FOUR HOPEFULS UNVEILED FOR THE TURNER PRIZE 2008 AT TATE

a photo of a cylindrical artwork

Goshka Mackuga, Deutsche Volk – Deutsche Arbeit. Photo © Tara Booth / Culture24

Tara Booth takes an objective look at this year’s Turner Prize – at Tate Britain until January 18 2009.

The work by this year’s shortlisted artists in the running for the 2008 Turner Prize has gone on display at London’s Tate Britain and it’s the usual heady mix of mild shock and puzzling abstraction.

Runa Islam, Mark Lecky, Goshka Macuga and Cathy Wilkes are competing for the £25,000 prize, which is awarded to a British artist under the age of 50 for an outstanding exhibition or presentation in the 12 months before May 6.

The winner will be announced on December 1 during a live broadcast on Channel 4 and the runners-up will receive a sum of £5,000.

Widely recognised as one of the most important and prestigious awards for the visual arts in Europe the Turner Prize is, whatever you think of it, very effective in encouraging debate and seems to revel in controversial or bizarre pieces.

Previous winners of the Turner Prize include Grayson Perry, Chris Ofili and last year’s winner, the man in a bear suit, Mark Wallington.

Heading up the pack this year, Goshka Macuga is an artist who engages with the construction of histories and is best known for her distinctive installations and environments that explore conventions of archiving, exhibition making and museum display.

Her installation for the Turner Prize attempts to fuse the romantic relationships of artists Paul Nash and Eileen Agar with that of designer Lilly Reich and architect and designer Mies van der Rohe.

To achieve this she juxtaposes meanings and materials by reconciling photographs and paper templates from the Nash and Agar archives into dynamic, single images.

Cathy Wilkes, I Give You All My Money – Photo © Tara Booth / Culture 24

a photo of an artwork featuring desks and mannequins

“She breaths new life into them, encouraging new narratives and meanings,” said Curator Helen Little. “It is an ongoing fascination and exploration of Nash and the relationship between the two.”

What results is a concoction of old and new with collages that not only bring together ideas from two people but also unites the relationship.

The sculptural ensemble Haus der Frau I, Haus der Frau II and Deutsche Volk – Deutsche Arbeit (all 2008) are reconstructed from drawings with the help of an engineer. They delve into the forgotten history of Lilly Reich, Mie’s long-term professional and personal partner, who developed revolutionary approaches to exhibition design.

The ensemble was also shown at the fifth Berlin Biennial for Contemporary Art in which she was shortlisted for.

Cathy Wilkes’ room-sized installation, I Give You All My Money, presents a highly charged arrangement of consumer readymades, such as prams and televisions, combined with sculptures, found objects and manipulated images.

Describing her installations as confessional and diaristic, Wilkes’ work lies in the examination of the language of objects and is a characterisation of the direct charm of daily human experience.

Two supermarket checkouts and two mannequins stand in the centre of the room with objects and fragments scattered around. Hair, leftover food, glass bowls, burnt wood, scraps of clothing and discarded toys lie on the gallery floor.

“Cathy has chosen everyday objects plus things from her own domestic realm,” explained curator Sophie O’Brian. “Everything has been delicately and precisely placed, to encourage people to relook at objects with a refreshed eye. She makes the familiar unfamiliar.”

a photo of a poster showing a woman wearing a leotard

Mark Leckey, Resident Poster. © Mark Leckey

Often using found images, footage and sound, Mark Leckey’s work engages in a dynamic questioning of the connections between surface and dimension, appearance and self-determination, location and presence.

He specifically celebrates the imagination and our potential to inhabit, reclaim or animate an idea, a space, or an object.

His group of works here focusses on a series of sculptural animals including Felix gets Broadcasted 2007, Made in ‘Eaven 2004 and Search Engine.

Cinema-in-the-Round 2006-2008 is a short lecture that presents the artist’s collection of film, television and video extracts as a subjective lecture-style performance.

Split into chapters, the talk considers the proposition of matter, the transformation from still to moving image, the development of images from flat to voluminous and the life of images on-screen.

He discusses Felix, the animated cat, popular in the 1920s and 1930s and the development of the CGI Garfield. The 1997 blockbuster Titanic is also discussed in terms of the director James Cameron’s attempt to showcase the relationship between man and technology.

He also approaches the ability to transform an object from 2D to 3D and finally to reality using the recognisable Homer from The Simpsons as an example.

