All over social media, cats are creatures of entertainment and humour, being the faces of adorable memes. But before social media, these loveable and entertaining feline characters were enjoyed through cartoons, with notable cats like Tom from Tom and Jerry and Garfield, and even before they came along, in Louis Wain’s artwork. This exhibition at The Cartoon Museum featuring illustrations and comic strips, as well as an activity table for children, guarantees a fun experience for all.
Through a small room, the exhibition is packed with a tonne of work, with each wall dedicated to an artist. As well as illustrations, there are comic strips too, encouraging visitors to read and engage with the artworks on display. The Garfield comics displayed against orange walls, is easy to spot. Upon first entrance, it seems bare, not making much for an exciting entrance, and the vibrancy of the colourful walls is slightly held back by the dim yellow lighting. The intention of the colourful walls is obvious: to add more fun and tie in the cartoon features; however, it can be quite distracting, especially with the dim lights that also take focus away from the actual work.
As you walk around, you’ll also read comments from the community at Battersea for Dogs and Cats, who have contributed to this exhibition by aiding their expertise. There is a short video clip playing on a small TV where the sound projects around the room, filmed at the cattery in Battersea.
The dedicated space for Louis Wain includes eight framed illustrations behind butter-yellow walls. The Cartoon Museum highlights Wain’s influence with cat-mania upon entrance and offers a quick biography on his career. It’s an exciting section for art lovers, as opposed to the rest of the exhibition, which focuses more on popular cartoon cats.
There is an even larger space full of the funny, psychedelic works from Ronald Searle. The composition of the framed illustrations works better here; these much larger prints aren’t all collaged so close together; instead, they run across, spaced out evenly against an off-white wall.
Searle’s depiction of cats stands out amongst the rest in this exhibition, with the curators describing them as having a “humorous, anxious and menacing air”. In his unique style, characterised by rapid, jagged lines, his cats are imbued with a more troublesome look. Compared to the other cartoon cats that have much cuter features, like round faces and big eyes, his are very pudgy with a cheeky grin.
This is indeed a fun display for any cat and cartoon lover. You are sure to walk around beaming, spotting your favourite cartoon cat as well as learning more about their history and artistry.
The towering German artist, Anselm Kiefer, has worked continuously throughout his career to interrogate the socio-political history of Germany and the political ideology of fascism. From embodying and confronting fascism when enacting the ‘Sieg Heil’ salute in one of his earliest works, Für Jean Genet (For Jean Genet), c.1969, to wearing his father’s Wehrmacht overcoat in his self-portrait, Heroic Symbols (Self Portrait), c.1970, Kiefer’s conscious inheritance of recent and traumatic historical and cultural memory is evident, alongside his commitment to looking such atrocities in the eye, and refusing to forget what so recently happened, and could indeed happen again. Alongside the attention given to the political and culturally specific, Kiefer’s works frequently focus on landscapes and nature, exploring the way in which representations of landscapes within the Romantic tradition became associated with political ideologies under the Nazi regime. Kiefer’s work interrogates the cultural past and critically examines artistic traditions tainted by the Nazi regime. This exhibition, which shows paintings, drawings, photographs, woodcuts, and artist books made between 1969 and 1982, is psychologically heavy and dense in meaning, and urgently asks questions which could not be more apt in today’s alarming political climate.
Kiefer, who is now nearly eighty and lives and works outside Paris, has chosen three recent works from his studio for the opening space of the exhibition – three large, sculptural and surface-heavy landscapes. The exhibition then progresses back in time, exploring the process and development of Kiefer’s art over the years, and charting its development to his current works, which are typically large-scale, monumental and semi-abstract. Connecting each work in Anselm Kiefer: Early Works, is a sense of the heaviness and presence of Kiefer’s materials, and the way in which such materials suggest universal themes in life, from the nature of time and transient cycles of death and renewal, to mortality and decay. Kiefer’s diverse materials are combined to form condensed surfaces where multiple materials coagulate into matted and earthy clods, symbolising the stuff of the earth and the fundamental nature of mortality.
The three landscapes in the opening room of the exhibition encapsulate the distinctively layered nature of Kiefer’s practice: there are layers of meaning, including textual references (here the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke), layers and amalgamations of materials typical of Kiefer’s work, and layers of memory, both cultural and personal. The Leaves are Falling, c.2017-23 – one of the large landscapes opening the exhibition, is made from emulsion, acrylic, oil, shellac, sediment of an electrolysis, lead and string on photography mounted on canvas, and is 126 x 250 cm. Like the work beside it, And at Night, The Heavy Earth Is Falling, 2017-23 (made of the same materials), the titles of these two works reference Austrian poet, Rainer Maria Rilke’s poem, Autumn, 1902, with a line from the poem streaking across the horizon line in a handwritten scrawl in The Leaves are Falling.
