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From: Clem
Category: Art
Date: 12 November 2008
Time: 03:19 PM
Review:
Like James Frey's enourmously disturbing fictional memoir "A Million Little Pieces", Altmejd's
sculptures embody the pathology and physicality of those who compulsively and self destructively
seek the temporary transcendence of chemical or sexual release. His figures become pure
erogenous zone, mutating into sensuous machines always on the brink of collapse. Alongside
maximum pleasure, (and Altmejds sculptures are extraordinarily pleasurable in their combination of
forms and surfaces) is the threat of dissolution and annihilation; the figures seem to melt before our
eyes. Rather than the more obvious metaphor of growth ( some figures resemble plants, some are
crystalline) the figures seem horrifically to be in the process of shrinking. Despite the resemblance to
natural forms ( Altmejd understands the natural like a botanist ) these figures go against nature .They
move in the opposite direction, not outwards , but inwards, but towards an interior that is silently void
and empty. All of Altmejds figures have holes blown through them, but continue to live , a truncated
half life, emotionally numb, whilst their bodies wither , congeal, suffocate or calcify.Their energy is
frenetic, desperate, overwhelming and self -consuming. They evoke something of the damage
wrought upon bodies and minds by drugs that heighten senses and the capacity for pleasure, whilst
literally eating away at the body from the inside. Yet they are, despite the cobbled together nature of
their construction (like a lot of art students, he sometimes uses body casts) stunningly beautiful and
compelling. They manage to combine therefore tragic beauty and earthly transcendence. They are
both warning and celebration, both alive and dead at the same time.
There are no British artists at the moment who even come close to rivalling Altmejd for the
extraordinary acute understanding of his subject.He's an artist who is able to bravely go to dark
places without succumbing to Gothic cliche, who can use metaphor without descending into
untethered fantasy. His work is a brilliant conceit- whilst it resembles a "magical realism" it is
absolutely tied to real experience , real lives and real tragedy . In Britain we have been taught to be
polite and to be suspicious of our emotions. We celebrate the man who sends some joggers running
through the Tate. Luckily there are artists like Altmejd who are still willing to risk getting their hands
dirty.