A little exhibition of Daidō Moriyama at his artiest and strangest, like Warhol with added filth, is among the best on show in London’s free-entry commercial galleries this week
If it’s a crime to have a crush on an elderly avant garde Japanese street photographer then lock me up and throw away the key, because I have some seriously strong feelings for Daidō Moriyama. His ultra-confrontational, high contrast, aggressive take on photography just gets me blushing, what can I say.
Barbican Art Gallery, London What seem at first indistinguishable canvases offer challenges, revelations and transcendental effects – but only if you can give yourself over to them
Writing about painting is a futile exercise at the best of times. This is especially the case when, as with Robert Ryman, the paintings in question are variations on the theme of white. If that sounds pretentious – or like a tired joke – then it might also be understood as a reaction against the dependence of so much art on language (which is also to say, bullshit). Because these bare-bones paintings – white paint, a flat surface, wall fixtures – are the “real thing” in the most literal way: they are not trying to tell you a story, they do not require you to be familiar with any abstruse theories. There is just you and the materials, how the paint lies, how it scatters the light. So the question is: how much do you like looking at paint?
Happily for me, given that it is a non-negotiable part of my job, I really like looking at paint. If you also like looking at paint, then there is much in this exhibition that will take your breath away. Take The Painting of the Mysterious Shadow from the mid-60s, after Ryman had left his job as a guard at MoMA, having given up on a career as a jazz musician, and settled into the project that would occupy the rest of his life. Six thick white stripes run horizontally across the canvas, as close to each other as can be managed by a steady hand without overlapping. The fabric is stretched over a deep wooden frame, meaning that its surface sits about three inches off the wall, and casts a thin shadow upon it. That’s your lot.
"Titled 'The Orange Plague,' the artwork has been installed in Strasbourg, France, the official seat of the European Parliament. The copper sculpture, also dubbed the 'King of Injustice,' imagines the US president on the shoulders of a frail smaller figure. His thighs and sagging belly wrap tightly around the man's head; his hands clutch at a long golf club and the scales of justice."
"'I am sitting on the back of a man,' reads the text [a quote from Leo Tolstoy] on the statue's plinth. 'He is sinking under my burden. I will do anything to help him. Except step down from his back.'"
"Galschiøt has exhibited 'The Orange Plague', [or in German, 'Die Orange Pest'] in public several times before, including at [the Danish Parliamentary building,] the Munich Security Conference, and last November's COP30 UN climate conference in Brazil. He also plans to display it at COP31 in Antalya, Turkey next month."
"He said his decision to depict Trump naked alludes to Hans Christian Andersen's story "The Emperor's New Clothes," in which a vain emperor parades the city in the nude. 'Dictators don't like you laughing at them,' he explained."
"The most recent temporary display is expected to remain on show until Thursday. It is accompanied by over 1,000 3D-printed miniatures of the sculpture, which are being made available to passersby as 'protest tokens.'"
That Will There, Transcription, and Down Time each tease out the confluence of ambivalence, exhaustion, and over-compensative compliance that underscored pandemic life is compelling. Their characters' lack of clarity about Covid and its consequences is, ironically, its own form of clear-sightedness. It speaks to a very contemporary feeling of unease about Covid and the recent past and what this ultimately says about where the culture is heading.
The Ethiopian photographer Sosina Mengistu’s self-portraits draw on personal experience to reflect young people’s anxiety and frustration
This self-portrait is part of my project So I See Me, which I began in 2020 during the Covid-19 pandemic and continue to this day. The title reflects the central idea: using the camera to look at myself. But it also carries a subtle echo of my name, Sosina.
When the pandemic started, I was in my final year of an engineering degree at the University of Gondar in Ethiopia. I was excited to graduate and begin the next chapter of my life, then everything suddenly came to a halt. Thinking the travel restrictions would only last for a short time, I decided to stay with my uncle in Bahir Dar in the north rather than travel back to my home town, Asosa, more than 450 miles to the west. I ended up stuck there for eight months.
Sidney Nolan’s famous Ned Kelly series is on display as part of an exhibition of work from the artist’s formative years, now showing at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. But senior curator Denise Mimmocchi walks us through the exhibition to highlight a lesser-known earlier work, which Nolan created when he was conscripted in the army, stationed at Victoria’s Wimmera region in 1943. Mimmocchi explains why Kiata was a breakthrough painting for Nolan, and also a breakthrough moment for Australian modern art
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