There is Light Somewhere, the title of the latest show by conceptual artist Tavares Strachan at the Hayward Gallery in London, is borrowed from a James Baldwin quote. In his final book of essays, Nothing Personal (1964), the American novelist and social critic wrote:
One discovers the light in darkness, that is what darkness is for; but everything in our lives depends on how we bear the light. It is necessary, while in darkness, to know that there is a light somewhere, to know that in oneself, waiting to be found, there is a light.
Baldwin’s words form a central motif for the exhibition. A mesmerising blue-and-yellow neon light display alternates melodically between showing the quote and the words “One Light”. As the words move, they highlight the light and darkness within ourselves, and the way we can often move between hope and despair.
The opening room features large installations, hung on the walls. These collages have many juxtaposed layers of meaning which nudge and cajole the viewer to examine their own hidden biases and prejudices. Many refer to legacies and stories that have not had their moment of glory in the spotlight – that have not been afforded their own share of history.
Double Consciousness (2023) is a multimedia work in enamel, oil, acrylic, limestone, pigment and neon, inspired by the work of the scholar and American civil rights activist W.E.B Du Bois.
Du Bois coined the term “double consciousness” to describe the “peculiar sensation” that African Americans face while simultaneously living within and outside a racist society. It’s a feeling of being examined while also deemed ineligible to partake fully in society – always on the fringes, yet central to the ways racial hierarchies are embedded and acted out. This collage also focuses on the computer scientist Annie Easley, who made significant contributions to Nasa’s energy technologies but encountered racism and sexism throughout her career.
The Ruin of a Giant, made this year, is a large oxidised bronze sculpture depicting the American social rights activist Harriet Tubman. It dominates much of the opening room, questioning what an ancient relic is “supposed” to look like, who gets to be commemorated through history, and how we understand history itself.
Elsewhere in the exhibition, one of the central installations is the monumental piece The Encyclopedia of Invisibility (2018). It’s a sculpture of an encyclopaedia which contains around 2,550 pages with 17,000 entries. The encyclopaedia is encased in glass, but the surrounding walls are plastered with some of the entries. This installation questions the western parameters of knowledge – who gets to decide what is important to include in the storehouses of that knowledge, and who gets overlooked in the process.
Exploration is another significant theme in Strachan’s work. The exhibition explains that he is interested in “leaving the island he grew up in [(New Providence)], both physically and metaphorically”, pushing the boundaries of where he belongs.
An infinite protest
For the last few months, I have been reading and analysing the journals of the explorers Robert Peary and Matthew Henson as part of my research for my next book. So it was a joyous surprise to see that Strachan shares an interest in Henson.
Peary and Henson undertook 18 arctic expeditions together, including the 1909 expedition when Peary supposedly became the first man to reach the North Pole. Henson, who was African American, may actually have reached the Pole before Peary (who was lagging behind the team due to injury), but his efforts and achievements were unrecognised during his lifetime.
In 2018, Strachan created an unusual satellite called Enoch (named after the biblical figure “who was able to forgo death”). This 24-karat gold urn – based on ancient Egyptian designs and launched from a SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket – commemorated the first African American to train as an astronaut with Nasa, Robert Henry Lawrence Jr, who died in a jet crash in 1967 aged 32.
When we don’t see others like us in the pages of history, being celebrated and commemorated, it is hard to imagine where we fit in and how we belong. Strachan’s art is an “infinite protest” against the status quo, slowly chipping away at our perceptions of history and reality, and thereby helping us imagine a new version of the past and a future where “there is light somewhere” for all of us.
My work in archives questions the way biases and silences shape our collective stories about the past – and Strachan’s work exposes some of these silences too. Moving through the exhibition’s rooms, I encountered a range of cultural and historical references pulled together with nuance, threaded together with reams of knowledge of history, sociology and science. Strachan is a true polymath – a Renaissance man.
As I came out of the exhibition and saw the words “You belong here” blazing in neon blue on the gallery building, I suddenly felt like I had donned armour against the insidious racial biases that can chip away at our fragile sense of belonging. It is hard to encapsulate this complex, multilayered and highly charged emotional experience in so few words. I felt moved, I felt emboldened, and I felt seen.
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Pragya Agarwal does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
