“The Mother” is a monolith a lumpen form, earth bound, of the earth, bled from the earth’s hidden cache of molten metal. It is an elegant amalgam of the most base forces of spirit
and will. Insisted with life gnarled fists on the clay formed bronze.
“The Mother” is elemental it draws you in, bound to its mass, pulled in, orbiting tight in its gravity. It
is a precursor to itself, in that it will be echoed in the commission to be installed on Oslo’ s museum island, beside the Munch museum, late in the spring of 2020
It is echoed again
in the other “fallen” forms in. gallery II. Two Languorous figures laying in extended arabesques. In the case of “When I sleep” (2018, 116.5cmX434cmX265cm) A massive piece of supine calligraphy, calves welted together, stilling the
crawl of a taught foetal spasm, the torso and head exploding inwards, the backbone is in part exposed. It is gentle and absolute, a weighted mess of feelings.
In “I lay here for
you” (2018, 147cmX638cmX285cm) the bronze lies braced in “the moment,” a slender pause caught up in the little fits of onanistic pleasures, her hands hidden by thigh and buttock attendant on her loins. The head anchors the figure to the floor
triangulating all the points of nascent joy, the intrinsic rapture of a ghost fuck at the hands of an imagined absent lover. Crowded in ecstatic repose.
In the both, in the all, there is
the same puckered patina iridescent under the gallery’s fluorescent lighting. Reflected in the tiny sculptures, fetish’s, talismans, held in the vitrines of the “Ashes room.” There are the rain washed, melded, svelte little golden fishes
fit to cross a prescient’s palm. Then the hand-written double-ply Ouja cards circling the empty inverted wine glass, the flux of malign and twisted portents. Here the walls are hung with the many of Emin’s line drawings, all executed with the same
sublime astutely apt aesthetic. In an anti-room within the ashes room gallery, there is a video instalation of the small coffin that bore her Mothers ashes. It plays over and over, looping all through the day and behind our backs, through the night. All the
much and the many more. An exquisite plethora of Tracey Emin artefacts.