Máret Ánne Sara @ Tate Modern Turbine Hall
Once you get past bag check at the main entrance to the Tate Modern you’ll encounter what appears to be a vertical conveyor belt displaying reindeer pelts. It looks like something you might see in the bathroom floor-mat department at a fully automated IKEA. It is underwhelming in both simplicity and curatorial laziness, because this is now the fourth Turbine Hall installation in a row that can be categorised as Large Hanging Fabric Display.
The previous three, in reverse order:
Mire Lee’s hanging shreds of muddy skins
El Anatsui’s hanging sheets of woven recycled metal
Cecilia Vicuña’s hanging cotton ropes holding sticks and bones
I can’t help but wonder if one of Tate Modern’s recent cost cutting measures was to outsource curation to the White Company’s marketing department because we’ve been suffering through bland textile-inspired installations since 2022. Prior to that, Anicka Yi’s flying amoeba blew everyone’s mind and set a high water benchmark that I suspect no one thinks can be surpassed. Based on the four follow-ups I would argue no one’s even tried. Maybe this is one of the reasons why Tate Modern’s attendance still hasn’t recovered to pre-Covid levels?
The Director’s official excuse is to blame European youth for not crossing the Channel to visit London (yes, really) but when the most prominent public advertising for your institution (i.e. the Turbine Hall) has been neglected and left to rot you can’t excuse people for not wanting to walk through the door. Maybe the Tate Modern staff need to study up on broken windows theory, prominently deployed by New York City in the 90s to transform Time Square’s dangerous 1970s-80s image into the family-friendly neon playground that is it today.
It’s such a shame because Tate Modern has countless important and exciting works of art. Duchamp’s Fountain (the urinal). Mondrian’s Composition C (No.III) with Red, Yellow and Blue. Cildo Meireles’ Babel. They even now have Rothko’s Seagram Murals, which used to be at the Tate Britain. The problem is that most visitors view those kinds of things as an amuse-bouche and no matter how palette-cleansing they may be, the entire meal has been ruined when the main course is overcooked.
Or in this case, undercooked.
It’s unclear if artist Máret Ánne Sara was unaware of the vast expanse of the Turbine Hall, out of her depth at conceptualising incredibly large artworks, or simply made a conscious decision to create a human scale experience. The reviews are almost universally negative and generally focus on the question of why there is so little to see. Wandering around the install I kept asking myself: “When does the rest arrive?”
There ain’t more coming, and that’s especially a problem because what’s there is underwhelming. Before I describe the rest of it — the lacklustre hedge maze at the back — I want to revisit a relevant memory from my past. Bear with me, it will all make sense in the end.
In 1999 I queued for an hour to see what every other geek on the planet had been praying for every night since 1983: another Star Wars movie! The excitement around the recent Oasis reunion tour pales in comparison to the energy generated by the Phantom Menace crowds. Sixteen years of longing and anticipation made going to a movie feel just like a rock concert. The roar of cheers and applause when the 20th Century Fox fanfare blared and the Lucasfilm logo appeared was deafening. Then the infamous yellow crawl informed everyone in the audience that “The taxation of trade routes to outlying star systems is in dispute.”
For a brief WTF moment everyone fell silent but my inner monologue was deafening. “Trade routes? Taxes? JUST GET TO THE LASER SWORDS AND THE PEW PEW PEW BLASTERS!!!”
Back in modern day Tate I was reminded of that memory as I sat inside one of the wood-fenced listening rooms. I donned a pair of headphones and slowly ran my fingers through the super soft reindeer fur I was sitting on as I listened to what was essentially Rudolph’s Activist Podcast. I’m not sure what I expected to hear, but I certainly hadn’t planned on a news-talk-radio style voice droning on about the nuances of reindeer herding and the negative impacts of government regulations on that industry. I’m not opposed to socio-political art, but for the love of Yoda, without putting me to sleep your point you must make.
The only positive review I found went to great lengths to laud the message of the artworks while downplaying the lack of something, anything, that properly fills the space. The artist has said that “nature is not an endless resource to exploit” so it’s fitting that a less-is-more approach to the use of pelts, bones and wood was deployed. But ultimately the faults with this exhibit should not entirely be levied at the artist, because art is like property and not just the way prices get inflated. Location, Location, Location is everything. The curatorial team should have realised at the concept stage that the scale of this installation would be fundamentally at odds with both public expectations of, and the artistic remit that Tate Modern has set for, the Turbine Hall. When the mismatch is this great, it’s hard not to view the art as anything but.
Plan your visit
‘Goavve-Geabbil’ runs until 06 April 2026.
FREE
Visit tate.org.uk and follow @tate on Instagram for more info about the venue.
Visit maretannesara.com and follow @maretannesara on Instagram for more info about the artist.
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