Behind The Red Moon by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern

Soon after Tate Modern was opened in 2000 its vast Turbine Hall became known as a space which challenged contemporary artists to create installations large and dynamic enough to fill it, in a series of special commissions, which have wowed the art world, Londoners and the millions of tourists who visit the gallery. Just recently the latest effort to fill, dazzle and amaze went on show. It is ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by the Ghanaian-British artist, El Anatsui.

‘Behind The Red Moon’ consists of three huge installations which are, basically, hangings suspended from the high ceiling.

They are made from ‘industrial’ materials, namely thousands of repurposed liquor bottle tops and metal fragments which have been crumpled, crushed, and connected by hand with copper wire into huge hangings. Later, large sheets were pieced together to form massive abstract fields of colour, shape, and line.

Act 1. The Red Moon

As you enter the Turbine Hall and walk down the gentle concrete ramp you are presented with an enormous red hanging. It is, of course, about slavery, as so much contemporary art is, especially that at the guilt-ridden Tate galleries:

The red side of ‘Act 1. The Red Moon’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

Curator explanation:

The first hanging on the ramp resembles a majestic sail billowing out in the wind. Ships have transported people and goods around the world since ancient times. During the transatlantic slave trade, enslaved African peoples were sold and exchanged for gold, sugar, spirits and other commodities. They were then taken across the ocean towards the Americas, with many labouring on sugar plantations that fuelled the alcohol industry. Later, spirits produced in the Caribbean would be shipped to Europe, and from there to Western Africa. The bottle tops used in this commission derive from a trade network of present-day commodities rooted in colonial histories. At the height of the transatlantic trade in the 18th century, sailors would sometimes use the moon to guide their journeys. Its gravitational tug as Earth’s natural satellite also sets the rhythm of the ocean’s tides. Here, red bottle tops form the outline of a red ‘blood’ moon, seen during a lunar eclipse. Elemental forces interweave with human histories of power, oppression, dispersion and survival.

When you walk beyond it you discover that the other side of the sail is yellow.

The yellow side of ‘Act 1. The Red Moon’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

Act 2. The World

The second installation is completely different – a cluster of vaguely zoomorphic shapes – yellow-gold in colour, maybe fish or fragments of continents?

Atrium view of ‘Act 2. The World’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

The trick is that, when you climb up the stairs from the atrium to the bridge spanning the two parts of Tate Modern you realise that they’ve been hung close together and then that, from a specific point of view, these apparently random shapes coalesce to form a circle. It is the earth.

Bridge view of ‘Act 2. The World’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

The curators explain:

The sculpture in front of the Turbine Hall bridge is composed of multiple layers. They suggest a loose grouping of human figures, suspended in the air in a state of movement. When viewed from a particular position on the bridge, the fragmented shapes converge into the single circular form of the Earth. The circle echoes the red moon of the sail as a fellow celestial body. Anatsui has a longstanding interest in the fragment as a symbol of renewal and restoration. He has said that ‘breaking is not destruction but a necessity for reforming.’ As separate elements, the group of restless human forms might imply dispersion through the migration and movement of people across the globe, both forced and voluntary. When viewed together, the fragmentary circle gestures towards new formations of collective identities and experiences….The ethereal appearance of the figures is achieved using thin bottle top seals wired together to create a semi-transparent, net-like material.

Act 3. The Wall

Finally we walk under the bridge and are presented with the third and largest work, another hanging, in a dire, threatening black.

Black side of ‘Act 3. The Wall’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

Once again, when you walk beyond you discover that the other side is a completely different colour and mood, the same kind of yellowy gold colour.

Yellow side of ‘Act 3. The Wall’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

A quote from the artist makes explicit the link between Tate, the slave trade and this work:

‘Tate & Lyle sugar was the only brand we used during my childhood in the Gold Coast. I came to understand that the sugar industry grew from the transatlantic [slave] trade and the movement of goods and people. My idea is to play with all these elements.’ El Anatsui

According to the curators:

Facing the yellow back of the sail, the wall might suggest an arrival at shore. Metal pools rise from the ground at the base of the wall, resembling crashing waves and rocky peaks. For Anatsui, the use of black refers to the continent of Africa and its global diaspora, charged with the potential of homecoming and return. Moving behind the wall reveals an edifice of shimmering silver, covered in a multi-coloured mosaic. As lines and waves of blackness and technicolour meet, they echo the collision of global cultures and hybrid identities that Anatsui invites us to consider throughout the commission.

Here’s what the folds of fabric look like at the foot of the piece:

Detail of the foot of the black side of ‘Act 3. The Wall’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

And certainly, because this one comes down to floor height you can really see the way that what appears to be a shimmery light fabric from a distance, is in fact made up of metal fragments, bottle tops and other strips bearing logos of consumer products.

Detail of the gold side of ‘Act 3. The Wall’ from ‘Behind The Red Moon’ by El Anatsui @ Tate Modern (photo by the author)

What did I think? Well, I always like the use of industrial waste and detritus or stuff found lying around, hence my liking for the Arte Povera movement and Land Art. And they’re certainly very very big, and do create a sort of billowing shimmery effect. And they play the slave trade card very adeptly, the same slave trade topic which was addressed by Kara Walker in this very space just three years ago. Maybe Tate should rename it The Slave Trade Hall and make every (white) visitor wear chains for the length of their visit. (Now that actually would be a challenging piece of interactive art.)

But, as you can tell, in the end, it’s very good, it’s very competent, it presses the right buttons, but…meh.


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The Procession by Hew Locke @ Tate Britain

Every year Tate commissions established artists to create installations for its two London galleries. The ones which fill Tate Modern’s huge Turbine Gallery tend to get a lot of press. Less attention is devoted to the commission to fill the long hall or central atrium of Tate Britain. This year’s commission was awarded to well-established Black British sculptor Hew Locke. With a certain inevitability, a Black artist decided to cover the topics of race, slavery and empire.

