What’s the point of it?

After over an hour wandering around this exhibition I still have no answer to this question. None. Not even a smidgen. There didn’t seem a point as such to any of it, but I think maybe that is the point. Maybe.

Before I go any further I should probably say that I am not an art critic, not even close. The summation of my artistic skills is a rather wonky pottery pelican that currently resides on my parents’ mantelpiece. But I do like art, especially modern stuff, and I always enjoy an afternoon spent on my lonesome exploring a gallery. But I know very little about it, as this post will probably demonstrate.

Martin Creed’s What’s The Point Of It? exhibition in the Hayward Gallery at the Southbank Centre opened at the end of January. It takes over the entire space, and is a comprehensive survey of the Turner prize winning artist’s work. I knew enough about him to know that it wasn’t going to be a series of paintings on white walls with neat explanations pinned next to them, but I was still shocked, and to be honest, a bit annoyed, at how opaque it all was. Creed is a frustrating artist. We are trained to find meaning in everything (especially if you’ve done an Art’s degree) and his work resolutely denies you that pleasure. It’s like watching a film that ends in the middle of a disagreement between two protagonists. There is no resolution to it.

You enter into a room dominated by a spinning neon sign saying- MOTHERS. It fills the room and comes unnervingly close to your head as it swings round at an ever increasing speed. Spaced around the edge of the room are multiple metronomes, all set to different paces so they tick irregularly. It is disconcerting, but there does seem to be a meaning behind it all, hovering just at the edge of your vision. Perhaps it’s about how dominant a figure a mother is to their young, or about how prevalent the pressure to have children before your biological clock runs out is in society? But if there was meaning in any of his other works then I missed it entirely. There were neat stacks of cardboard boxes, a framed piece of paper saying ‘Fuck you’, a wall built in layers of different bricks on one of the outside terraces, and a large screen showing a penis becoming erect and then going flaccid again on repeat on another. There was a wall covered in different coloured prints of broccoli, yes the vegetable, and curtains that opened and closed over a window to the outside world. A piano came disturbingly to life every quarter of an hour, peeling back its own lid then slamming it shut again. The most talked about installation, and the one that people seem to know Creed best for, is Work No 268 – Half the Air in a Given Space – which is essentially a room filled with white balloons, and one that manages to feel both incredibly claustrophobic and oddly comforting at the same time.

It was all very confusing, but, once I got over the fact that sense just wasn’t to be had, I really did enjoy it. It’s refreshing to see art as just art, to enjoy it in all its baffling glory, and not to dig for deeper meanings. As someone who over analyses constantly, it was a timely reminder to just let things be occasionally. So go, relax, and try not to giggle at the penis.

What’s the point of it runs until the 5th May. Find out more on the Southbank Centre website.

Photographs are banned in the exhibition but I did manage to sneak a selfie in Work No 268!

Selfie in Martin Creed’s Work No 268