The enormous turbine hall in what is now the Tate Modern museum in London has been the site of annual large-scale commissions sponsored by Unilever.
In 2002, Anish Kapoor created Marsyas in this space, a massive yet simple piece: a blood red PVC membrane stretched between black rings, one at each end of the hall, and a third above the platform off the north entrance.
Entering the museum from the west, there were few hints of what to expect: the multi-story concrete facade hid almost the entire work, with only the lower edge of one ring visible through the glass doors.
As soon as I passed through the door, I had to lean backwards to see the top. There was no immediate sense of how far into the distance the piece went. Instinctually, I wondered if I was about to be swallowed.
I walked past the initial ring, then looked back towards the west entrance:
It was an experience beyond words, and inspired an almost-physical sense of awe. A friend of mine, only a little less speechless than myself, summarized: “A man thought that, and then he made it.”
Of course, it was a little more complicated than that, but it is beautifully put: Marsyas was a profound example of the transmutation of a grand idea from thought to form.
Entering from the north, the middle ring hovers just overhead, and light entering at one end can be glimpsed in the center:
As the notes point out, it was impossible to see the whole piece from any position.
Sometimes, we can only experience the transcendent in fragments, no matter how quickly we turn our heads or how broadly we perceive our surroundings.
Art that arrives in email attachments or short clips on YouTube can inspire us and engage us on an intellectual level. But we still need experiences that envelop us, that are larger than our cell phones or our computer screens or our bodies.
For me, Marsyas was a reminder of how profound it can feel to be overwhelmed — and wordless.
The rest of my photos of Marsyas are on Flickr.
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