Jim Lambie: Kebabylon
25 January – 23 March 2003
The unusual title of Jim Lambie’s substantial exhibition perfectly conflates the artist’s concerns with mythology, found objects (the name itself – that of a real-life kebab shop – is ‘found’), and throwaway consumer culture; all of which are to be taken with a large pinch of salt.
With long spindly gloved fingers dipped in multicoloured paints, Fat Burner greets visitors, its disembodied hand mysteriously pointing out the direction of the exhibition’s circuit. But this is more of an Alice in Wonderland journey where nothing is really what it seems – the second work, Revolver, a poster of the eponymous Beatles’ album, by dint of being whitewashed, has literally been ‘revolved’ into the Richard Hamilton-designed White Album cover – and the mysterious objects, such as the shamanistic Psychedelic Soul Stick, encountered throughout the course of the exhibition talk in eloquent but ultimately unsolvable riddles.
That is not to say that there is no sense
of progression, deliberate intent or even narrative to this journey. There’s
a clear evolution from the quiet, minimalist layout of the opening rooms, to
the exuberant frieze of second-hand handbag straps, Span Dancing, writhing
wave-like in homage to Matisse and Pollock, but, with its garish retro Opal
Fruit colours and trashy textures, looking like it would not be out of place
decorating a fast-food restaurant.
Night falls and the mood shifts drastically on entering the first-floor
galleries; it’s the first time that an artist has asked Inverleith House –
renowned for its spectacular views out to the mountains beyond the city – to
close its shutters. The Op art rainbow colour-scheme of Lambie’s
characteristic floor-works has here been reduced to a Malevich monochrome,
covering the upper galleries in a herringbone pattern of black duct tape.
Almost bourgeois in the elegant gallery setting, Chops – food references are
introduced at this stage and this floor has a liquorice edibility –
nonetheless exaggerates the already fetishistic connotations of the rubbery
tape.
The mustiness of the vinyl and claustrophobia of the unaired rooms has
created fertile ground for the lurid and strangely beautiful toadstool-like
sculptures that have sprouted in the upper galleries. Lumps of ‘mudrock’
festooned with radio-active dribbles of paint sandwiched between slabs of
mirrors and their removable backs, Chemical Kebab, Mental Oyster, et al
certainly share a visual affinity with dodgy kebabs bought on the way back
from a drunken night out. Indeed, the sulky teen bedroom feel of these dark
spaces is given the perfect wallpaper in the form of a collage of album
sleeves, with all titles and artist details blanked out – a Warholian hall
of fame from the last 30 years. These pop stars have become mere ghosts of
themselves and Lambie’s wall of portraits a shrine to big hair, big teeth
and outdated wholesome good looks.
With his merry band of guests from the greatest hits academy of music and art, from Claes Oldenburg to Whitney Houston, Lambie has created a new Babylon for the twenty-first century, proving that this fascinating and highly original artist has more tricks up his (vinyl) sleeve than the limited repertoire of disco floors.
Jennifer Thatcher