The Leaves are Falling is both immediate and tangible, with its large and sculptural leaves and its cracked and solid surface, whilst also being spacious and distant (with its faraway horizon line and a poetic feeling of sublime and endless space). The physically large size of The Leaves are Falling contributes to the sense of space, but it is also the suggestion of a heavy, moody sky, a dark horizon line and changing winds which creates an ominous mood. A sense of movement comes from the swirling murkiness of the paint-mixture in the foreground, along with the falling leaves (no doubt made sculptural with the use of shellac), which drift through the image like snow falling steadily in a snow globe: turbulence and quiet reflection; darkness and beauty; creation and destruction, these are a few of the contradictory themes in Kiefer’s works – which are always dense with meaning, yet delicate, poetic and universal. The feeling of darkness and despair is conveyed in the seemingly undefined and endless sense of space in this work – a common feature in so many of Kiefer’s large-scale works, which lack measurable parameters and instead suggest an endless abyss and an all-encompassing darkness, themes which reflect Kiefer’s response to the Holocaust and his inheritance of difficult and painful memories, both personally, politically and culturally.
Another of Rilke’s poems, Autumn Day, c.1902, has been printed alongside Autumn in the first room of the exhibition, accompanying the three recent works chosen by Kiefer. Autumn Day charts the inevitable passing of time, as defined by the seasons and the arrival of autumn, and ends with a melancholy reflection on the isolation of the hibernation months.
Autumn Day
Rainer Maria Rilke, c.1902 – ‘Autumn Day’, in The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, (trans.) Stephen Mitchell (New York, 1982), p.11.
Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.
Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm and transparent days,
urge them on to fulfilment then, and press
the final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now,
will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.
The combination of rich, natural beauty in Rilke’s poem, alongside stark and haunting isolation and loneliness (the manmade ‘boulevards’), combined with references to the closing in of winter and the perennial turning of the seasons, reflects the themes enmeshed in Kiefer’s works – the natural world paired with feelings of existential darkness, isolation and chaos – unsurprising themes for a German artist in the post-ward period, who has found his father’s Wehrmacht uniform in the attic at the age of 24, and is seeking to process the Nazi ideology of the Third Reich and the atrocities of the Holocaust. Writing of The Leaves are Falling and And at Night, The Heavy Earth Is Falling, curator of the exhibition, Lena Fritsch, comments that these works convey ‘an organic and natural feel’, and yet, like all of Kiefer’s work, a feeling of existential crisis pervade the paintings.
‘Anselm Kiefer, The Leaves are Falling, 2017-23. Emulsion, acrylic, oil, shellac, sediment of an electrolysis, lead and string on photography mounted on canvas, 126 x 250 cm. Collection of the artist. Author’s photo.’
The third and largest abstract landscape in the opening room is Whoever has no House now, c.2023, as quoted from Autumn Day, and is made of emulsion, acrylic, oil, shellac, lead, string and chalk on canvas, stretching an impressive 330 by 190 cm. This work is even darker in both mood and colour than the other two landscapes, and has a more destructive, charged and foreboding feel.
Whoever has no House now is forceful, dense and full of drama, whilst also, with the shine of the shellac, and the encrusted nature of the surface, being arguably ugly. In fact, many of the works in this exhibition are not attractive, and neither are they likeable, but they instead present a challenge to the viewer and an intellectual and psychological puzzle, being created from symbolic, cultural, material, textual and personal layers which require thorough unpicking in order to reveal the multiple meanings ingrained in each one.
Featured Image: The artist at work in his studio. Photo courtesy Barbara Klemm.
About the artist:
Born in Donaueschingen, southern Germany in 1945, Anselm Kiefer studied law, literature and linguistics before attending the Academy of Fine Arts in Karlsruhe, and later in Düsseldorf, during which time he had contact with Joseph Beuys. Kiefer was selected with Georg Baselitz for the West German Pavilion at the 39th Venice Biennale in 1980 and his work has since been shown in exhibitions across the globe. In 2020 Kiefer was honoured with a permanent installation of his work in the Panthéon in Paris, commissioned by President Emmanuel Macron.
Four Mothers follows Edward (James McArdle), a writer trying to juggle his upcoming career success with the responsibility of caring for his elderly mother, Alma (Fionnula Flanagan). His plans are disrupted when his friends escape their own obligations for an impromptu weekend getaway to a Pride festival in Spain, leaving their unsuspecting mothers behind, with Edward. Cooped up together, Edward must navigate the demands of this fiery quartet, struggling to find his voice while reconciling his ambitions with the weight of his obligations.
