Mona Hatoum, 'Light
Sentence' (1992)
I’ve loved Mona Hatoum‘s work since I first saw
it in 1993 at the Serpentine Gallery in Kensington Gardens–an experience that
still emerges from the mists of time on a regular basis, as one of
those signal encounters with contemporary art. The exhibition was called Four
Rooms and Hatoum was one of four artists, but her’s is the only piece that
I clearly recollect.
I remember walking into a
comparitively confined space, which contained row of heavy wire storage
lockers. They were stacked and grouped so that they created a narrow corridor
between them, akin to a cell block. The metal forms, alone, were chilling
enough but, in their midst was a single incandescent bulb, suspended from cord.
The harsh light it emitted multiplied the bars of the metal lockers
by casting their shadows on the walls, floor and ceiling, and on the
figures of people in the gallery.
The bulb was slowly being
raised and lowered by a pulley. As it moved, the shadows moved. In my gut I
could feel the tension inspired by those forms and shadows. Instead of leaving,
I sat down on the floor, overwhelmed by the chance to be there, and
wanting only to immerse myself in the dynamics and mood of the installation.
I revisited
that encounter most recently when a small book on Hatoum’s work arrived in
the mail. And believe me, although I love West Michigan, so little goes on
here art-wise that the occasional arrival of a new book is huge. This
one, I’ve taken to my heart. For one thing, it’s small and easy to handle–a far
cry from the adipose tomes that pass for too many art books these days. It
was produced by Hatje Cantz, a Stuttgart-based publisher with a history
of lovingly designing and printing carefully selected books. So, at first, I
just savored the binding, the quality of the paper that the pages were printed
on, and the wonderfully paced integration of text and image.
