Gary Grimes

Conceptual art, eh? It’s not for everyone. First emerging in the 1960s as a reaction against the commodification of art, at its core is the belief that an artist’s idea is the art, and that one’s execution of an idea is superfluous. As an art form, it has left many sceptical viewers scratching their heads in the decades since its emergence, representing to some the art world at its most ludicrous. Shoreditch gallery Raven Row is hosting an impressive retrospective of a pioneer of conceptual art, American artist Christine Kozlov. Having begun her career in New York’s East Village art scene before relocating to the UK in 1977, Kozlov’s experiments with conceptual art include many works which are quintessential to the form. Some artworks on view here comprise merely written instructions, describing an idea and how one might construct it if they wish. Also present are a number of reproductions of her ‘work lists’, lists of her previous ideas which she would submit to anthologies and catalogues of conceptual art, the list being considered the work of art itself. One early idea, or work, which appears on all subsequent lists is called ‘Information: No Theory’, which centres a tape recorder set up so that the recorded data is erased by a new recording before it is ever played back. An actual construction of this concept is also on view, although seeing it come to fruition actually helps to drive home the notion that it is the concept that’s interesting, not the visual reality - in e

In a season of London exhibition openings dominated by major retrospectives of trailblazing female artists, the Barbican’s Beatriz González show is an extremely worthwhile addition. Known to many in her home country of Colombia as ‘La Maestra’, González is considered to be one of the most influential artists to come out of Latin America, and this vast collection of over 150 works spanning her six-decade-long career leaves you with no questions as to how she garnered such a reputation. Though she herself rejected the label, González has often been associated with the Pop Art movement, and there is a Warholian quality to much of her work, which uses images of figures from mainstream media and pop culture as subjects, ranging from Queen Elizabeth II to Jackie Onassis to Botticelli’s Venus. González paints these icons in a two-dimensional style, in typically bright, vibrant block colours that feel reminiscent of the Factory kingpin’s cartoon-like screen prints of Marilyn Monroe and Debbie Harry.  Where the painter distinguishes herself from Pop Art figuresheads is the often deeply political nature of her work, which she used to comment on and criticise the pervasive violence and corruption in her country. Her 1981 piece ‘Decoración de interiores (Interior Decoration)’ sends up then-president Julio César Turbay’s image of excess and frivolity in stark contrast to the violent regime he oversaw, portraying him at a lavish party. The work was originally printed on a strip of fabric s

A stroll through Tracey Emin: A Second Life is an evocative experience. Positioned as a 40-year retrospective through the pioneering artist’s vast and varied repertoire, the show lays bare Emin’s life through her distinct and often unsettling art, from career highs – such as the iconic, Turner Prize-nominated ‘My Bed’, which is every bit as shocking and moving today as it was in 1998 – to stark personal lows in work depicting her experiences with sexual violence, abortion and recent life-threatening illness. As you can imagine, with such subject matter, it is not always a comfortable experience for the artist and the viewer alike. However, Emin’s flair for dark comedy adds moments of levity throughout. The second room of the exhibition features a large-scale projection of a work on video entitled ‘Why I Never Became A Dancer’. It begins with the artist recalling an incident in her youth when she entered a local dance competition only to run off stage mid-performance when a group of men with whom she’d previously had sexual encounters chanted ‘slag’ at her until she could no longer even hear the music. The film ends with a sequence of Emin dancing, totally uninhibited, to the disco classic ‘You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)’ by Sylvester, and the work is dedicated to each of her aggressors, calling them out by name. It is the perfect encapsulation of both Emin’s defiant approach to life and her ability to turn traumatic experiences into mesmerising art. Longform video is an impor

‘Exuberance’ is the word of the day at the opening of The Picture Comes First, Rose Wylie’s marvellous retrospective at the Royal Academy. It is referenced in the press materials, and emphasised repeatedly by the show’s curator and the gallery staff on hand to answer questions. After a stroll through the galleries, it is not hard to see why. Though hugely varied in their subject matter – ranging from the Blitz to Nicole Kidman – Wylie’s paintings are unified by a joyful and vibrant energy which beams out from all of them. The RA’s high ceilings and grand interiors act as a brilliant canvas for the artist’s large-scale, often child-like works. The 91-year-old Wylie is the first female painter to have a full retrospective in the space, a fact the institution has shouted proudly about, though on many levels it seems rather shameful given its 250+ year residency in Burlington House. Nevertheless, it only adds to Wylie’s credentials as a trailblazing feminist artist.  Wylie’s paintings are unified by a joyful and vibrant energy The worlds of fashion, entertainment and celebrity are frequent sources of inspiration for the painter. In Lilith and Gucci Boy, she depicts Lilith, the supposed first wife of Adam (of Garden of Eden fame), who left him as she refused to be subservient. In a standout piece, she paints the character adjacent to an attendee of a Gucci fashion show, and labels her ‘the first feminist’. A series of four paintings that depict Nicole Kidman posing on a red carpe