Co-writers and brothers Darren and Colin Thornton return after their 2016 dark comedy A Date for Mad Mary, which won Best Script at the Irish Film and Television Awards. Now, they reimagine Gianni Di Gregorio’s Mid-August Lunch within an Irish context, drawing from their own experiences of moving home to care for their sick mother at the time of writing. Darren recalls how he and his brother “often found ourselves in the middle of the most absurd conflicts between all these older women, as we tried, often unsuccessfully, to keep the peace.” This authentic foundation informs the script’s deft fusion of humour and heartbreak, illustrating how, in the face of family struggles, absurdity can often nourish the soul.
One of the standout aspects of Four Mothers is its remarkable casting, which delivers terrific performances from its leading ladies. Flanagan’s portrayal of Alma, a woman rendered mute after suffering a stroke, is particularly striking. This challenge mirrors the Thorntons’ own experience of watching their mother struggle with the loss of her voice. Stripped of this essential layer of humanity, Alma communicates via an electronic device. Through a combination of sardonic expressions and physicality, Flanagan masterfully conveys Alma’s frustration and wit, underscoring the absurdity of the situation. Bossing her son around or gossiping about someone within earshot via the voice device is hilarious, yet always done with tenderness. The film’s ability to intertwine moments of humour with emotional depth keeps the audience fully engaged, shifting effortlessly between laughter and heartfelt reflection, just as life does.
Each actress portrays a fully developed and convincing character—no easy feat in a film that runs just shy of ninety minutes. The women, while dependent on Edward’s care, are also fiercely independent, with their own histories and desires emerging in a whirlwind of hilarious and sometimes combative moments. Forced into close quarters, the four women—Jean (Dearbhla Molloy), Maude (Stella McCusker), Rosey (Paddy Glynn), and Alma—begin to recognise their shared experiences, including the loss of husbands and the acceptance of their queer sons. A particularly powerful scene takes place in a minivan, where they share packed lunches and open up to one another about their sons coming out. In this simple setting, the women’s stories unfold, offering a quiet but profound exploration of queer narratives from an older generation of Irish traditionalism. What begins as an uncomfortable gathering gradually transforms into a celebration of a newfound sisterhood, which is beautiful to witness, especially for women in the later stages of their lives.
McArdle’s emotive performance as the story’s protagonist firmly anchors the narrative while allowing his female counterparts to shine through. He boasts an effortlessly delightful rapport with the mothers, naturally engaging with their cheeky banter and equally support their tender moments. This quality falters, however, when Edward must sell himself in promotional work for his novel. Crippled with anxiety, he is either a muddle of words or left speechless. McArdle’s nuanced portrayal ensures that Edward never becomes a pitiable figure; he’s not an object of sympathy but a real person, grappling with the tension between caring for others and striving to move forward in his own life.
Four Mothers is an exploration of family, identity, and community, deftly blending absurdity with emotional depth. At its heart, the film reveals how life’s challenges and unexpected connections can lead to profound self-discovery and the quiet strength found in the bonds we form.
How can God create a perfect world when he himself is fraught with the same flaws, vices and uncertainties as his postlapsarian creations? ‘Paradise Lost (lies unopened beside me)’ dismantles the spiritual plane and reframes it through the banalities of domestic life in Ben Duke’s searing reconceptualisation of Milton’s epic.
Returning to Battersea Arts Centre ten years after its premiere, with Olivier-nominated Sharif Afifi taking over from Duke, its creator, this one man show defies its singular form.
Simultaneously embodying God, Lucifer, Adam, Eve, a frustrated father and a dance choreographer, Afifi renders the absence of a larger cast imperceptible. Despite the bare stage, he convincingly conjures up Heaven, Hell, Eden and Earth, demonstrating a remarkable ability to evoke layered realities with minimal props.
What initially seems like it will be 75 minutes of overblown farce begins with Afifi descending a rope to Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra, the instantly recognisable yet now somewhat clichéd refrain from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Amidst a few other awkward moments, Afifi cleverly ensnares the audience with humour, using it to get them onside for the heretical re-imaginings of Milton that follows.
Afifi as God creates Heaven through a sweaty and visceral dance, marked by shaky, uncertain movements and a crippled stature as he struggles under the weight of responsibility. His faltering gestures express a recognisable human doubt in his creativity, in a noticeable contrast to the ease and nonchalance often awarded to God in typical portrayals of the Creation story. This self-doubt resurfaces in a meta-theatrical moment when Afifi, now assuming the role of the choreographer, grapples with designing a dance so perfect that it represents Heaven.
Acknowledging its own limitations as a piece written by a white man about a singular male figure representing all of humanity, the piece attempts to be subversive within the confines of its tools. By reimagining a scene in Heaven through the lens of a modern club – perhaps the famed Heaven – it depicts God flirting with Lucifer, subtly presenting their relationship through a queer paradigm. Later, Lucifer and God argue about having children, framed through modern tensions present in progressive relationships around career sacrifice, which culminates in God falling pregnant, suggesting that God is in fact, a woman.
