Mark Leckey pumps up the volume at the Serpentine

The tremors of bass that reverberated through the Serpentine Gallery prior to the show were telling of things to come. Likened to the romping thuds of an imminent T-Rex in Jurassic Park, it was what we could hear and feel, rather than what we could see, that sparked a wave of excitable conversation (though it’s a shame we didn't have bowls of Jell-O with us).

Set in the domed central room of the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park, 2008 Turner Prize winning artist Mark Leckey performs BigBoxActionStatue (2003-2011). It primarily consists of two towering structures opposing one another in a stubborn standoff. The first is a tall languorous bronze sculpture whose soft undulations and weathered patina assure us that we are, in fact, observing a Henry Moore (Upright Motive No. 9 - 1979). Opposite is a gargantuan block of wood and electronics - a stacked speaker system decked with an array of speaks that allow for earpiercing highs and heart-shaking bass – all of which is tested by thirty minutes of recordings. Then there is a ring of roughly 50 onlookers who often find their attention meandering across the room to observe another's reaction. But where most darting eyes manage to rest is on Mark Leckey, who, standing beside the speakerblock like a faithful sidekick, stares meaningfully at the head of the anthropomorphic bronze with such certainty that one is sure that SOMEthing is bound to happen at any moment.

Disappointingly perhaps, the sculpture never bursts out from its shell (at least not at this performance). But the effect of Mark's posturing and occasional vocals is one of a deep contemplation - lack of movement means a greater focus upon the incredible and incessant array of sounds that attempt to prize a reaction out of this obstinate sculpture - kind of like getting your grandmother to admit there's sense to be found in Tracy Emin’s My Bed.

Sounds from the speakerbox range from rhythmic beats to Leckey’s chants to, more often than not, untamed noise, all testing the highs and lows of the speakers' capabilities, and entail a search through a parsed variety of musical genres (80s synth to classical and choir) and emotional crescendos. And though our subjects are motionless, it is this amalgamation of sound that provides one with food for thought, inspiring tentative possibilities, all surrounding this conversation, or rather monologue, between speaker and sculpture, contemporary and traditional, vocal and mute, industrial and natural. Not only does the sound develop within us a strong desire to see the Moore react, but we also see the speakerblock change from a utility for entertainment - one representative of our most heady nights - to a provocative tool of debate. The subtle guidance of Leckey the maestro doesn't just coax the Moore into a modern life, but also adds a new dimension, and a greater purpose, to the commonplace soundsystem. In a strange sense, this is the transformation and celebration of the individuality of the speakerbox.

Hmm, maybe that's a bit rich. The point is, with BigBoxActionStatue, Mark Leckey has created a catalyst for imagination. He sparks your thought process into a world of improbabilities that, at least while you’re still in the Serpentine, seems perfectly sane. It is why you entertain the idea of the Henry Moore raising its arms and bellowing back at the speakers. It is why, when a woman faints in the middle of the performance you wonder if she is just the first of many who are collectively experiencing some spiritual revelation that climaxes with a thud on the floor. It is why this performance is worthwhile.

Remaining BigBoxActionStatue performance dates: Thurs. June 9th @ 7pm; Thurs. June 16th @ 7pm Performances are free though booking is essential – RSVP information@serpentinegallery.org
BigBoxActionStatue at the Serpentine Gallery is part of the Mark Leckey exhibition SEE, WE ASSEMBLE that runs until June 26th, 2011
Closest tube: From south of Hyde Park - South Kensington, Knightsbridge; From north of Hyde Park - Lancaster Gate, Queensway;
Photo Credit: Mark Blower, www.serpentinegallery.org
Special thanks to Charlotte McGuinness

Saatchi Gallery's Newspeak: British Art Now - Part Two - When multiplying two negatives does not make a positive...

Wherever you want to place the blame, be it winter, the recession, or British stereotype, the Saatchi Gallery's second installment of British art has a cynical feel. The next few installments of LAR will take a look at this attitude through a few focused reviews.

Anthea Hamilton's The Piano Lesson (2007) is an attractive and critical piece that looks as though it is the brainchild of a disgruntled professional musician. Supported by Hamilton's opposite placed Mirrored Guitar, this piece's abundance of symbolism points to musical relations and metaphors in the form of balance, rhythm, and control.

Balance is presented as two separate colored balls sitting upon the two tiptoed feet of an upside-down transparent half-mannequin, an upright half-mannequin standing upon one leg, and a ball sitting still atop a stack of smooth tiles. Meanwhile, rhythm is evident in The Piano Lesson's stage - a crosswalk of black and white tiled keys - and is highlighted by two sets of evenly splayed bamboo sticks, which are clear representations of a grand piano's 'harp' of strings. And as if to entice the viewer into engaging more than just their visual sense, Hamilton places at the center of her piece a lanky piece of plywood whose undulations mimic the sound waves emanating from the keys below.

Upon closer examination of the vertical bamboo harp, one notices that between the bamboo sticks lies a smattering of broken and multicolored tiles. One might think this was disruptive, but amidst piano keys and sonorous planks of wood we see the musician's challenge. Hamilton gives us the pieces and asks us to control the chaos. Are you a virtuoso who envisions these broken tiles as a mosaic, or an unpracticed pupil whose touch is as delicate as an elephant's?

