Mourning glory | 17 May 2018

They enter two by two. Grannies, mainly. Headscarved, mainly. Some locking arms. A bit glum. Like rejects from Noah’s ark. Passing through two vertical beams of light, they appear then disappear, shuffling into the darkness. From concrete caves, they begin to wail for the dead.

We’re witnessing Artangel’s latest extraordinary commission, ‘An Occupation of Loss’, by Taryn Simon. The piece draws together professional mourners from all corners of the earth — China, Armenia, Ghana, Ecuador — and deposits them under a block of flats in Islington High Street.

The Azerbaijanis wallop their thighs as they wail. The Venezuelans sob behind full face veils, the fabric vibrating in sympathy. Some pace in circles, nervously fingering bits of cloth. Some grieve only for women — no men allowed. The shrunken Albanian lady, her vocal cords reduced to gravel, just sits and talks, deep in conversation with the afterlife. Unnerving, bewitching, fascinating.

Most fascinating was how unmoving it all was. It’s hard to be moved by a market, a cacophonous souk of grief-conjurors and master manipulators. It was easy to be captivated, though. One pair of biddies from Ghana whimpered directly at you, following you with creased faces, imploring hands, tissues dabbing dry eyes, begging you to award them your attention.

The one to book for Auntie Marge’s funeral? Go for the skilful Greek trio, the woman soaring and swooping and skidding about over the top of the two hollering males. I must mention also what splendid handbags everyone had: big, glossy bricks of mystery, perched next to the mourners like obedient pets. Do they come with the job?

For those sceptical about performance art, suspicious of the point of it all, here was a challenge. Where else could I have experienced this Stygian ceremony? Liberated from narrative, performance art can play and roam in a unique way.