Veronica Ryan is much too good to win the Turner prize – I feared. Or rather, too good for what it so often seems to be, a brash, loud, sensational crowd-pleaser.
She is none of those things. Ryan’s sculptures are meditative and poetic, their meanings maturing over time instead of hitting you in the face. Her room in the Turner show at Tate Liverpool is startling in its sheer intelligent beauty. In a space whose yellow walls seem to melt and yield to your gaze, her sculpted objects are spaced out like the notes of some minimalist score. It’s a lesson in what art really is, and can do.