This year’s New Contemporaries exhibition, a showcase of 26 of the UK’s finest emerging artists, opened at the South London Gallery at the end of January. The show includes themes of - and you may want to take a breath here - dystopian futures, the climate crisis, industrialisation, gentrification, displacement, critical approaches to systems of power, digital technologies, mourning, remembrance, and loss. Among others! Highlights include a striking photographic work by Timon Benson depicting a group of young people congregating in an intimate, cramped party setting, a series of brutalist sculptures by William Braitwaithe, and a number of satisfying works on canvas by a collection of plainly virtuosic painters. The absolute stars of the show, however, are located across the street in the gallery’s Fire Station building. On the first floor are two remarkable films. The first, by Chinese artist River Yuhao Cao, explores mourning in regional Chinese folk traditions. It’s a quiet, beautifully shot meditation that centres on a moving stage vehicle, which parks up in the middle of a forest at night. The curtains are drawn to reveal a lone dancer who performs for an audience of just one, presumably grieving, man who sits on the ground, transfixed by her movements. This moving film has a graceful, hypnotic quality to it, and it makes great use of minimal lighting to pierce through the dark, twilight hours during which it was shot. What this exhibition lacks in cohesion, it makes up

In a small, undecorated room, I stand amongst a group of onlookers, staring at a set of keys on the floor. A human hand crawls out through a gap between the ground and a slightly-not-long-enough wall, attempting to reach the keys. As we collectively gawk, confounded by the flailing hand, a middle-aged American woman in a sharp trouser suit asks: ‘I wonder if we’re all being terribly English about this, by not getting involved?’ She then proceeds to drag the keys along the floor, causing the hand to chase after them, never allowing it close enough to catch.  Believe it or not, we’re not the participants of some sort of University of Oxford social experiment, rather we are the voyeurs of ‘Ascenseur’, a work of art by the Brazilian artist Laura Lima. First conceived in 2013, it’s now on view in the ICA as part of a recently opened solo exhibition by Lima, spanning works from her repertoire, as well as a brand new commission from which the show, The Drawing Drawing, derives its title.  This work, the centre piece of the show, sits just behind ‘Ascenseur’ in the space’s Lower Gallery. A sort of Alice In Wonderland take on a traditional life drawing class, ‘The Drawing Drawing’ comprises several easels with stools and a nude life model, all sitting on individual podiums which revolve and orbit around the room, constantly obscuring and changing the sitter’s view of the model. People are encouraged to take a seat and use the drawing utensils provided to sketch, after which they can l

At first sight, Candice Lin’s g/hosti, a new commission from the Whitechapel Gallery, evokes a childlike playfulness. At its centre is a maze of cardboard panels which are painted with animals like dogs, cats, and mice, cavorting in a mythical forest. Its simplistic style and bright, warm colours feel akin to the sort of whimsical mural you might find painted on the wall of a primary school. The more you weave through the circular labyrinth, however, the more you realise you’re immersed in something altogether more sinister and political than first meets the eye. Along the perimeter of the room, printed on the wall in a tiny font, you’ll find a gory fable, written by Lin. It tells the story of a man who tears tumours out of his body, and introduces us to the animals we meet in the maze, whom he then sends into the forest to collect items to help him live. The fairytale eventually dovetails into Lin’s ruminations on time and language. What could be trite is actually affecting and adds to the sense of storybook innocence that permeates the entire exhibition. I’d recommend doing a lap to read this in full first, as it sets the scene for the rest of the show. Upon entry to the labyrinth, Lin’s painterly brushstrokes are used to great effect to conjure images of fires burning and what, at first, appears to be animals playing. On closer inspection, you’ll find, however, the animals are often involved in some form of maiming, jumping through flames or playing with a human cadaver. C

‘Fun’ is a quality which seems to be all too frequently forgotten by curatorial teams. But it certainly takes pride of place at the Saatchi Gallery’s The Long Now, an expansive, nine- room retrospective which aims to both celebrate its past and reiterate its commitment to championing innovation in the present and future. The show is curated by Philippa Adams, who previously served as the gallery’s Senior Director for over 20 years, and is divided into spaces dedicated to key themes which have underpinned its exhibitions over the last four decades. Abstraction, landscapes, AI and technology, and climate change are all given their own rooms. They’re populated with works, old and new, by artists with whom the gallery shares a long-running history, as well as commissions from emerging artists.A reinvention of the wheel, conceptually speaking, it may not be, but it’s a bona fide feast for the eyes. Across two floors, each room has been curated and installed with care to ensure every piece in the room can shine - no space feels overstuffed. Adams has clearly given careful consideration to how the works will complement each other, both in terms of colour and scale, which enhances the viewing experience and makes you want to linger in every room. It’s a rarity that you find yourself at an exhibition where you genuinely don’t know where to look. However, starting from the very first room, dedicated to mark making and boasting Rannva Kunoy’s marvellous, luminescent, scratch-art-esque w

House of Music, the latest solo exhibition by Peter Doig, marks new territory for the artist who is increasingly known for being Europe’s most expensive painter, thanks to his works repeatedly selling for record-breaking, eye-watering sums on the secondary market. The show is Doig’s first foray into integrating sound into his work, through the inclusion of two sets of restored, cinema-standard analogue speakers which take centre stage in the Serpentine South Gallery, surrounded by a series of new and old paintings which relate to the artist’s love of music. The aim appears to be to transform the gallery into a listening space, something akin to the many hi-fi listening bars which have been popping up in spades around the UK in recent years, or Devon Turnbull’s excellent and hugely popular Hi-Fi Listening Room at Lisson Gallery the year before last. A smattering of plush recliners and chic tables and chairs are dotted around the various rooms, inviting art lovers to sit and enjoy the sounds of Doig’s personal vinyl collection as you take in the sights of his mesmerising, large scale paintings inspired by his time spent living in Trinidad, observing the country’s sound system culture which seemingly had a profound effect on the Scottish painter.  The only problem is, despite going to great lengths to acquire these mammoth speakers - they were ‘harvested from derelict cinemas’ by Doig’s collaborator Laurence Passera - you can’t actually hear the music very well. A private view o