Interested in the transformation of flat to still to moving image to 3D, Leckey’s interest is drawn from the Internet, books, adverts, Hitchcockian films and magic. He uses his own identity as a filter for a wide variety of found material.

Runa Islam, Be The First To See What You See As You See It. 2004, Courtesy Jay Jopling (London). © the artist

a photo showing a film still of a woman peering at a teapot

Runa Islam presents a selection of three film works including ‘Be The First To See What You See As You See It’ 2004, ‘First Day of Spring’ 2005 and CINEMATOGRAPHY 2007.

Islam’s open-ended pieces are closely choreographed allowing her to innovatively use the apparatus and illusion of film to question and re-imagine contemporary visual culture.

Be The First To See What You See As You See It is a collage of sequences of a woman in a gallery of chintzy china crockery on plinths. As she wanders through the gallery in a dreamlike state, she gently taps the china, which falls and shatters on the floor.

The moment of fracture is exaggerated with slow motion as Islam explores the ability of objects existing.

First Day of Spring is a short silent film of Bangladeshi rickshaw drivers at rest. It is a sympathetic portrait of everyday life and is very lyrical in places. Slow tracking shots scan the scene which then develop into close-ups, revealing texture and life.

CINEMATOGRAPHY investigates the concept and technical foundation of the medium to an extreme, tracking letters of the film’s title as the film progresses. She applies close detail to composition and again favours the tracking shot as the camera swoops around a film apparatus workshop.

Although densely layered, her films reconfigure the conventional structure of the film image to reveal isolated elements of its construction.

“Her films are very carefully choreographed and deliberately open-ended,” said Curator Carolyn Kerr. “Runa is fascinated with the illusion of film, location, plot, familiarity, light and dark and camera apparatuses.”

By Tara Booth

The Turner Prize 2008 Exhibition is open September 30 2008 – January 18 2009 at the Linbury Galleries, Tate Britain. The winner will be announced on December 1 2008

‘It’s a good day for bears’

Mark Wallinger, who won the Turner prize on Monday, talks to Charlotte Higgins about making art out of war, growing up in Chigwell – and the wrapping paper he designed for the Guardian

Wednesday December 5, 2007
The Guardian

Not inappropriately, given the work that he showed in the Turner prize shortlist exhibition, Mark Wallinger is a great bear of a man, a little jowly, very genial, and with a mild, quietly spoken, articulate way with him that frequently ratchets up abruptly into roars and snorts of laughter.

It is the morning after the announcement of the Turner prize-giving and Wallinger, who was celebrating till 3.30am at the shortlisted artists’ after-party in a Liverpool hotel, has before him the standard-issue winner’s kit: coffee, mineral water and a packet of Migraleve. “I never knew before what footballers meant when they said ‘It hasn’t really sunk in yet’ – such a dreadful cliche – but now I think I know what they mean. I think I’ve been practising losing for six months …”

“It’s a good day for bears,” he adds with a grin, the teacher Gillian Gibbons, she of the infamous teddy called Muhammad, having just flown in from Sudan.

Sleeper, Wallinger’s film of himself roaming a deserted Berlin gallery at dead of night badly disguised as a bear, was the work he showed in this year’s Turner prize exhibition at Tate Liverpool. But, at least officially, it was not the piece that won him the prize – that was State Britain, a precise reconstruction of Brian Haw’s famous anti-war camp in Parliament Square. That work – 40-odd metres long – was on show at Tate Britain, London, between January and August this year: as these things turn out, Wallinger had documented Haw’s immense protest by way of 600 photographs just four days before 78 police descended on it and removed the bulk of the placards, photographs, flags, information boards and associated flotsam and jetsam that made up this quite extraordinary and motley camp. The removal of the protest was made legal by the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005 which, astonishingly, forbade unauthorised protests within one mile of parliament – a fact that Wallinger believes flies in the face of our most basic rights as citizens.

He felt it was “in the public interest to render visible something that this stupid Act has caused to be dismantled”, but of course in recreating the camp in Tate Britain he also transformed it, froze it in time, transplanted it, decontextualised it.

“When we put it in the Tate, someone said it looked a bit like harvest festival – these humble offerings in this great neoclassical building,” he says. “But of course the work starts to question the building, to question where its authority comes from: neoclassical is the language that power and money tends to choose.”

