This exhibition is running at MIMA, the Middlesbrough Institute of Modern Art, until 29 March 2027, and the winner will be announced on 10 December. Art is not my usual territory, but a famous prize has come to Middlesbrough, so I went to look. An engineer makes a poor art critic, and my thoughts say more about my cultural ignorance than about the work. My only earlier reference point was Tracey Emin’s My Bed, which did not even win.
Marguerite Humeau: Torches—The Holder of Wasp Venom
The materials are beeswax, pigments, ancient walnut, glass and wasp venom, and that mixture earns respect before you have formed an opinion. My second thought was more practical. As ‘me mam’ would say, it will take a lot of dusting. “An underlying commentary on nature and ecology” according to one critic.
Tanoa Sasraku: Morale Patch—Watchlist
The grid made me want to shuffle the paperweights about like chess pieces. I needed a telescope to read the labels, and the Italian velvet looked too expensive to touch, even if I had been allowed to. The meaning arrived slowly and only after a little reading. Each paperweight encases a tiny bottle of dark, viscous liquid, and once you know that, the whole grid becomes a study of the oil industry.
Simeon Barclay: The Ruin
I had assumed the Turner was awarded for “visual” art, yet this was mostly a piece for the ears. The shortlist jury itself singled out its psychologically immersive soundscape. The M62 video footage, the red lighting and the scaffolding gave the eye a polite nod. Getting through the ever-narrowing square corridor took longer than the couple of minutes I spent inside the piece itself. I left wondering whether the floating balloons in the preview photographs had all burst.
Kira Freije: Unspeak the Chorus
This held my attention longest because it gave me the most to look at. The 18th-century silks and velvets made me uneasy though. A mist was pumped out at intervals, which explains why her work has a floor all to itself, since the damp would have done the other exhibits no good. A woman sat on the floor dominating one piece, and I felt awkward standing over her. She may have been part of the exhibition, in which case I missed a trick.
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