Olafur Eliasson‘s installation in the Turbine Hall of the Tate Modern:
“In this installation, The Weather Project, representations of the sun and sky dominate the expanse of the Turbine Hall. A fine mist permeates the space, as if creeping in from the environment outside. Throughout the day, the mist accumulates into faint, cloud-like formations, before dissipating across the space. A glance overhead, to see where the mist might escape, reveals that the ceiling of the Turbine Hall has disappeared, replaced by a reflection of the space below. At the far end of the hall is a giant semi-circular form made up of hundreds of mono-frequency lamps. The arc repeated in the mirror overhead produces a sphere of dazzling radiance linking the real space with the reflection. Generally used in street lighting, mono-frequency lamps emit light at such a narrow frequency that colours other than yellow and black are invisible, thus transforming the visual field around the sun into a vast duotone landscape.”
Text from Tate
Four beautiful photographs to sum up one beautiful weekend:
The sun is shining, summer is here, so here’s an artist with the sunniest of names: Sol LeWitt.
Sol LeWitt’s study of spheres is a study of time and its relationship with art. Each photograph is simultaneously a documentation of the specific state of illumination as well as part of the artist’s abstract narrative.
Inside the Artist’s Studio
Landscape in art, De Chirico says here, is not a copy of the exterior world, as the ordinary viewer naturally thinks, but a reflection of the artist’s mind.
In W.G. Sebald’s book The Rings of Saturn, he talks about Polish writer Joseph Conrad and how his father, Apollo Korzeniowski, was sentenced to exile in Vologda, a god-forsaken town somewhere in Russia. Apollo wrote in the summer of 1863:
“There are only two seasons: the white winter and the green winter. For nine months the ice-cold air sweeps down from the Arctic sea. The thermometer plunges to unbelievable depths and one is surrounded by a limitless darkness. During the green winter it rains week in week out. The mud creeps over the threshold, rigor mortis is temporarily lifted and a few signs of life, in the form of an all-pervasive merasmus, begin to manifest themselves. In the white winter everything is dead, during the green winter everything is dying.”
OK, winter is not that bad here in the sunny coast of Spain, but winter is winter. And now it’s over, so HELLO Spring, let’s soak up the sun!