, of time, lost, at Art Mûr gallery, my mother, I think, has really put forward her best work, presenting a thoughtfully reflective, almost elegiac, collection of photographs.

Ewa Monika Zebrowski. sotto, acqua, 2010. Image courtesy of Art Mûr.

Ewa Monika Zebrowski. arrival, 2010. Image courtesy of Art Mûr.

of time, lost digs deep into themes of memory and the passage of time, themes which my mother has been mining throughout her career. Perhaps because she has been devoted to the subject matter (and has been seduced by the experience of Venice) for so long, her photos have come to embody her ideas. Beyond pictures of crumbling architecture, her photographs themselves begin to crumble and blur.

I have sometimes tried to get an intellectual reasoning from my mother about her artistic work. The more I tried, the more I failed [although I did succeed in encouraging her to start a blog]. This isn’t to say that my mother cannot reflect intelligently about her work; she just has a different approach. She is much more instinctual about her artistic process. It’s as if she knows it when she sees it. To put words to her images and her thinking would ruin the poetry, would shatter the delicacy of the artistic process. What she tries to find is so fragile, invisible and undefined, the only way to define the resultant imagery is through meditation and time.

Ewa Monika Zebrowski. past, present, 2010. Image courtesy of Art Mûr.

Maybe my mother is trying to piece together her own journey and that of her family. Her first art projects involved personal reflections on being a child of immigrants, and incorporated family photographs to help piece together her parent’s stories (as well as her own). Her father fought in WWII (which is a story in and of itself – he published a book). Her mother was a nurse, and spent some time in Italy. Together my maternal grandparents spent time in Italy, went to London (where my mother was born) and then emigrated to Canada. My mother spent much of her life in Vancouver, but then, after her parents divorced, moved away to school in Seattle and then Los Angeles, before moving out to Montreal. Early on in her film career, she completed a project with the Canadian Embassy in Rome.

Italy has always been a draw. It always seems like she might discover something about her mother by returning to a place she once was. Of Venice, my mother has had 3 shows, created 3 artist books. She has returned to the city 5 times…

Ewa Monika Zebrowski. remembering and forgetting, 2010. Image courtesy of Art Mûr.

Ewa Monika Zebrowski. forgetting and remembering, 2010. Image courtesy of Art Mûr.

In my mother’s last project, Unravelling: The Dress of Jadwiga, she created a massive full length scan of her grandmother’s dress, transported from Poland to Vancouver and then (via my mother) to Montreal. She then had a dress-maker create a double, exploring the life of the garment and giving it a phantom twin. My mother’s art seems fed by a constant fixation on looking back, and considering the journey through the family lineage, across the globe. A certain nostalgia to recuperate the past remains. That space between the present and the past always expanding, rich with discovery and dimension.

Alongside Ewa Zebrowski, Art Mûr also presents the work of two other women artists: painter Renée Duval, and sculptor/artist Sarah Garzoni, on display until February 26.

Installation view of "Leonardo's Last Supper: A Vision by Peter Greenaway." Photo by Colin Miller. Image Courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

But first to critique the current work. Set in the Armory’s glorious main hall, Leonardo’s Last Supper: A Vision by Peter Greenaway consisted of three parts in two spaces. The prologue, Italy of the Cities, felt like a whirlwind tour through the history and geography of the Mediterranean country. I felt as if I had been swallowed by a high-speed digital wormhole, as I was bombarded on all sides (screens behind screens, screens on four sides of the room, on the floor, hanging from the center of the room…) by blueprints, photographs, swirling light, and architecture – all ‘celebrating’ the genius of the Italians. I put celebrating in quotations since the barrage of images, without any narration, was far from, in my opinion, worthy thoughtful praise for the great achievements of Italians.

