Sigmar Polke was a vital, angry, powerful voice in twentieth-century art. The German artist was a dissenting presence, a real middle finger bobbing along in art’s sea of yes men. He always followed his own path, and this show brings together a whole bunch of pour-paintings that are immediately and recognisably Polke.
The works were made by pouring paint onto prepared black paper. They’re simple, obvious things, abstract and direct. You’re forced to concentrate on the paint itself. It glitters and reflects, but also washes into the black. It’s like Polke was making images that were almost designed to not exist, as if they’re on the verge of melting away.
They’re twisting, undulating, globby stains – primal, male stuff, you know? They’re ectoplasmic, ghostly splooges of milky abstraction. They’re pretty and everything, but they lack teeth. It’s a little like Polke de-clawed, pawing gently at some paper. It’s a pleasure to be in the presence of Polke’s work, as ever, but these are stains that maybe never needed to be spilled.
