NB: This exhibition is now closed.
My parents moved house when I was four years old. My memory of the house I was born in is scarce to the point that I have no recollection of living there, but by a curious quirk of the brain I can remember vividly dreams that I had there. In one of them, I was scared to the point of running into my parents’ room after being assaulted by geometric shapes that crawled out of the walls like that bit with the moving letters in Sesame Street. Maybe it’s a moment of fancy, but that experience has always left me with a heightened affinity with the work of Surrealists, particularly those who interpose otherwise banal scenes with monolithic geometric shapes, with no commentary on their presence; they simply exist silently, unquestioned, with enormous symbolic weight. A great example is Paul Nash’s Equivalents for the Megaliths, which refuses to become an idyllic landscape painting as it reduces nature to its most simple constituent blocks. Resting squatly in the middle of the canvas, the shapes are not part of a narrative construction; they just are.
Mehdi Ghadyanloo’s paintings occupy the same territory as Nash’s banal fantasy, and are complemented very well by the dark, cavernous space created inside Shoreditch’s Howard Griffin Gallery. Ghadyanloo makes frequent hat-tips to the Surrealist school, but always on his own terms.
Logic of Metaphysics recalls Max Ernst’s Murdering Airplane but the 1920s vision of the aircraft as a turbulent instrument of destruction has been replaced by the eerily silent, almost still hover of an aluminium tube, a sawn-off shotgun in Ghadyanloo’s rendering that rains down death indiscriminately. The bright and minimal environments of his work are descended from De Chirico, whose subtle paintings with all their implications of dread are a welcome contrast to the impulse to excessiveness found in Dali.
The ubiquity of the bowler hat in the paintings of Rene Magritte finds a companion here in Ghadyanloo’s soldier hovering over the stairs in Imitation of Respect. Ghadyanloo lacks the Freudian overtones of his Surrealist forebears, but this is maybe the closest example as the toy-sized soldier is dwarfed by the staircase leading up to a narrow passageway which resembles a vagina, the kind of overwhelming female force with recurs in Magritte and Dali alike. A recurrent image is the cube. It hangs above the heads of children like the sword of Damocles, a testament to inexplicable danger that seems to be overcome in Destiny Riders, but the presence of birds of prey adds another layer of intangible terror and paranoia. The juxtaposition of innocence and danger in his portrayal of children shows a rare blending of political statement with recognition of some of the more universally contradictory feelings held in childhood.
His brushwork is breathtakingly effective in its simplicity; the varying reactions of the group on the stairs in Imitation of Sin can be discerned merely from the positioning of their arms, as a friend of mine pointed out – a closed-off fold here, a more open hands-on-hips pose there.
The exhibition shows off Ghadyanloo’s range of skills with different materials, as little resin sculptures are contained within little niches that, in conjunction with the stairs at the end of the gallery, transfigure it into a church-like space. The three dimensional quality of these works allows the feeling of suspended time to be stressed more than is possible on canvas. The exhibition describes Ghadyanloo’s murals – for which he is best known in Tehran, as they pepper the city’s buildings with tromp l’oeil wit – as a ‘shared public space for dreaming’. A deeply profound concept, and one which brings me back to the anecdote which kicked off this review. Ghadyanloo’s murals create a collective imaginative experience. Not to mention that living in a city is like living in a dream, particularly if, as in my case, your previous experience has been with much smaller places. Weird and wonderful tableaux pass by you. Decontextualised snippets of text and conversation float by you. While the city offers the promise of escaping into a large crowd, what stands out is your inability to do that – the number of people you walk past means that, through brutal probability, chances are you’ll bump into someone you already know, and probably wished to forget. The way in which people from your own past can be all gathered in a single location has always put me in mind of the arbitrary groups of people fused together in a dream. As William Wordsworth puts it in ‘Residence in London’, book VII of The Prelude:
…the shapes before my eyes became
A second-sight procession, such as glides
Over still mountains, or appears in dreams…
The exhibition may now be closed, but Mehdi Ghadyanloo’s profile should be raised by his residency in East London, and will hopefully return soon. An artist tipping his hat to tradition while concentrating on present-day political issues. Howard Griffin did a marvellous job at converting the gallery space to complement the artist’s work, and are well worth a visit in their own right.
Howard Griffin Gallery, 189 Shoreditch High Street, London, E1 6HU. Nearest Tube: Shoreditch High Street.