The result is a big bold piece which fills the central hall of Tate Britain with a parade of mannequins – of men, women, children, horses – dressed in a spectacular array of clothes and costumes, designed, stitched together, a surreal mish-mash of fabrics and colours and patterns, created just for this show, and titled ‘The Procession’.

Installation view of ‘The Procession’ by Hew Locke (2022) (Photo by the author)

Like most Tate shows this one is accompanied by a wealth – possibly a rather overwhelming wealth – of explanation and interpretation. You can read:

  1. Tate’s Hew Locke biography
  2. Tate’s Introduction to The Procession
  3. Tate’s fairly long Guide to The Procession
  4. or watch the 8-minute video about its inspiration and creation

Introduction

To quote Tate:

‘The Procession’ invites visitors to “reflect on the cycles of history, and the ebb and flow of cultures, people and finance and power.” Tate Britain’s founder was art lover and sugar refining magnate Henry Tate. In the installation Locke says he ‘makes links with the historical after-effects of the sugar business, almost drawing out of the walls of the building,’ also revisiting his artistic journey so far, including, for example, work with statues, share certificates, cardboard, rising sea levels, Carnival and the military.

Throughout the long, busy work, visitors will see figures who travel through space and time. Here, they carry historical and cultural baggage – from evidence of global financial and violent colonial control embellished on their clothes and banners – alongside powerful images of some of the disappearing colonial architecture of Locke’s childhood in Guyana.

The installation takes inspiration from real events and histories but, overall, the figures invite us to walk alongside them, into an enlarged vision of an imagined future.

I must say I didn’t get any of this at all from actually walking round and along ‘The Procession’. The colours and the way some figures were riding on horses distantly reminded me slightly of Renaissance processions – a very ragtag, surreal distortion of one. But the main impression is of daunting, intimidatingly alien figures with masks or veiled faces or blank mannequin faces from a nightmarish horror sci-fi movie.

Installation view of ‘The Procession’ by Hew Locke (2022) (Photo by the author)

Exhibition guide

The exhibition guide explains that ‘The Procession’ is divided into into sections devoted to themes or topics, mostly about empire, colonialism and rebellion.

  • Carnival
  • Post-Colonial Trade
  • Ghosts Of Slavery
  • Environmental Disaster
  • Monuments To Empire
  • Revolution And Emancipation

These read like chapters from a book and that is very much what the guide turns the work into – a series of tableaux, each one exemplifying one of the themes listed above. Reading the guide you realise that an impressive amount of work has gone into selecting the themes, thinking about them and then crafting tableaux to represent them using an interesting variety of source materials.

Installation view of ‘The Procession’ by Hew Locke (2022) (Photo by the author)

Each element of each outfit, every bit of fabric, plus objects like the palanquin or banners or huge images of old share certificates painted onto fabric, each of these elements has a complex backstory. Some elements are from the white imperialists and business organisations which organised and profited from the slave trade and sugar production on slave-worked plantations in Guyana (where Locke grew up).

But others reference African culture, slave culture, and the post-slavery Black culture Hew himself grew up and experienced. All changed, transmogrified into a Surreal and often quite nightmarish vision of history collapsing in on itself. The friend I went with absolutely loved the workmanship of the fabrics, looking in detail at how different coloured fabrics, printed or painted with a bewildering variety of patterns, had been crafted, juxtaposed and so on.

But I was frightened. I found the whole thing ominous and nightmarish. Faceless figures threatening violent revenge.

Installation view of ‘The Procession’ by Hew Locke (2022) (Photo by the author)

The man below – one of two bearing a stake of wood from which hangs a small fabric basket containing the bust of a white man – he doesn’t look like he’s marching into “into an enlarged vision of an imagined future.” The small figures wearing veils of fabric in the first two images in this review don’t look like carefree toddlers in a playground; to me they look like the psychopathic dwarf in the movie ‘Don’t Look Now’.

Installation view of ‘The Procession’ by Hew Locke (2022)

The Surreal fusion of white, Black, Western and African aesthetics didn’t strike me as Rainbow Nation liberation but reminds me all-too-much of the bizarre post-civilisation outfits worn by the many rebel guerrilla movements which have characterised Africa since independence – voodoo believers dressed in Man Utd shirts and toting semi-automatics. Cold-eyed killers wielding machetes while wearing garish wigs and women’s dresses. Scroll through the first five pages of this website to see what I mean. Or:

Torture, death and dismemberment have come to millions of Africans wearing bizarre outfits, wigs, handbags, kids’ toys, makeup, machine guns and machetes. The deliberate mashup of Locke’s work might be intended to make all kinds of points about resistance to Western imperialism and economic and social norms, but – unfortunately, and unintentionally – reminded me of the hundreds of descriptions I’ve read of mind-boggling violence in African conflicts.

Maybe my imagination has been damaged by reading too many accounts of too many African civil wars, but this installation gave me the willies. Instead of liberal guilt, which I assume is the desired output, I just felt fear, fear of a world which will – in light of inevitable global climate change, the collapse of Third World countries and the resulting mass migration (which, the guide tells us, Locke references somewhere amid these garish costumes) – become more and more like this, multicultural incomprehension, social collapse, people living amid the rags and tatters of the old civilisation, inventing new cults, practicing horrific violence.

Sorry. That’s how it felt to me. The friend I went with felt none of this and just loved the fabrics, the patterns, the designs and how they’d been cunningly assembled. Either way it’s a striking installation. Go and decide for yourself.


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I’ve read too many books about unbelievable cruelty, atrocity and horror in post-independence Africa.

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