Above The Piano Lesson is a croissant hanging by a noose. If that croissant is representative of the beauty at stake when you are playing an instrument, then there is only one conclusion left to be drawn:

Apparently you're an elephant.

ARTeFact o' the Week! Learning about the world, one artwork at a time

Studio Job's Robber Baron table lamp, 2006 First things first. Did some insane couple really name their son 'Studio Job'? Is this the necessary stroke of genius that ensures a kid will grow up to be rich and famous?? Unfortunately, this isn't the case. Well maybe we should name our children Art Mogul or Ty Coon, but the success of this is yet to be proven. (Hieronymus Bosch?) Studio Job is a Dutch design studio created by Job Smeets in 1998, and later joined by Nynke Tynagel, as well as a number of assistants. Yeah, a little disappointing, but Job and Nynke's names are still under suspicion as the sole justification of their artistic creativity. On to the art. As we have seen on LAR, the Robber Baron series is a set of interior pieces that both glorifies and shames the ignoble lives of 19th century American tycoons. The Robber Baron table lamp is one such piece, which follows the criteria as a combined effort of great architectural achievements, stacking the Parthenon, Empire State Building and St Peter's Basilica. It is all black except for the light emitting from within the building, and the bronze cloud ring from which the building triumphantly towers through and above. Atop the structure is the Empire State Building's famous spire. From this we see, attached by its nose, a Zeppelin-like airship. When the Empire State Building was built, this spire was intended to act as a moor for such airships. This proved impractical because of the turbulent updrafts caused by the buildings height. While the Robber Baron table lamp symbolizes man's great achievements from the ancients to modern day, the inclusion of the airship, a technological failure, casts an ironic doubt on these accomplishments. With failed technology came the downfall of many American fatcats, along with their dreams, money and power. Photo Credit: vam.ac.uk

Victoria & Albert: Telling Tales - Fantasy and Fear in Contemporary Design

In every decade of the last century, the top designers have exhibited pieces of exceptional flair, often reflecting their personality, as well as the times. In recent years, modern designers have produced increasingly personal and imaginative objects, to the point that they are being sold as either unique or limited edition pieces. While this trend has produced household objects of enormous aesthetic appeal, many of these objects are being seriously questioned of their functionality. The V&A's Telling Tales presents us with a variety of such designer pieces, every one of which contributes to the question of art or design. The exhibition addresses this through a number of European designers' works, all of which are related to a theme of story telling that has been divided into three subgenres. Frolicking through The Forest Glade is a seemingly lighthearted experience, tainted by some sort of underlying deceit, while The Enchanted Castle exudes eeriness, with its grandfather clock tunes and distorted mirrors. The mood of Heaven and Hell is disconcerting, not the least because the objects are struggling to be judged as design. Maarten Baas's Sculpt wardrobe, 2007: A wise fashionista once told me, "it is a designer's job to bring style to function." This piece's skewed shape and rippled sides give the impression it could have been chiseled out of a cliff side. It's like the warped furniture we occasionally saw in the distorted realities of Calvin & Hobbes. The important point to Sculpt wardrobe is that it maintains its purpose, while offering a strikingly unusual style. Albeit for a caveman. Tord Boontje's The Fig Leaf wardrobe, 2008: Boontje attributes the inspiration of this piece to the Garden of Eden. While this influence is evident, I think you'll find this on a theater set before it makes it into someones bedroom. Boontje's work is an example of a contemporary designer taking a step beyond his means. Studio Job's Robber Baron table, 2006: The Robber Baron series aims to both "celebrate and shame" the 19th century American tycoons, who both made and spent excessive amounts of money. Robber Baron table embodies a surreal interior piece of one such fat cat. The piece is comprised of a black factory with four smoke stacks, from which a billowing cloud of gilded pollution flattens as the surface of a coffee table. Part of five pieces in the series (all present at the V&A), Studio Job's Robber Baron series demonstrates a virtuoso ability to combine functional design with autonomous art, and is alone worth a visit to this exhibition. Niels van Eijk's 'Moulded Mole' slippers, 2004: The use of animal skin in the fashion industry is a divided affair. Van Eijk bluntly raises the debate in his refusal to remove any external features of the mole (eyes, nose, mouth, feet) in creating his 'Moulded Mole' slippers. In the 1850's the South Kensington Museum (now the V&A) was opened as a museum for the people (aka the working classes). Its focus on arts and crafts, as well as design, was intended to uplift the standards and taste of the masses. After seeing this exhibition and knowing the government still backs the V&A for its original values, I no longer feel embarrassed to bring my fishflops into town. Dates: Until October 18th, 2009 Admission: Free Tube Stop: South Kensington (District and Circle lines) Notes: 5 minute walk. Photo Credits: Maarten van Houten (Sculpt wardrobe), R. Kot (Robber Baron), vam.ac.uk

