Saatchi Gallery

Since the Saatchi Gallery opened in 2008 at the Duke of York’s HQ I have resisted reviewing the exhibitions on offer (with the exception of Richard Wilson). The key reason for this being any critique of mine regarding Saatchi Gallery is sure to descend into a recurrent chastisement for its egotistical and shortsighted curatorial ethos. But I can resist no longer and shall, where possible, constrain my comments to as short a statement as is absolutely necessary (although I shall omit discussions of moving image work, just as Saatchi does).

Leaving aside one moment certain views on the responsibilities of a gallery that presents itself as public, what was striking on this most recent visit is the predictable placement of artworks. So predictable in fact that, having been before, it is possible to determine the placement, scale and medium of the artworks prior to entering a room to the point where one can turn to look at a particular spot, expecting a sculpture to fill it and not be surprised when one finds it exactly so. A curious game of curate by numbers, if ever there was one. 

The galleries themselves, large and evenly lit cuboids of space, begin to feel like a sparsely merchandized shopping outlet for obscure home wares rather than a space fervent with innovation and creativity. The works of exciting and contemporarily relevant artists such as Anne Hardy, Karla Black and Steven Claydon, as featured in the Newspeak exhibitions, are housed on a predominantly aesthetic basis and seem only to be valued as such. If this is the case then why not tender Habitat or Ikea for such a hot spot on the King's Road and save themselves the expense of a running a free gallery.

Although admittedly I see little advantage in public galleries with personal agendas (predominantly for the necessity of an autonomy that seems also to have slipped from many public galleries’ remits rather than my distaste at any art space functioning as an economic status symbol), I am not wholly against the concept. However it is the sheer lack of originality in the act of display and the total disregard for the individual integrity of the works themselves, pigeonholed and aesthetically organised that in truth, riles me beyond reason.


Pictured: Steve Bishop Christian Dior, J'adore (Mountain Goat) (2008)