With a frenzied scene depicting Lucifer fall, and a full-blown war in Heaven, Afifi orchestrates the most dramatic battles through the smallest of movements – an impressive feat in a one man show. Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, Milton sardonically postulates, a sentiment that feels more astute than ever in these turbulent times.
Staring at the ruins of this celestial failure, Nick Cave’s velvety line ‘I don’t believe in an interventionist God’ fills the room, eliciting giggles from the audience as Afifi begins to assemble Adam, drawing parallels to Frankenstein and his monster. Stripping out of his suit into a tight beige spandex with a Velcro vine leaf, Afifi becomes a rather comical embodiment of Adam, prancing around the stage, giddy in his newfound freedom.
Fast-forwarding to Adam and Eve, now living together in a flat after meeting at dance school, the piece repeatedly draws the divine back to the domestic. Restless with comfortable life, Eve wanders into her garden, where a comically feeble sock-puppet snake tempts her with the tree of knowledge. Adam, not deceived, though fondly overcome with female charm follows suit and together they fall. Played entirely by Afifi, this deftly executed scene is charged with tension as he shifts elastically between characters. God watches his human creations succumb to temptation and ultimately confronted by his own fallibility.
Leading us through what begins as a light-hearted, humorous tale, Afifi gradually confronts us with flawed masculinity and the inadequacies of the human condition. In a striking closing monologue, he stands beneath a relentless tirade of water, drenched to the skin, as he condenses the entire history of human sin into a spinning carousel of prelapsarian fallibility—Cain and Abel, plagues, pestilence, endless noise and corruption.
Afifi is a true wonder – entirely compelling – while Duke’s script, though occasionally contrived, masterfully distils Milton’s epic into a piece that is bold, resonant and unexpectedly sublime.
Featured Image: Lost Dog in Paradise Lost starring Sharif Afifi, photo by Zoe Manders
Ben Duke performed the show for the first time in 2015 at Battersea Arts Centre and over the next few years, performed it all over the UK to the delight of audiences and critics, winning a clutch of awards along the way. Fast forward ten years and actor Sharif Afifi has taken over from Ben as the star of this new production.
Battersea Arts Centre (BAC) has a long history of working with Lost Dog. Originally co-commissioned by BAC in 2015, Paradise Lost (lies unopened beside me) premiered at the South London venue, with its success leading to a second BAC co-commission, Juliet and Romeo in 2018. Both productions responded well leading to successful international tours. This homecoming performance exemplifies a longstanding partnership and BAC’s commitment to artist development.
Sharif Afifi’s theatre credits includeThe Band’s Visit (Donmar Warehouse) which earned him the 2023 Olivier Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical, My Fair Lady (London Coliseum 2022) and Hadestown (National Theatre 2018).
American comedian Dulcé Sloan enters the stage randomly talking, with what feels like finishing off a conversation with a close friend, about her messy and confusing first night. The audience doesn’t seem to know how to make sense of this abrupt start; felt through the silence and awkward laughs in the house. However, Sloan quickly picks it up by discussing the UK weather, referring to the sun as a “torch” playing tricks on us, giving no heat, just light. The crowd laughs in agreement with her complaints and then with her mocking of the roadmen here: “I’m not scared of anyone; give me your wallet.” Unsurprisingly, the UK jokes land well with the crowd, and she continues this momentum throughout the night, with her comedy driven by her sarcasm, side eyes and sudden loud beams of expressions.
With some overused internet jokes, like talking about “broke dick”, she redeems herself with funny facial expressions, constantly throwing side eyes that match her confidence which manifests through lines such as; because she is “fat” does not mean she isn’t beautiful, as “we have all seen ugly skinny girls”. She knows her worth, which is why she pleads to the women in the crowd to be self-aware and stop going for “broke dick”. She says, “It’s good because it has to be.” This part leans heavily on the “broke dick” joke, but with some improvisation and audience engagement, the show becomes entertaining. She humorously critiques how human males compare to their counterparts in other species. “You want my number? Kill that man,” she quips, sending the crowd into hysterics as she delivers a relentless stream of witty jabs at modern dating and how men pathetically woo women nowadays.
Sloan introduces us to her family: her brother, who is “just existing”, and her “crazy” mother, who all live with her and drive her nuts with their silly and nonsensical bickering, like arguing in the early hours of 4am if Bigfoot is real or not. She paints the image of her mother well with the stories she shares and her impersonations of her, making them all the more enjoyable and even more hilarious to hear.