Installation view of "Leonardo's Last Supper: A Vision by Peter Greenaway." Photo by James Ewing. Image Courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

At the conclusion of the prologue, doors opened to a space replicating that of the Santa Maria delle Grazie monastery. A clone of Da Vinci’s mural was also beautifully reproduced in the space along with a translucent life-size sculpture of the last supper table which changed colour during the twice-played video loop (excerpted here). During the duration of the piece, The Last Supper went from being a static image to being manipulated to: change the light conditions in the painted space, give Jesus a halo and divine glow, as well as to highlight the trios of figures, hands, and the weapon of betrayal. The colours shifted and, at a certain point, blood ran down the table. At this point I wanted to leave. I was just waiting for the figures to become animated, half-expecting it would happen. Without narration, it was implied that all these highlights and effects could all speak for themselves (when in fact they were but juxtaposed fragments). Meanwhile, back in the screens of the first space, still visible, footage meandered across microscopic close-ups of the mural’s paints and pigments.

Installation view of "Leonardo's Last Supper: A Vision by Peter Greenaway." Photo by James Ewing. Image Courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

I have seen The Last Supper in Milan and it is an auspicious experience to be in front of such a fragile and masterful painting that has survived its tumultuous history. Its beauty is trying to absorb the fullness, the reverence, the fragility of the painting. Adding a light show and computer effects (while top-notch and displaying excellent skill) ruins the work for me. Or rather, the way they were added ruined it. Taking on Da Vinci as well as taking on a quintessential scene from Christian theology were perhaps too ambitious. In any case, the final product lacks a clear voice and comes off as blasphemous and sacrilegious (both to the Christian religion and those, like me, who are devoted to the religion of art). Greenaway’s ‘vision’ ruined an original masterpiece.

Installation view of "Leonardo's Last Supper: A Vision by Peter Greenaway." Photo by Colin Miller. Image Courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

The last part of the flashy and slightly crass show was slightly redeeming, as it featured a narration that took time to explain the imagery depicted in Veronese’s Wedding at Cana. While informative (spruced up with fancy overlaid simple graphics) it did initially come off as a bit dry and art historical.  The addition of voice-overs changed that impression, and this last segment ended  with simulated rain and fire in the painted scene, a conclusion that left me non-plussed with Greenaway’s production.

Installation view of "Leonardo's Last Supper: A Vision by Peter Greenaway." Photo by James Ewing. Image Courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Yet Greenaway has done this before, and intends to do this again. The British director intends, with his project Ten Classic Paintings Revisited, to bring together art and film, and inspire viewers to really engage with great works. At a time when the average visitor goes through a museum like a shopper at a supermarket, checking items off a list, I find the intention commendable. But is the execution worthy? Watching a preview of his previous project exploring Rembrandt’s Nightwatch, I was impressed to see a more in-depth exploration of law and justice in 17th-century Netherlands, complete with actors and re-enactments.

With The Last Supper and Wedding at Cana, the dissonance between the static masterpiece and the urge to bring it into a more dynamic medium is nothing short of loud and uncomfortable. The project may have been too ambitious in its choice of artwork and subject matter. Greenaway intends to continue his project and work with Raphael’s Wedding of the Virgin, Picasso’s Guernica, Velasquez’s Las Meninas, Monet’s Water Lilies, Seurat’s La Grande Jatte, Pollock’s One: Number 31, and Michelangelo’s Last Judgment from the Sistine Chapel. An ambitious project. Unfortunately, this time around, I believe Greenaway did not properly command the visual exploration in order to deliver a thoughtful  message. I only hope that his next attempts are more considered. I just know that I won’t be hastening to see the next Greenaway production with the optimistic curiosity I had this time around.

Susan Philipsz, "Lowlands," sound installation, 2010. View of Clyde Walkway, Glasgow. Photo: Eoghan McTigue. Image Courtesy: Glasgow International Festival of Visual Art.

Even transplanted into the empty room of the Tate Britain, Philipsz’s sound piece preserves its haunting quality. The three simultaneous overlapping recordings of slightly differing versions of the sixteenth-century Scottish lament Lowlands Away weave together in harmony and diverge in dissonance. Originally installed under three bridges over the River Clyde in the artist’s native Glasgow, the song (of a drowned sailor returning to tell his love of his demise) served as an aural marker of the darker, seedy underbelly of the Scottish city. The purity of the melancholic sound creates a new and very visceral space to be experienced and considered. Philipsz’s short-listing and win are great achievements for sound artists and sound sculptors, bringing a field of artistic production to public attention that can harness immense power and thrive in today’s multimedia society (as in Nigel Helyer’s piece GhosTrain which I reviewed earlier this year). For more information on Philipsz’s original installation, read Susan Philipsz: Lament for a drowned love and the video on the Tate Channel.