The look of Haw’s camp, its passionate homemadeness and chaos, was also compelling to Wallinger: “I like to have beauty on my side, of course. And there was something truthful and beautiful about the protest, all these things that had either been made by Brian or assembled by him. It had a grim humour, too, and it was also very instructive. It told you, for instance, exactly which MPs had voted for the war and which against; that parliament had spent 700 hours debating foxhunting and seven debating the war.”

He adds: “The campsite looked like it had been through a conflict: it really did express the agony of war, the agony of trying to do anything about it. The fact that Brian’s bed was there made it seem something like a conscious nightmare.”

Adrian Searle, the Guardian’s art critic, likened State Britain to a 19th-century history painting, to works such as Manet’s The Execution of Maximilian. “That’s a pretty high exemplar,” says Wallinger, with a hoot of laughter.

Wallinger, in fact, started out as a painter. Born in Chigwell, Essex, in 1959 (thus just sneaking in, as he says, “under the wire” for the Turner prize, which is for artists under 50), he had a natural gift for drawing as a child, which was encouraged by his parents. “My dad taught me to paint. They were amazingly cultured people, who had left school at 15.” His father, who died in 2001, was a fishmonger.

“It’s quite odd to have been brought up in a place later held up for complete ridicule,” he says. “After my father died it became quite important for me to reclaim it as a proper place . . . About 10 years ago my mother called up and said, ‘You’ll never guess who’s looking for a house in Chigwell.’ I actually do this in pubs, and make people guess. It was Marlon Brando! I told mum she should have offered a house swap for his place in the South Pacific. Anyway, if Chigwell’s good enough for Marlon Brando, it’s good enough for me.” He talks of it as a very particular kind of place: two streets away began fields, and “Sally Gunnell’s dad’s farm”, but it is also on the underground into London, and there were frequent trips west.

“I thought all kids were taken to the National Gallery and the V&A at weekends. We were also a fanatical ballet family. I saw Fonteyn and Nureyev, and Baryshnikov and Makarova dancing with the Kirov before they defected.”

He still loves the ballet and weeps like a baby at it. He would like to do something with dance one day and is talking to Sadler’s Wells, he says.

Wallinger studied at Chelsea College of Art and Goldsmiths, learning to paint but also producing a thesis on James Joyce. “Joyce spoils you for other writers. He’s got everything covered. And inverted commas are so ugly.” He hoots with laughter again. “I only did it because they turned down my first idea, which was on horse racing.” He has a longstanding interest in the turf. He once bought a racehorse and called it A Real Work of Art, also producing a bronze sculpture of it; and he showed two paintings of racehorses in the Turner prize shortlist exhibition of 1995, the year he lost out to Damien Hirst.

At a certain point, about 12 years ago, he stopped painting, fearing the state of being trapped by his facility for it, and decided to “steel myself to work in other ways”. He started making sculpture, and perhaps his most famous work of that kind is Ecce Homo, his Christlike figure that stood on the usually vacant fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square in 1999. “It was coming up to the millennium and everyone was very squeamish about the fact that it was meant to commemorate 2,000 years since the birth of Christ. I wanted to put the obvious out there, and I was interested in making Christ as other, and as threatening, as Islam is to a lot of people.”

It’s interesting, perhaps, to relate this eight-year-old major piece to a new, minor work: the wrapping paper he designed for the Guardian and which appeared in the newspaper on Monday, arousing upset and anger among some readers. “There are a lot of mixed messages at Christmas,” he says. “The Christian thing, the Father Christmas thing, the consumerist thing. Fundamentally, though, it’s about Jesus Christ.” His wrapping paper said simply that – Jesus Christ – over and over, baldly and literally.

“Obviously, I came up with it long before there was a teddy bear called Muhammad,” he says. “It’s quite odd, what has become taboo in a name.”

The art Wallinger admires is the old stuff. “I spent three months once at the British School in Rome – during which time I produced one limerick – and it was fantastic. Nothing will ever touch that, the ancient, the modern … I remember I had been there a month, and had begun to tire a little of the pasta thing. [Another roar of laughter.] I went in search of McDonalds’s, knowing there was one near the Pantheon, and I passed a church. Rather guiltily, I thought I’d better go in. So I was walking down through the nave, and someone stuck their 500 lire into a box and up sprang Caravaggio’s St Matthew triptych.” His eyes are alight at the memory of it – that and the thought of the Berninis in the Galleria Borghese. He does a great impression of David’s expression in Bernini’s sculpture of the boy straining back, stone in his sling, about to knock out Goliath with one fantasical, muscular effort.