At times, the performance feels a bit hurried with certain jokes that could benefit from refinement. Sloan’s comedy draws inspiration from internet humour and tweets, as seen in lines like “White women got bored, and now I have to work.” However, it is Sloan’s dynamic delivery and vibrant energy that truly drive the show, keeping the audience entertained and laughing throughout.
Comedian and actress Dulcé has appeared on The Daily Show with Trevor Noah since 2017, earning an Emmy Award and a GLAAD Award nomination for her work on the show. She is also the co-host of podcast Hold Up with Daily Show writer and fellow comedian Josh Johnson, and has appeared as a guest judge on the iconic long-running series RuPaul’s Drag Race.
Dulcé Sloan was at Soho Theatre from 17th to 22nd March
Visit Soho Theatre for their upcoming performances
How do you capture the present, the amorphous, slippery now, when, in the very act of noticing it, it has already disappeared into the past? Jasmin Vardimon’s latest work, NOW, at the newly opened Sadler’s Wells East, grapples with this paradox, attempting to record ephemeral moments before they slip away. Through movement, the piece seeks to capture the sliding scales of multiple nows—the past nows, the future nows, the collective nows and all the illusory nows in between. Celebrating 25 years of Vardimon’s company, this nonlinear narrative layers old and new ideas into ever evolving perspectives.
The piece opens with two perfectly poised protestors waving fluttering white truce flags, frozen smiles stretched over high cheekbones as they sway mechanically to eerily optimistic classical music. This moment of relative stillness feels delicate, a palpably fragile peace soon broken, inverted and interrogated by eight technically astute dancers over the next 90 minutes.
Both playful and political, the dancers question our relationship between personal nows and wider geopolitical nows. “We are sharing our now, and yet our now is different,” they ruminate, sliding across the floor like a conveyor belt, finishing each other’s sentences in a perpetual attempt to hold onto the present. The execution feels slightly loose, yet it opens up urgent questions about our current realities—peace and war, global catastrophes, surrender, oppression, dissent, and love.
Frontal and overhead hidden cameras distort the dancers’ movements, casting new perspectives on the back of the stage in a kind of voyeuristic surveillance. A distinctly Trumpian moment emerges as one dancer projects, “What is the best nation?” only to cheekily answer, “Imagination.”
The performance gains momentum when two dancers become news presenters, reporting on conflict, famine and loss. Their controlled movements escalate in speed and vigour as they struggle to keep pace with the rapidly evolving headlines. Yet the quicker they move, the faster new content generates, rendering each update obsolete before it can even be registered. This sequence unfolds against the backdrop of the billowing white truce flag, which deteriorates into thousands of pieces of confetti—pieces of peace scattered across the stage.
A striking moment of choreography unravels as a dancer sweeps white confetti into a chessboard pattern, the black stage floor cutting through. The dancers, now in full red or white, are confined to their squares, like borders that dictate their movements. They clash with opponents in opposing colours, part of a wider political game where unseen forces control them like pawns.
A romantic narrative threads through the piece, offering moments of temporary respite, yet their love, like the rest of the performance, is fleeting. Projections of rib cages and beating hearts flicker across the dancers’ chests, carefully captured and passed between lovers in an admirable feat of production. Yet they collapse together, buried beneath white confetti, which swirls around them like a pyroclastic ash cloud, engulfing them as the earth falls apart.
Beyond the nihilistic and semi-absurdist scenes, the choreography is impressively innovative and playful. A rope first serves as a tightrope, then transforms into a staircase for aid workers to climb. On the floor, the dancers writhe in jolting, erratic movements along the rope, while projections on the back wall distort the perspective, as if they are dancing on a tightrope and scaling the stairs in a meticulously executed feat of illusion.
This performance is so richly packed that it is impossible to mine all its golden moments, but Jasmin Vardimon certainly has her finger firmly on the pulse of the times.
Making art within the realm of physical reality borrows much of its impact from the captivation that reality already induces, re-contextualising phenomena within a gallery space to stimulate new understanding of the world. The physical complexity of a painting, a textile work, or a multimedia sculpture cannot be simulated within the digital realm. To avoid imitation, digital art must utilize its unique potential to create new methodologies of artistic meaning.
Curated by Helen Starr, “What is it Like” at arebyte Gallery showcases the effectiveness of digital media in exploring metaphysical concepts, particularly through its ability to simulate realities that accentuate crucial factors within human qualia such as environmental context, physical embodiment, and instinctive neurological processes. Viewers are invited to examine how these simulated factors, more visible in their virtual fabrication, shed light on what it means to experience consciousness. The show is inspired by Thomas Nagel’s 1974 essay, ‘What Is It Like To Be a Bat?”, that examines the subjectivity of consciousness. Through its dependence on one’s integration of their subjective human experience, the show examines what it means to be human in the face of technological advancement, especially in the field of artificial intelligence, where the complexity of the human experience is often overshadowed by powerful yet specific abilities of AI.
