Rebecca Horn is back at the Hayward Gallery for the summer, but this time she has been given the run of the whole place. “Bodylandscapes” is a retrospective exhibition, spanning the past four decades of the artist’s career. The show has not been arranged chronologically, but in sequences that appear calculated to evoke a series of different moods, from the eerily sinister to the elegiac. The result resembles a fine art version of an fairground experience, like taking a ride on some slightly creaky old-fashioned ghost train – but one freighted with all kinds of heavyweight literary and mythological references. Oscar Wilde, Franz Kafka and James Joyce are obscurely alluded to, in sundry automated sculptures that incorporate copies of their works – opening and shutting them with mechanical hands, spattering them with paint splashed by automated paintbrushes, and so on. But the overall balance of the presentation is skewed towards Horn’s more recent work, much of which takes the form of large and somewhat hectically scribbled drawings. Even in the domain of mechanised sculpture, she has increasingly taken to working with lights, mirrors, and reflections, rather than the eccentric, heath-Robinson-like machinery for which she is principally known.
Rebecca Horn is back at the Hayward Gallery for the summer, but this time she has been given the run of the whole place. “Bodylandscapes” is a retrospective exhibition, spanning the past four decades of the artist’s career. The show has not been arranged chronologically, but in sequences that appear calculated to evoke a series of different moods, from the eerily sinister to the elegiac. The result resembles a fine art version of an fairground experience, like taking a ride on some slightly creaky old-fashioned ghost train – but one freighted with all kinds of heavyweight literary and mythological references. Oscar Wilde, Franz Kafka and James Joyce are obscurely alluded to, in sundry automated sculptures that incorporate copies of their works – opening and shutting them with mechanical hands, spattering them with paint splashed by automated paintbrushes, and so on. But the overall balance of the presentation is skewed towards Horn’s more recent work, much of which takes the form of large and somewhat hectically scribbled drawings. Even in the domain of mechanised sculpture, she has increasingly taken to working with lights, mirrors, and reflections, rather than the eccentric, heath-Robinson-like machinery for which she is principally known.
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