What if we didn’t erect statues to people, or events of note? That instead of waiting generations to celebrate a significant historical person (which – as recent events have demonstrated – we could later regret), we construct modern monuments to everything and nothing, right now? These are the sculptures of Pakistani-American artist Huma Bhabha, transforming the Baltic gallery in Gateshead into a treasure trove of arresting memorials that embody a past crumbling world, a present rubbish-ridden land and a future state populated by sci-fi monsters.
Bhabha’s towering figures are raised up collectively on a plinth in the centre of the space, bearing down on us with their hollowed-out eyes and stocky statures. Eventually feeling brave enough to approach one of the two-metre totems, I am struck by the exquisite carving that turns these lumpy structures into detailed, mythical beings with skeletal faces, neat ribs, kneecaps and bottoms. With legs constructed from recycled cork and torsos from found Styrofoam, this community of monuments celebrates materiality while condemning waste, reflecting the artist’s awareness of the environmental impact of her art.
Perhaps it is due to the recent lack of mass gatherings, but Against Time creates the unnerving sensation of being continually observed. Around the edge of the space are collections of photo-drawings and prints, primarily of skull-like faces. A row of colourful ink and pastel collages see heads overlaid with the faces of animals. Human fuses with creature, aligning the existence and importance of the two. Elsewhere a row of nine monochrome faces form a haunting lineup. Inspired by cinema, Bhabha creates smudged skulls with empty eyes and silent mouths to form the cast of an Edvard Munch-style horror film.
The artist makes us work hard. Atlas – a low structure made from battered tyres and metal – has the illusion of being an alligator rising from a swamp, but from the viewing station above it morphs into a human figure. In combination with the title Atlas, the work could be a man trudging a trashed planet, an animal fighting for survival or a map of an apocalyptic future. Even the materiality of forms is not clear. The Joke seems to be a piece of Styrofoam packaging but is actually bronze, likewise the artist’s first outdoor sculpture, Receiver, is bronze despite appearing a blend of Styrofoam and cork. Never completely sure what we’re perceiving, Against Time invites us to mine our own experiences for context, placing us as active participants rather than passive onlookers.
Downstairs, an entirely different exhibition is taking place. The Making of Husbands: Christina Ramberg in Dialogue is a solo show inside a group show. Named after a BBC documentary on the making of John Cassavetes’s 1970 film Husbands, The Making of Husbands follows the documentary’s exploration of performed identity. Joined by 12 other artists, including contemporaries and younger practitioners, the Chicago Imagist’s understanding of dress as a form of manipulation remains a current concern, almost 50 years later.
Drawing together Ramberg’s precise paintings of torsos and bound bodies from the 1970s and 80s, the show takes us on a journey from her early preoccupation with the pushing and pulling of female bodies to more androgynous ones. Intrigued by the corsets her mother used to wear, Ramberg’s initial sensual works feature snippets of lace, beading, hair and material placed carefully against skin. Later, these textures reappear but in a less conventional sense, with waists bound by hair and fabrics becoming indistinguishable from the limbs they depict. Enhanced by the presentation of several study drawings of garments, the paintings demonstrate Ramberg’s interest not with the physicality of the body, but with our tireless pursuit to command it via various props.
Surrounding Ramberg’s paintings are several pieces of adornment from other artists, such as Diane Simpson’s wooden skirt and vest, Alexandra Bircken’s wig-accessorised motorbike suit and Ana Pellicer’s to-scale ring for the Statue of Liberty. While looking at these familiar items – now reformatted in oversized and impractical materials – I am suddenly conscious of my own clothing and appearance, and the necklace I carefully selected that morning to perform my identity as “art critic” feels weighty.
Wider society is instrumental in either affirming or rejecting identities, and Howardena Pindell’s short film Free, White and 21, excellently portrays the damage done when certain bodies are excluded from perceived “norms”. Pindell tells personal stories of racism, all of them exposing how stereotypes blocked her from education, work, parties and – in one case – going to the toilet. A patronising white character responds: “You really must be paranoid. I’ve never had an experience like that.” This statement is key to understanding The Making of Husbands – beyond the literal restriction of a corset – fundamentally, it is the collective experience of society that is the repressive force in telling us who we can and can’t be.