The exhibition features works by Anna Bunting-Branch, Choy Ka Fai, Damara Inglês, Katarzyna Krakowia, Lawerence Lek and Kira Xonorika. arebyte Gallery, located on the utopian-feeling London City Island in east London, feels inherently technological and functional, with minimal concrete surfaces everywhere and exposed ventilation systems on the ceiling. Each artwork is presented on its own TV screen, mounted on latticed metal panels that can be moved by the viewer on metal tracks mounted to the floor and ceiling. The monitors are programmed to reveal new imagery and trigger sounds as the panel is moved. As explained in the curational text, this configuration acts as a work in itself, situating the art within an interactive archival system that mimics memory retrieval. The minimal, uniform layout was surprising as it required more immediate curiosity and interaction from me than I was expecting from an art exhibit. However, this was an appropriate introduction to the work that required participation for conceptual appreciation.
Anna Bunting-Branch’s work, “META” (2019) is the most immediately visible from the gallery entrance, and is the only work to feature a VR headset. Anna’s hand painted imagery is arranged within a three dimensional virtual world that depicts an alien planet, inspired by her interest in modern sci fi literature and other topics related to her practice. This work most directly questions what it is like to experience another’s consciousness, and as someone with little previous exposure to virtual reality, putting on the headset was very immersive. The animation traverses differing points of view, from flying on an alien planet, being a red-bodied alien sitting at a restaurant with others, and being an interdimensional being travelling to a new world. While hard to explain with words, this work plays with your senses and reminds you of how they discern the environment you physically inhabit, and how their intentional or manipulated use creates a subjective consciousness.
Lawrence Lek’s “Nepenthe” (2021-) is part of an ongoing series of video games that explore themes of memory and identity in virtual worlds. The game takes place in the “Old Summer Palace”, a classical Chinese garden palace that was destroyed by an Anglo-French expeditionary force during the second Opium war in 1860. The game allows the viewer to walk through the virtual world as a lone traveller, encountering the ghosts of past civilisations within the ruins. The game is built using the Unreal video game engine and features a musical score by the artist. As you explore the virtual ruins of the palace, interactive signage provides interaction with the ghosts of past civilizations at the location, suggesting the importance of spatial context in memory, and drawing parallels between game mechanics and patterns of human exploration. Although the narrative of the texts was quite hard to follow, the immersive experience made me more curious about the information I was reading, and reminded me of how impactful environmental context can be when encountering new information as a human. I couldn’t help but think of possible educational implications of this kind of experience, for the semantic memories I have now of the texts, are bolstered by the associations of feelings induced by the immersive environment the knowledge was acquired in. When describing Lek’s work, the curational text delves deeper into theories behind how an environment impacts the integration of information, such as Global Workspace Theory and Integrated Information Theory. This work is effective at stimulating thought about the subjectivity of human consciousness, and is appropriately selected for the theme of the show.
Crypto Fashion Week: Fashion Cyph3r (2022) by Damara Inglês shows a recording from an interview the artist did for fashion week taking place in the metaverse, where Damara and two others interact as avatars in a surreal location, standing on a kind of lily pad island, on a calm ocean at golden hour. The recording acts as a work in itself conceptually because Damara is able to open up about her Mother’s early-onset Alzheimer’s diagnosis for the first time during the interview. In the context of the show’s themes, this interaction suggests the importance of a safe and accepting co-presence for humans when being emotionally vulnerable, and how simulating certain kinds of co-presence perhaps unattainable in the real world could help us to communicate more intimately. For instance, therapy sessions in the metaverse at a calming location rather than on a zoom call in your bedroom. The environment presented was very serene, and I can see how experiencing it in VR could change one’s disposition to perhaps share information more freely.
After watching Inglês’ video and experiencing VR in Anna Bunting-Branch’s work, I thought about the vulnerabilities in my own consciousness in terms of how it can be manipulated by virtual reality for my benefit or own expense for others, and the importance of regulation in the future as VR technology becomes less and less distinguishable from real life. For these reasons, I think art that prepares us for these conversations, like what is shown in “What Is It Like”, will become increasingly popular and important as technology advances exponentially.
The rest of the show features dense works that explore other factors in human consciousness, such as Choy Ka Fai’s cybernetic dance experiment, “Unbearable Darkness Game Demo” (2020), and an excerpt from the corresponding physical performance (2018). This work explores potential interactions with the late Butoh dance master Tatsumi Hijikata, through his choreography using new technologies. Kira Xonorika’s film reminds one of how difficult it is for a more complex human consciousness to digest AI generated content. Overall, “What Is It Like?”, is a conceptually heavy show that proposes many important questions about how we define human consciousness, and ironically shows how AI can help humans distinguish themselves from AI.