If Wallinger’s Guardian wrapping paper was seen by some as frivolous, that is a misjudgment: he is often funny, but he is not a thoughtless artist, and his art comes from rigorous reason as well as from the gut-pull of emotion. He is sceptical about the art shenanigans of today, with so much big money swilling around, and the silly prices. “Artists are greedy at the moment. When I left art college, I remember going to a talk called Is There a Future After Art College, and it was generally accepted that the answer was no, but you struggled on regardless. The landscape has certainly changed. People talk about money. There’s nothing interesting in money, is there?

“At the same time,” he adds, “artists have to make a living, and patronage in art has always been an issue, whether it’s church or state or rich bonkers people. It feels like there’s too much art at the moment. A glut of art.” He hoots again. “Oh God! It’s everywhere you turn.”

Mark Wallinger wins Turner Prize

Mark Wallinger has been named the winner of the Turner Prize for his replica of the one-man anti-war protest in Parliament Square, State Britain. Actor and director Dennis Hopper presented the £25,000 award at a ceremony at the Tate Liverpool gallery.

“I am indebted to all those people who contributed to the making of State Britain,” said Wallinger.

For the exhibition he chose to display a film of him roaming the National Gallery in Berlin in a bear suit.

‘Tireless campaign’

It was the first time since the award was founded 23 years ago that the event took place outside London.

Around 45,000 people have seen the exhibition of the nominees’ work, which has been on display since October.

Wallinger first made the shortlist in 1995, but lost out to Damien Hirst.

He was favourite to win the prize for his £90,000 installation, which recreates everything from Brian Haw’s protest in Parliament Square in 2001.

Dennis Hopper and Mark Wallinger

Dennis Hopper presented the award to Mark Wallinger

Every detail was copied from his tarpaulin shelter and tea-making area to the messages of support and hand-painted placards.

It is said he employed 15 people for six months to make State Britain.

‘Historic importance’

“Brian Haw is a remarkable man who has waged a tireless campaign against the folly and hubris of our government’s foreign policy,” Wallinger said.

“For six-and-a-half years he has remained steadfast in Parliament Square, the last dissenting voice in Britain. Bring home the troops, give us back our rights, trust the people,” he added.

The jury commended Wallinger, 48, for its “immediacy, visceral intensity and historic importance”.

They said: “The work combines a bold political statement with art’s ability to articulate fundamental human truths.”

The other artists on the shortlist, Zarina Bhimji, Mike Nelson and Nathan Coley, each received £5,000 for their “outstanding presentations” at the show.

Brian Haw

Brian Haw’s protest in Parliament Square began in 2001

Nelson was shortlisted for Amnesiac Shrine, which features a maze of mirrors, while Bhimji’s photographs of Uganda included a picture of automatic guns lined up against a wall.

Coley’s work is a scaffold with the phrase “there will be no miracles here” spelt out in lightbulbs.

The Turner Prize, established in 1984, is awarded to a British artist under 50 for an outstanding exhibition or other presentation of his or her work in the 12 months before May this year.

Last year German-born artist Tomma Abts became the first woman painter to win the prize.

Zarina Bhimji

Born in 1963 in Mbarara, Uganda, Zarina Bhimji now lives and works in London and Berlin.

Immediately after receiving a B.A. in Fine Arts from the University of London in 1987, she began exhibiting her work in group exhibitions. Following post-graduate work she became an Artist in Residence at Darwin College in Cambridge. In 1996, her work was part of the “In/Sight” exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City.

One of her latest works, “Out of Blue,” was commissioned and produced by Documenta 11, held in Cologne, Germany in 2002.Bhimji returned to Uganda to film the architecture, airports, and graveyards as well as the military barracks, police cells, and prisons of Amin’s reign of terror. In her work Zarina Bhimji explores the politics and poetics of power and history through images rich in colour, texture and content.

