Tate’s Turbine Hall has seen some legendary installations including this one, Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth. It is a deep crack that traverses the length of the room and varies in its width. At first, it doesn’t provoke much of a reaction. You may ask if there’s something more to the installation, and what exactly is it? After all, the installations at Turbine Hall are known for their eccentric and extravagant nature such as Ai Weiwei’s Sunflower Seeds or Louise Bourgeois’s I Do, I Undo, I Redo.
That general reaction of mild curiosity and confusion is exactly what should be provoked by this piece, and those two questions from earlier are going to guide our discussion of it today.
So starting with, “what is it?”. According to The English Oxford Dictionary, a shibboleth is, “a custom, principle, or belief distinguishing a particular class or group of people, especially a long-standing one regarded as outmoded or no longer important.” This definition is helpful, but Salcedo called her work Shibboleth because of the historical context of the word. Shibboleth describes some type of test to differentiate between the natives and foreigners of a culture. It could be the pronunciation of a certain word or baiting someone into performing a cultural taboo. In essence, shibboleths convey the segregation that exists in every community. Salcedo has given some clue to its meaning, vaguely describing it as a representation of an immigrant’s experience in Europe, but given the meaning and history behind the word shibboleth, the unassuming piece addresses so much more beyond that.
“Is there something more to the installation?” Touching on that last paragraph, there is definitely more than what meets the eye in Shibboleth, and the most important component of the piece is intangible: it’s time. Understanding how this piece ages is the true work of art. Beginning with its creation, Salcedo sparks controversy by intentionally leaving a permanent mark on the exhibition space. When the installation is open to the public, some closely scrutinize it, others warily walk alongside it; some choose to observe it alone, while many couples and groups walk on opposite ends of each other. In each possible interaction, even with couples standing just inches away from each other, there is an unmistakable feeling of distance. Finally, when the installation is retired, the crack is filled and smoothed with concrete. The new concrete is noticeably different from that of Turbine Hall’s original floors. It definitely does not provoke the same magnitude of feelings as the original, but it still looks strange. The “repaired” floor is the scar. A scar left from dark histories and discrimination? From war and other tragedies? Salcedo leaves it up to us to decide, and this is what I was referring to earlier on how the age of this work is where its artfulness is, especially with its current phase as a scar. Scars represent recovery and movement towards progress, but at the same time, they are a permanent sign of what was done in the past. However bright and inclusive our future may be, we can never deny the impossibility of forgetting what has been.
If you have an artist or a specific piece you’d like my take on, comment on this post. See you Saturday!