The shortlist of the 26th edition of The Turner Prize includes Angela de la Cruz, Dexter Dalwood, and The Otolith Group.

Angela de la Cruz, "Super Clutter XXL (Pink and Brown)," 2006. Image courtesy: artist and Lisson Gallery.

Spanish-born painter/sculptor Angela de la Cruz was nominated for her solo show After exhibited at the Camden Arts Centre. Her sculptural pieces deconstruct paintings, quite literally, remounting canvases shiny with paint on broken structures. Canvases lay folded, twist contorted, and hang down, unlikely swaths of fabric. Other pieces refigure painting and furniture in unusual forms, sometimes humorous, sometimes sad, sometimes striking.

Dexter Dalwood, "Heman Melville," 2005. Photo: Dave Morgan. Image courtesy: Gagosian Gallery.

British painter Dexter Dalwood was featured for his rather unique style of painterly collage, a creative revision of history painting. Either working off descriptions or from cutout creations, Dalwood depicts imagined spaces, loaded with referents. The works are unusual; they appear to be collages but, upon closer examination, reveal their sharp edges to be the work of brushstroke.

Finally, The Otolith Group’s mission to re-examine images of contemporary society distinguished the artist collective as worthy contenders for the Turner. Otolith, nominated for the exhibition A Long Time Between Suns, brings a new approach to video art by revisiting events, both past and present, by way of original video research and reconstruction.

Turner Prize winner Susan Philipsz along with shortlisted Angela de la Cruz, Dexter Dalwood and The Otolith Group are all on view at the Tate Britain until 3 January 2011.

GL Brierley, Peecheap, oil on wood, 2009. Courtesy of Madder139.

Matersatz, the first solo show for Brierley at Madder139 (and a Saatchi Art News Critics Choice), harkens back to Dutch still-life painting with its luminous subjects placed against dark surroundings. Whereas those types of canvases figured food and identifiable inanimate objects, Brierley almost obsessively paints figures that cannot be named. Pustulent, delicate, latticed, textured, layered, overlapping, the British painter’s figures bridge the beautiful and the gross.

GL Brierley, Covetelle, oil on wood, 2010. Courtesy of Madder139.

The artist explores obsession and fetishism; both in the close attention paid to the act of creation, as well as in the vague compound figures constructed. The surfaces of Brierley’s canvases are intensely textured; paint embodies its materiality to its full potential. It is delicately brushed, spattered, poured, caked on, and allowed to bubble, wrinkle and react. There are moments in the artist’s works that astonish: textures so delicate, such as the lacework in Lovestick 2, that seem impossible. If only for her mastery of oil on wood, Brierley’s work would be a source of endless examination and awe.

GL Brierley, Lovestick 2, oil on wood, 2009. Courtesy of the artist.

GL Brierley, Lovestick 2 (detail), oil on wood, 2009. Courtesy of the artist.

Yet, the British painter transports the viewer to another level beyond the material, to a fantastical cabinet of curiosities, filled with utterly strange and bewitching shapes. Details can be anatomical or sexual (such as Peecheep and Baobola), yet the entire object always remains out of reach. They seem to be complicated amalgams that ultimately rest in their monstrosity. Referencing the extreme plays of light and dark of Caravaggio, Brierley brings a jewel-like opulence to her figures in juxtaposition of extreme dark and focus. Between admiration and recoil, the viewer constantly negotiates the multiple readings of the work in Matersatz.

GL Brierley, Despuz, oil on wood, 2010. Courtesy of the artist.

Perverse yet enthralling, grotesque yet painterly, Brierley’s painted world offers an endless tension between different opposites, ultimately demanding engagement. Matersatz displays a virtuosic command of painterly materials that can only be experienced in person.

A moment of engagement (and an irresistible moment of texture) at Matersatz. Photo by Stefan Zebrowski-Rubin.

Matersatz at Madder139 runs until 28 November. GL Brierley is also currently part of the Liverpool Biennial, on exhibit at Walker Gallery until 3 January, 2011.