The accompanying exhibition booklet is very well written, featuring interesting excerpts from other relevant publications and highlighting Helen Starr’s expertise on how the human brain constructs tailored realities. As a show that requires substantial engagement from the viewer to be grasped conceptually, the experience would certainly be rewarding for creatives in search of contemporary questions to answer with their own work, and anyone interested in how humanity will define itself within a techno-saturated future.
Review by Chris Wieland
Featured Image: Equirectangular stills from META, 360-degree video with sound by Aliyah Hussain, 2019. Image Courtesy of Anna Bunting-Branch
What Is It Like? is an exhibition presented in partnership with WRO Art Centre through funding by the British Council as part of the UK/Poland Season 2025, a diverse programme of over 100 multi artform events in 40 cities in both countries. Featuring artists from around the world, including the UK and Poland, What Is It Like? will run at arebyte Gallery, London, 27 February – 4 May 2025, before heading to Wroclaw, Poland. In May, part of the exhibition will be shown at the 21st Media Art Biennale WRO, which has the theme Qualia – following which the full exhibition will be presented at WRO Art Centre 18 September – 31 October 2025. Exhibiting artists: Anna Bunting-Branch, Damara Inglês, Choy Ka Fai, Katarzyna Krakowiak Balka, Lawrence Lek and Kira Xonorika.
There is more to flowers than just their physical beauty. Their influence on our contemporary culture and significance in history is explored in this exhibition, which showcases over 500 artworks, including photography, fashion, film, music, literature, and science.
The exhibition is divided into 9 parts, each exploring different themes. Roots, the first room, establishes the history of flowers in art, with references to the Romantic era and Art Nouveau. There are featured artists such as Alphonse Mucha, a renowned artist during the Art Nouveau movement who produced highly recognisable and stylised posters. A dedicated space for William Morris includes his own works, such as loaned tapestries and tiles from the William Morris Gallery. It also features his influences and inspirations with the likes of John Keats’ poetry, William De Morgan’s tiles, and Walter Crane’s illustrations. An interesting aspect of the curation in this room is its layout where each painting is accompanied by a contemporary counterpart. Beside John Baptiste Bosschaert’s ‘Still Life with Flowers’, is a 70-minute looped film that sits in a frame and looks like a still life painting itself by Rob and Nick Carter titled ‘Transforming Flowers in a Vase’. At first glance it may just look like a photograph of a vase of flowers; however, if you observe closely, you’ll notice the subtle movements in this film. The room concludes with a large tempera print of Sandro Botticelli’s Primavera on display. Unfortunately, the large-scale print fails to make the intended impact, as most visitors simply walk past it. For a room dedicated to classical paintings, this is rather disappointing to witness.
The second room titled ‘In Full Bloom’; focuses on contemporary artworks by international artists. Artist Anne Von Freyburg was present at the press viewing to discuss her process behind her textile piece ‘Floral Arrangement 1’ (After Jan van Huysum, Still Life). She mentioned the significance of flowers and textiles in this piece as a means of reclaiming female identity and power. It’s a vibrant arrangement hung on the wall with strings of thread spilling down to the ground, almost looking like drips of thick acrylic paint.
The third room focuses on fashion and how flowers are incorporated into clothing and accessories, with displays by iconic designers such as Vivienne Westwood and Mary Quant. Seeing these garments up close is definitely an exciting opportunity you do not want to miss out on. It doesn’t just stop there, however; flowers in fashion are explored in many different ways in this room, for example, contemporary artist Daniel the Gardener, who uses tattoos of flowers as a means of decorating the body.
The standout room is surely the one with Rebecca Louise Law’s installation, La Fleur Morte, which explores the space between life and death. An immersive space where over 100,000 dried-up flowers hang down from the ceiling, taking up the whole 2000 square feet of the room.
Other rooms in the exhibition, such as room 8, which is dedicated to science, or room 6, dedicated to flowers in media (film, music, and literature), seem less engaged with the central theme. They appear more as general displays providing additional content without deeply engaging with the overarching narrative.
The exhibition effectively showcases the various ways flowers have been explored and incorporated into art. Overall, there are numerous pieces in this exhibition that you won’t want to miss. Featuring iconic works by major artists as well as new exhibits by contemporary artists being shown for the first time, the exhibition offers a unique and enriching experience for its audience.
Review by Rim Alkaiat
Featured Image : Rebecca Louise Law, The Womb, 2019-20. Courtesy the artist
Upon entering the glasshouse, you are suddenly transported to the stunning gardens of Peru, where the ceiling of leaves and orchids hangs above you, and sculptures of insects and birds hang around with you. The Royal Botanical Gardens have created an immersive experience, playing traditional Peruvian music as you walk through the big aloe leaves, sounds of birds chirping in the background, and the sweet aroma of the orchids drifting throughout.