Here we will review her new movie

Entebbe Airport (still from Out of Blue) 2001

Zarina Bhimji’s new film on show at Tate Britain draws on her childhood memories. The writer and broadcaster Yasmin Alibhai-Brown, who shares the artist’s Ugandan Asian origins, offers her own vivid reaction to their common experience

Zarina Bhimji was once invited to show her startlingly challenging art at a deeply conservative Islamic centre, and then threatened to withdraw unless she was allowed to include commentaries on the naked human body, male and female. This educative confrontation took place at the beautiful building opposite the Victoria & Albert Museum where the Ismaili mosque is used by worshippers each evening and dawn.

The Earth was coming off its hinges, 1999-2001

Bhimji won and the centre gained something immensely important, letting innovation and rebellion into the hallowed halls, with their ancestral geometric patterns and fountains paying eternal homage to the past. The walls did not crumble; faith was not polluted, and profoundly held values were nourished by being engaged with in the most audacious way.

Some Muslim communities are waking up to the fact that art, writing, science, new ideas and intellectual debate once used to define Islam in the world. When Europe was locked in superstition and a rejection of threatening ideas, Muslim scholars were devouring the work of Greek philosophers and creating vital, inquisitive cultures. In the past 50 years a dark age seems to have descended on the Islamic world, making too many Muslims disenchanted, suspicious and hopelessly nostalgic. Optimists detect a new renaissance slowly unfolding and Bhimji (who may or may not be a practising Muslim) is, in my view, partly located in this re-awakening.

She is bold, daring, demanding. If she turns to Islamic history, it is with the vengeance of an activist. In the 1990s her Cleaning the Garden project featured the gardens and courtyards of the Alhambra, but this was to repudiate present-day European cultural storytellers who are hell-bent on excising the role and long presence of Islam from their land, and to remind post-Rushdie Muslims of what they once were.

Work in Progress, 2001

Yet this dissident and sharp observer has given us, in Out of Blue, a film which is deteminedly conservative and questionably partial. This is one of Bhimji’s most personal expressions to date. As one of those forcibly dispossessed by Idi Amin exactly 30 years ago, she explores the unresolved pain and unanswered questions which still haunt many Ugandan Asians. Their lives before the expulsions hover restlessly, as they try to make sense of explanations which are only half true. This latest offering is a moving display of these half truths; effective yes, but not convincing in the end for those of us who know what happened and why.

Forced exile is a terrible thing. It is also one of the most powerful liberators of creativity. The dislocation sets free a range of dramas and stories without predictable ends – only questions, questions, and more questions. It lightens the burden of obligation to nationality and homeland while instilling a futile longing for both. It bestows on the lucky victims a profundity which you cannot learn anywhere. This intensity pulls you into Out of Blue, as the sounds circulate and tangle and as images emerge from the high, confident, affluent walls of Tate Britain. (Many of the shots are of walls of pain – of old decayed houses, of prisons with dried blood stuck in rivulets under the high bars, of the near-derelict airport at Entebbe.) Viewers are compelled to enter the inner rooms, the artist’s unquiet sensibility and the impossibility of closure.

Out of Blue is a short tale of an imploded paradise (the conventional view taken by Asians of Uganda), and begins with the landscape which is still fresh for those of us who were driven from it. As the camera strokes its way softly across the beauty, three decades of distance vanish. In my autobiography No Place Like Home (incidentally also the title of a 1997 exhibition of Bhimji’s in Minneapolis), I wrote: ‘Uganda, with its moist and raging green everywhere, prodigious, boisterous flowers, trees and grasses and beautiful red earth. Utterly untamed.’ Bhimji’s initial, loving images capture this absolutely but inject a fragility which wasn’t there before, before the bloody history which saw a million black Ugandans slaughtered by its first two presidents between them.

THE LANDSCAPE IS STILL FRESH FOR THOSE DRIVEN FROM IT. AS THE CAMERA STROKES ITS WAY SOFTLY ACROSS THE BEAUTY, THREE DECADES OF DISTANCE VANISH

Then comes a small fire in the grass. It gets larger; a cacophony of sounds invades the birdsong; ruthless Amin and his cronies threatening and ordering, sighs of bewilderment and sung recitals of pleading prayers from Asian victims and the greater, more gruesome pain of others going through a greater horror, those who were left behind to die or be tortured. The soundtrack kicks you in the stomach, raising panic without a name. And although it is a clich, it works – the sun gets blighted by the thick black smoke which rises from the burnt terrain and charred hopes.

