Crumpled and crumbling, Angela de la Cruz’s artworks are all on the verge of collapse. Her canvases are broken and folded in on themselves, her sculptures are barely assembled junk, and look as if they might turn right back into rubbish if there’s a strong breeze.
Just as you walk into this quiet, sparse show of the London-based Spanish artist’s work at Birmingham’s Ikon – her first UK solo show outside London despite being nominated for the Turner prize in 2010 and generally being one of the biggest art names in the country – there’s a black-painted canvas wrapped around an old two-legged table (which once belonged to Guardian art critic Adrian Searle). Next to it sits a painting in thick, brown gunk – a fecal monochrome, its bottom corner snapped off but gaffer taped back on, the whole thing wedged upright. It looks and feels like a body that doesn’t work, faulty and leaky, patched up and forced back to the vertical.
