Turner Prize-winning artist Chris Ofili's first mid-career retrospective comes to Tate Britain.
To be honest, until today, my knowledge of Turner Prize-winner Chris Ofili's works began and ended with faecal matter. I approached this first major retrospective of the artist's career at Tate Britain geared up for the profane, the borderline pornographic and the poo. However an hour's meander round the various rooms of the exhibition soon sets me straight. True, plinths of excrement prop up a whole array of controversial compositions, but these get subsumed in a collection of over 45 paintings and drawings that gradually begin to hold their own.
So, first things first: the infamous dung. I challenge anyone not to stifle a smirk when confronted with the stuff in the self-explanatory Shithead (1993), a pile of excrement brandishing a toothy grin, topped with a tuft of hair. The immediate, outrageous humour of the early pieces gives way to fascination and hypnosis in kaleidoscopic works such as Spaceshit (1995), where cave art influences permeate and the spherical resin dots create a heady, psychedelic effect.
The risky subject matter Ofili's work revels in is brazenly epitomised by his use of collage in the controversial The Holy Virgin Mary. Here the Virgin Mary figure is surrounded by pornographic magazine pictures as Ofili attempts to reconcile the contradictions inherent in the figure of the 'virgin' and the 'mother'. Humour and provocation return in equal measure as Ofili continues to address contradiction in Pimpin' ain't easy (1997), a depiction of a massive, smiley-faced penis surrounded by squatting naked women, and Foxy Roxy, a black man with white breasts and blonde hair.
Humour takes a nose dive on entering what appears to be the centre piece of the collection, The Upper Room 1999-2002. The installation of thirteen paintings of chalice-holding monkeys, each bathed in light, is displayed in a darkened, vault-like space. The atmosphere is one of silent reverence, tinged with a slightly eerie, sinister quality. Indeed there seems to be a feeling of trepidation and as I move through the room: I feel as though my footsteps are leading me in reluctant awe to a high, sacrificial altar, and the judgement of the glistening high monkey, Mono Oro. This is the stuff of nightmares. Well, my nightmares anyway.
On exiting, after being confronted by blinding light, there is yet another turn in mood to contend with. The tender portrayal of love and nature expressed in Afro Love and Unity (2002) is indicative of the Edenic and romantic mood Ofili experiments with in more recent works. This romance is penned in arguably the least expected part of the exhibition: Ofili's works on paper. The spontaneity, fluidity and vibrancy of the watercolour series, and the radiance of the jewel colours used in Afromuses – where eyes and lips alone are highlighted in bright, iridescent shades – is alluring and visually stunning.
This just leaves my favourite part of the exhibition – saving the best till last. Ditching all the clutter of earlier works, the deep, richly ambiguous quality of the blue paintings, (in particular the Blue Riders), and their simplistic depiction of figures are raw, stark and deeply impacting. The subject matter is hard to distinguish amid the hues of the block colours, but the contours, outline and sheen of these paintings are truly intriguing.
In the final room, the stripped-back expressionism of Confession (Lady Chancellor) and the mythological quality gleaned from the cascade of turquoise, purple and orange in Ofili's waterfall paintings is intense, controlled and exudes a kind of confidence. Leaving with my expectations completely exceeded, one thing’s for certain: this exhibition showcases an impressive collection from a still relatively young artist whose work transcends and outlives the scandal, the hype, and, of course, that shit.
Chris Ofili is at Tate Britain until 16.05.10.
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