Kew celebrates the biodiversity of Peru and its beautiful orchids in the different ways it has them displayed, whether hung in baskets, woven into arch entryways, cascading down from above, or sitting in pots on the ground. You are completely surrounded by the colours of summer. It certainly does feel like you should be prancing around in sandals and your light cotton shirt with an iced tea in hand as you listen to the sound of the waterfalls.
Many of the orchids on display have been purchased from nurseries in the Netherlands, sourced from Peru through trading, alongside Kew’s own collection of home-grown orchids. You’ll be lucky to see many of Peru’s diverse and sacred plants, such as the Phragmipedium Kovachii, considered to be one of the most beautiful orchids in Peru. As well as that, you’ll have the opportunity to see endangered plants like the Puya Raimondii. You can also expect to watch a short film, Botanica Extrema, Extreme Beauty, where Kew scientists Justin Moat, Carolina Tocar, and Oliver Whaley travel to Peru to discover that paramotoring proves to be an effective way of reaching inaccessible and delicate ecosystems.
The festival features many artworks by Peruvian artists that take inspiration and have been influenced by Peru’s incredible natural landscape. Gisella Stapleton’s paintings of ladies dancing the Tondero are inspired by the Oncidium Orchids (also known as dancing orchids) that are on display. The festival also includes a selection of photographs from Mariano Vivanco’s PERU: A visual journey collection. His classic editorial style can be seen in the large-scale photographs where he pays homage to his homeland, displaying its heritage and folklore. You are met with his photographs upon first entering the glasshouse, and throughout, surrounded by the plants. Vivanco’s photographs are intended to guide visitors through Peru’s history of its rich ancient civilisations to compare with the nature displays. You are provided with contextual information about these works and their relation to the festival.
The display ends with Vivanco’s Mother Earth, which encourages reflection on the different ways of expressing gratitude to our surroundings, inspired by the Pachamama ceremony, which is a ritual that honours Andean, the goddess of Mother Earth.
Kew succeeds in creating an immersive and captivating event that you definitely do not want to miss out on. They invite you to feel like you are really walking through Peru’s natural landscape, a lovely way to escape the winter blues and get you excited for the summer.
Review by Rim Alkaiat
Featured Image: Courtesy Kew Royal Botanical Gardens
If there is one thing Gledhill wants us to take away from this show, it is to feel in control of our confidence and self-esteem, oh, and also to leave a trail of kisses before going down for the “willy-kiss”.
You cannot help but love Gledhill; her natural charisma pulls you in the minute she enters the stage. She walks in, greeting the audience, kindly asking if we would like to go to bed with her, then hands out knickers for the audience to throw on stage. From the moment she enters, the crowd is already beaming with laughter which gets louder as she starts off with her first act. Her story of going ape in order to impress her crush, Fit Simon, which did not seem to go as planned.
One of Gledhill’s greatest strengths is her hilarious ability at physical comedy. This really beams with her toothy “willy-kiss” story. The crowd was cackling near tears at her re-enactment of her toothy blowjob. She compares herself biting down for balance to a dog tugging onto a chew toy. The story proceeds to get even more absurd, ending up with her then-boyfriend needing to take a trip to A&E after fainting in the shower.
Absurd is definitely a way to describe many of the situations Gledhill gets herself into, and she really embraces the ridiculousness of these situations, as well as herself. She takes them as far as she can go with her jokes, such as in her game of “Would you still love me if…?” she asks if she were to have her bum-hole in the place of her mouth.
Gledhill hones in on relatability in connecting with the audience. She shares vulnerable moments such as her struggle with body image from an insensitive letter from an ex-boyfriend and opens up about her horrible sexual assault on the train. She smartly joins in these serious topics with comedy through punch lines and running gags, like, what if she had Mark Libbett’s hair?
Gledhill loves to poke fun at herself, not in the typical self-deprecating kind of way; she encourages self-love and knowing your worth, and you can tell she is confident in herself in the way she delivers these stories as she uses moments of insecurity to fuel herself with passion and craft. A fresh take on making fun of yourself, one that is exciting and fun to watch, making her a lovable performer and comedian.
Review by Rim Alkaiat
Featured image: Amy Gledhill live at Soho Theatre (c) Paul Gilbey
Winner of the Edinburgh Comedy Award for Best Show at this year’s festival, and a three-time Edinburgh Comedy Award nominee, Amy Gledhill is the only act ever to be nominated twice in one year; both for Best Newcomer (solo show) and Best Show, as one half of the critically acclaimed sketch duo The Delightful Sausage.
