Andrew Lambirth

State of transition

Mark Wallinger Curates the Russian Linesman<br /> Hayward Gallery, until 4 May Annette Messager: The Messengers<br /> Hayward Gallery, until 25 May

issue 02 May 2009

Mark Wallinger Curates the Russian Linesman
Hayward Gallery, until 4 May

Annette Messager: The Messengers
Hayward Gallery, until 25 May

For many people, Mark Wallinger (born 1959) is the man who likes horses. He is the artist with a passionate interest in racing and thoroughbreds, the successful competitor for the Ebbsfleet Landmark commission, in which he will place a vast sculpture of a horse in the heartlands of Kent to greet visitors to our green and pleasant racing stable. Now he has been invited to curate an exhibition for the upper floor of the Hayward Gallery. Its odd title will be familiar to football fans, referring to an infamous and still-debated decision in the 1966 World Cup. The theme of the show is further encapsulated in its subtitle: ‘Frontiers, Borders and Thresholds’. It’s what they call a multi-disciplinary show, which means it’s got a bit of everything in it. The mix is rich and undeniably engaging.

The concept of frontiers and divides is one close to Wallinger’s heart, whether physical, metaphysical, political or psychological. As the exhibition guide informs us: ‘The idea of the threshold as a transitional state, an interface between two realms of being, is another central motif.’ We live in an era achingly aware of transition, beset by rampant and unrestrained technological advance (not necessarily evolving for our best interests), and crucially lacking in the certainties and verities once held to be ‘eternal’. Wallinger explores our frail identities in collision with various stronger ideas and beliefs, through a profusion of visual imagery which ranges from painting and sculpture to printed matter, film, installation and, of course, photography.

There are various soundtracks, but the first to strike the ear and infiltrate the consciousness is James Joyce reading from Finnegans Wake, making that (for many) near-impenetrable modernist text sound like an Irish lullaby.

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