On 14 November 1940, the city of Coventry endured a night of relentless bombing – lives were lost, homes were destroyed and the city’s cathedral was left in ruins. In response, provost RT Howard called, from the ruins of his cathedral, for forgiveness. It was a message that would resonate through the generations.
“Coventry is now known as a city of peace and reconciliation,” explains Martin Roberts, curatorial manager at Herbert Art Gallery and Museum. “That has become a strong part of the Herbert’s work, to tell those stories of peace and reconciliation.”
Roberts is the curator of the Herbert’s latest exhibition, Ali Cherri: If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed?. The show, originally curated by the National Gallery during Cherri’s time as artist in residence, opens on 12 August. The Herbert will present five works by the Lebanese artist, whose varied practice spans sculpture, film and installation and is concerned with the meaning of the built environment and its histories.
“Ali’s work really resonated with us as a museum,” Roberts says. “He explores themes of archaeology and natural history, how museums classify those subjects and how acts of violence and warfare can manifest today.”
Acts of violence – and the exploration of their associated trauma – are key to both the history of Coventry and to Cherri’s works. Each of the artist’s sculptures is offered in response to another, previously damaged artwork, asking what should happen to these vandalised works and what their role in the development of new narratives might be.
The most famous of these damaged works is Diego Velázquez’s The Toilet of Venus (“The Rokeby Venus”), attacked with a cleaver by the suffragette Mary Richardson in 1914. Cherri’s own response to the renowned painting – and the trauma inflicted upon it – is equally political.
His interpretation of Velázquez’s Venus is a monumental wooden sculpture, which forms the centrepiece of If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed?. “This depiction includes the kind of scars that were on the original artefacts – evidence of wounds, trauma, damage to an object,” says Roberts.
But, despite the prevalence of these wounds, Cherri’s aim is not to highlight violence, but to explore how, through the display of alternative artworks, dominant histories can be questioned. It’s an aim with which Roberts is very much aligned.
“When people attack pictures, it can be like being interested in a car crash, there’s a kind of morbid fascination,” he says. “But visitors will be within the same building as our peace and reconciliation collection, just across the way from the ruins of the old cathedral. I hope they’ll be able to view the works in the context of Coventry, to see their deeper meaning.”
Choice cuts: Ali Cherri on his work
The Adoration of the Golden Calf, after Poussin
Cherri wanted to take back characters from the Adoration: “I created this plinth base, on top is the taxidermied conjoined lamb from the 1930s. This is the figure that erupts after this painting was subjected to violence [Poussin’s painting was vandalised with spray paint in 2011].”
The Toilet of Venus (“The Rokeby Venus”), after Velázquez (main picture)
“This is a less modern representation of Venus; it brings out something more essential, going back to a more ancient form. Something important here is the return of the gaze. We don’t only look at artwork, artwork looks back at us – we are in a dialogue.”
Self Portrait at the Age of 63, after Rembrandt
“The person who spray-painted this Rembrandt was an art student. They drew a pound sign, protesting how, although Rembrandt tried to draw himself as humble, he was put on a pedestal by museums.”
The Madonna of the Cat, after Barocci
“In Christian iconography, the red spot on the Goldfinch’s head is a drop of blood from Jesus – a metaphor for how violence can turn into beauty. Here we don’t know if the hand is trapping the bird or holding it. There is a dual reading, a gesture of care or of violence.”
The Virgin and Child With Saint Anne and the Infant Saint John the Baptist, after Leonardo
“I took the impact of the bullet [the painting was shot at in 1987] and enlarged it 600%. Instead of trying to hide the damage, it becomes something you praise.”
Ali Cherri: If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed? Is at Herbert Art Gallery & Museum, Coventry, until 8 January