Bhimji is drawn to decayed buildings which speak eloquently. There are shots of rotting mansions once occupied by rich Asians (many of whom didn’t care enough that black Ugandans were left at the bottom of the economic pile, and did not address their own racisms). More moving are the lingering shots of modest little homes with tin roofs where ordinary Asians lived, spaces now freely occupied by spoilt chickens. There are mysterious dormitories with straw mats, precious plastic bags and cups and rows of guns. Are these barracks? Do we feel threatened or reassured that, without their guns, soldiers are pathetic and poor too?

Out of Blue 2002 (still) Writer/Director Zarina Bhimji

Still from Out of Blue 2002. Writer/Director Zarina Bhimji

The cells are also ambiguous. Black Africans occupy too slight a place in this work, yet they were the ones imprisoned and killed. Is this homage to them or is there some fiction to give a more tragic and cruel edge to our story? Hardly a dozen Asians ever died at the hands of the army in Uganda. But as a symbol of repression the shots scraping around the cell recreate the terror we all felt before we left. Perhaps this is the point. I went to Robben Island in Cape Town this year and visited the cells where Nelson Mandela, Ahmed Kathrada and other ANC prisoners were held. In South Africa, blacks and Asians fought together against injustice. In Uganda we did not. But Robben Island is a tourist trap now, and the testimonies soaked into the walls and hard floors have been silenced by too much talk from guides and politicians. In Out of Blue the silent screams of the imprisoned are left intact, and the integrity is staggering.

still from Out of Blue   still from Out of Blue

still from Out of Blue

Stills from Out of Blue, Writer/Director Zarina Bhimji

The sense of loss is evocative and everywhere – you can’t help but weep to see the dying graves of Asians left behind; you can’t carry your gravestones with you. Nobody to visit, to tend to these ancestors, our past. Here in Britain, our adopted country, the graves are cold, and our elders wor ry about this as they reach the end of their lives. Out of Blue animates memory, pain and loss beautifully, but there is much wallowing. We need the critical scalpel which Bhimji uses in her other work, more challenges to assumptions and some indication that we Asians were not perfect or indispensable, the country that we have left behind is not doomed forever. We may never forget Uganda but our lives are now rooted in the United Kingdom and indomitable black Ugandans are making their paradise bloom again. We no longer have claims on each other, and that is a new freedom.

Mark Wallinger

English painter, sculptor and video artist. He studied in London at the Chelsea School of Art (1978–81) and Goldsmiths’ College (1983–5). From the mid-1980s his work has addressed the traditions and values of British society, its class system and organized religion. The range of approaches he has adopted reflects his wish to have a broad appeal and highlights his roots in a tradition of British left-wing thought. In the early 1990s he began using a personal enthusiasm for horse racing as a theme through which to explore issues of ownership and pedigree. Race Class Sex (oil on canvas, four parts, each 2.3×3 m, London, Saatchi Gal.), consists of four highly finished renderings of thoroughbred race-horses. As well as evoking the equestrian portraiture of George Stubbs, these works also direct attention toward issues of identity and the inheritance of social structures. This thematic culminated in A Real Work of Art (1994), a conceptual work involving the syndicate-backed purchase of a filly and its redesignation as a ready-made turned to socio-critical ends. In the late 1990s Wallinger shifted his focus to a questioning of institutionalized spirituality and religion. In Angel (1997; London, Saatchi Gal.), a projected video installation, lasting 7’30”, he appears as a blind man at the bottom of an escalator, reciting the opening verses of St. John’s Gospel with the tape played backwards to give the diction a stilted quality. The skepticism and irreverence of his work, typical of his humorous observational approach, were downplayed in a later public sculpture commissioned for the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square: Ecce Homo (marbleized resin, barbed wire, gold leaf, 1999). Close to the edge of the massive stone plinth, Wallinger placed a life-sized cast of a young man representing Christ being presented by Pontius Pilate to the Judeans. Contrasting with the monumentality of the surrounding public statuary and architecture, this work suggested contemporary relevance for themes of suffering and redemption, and a plea for racial and religious tolerance. Wallinger has described his approach in terms of the address of the chorus to the audience in classical Greek theatre, suggesting both an authentic absorption and personal investment in the work as well as a real critical distance. By this he aims to show how personal experience can be located within a wider political framework. Wallinger was shortlisted for the Turner Prize in 1995, and in 1998 he was awarded the Henry Moore Fellowship at the British School in Rome.

Ecco Homo 

State Britain

American Flag