Bjorn Dahlem at Alison Jacques

Bjorn Dahlem at Alison Jacques

21 July, 2008
by: Katuschka

Those perhaps a little daunted by the idea of being an insignificant speck in an infinite and uncertain universe might find some comfort in the art of Björn Dahlem. Using materials such as styro-foam, carpeting and neon strip-lights, his galaxies fit inside one room and invite the viewer to contemplate and engage whilst relaxing on strategically placed chairs. The aesthetics are akin to an ill-funded physics lab, but this belies the complex theorems they portray. Therein lies their charm and accessibility, as the phenomenal is re-imagined on a personal and domestic level. His sculptures have been likened to Super-Mario 'Warp-Zones' and alongside quarks, rays and homunculi he has referenced Britney Spears and Kubrick in his work, thereby questioning the cachet that scientific theory increasingly commands in pop-culture.

In The Dream Tank, Dahlem focuses in on the other realm of possibility, that of the psyche and the soul, an ongoing fascination for the artist: he refers to his sculptures as 'soul landscapes' or 'mental habitats'. 'The Dream Tank' itself is the embodiment of just that, a Bavarian wood cabin, inside which five televisions (to correspond to the average number of REM periods) play filmed snippets of Dahlem's dreams on a loop with dark curtains covering the doors and a chaise-longue placed in the centre, enticing viewers to participate and immerse themselves in the artist's mind.

I resisted the chaise-longue (the tangible approach to art is somewhat marred by the staff at Alison Jacques watching as you fumble around their valuable installation), but the gentle bombardment of imagery was overwhelming and hypnotic - impossible to take in at once, forming incomprehensible narratives as you switch from screen to screen; transcending the show by imprinting images on your retina. A man runs along an empty street, scientific vocab loops alphabetically (as in Dahlem's Favourite Words drawing) and machinery drifts like technological icebergs; whilst outside, Dahlem's sci-fi stylings are evident in galactic stucco and tiles representing the fabric of consciousness. A bit like a less clinically scientific version of Dahlem's Kubrickian nerve center Groundcontrolburo, The Dream Tank is unconcerned with the outside world, but explores themes of isolation, visions, mind tricks and an endoscopic glance at our desires.

The second room features two sculptures titled Sputnik and Cathedral. These both expand Dahlem's fascination with German Romanticism, a movement traditionally founded to link the sublimity of nature with the spiritual. Dahlem re-invents it for the Star Trek generation, expanding the skies of painters such as Caspar David Friedrich beyond the frame and into infinity. Apparent in wrought metal plants reaching towards a metallic comet, hovering ominously over Dahlem's figurative psyche; and a crudely constructed cathedral, appearing to stretch beyond the heavens, filled with, on first glance, pickled cherries, but on closer inspection, a symbolic wealth of belief which gives the eerie light of votive candles or the soft glow of a classical Germanic sky.

The Dream Tank internalizes Dahlem's quest for knowledge. His world is an addictive rabbit-hole of discovery, concealing sublime and bewildering answers to questions of being and existing; but this is an uplifting rather than a discomforting experience. Although we are contemplating an unimaginably vast cosmos, we are cajoled with wit, invited to touch, and, at worst, floated into dream. The only gripe is that the size of the exhibition leaves you wanting more. But when the ideas are infinite, you don't leave unsatisfied: simply filled with Dahlem's childish wonder.

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