A thirst for Hirst

On Easter Monday I took my dad to the Damien Hirst exhibition at the Tate Modern on a much needed breather.  As we braved the outdoors, I can honestly say that it was all truly worthwhile. Even my dad really enjoyed it (and this is a person who couldn’t be less interested in exhibitions normally!)

Hirst is one of the most famous and richest living British artists and like many people I have mixed feelings about Hirst and his art. On the one hand I think that he has a brilliant way of thinking, on the other hand I find the way he produces and makes art difficult to understand. 

I think that Hirst made a good point in his Channel 4 documentary the other week when he said, when someone walks into a gallery of modern art they say a monkey could do that (or like my dad said upon entering the first room of the exhibition: "Lucie, you see, I could have easily made a row of coloured pans!"), when you can do a drawing that looks realistic then you are a real artist. I think that this is a relevant point that people who don't have an open mind only think art is only 'good' when it looks true to life, however not many modern artists work in that way any more. Hirst is a clear example of this: 

By preserving dead animals in formaldehyde and then exhibiting them in glass boxes in an art gallery, Hirst found a remarkably effective way to bring us face to face with death’s emptiness, its finality, its silence.

Coucou!

If you happen to go to this exhibition, make sure to look closely at the googly-eyed fish in ‘Isolated Elements Swimming in the Same Direction for the Purpose of Understanding’ - they are mesmerising. To me it looks as though death caught each one by surprise. They look startled to find themselves in a state of eternal non-existence. Hirst seems to make it plain that death is not a state of  endless sleep – it is eternal suspension in nothingness, the final destination that still awaits you and me.

One of my favourites was the sugary sweet scent of ‘In And Out Of Love (1993)’ – a space where life prevails and makes its own art as nature designs the brightly flecked bodies of the butterflies and those butterflies decorate the room’s white surfaces.

The visceral sights, sounds and smells of birth and death that my dad and I endured were laid out before us.

The room contained five white canvases embedded with pupae from which butterflies hatched.   

The room explodes in a riot of colour and vitality, as living butterflies float freely about the space, occasionally flitting down to settle quietly on a bowl of fruit, or a flower or even a hapless visitor.

I was in awe of nature’s designs on the butterflies’ wings, blinking in and out of sight.

 The many pieces involving ashtrays full of cigarette butts speak of the state of endless waiting – for change, for death, or for consolation.

And last but by no means least...the one and only...Damien Hirst skull - the one piece of work that we all know of  from the inside and out.

‘For the Love of God’, is a life-size cast in platinum of a human skull covered in more than 8000 diamonds. I queued for half an hour, but it was well worth the wait. The few minutes that I spent in the Turbine Hall gazing at this one piece sent innumerable shivers down my spine. This is because it reminds us that even when Hirst makes something beautiful, death and evil are all constant presences. 

In a nutshell – all the boxes (including those filled with formaldehyde) are ticked. For me, the Tate Modern is successful in reminding us that Hirst’s works are not meant to be simply looked at...they are meant to be experienced.