Dinner at the members club? Yes! i’ll have a black americano first pls
23 March - 11 May
Unit 4, 88 Mile End Road, E1
The role of an art reviewer, per se, seems to be to recommend whether or not it’s worth going to see an exhibition. Usually the piece is published just after the private view, and then it’s on to the next opening, no hesitations or second thoughts, just consume, produce, provide, get the job done. I say this because I would recommend you go see this show, but I know that there’s only one last day to go, so...So perhaps this is not a review, it is, more accurately, a reflection on an encounter that has stayed with me, that I’m still trying to figure out, no conclusion necessary.
I remember the smell, oily, like freshly installed flooring, or half-dry paint lingering in the air. I remember the smooth, but tarnished and dirty cooper sheeting that covered the floor, even into the office, even into the loo. I remember the mess of strewn drink boxes and brightly coloured candy wrappers. And the massive paintings, a patchwork of marked and battered fabrics, propped against the walls like spectators to a party that’s long gone.
The impression of roughness is striking. Amidst an art world full of finished, polished, clean and carefully placed objects, it’s wildly disconcerting and strange to encounter all this ‘mess’. Until I realise that what I’m actually feeling is relaxed and not uncomfortable at all. I let out a sigh of relief to be free of that subtle, white-cube-induced fear that I might damage something / make a scuff / ruin the cleanliness of the gallery with my dirty trainers.
The other striking thing about this show is the sense of proliferation and production that underlies the work. I imagine that Murillo is constantly creating, sewing, marking, molding and scrawling, and that he must have a studio just chalk full of stuff. But, for all of their evidence of being hand-made, this work doesn’t feel precious or sacred, the artist clearly isn’t self-consciously pondering each mark and there’s something frankly gutsy and refreshing about this approach. Primarily because it all feels rather intelligent, unusual, and even shrewd.
Especially as I start to suspect that the subject of the work seems to be us. Or rather the invisible ‘us’ that is at the centre of a newly globalised art world, a place that quickly becomes as complicated and as conflicted as the regular globalised world. I’m reminded of how interviews with Murillo always reference his Columbian heritage, and the inclusion of his family in his performances, but now I wonder if what they are actually referring to is the sense of ‘difference’ which that very description inherently provokes.
In a quantifiable and physical way, this is work about residue: one thing rubbing off on another, and then fitting together all the odd pieces to make a whole. It is about the artist making a mark on his surroundings, and then inviting the viewer to the show. But I think the interesting thing that happens, specifically when making the exhibition an immersive installation, is that the viewer becomes poignantly aware that they don’t actually belong. This is the world of the artist, where no doubt he feels at home, yet we remain outsiders. And it seems like a metaphor for that complex emotion that is awakened by feeling both entirely immersed in, yet ultimately not part of a group or culture. A very interesting proposition indeed, I’d like to see more - no conclusion necessary. -JB
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