The Hayward Gallery - Walking In My Mind

Don't touch! Really? Hopefully you wouldn't dream of getting hands-on in an Old Masters gallery, but when it comes to modern and contemporary galleries the temptations have grown more common, and with it, these sorts of reprimands. The boundaries of an artist's freedom within a museum have expanded exponentially in the last century, so to should the freedom of the spectator. The Hayward Gallery's most recent exhibition "Walking In My Mind" invites you to 'adventure into the artist's mind,' by walking amidst Yayoi Kusama's polka-dotted hallucinations (above) or meandering through Thomas Hirschhorn's (literally) cavernous thoughts. If you savor the surreal then this exhibition will thrill you. Charles Avery's surreal creations are truly mythical. His work is entirely based upon the objects, people, and nature of an imaginative island. Seen through the eyes of an unidentified explorer, the spectator examines a variety of island specimen: rockmice, a solopsist (as well as the solipsist's hat), and The Eternity Chamber. The surreal continues with English artist Keith Tyson's studio wall drawings (below). Brought together by a uniform size, Tyson's pictures are gridded across three walls as three stacked rows. Tyson draws from his own ideas and emotions, the emotions of those around him, and the effects of significant events going on in the outside world. The results, which we now witness, take us on a visual trip into his studio, his laboratory, and his mind. The clutter of the unconscious is brought forth to the conscious in Jason Rhoades Creation Myth (1998). The spectator is made to snake around an enormous conglomerate of stacked tables decorated with red, fabric tunnels, TVs, a train carrying a stuffed-animal snake, stacked magazines, cameras, buckets, shredded paper, a surplus of wires and countless other seemingly random items. Creation Myth is about the mind as a source of creation and how it arbitrarily files our thoughts away, eventually helping us to create more. As I sauntered around Creation Myth, I came across a small step ladder upon which sat a little black box adorned with a shiny red button, which appeared to be connected to one giant speaker. Quick to ignore my colleague's advice, I pressed the button. A gallery assistant immediately protested, announcing that the button was not meant for pressing, and that any sound I heard as a result of pressing the button was merely a coincidence. I fought back, declaring the universal truth that "buttons are made for pressing." My associate wisely concluded that to prevent this from happening again, the gallery ought to cover the button with a piece of cloth or even a hanky. The assistant didn't think much of either of us. Whether the artist meant this or not, the addition of a button to his installation did exactly as his work dictates: it creates. Not only did it create a string of events, it created a memory that was stored away in the mind, ready to benefit a future creation. Dates: Walking In My Mind - until 6th September 2009 Admission: £9, £8 for 60+, £6 for students, £4.50 for 12-18, free for under 12 Tube Stop: Waterloo (Jubilee, Northern, and Bakerloo lines, National Rail), Embankment (Circle, District, Northern, and Bakerloo lines) Notes: 5 minute walk from Waterloo. From Embankment: 10 minute walk. Cross walking bridge immediately at entrance of station, once across turn left, walking along the river for 1 minute. minute walk. Photo Credits: guardian.co.uk

Saatchi Gallery - Abstract America: New Painting and Sculpture

Kristen Baker's The Raft of Perseus (2006)

The 'abstract' genre does not encompass all of the works on display in Charles Saatchi's latest exhibition, but that does not prove to be an issue in this highly entertaining contemporary art gallery. The gallery displays an array of media, which constantly refreshes the mind and reengages the viewer. Whether you are amused by Aaron Young’s subliminal abstract print or in awe with Peter Coffin’s ludicrous spiral staircase, this free exhibition will feel like time well spent.

It seems a contemporary art exhibition focusing on American artists wouldn't be complete with out a bit of NASCAR racing. Connecticut-born artist, Kristin Baker, is an enthusiast for racing. This can be seen in Washzert Suisse (2005), an acrylic painting of a Formula 1 car speeding ahead through a blaze of vivid, fractured colors. Think futurism at lightspeed. The quality of Baker's work is in her desire for action, adrenaline and drama, which she brilliantly reflects in a harmonizing synthesis of her style and subject matter.

Gallery 2 introduces you to the San Francisco born artist, Aaron Young, whose performance pieces have gained attention for his inclination to use motorcycles as his brush. Performance artists have often viewed the leftovers of their performances as an artwork independent of the event itself. Here we see this with The Young And The Driftless (2007), a 7 ft high rectangle of glass that Young stood in front of, while a motorcyclist sped around a gallery burning rubber in his face. As the glass was coated in glue, the result of the flying rubber was a ghostly portrait of the artist.

Adjacent to this is an enormous, black, plywood panel, covered with snaking neon orange tubes, that appears to be one of those indecipherable magnified photos of an amino acid straight out of your school biology book. It’s awesome to find out that these glowworms are the result of 12 motorcycles revving and screeching across a series of these plywood panels, articulating the artist's intention of expanding on Jackson Pollock's subconscious drip-painting style. Video of Aaron Young's Greeting Card (2007) Dates: Abstract America- until 17th January 2010 Admission: Free Tube stop: Sloane Square (District and Circle lines) Notes: 10 minute walk from station. Recommend purchasing 'Picture By Picture Guide' (1.50). For your own amusement, be sure to come to your own conclusions before reading about an artwork.

(Photo Credit: independent.co.uk)