"Raw Materials" by Bruce Nauman
By Catherine Quinn
Bruce Nauman in the Turbine Hall, Tate Modern, 2004 Photocredit: Manuel Vason 2004
If there is one space that strikes fear into an exhibiting artist, it is the cargo-bay proportions of the Tate Modern Turbine Hall. For Bruce Nauman, however, the sheer size of this well-known entrance is transformed, not only to facilitate but to become the predominant strength of his latest installation.
In "Raw Materials" Nauman uses the area to create a cacophony of sounds, which surge across the enormous hall, creating intricate layers and textures in a ceaseless sea of noise. By ringing the space with a mass of slim speakers, Nauman creates the impossible: an invisible sculpture of tangible force. Stepping into the space is at first overwhelming, with sounds apparently coming from all directions. But as you move to become physically part of the milieu, the opening stream of dialogue alternates from reassuring, to unnerving, an unremitting train of "thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you," issued by the first speaker-set.
It feels as though you are wandering through a mass of radio-airwaves, with every step bringing clearer comprehension of one discordant monologue, whilst muddying the sounds of several others. It makes you stop to tilt your head, adjust your movements, and somehow seek out the particular discourse which is currently making sense. The constant struggle for comprehension is unaided by the jangling variety of voices issuing, unremitting, from the speakers. Soft, cajoling voices are spliced suddenly with aggressive monologues: "get out of my head, get out of this room, get out of my head…"
Raw Materials" seems to be, amongst many things, about Nauman’s return to his beginnings in arithmetic. In previous work, the artist has amply reflected his background as a jazz bassist, painting dark acoustic shadows atop odd manifestations of humanity. His video footage dubbed "Tortured Clowns," depicted a one legged clown, repeating a joke over and over, until he fell down, and the tape replayed. Similarly, many of his pieces have shown his enthusiasm for exploring the impact of sound in unusual contexts.
Nauman’s early qualifications were in math and physics, and it is this training to which this installation seems to owe the larger part of its impact. Working almost as an anthology of his previous work, the recordings emitted from various speakers around the gallery are taken from Nauman’s entire body of artistic achievement. But where this particular installation differs is in the profound and complex structures in place as a result of the blended acoustics. The result is spectacularly physical, in stark contrast to an obvious lack of material form. In many ways it is the metaphysical which is being explored here above all else, in an installation which forces visitors to experience art through an entirely different set of senses – from the audio to the kinesthetic.
The effect seems to physically tug your body in different directions, as the ears struggle to piece together the most logical train of noise. Strangely, the tiered volley of sounds draw visitors through the hall in almost an identical pattern to a conventional exhibition. People pause for a while at one speaker, assessing their reaction, whilst another wave of sound might move them quickly along. And unlike the conventionally reflective atmosphere of a contemporary art gallery, this is an experience which assails the senses in every direction. Perhaps most profoundly, after ten minutes or so, the actual words pouring from the speakers become meaningless on some level, highlighting the possibility of detachment from even the most aggressive and disturbing of dialogues.
Viewed from the bridge above the hall, the sight of tens of people wandering blind amongst the crescendo of sounds is compelling. It is at this level you are exposed to a low level of discourse from the artist himself, urging the listener to "Think, Think, THINK." You certainly do.
The Unilever Series: Bruce Nauman
12 October 2004 — 28 March 2005
Turbine Hall, Tate Modern
