The Artistic Voyeur

I went to the Tate modern yesterday.

I’m trying to visit different exhibits as often as I can.

I was looking for inspiration and to let my mind wander from my recent stresses.

I came across Anthony Gormley’s untitled piece.

I loved the aesthetics and the shiny gloss lead finish. I then realised that this human form which Gormley himself had said was an examination into the ‘inner and outer world’, changed dramatically if I shifted my body either side. The complete mood and illusion of this work became more complex the more I changed my angle to see it. It was almost like the figure took on a more dominant and sinister persona if I manoeuvred a different perspective for myself. I wondered why I had not taken too much notice of this on a real body. The solid colour and uniform of Gormley’s figure allowed me to measure the human body in its real form as opposed to judging on clothes, looks and other human peripherals. I felt like that figure. Navigating issues and thoughts on my inner and outside world. My creativity struggling to create an agenda. Was I as empty as this figure?

I then stumbled or perhaps I was looking intentionally for nothing, or the appearance of nothing. I found what looked like blank canvases. Bram Bogart’s ‘White plain white’ stood out for me. It reminded me of Rauschenberg’s three panel white paintings. Last year I had worked on a presentation about the erased De Kooning drawing. I did a half glance around the exhibit to make sure he wasn’t there. My focus returned to Bogarts sprawling emptiness. I lost myself in it for a while, having to suppress my instincts to keep going back. Many people on the day, barely paused as there was on first impression nothing there. Paradoxically I found that although it appeared empty there was plenty to look at. The irony wasn’t lost on me that I had gone looking for inspiration, yet there seemed to be nothing to see. On reflection, this was not the case at all. I allowed myself creative gluttony and was devouring away on thoughts and ideas. All emptiness was filled. And I contented myself with the knowledge that I was my own artistic voyeur.