Anish Kapoor's "Tall Tree and the Eye" (and The Brow)
The Brow just went to the Anish Kapoor (sculptor known for his revelatory use of form, colour, and space) retrospective at the Royal Academy in London.
The show starts in the courtyard in front of the RA; the first thing you see on walking in is a giant tower of reflective spheres, seemingly suspended in space, mirroring clouds, cobble stones, the buildings surrounding the courtyard, and the myriad visitors with their cameras. Called “Tall Tree and the Eye,” it’s the perfect preview of coming attractions: a work that awakens the viewer to the infinite number of ways of seeing the world and the self in it.
It’s hard to write about art, wine, or sex without sounding ridiculous. Kapoor’s work defies description. He suggest a reason for this: “I have often said that I have nothing to say as an artist. Having something to say implies that one is struggling with meaning. The role of the artist is in fact that we don’t know what to say, and it is that not knowing that leads to the work.”
As one who is pretty much resigned to struggling with meaning, I will say, go to this show if you can. I will say that it’s worth it to see a cannon splatter the hallowed walls of the Royal Academy with a bucket-sized bullet of red wax. It’s worth it to watch the respectable, elderly punters nearly jump out of their skins when the cannon fires with a loud bang. It’s worth it to wander round a room full of magical mirrors, finding yourself looking for yourself in every one. I will say that it’s worth it to lose yourself in a wall of yellow and to feel like you’re being sucked into an omphalos of color and light. It is worth the twelve quid price of admission. And afterwards, let it all sink in over coffee and a slice of orange-almond cake in the lovely Royal Academy restaurant.
Speaking of food, after my transcendent aesthetic experience I trotted over the road for the slightly more prosaic pleasure of a visit to Fortnum and Mason. This is one of those proper feel-good shops, the kind that lulls you into forking over far too much for something small but delicious. My dad took me to the restaurant here for a highly memorable birthday lunch about twenty years ago. I remember being rather awed by the posh surroundings and wondering whether I could have my choffee milkshake before my burger. Dad assured me that the poshness of the place meant I could have exactly what I wanted, when I wanted, without anyone batting an eyelid. And so I did. Then we went to see “Cats” which was rubbish.
Today, I didn’t stop to eat — just wandered the store leaving a trail of drool, like a large and inedible snail. And bought a few gifts. And saw Ronnie Corbett in the gift-wrapping department. What more could one ask for in a shopping experience?