"It hit me, not with a gut punch, but with a subtle, persistent nudge, reminding me that art doesn’t always have to scream to be heard. Sometimes, it just needs to make you feel a little bit uncomfortable." writes Riddhi Dasgupta.
Installation view courtesy of gallery
I’m not ashamed to say, “I don’t get it.” I’ve got a bit of a love-hate relationship with conceptual art. Good art shouldn’t need an instruction manual. I like to experience exhibitions backwards: take in the pieces first, then read the artist’s statements. It took me a while to understand Aaron Amar Bhamra’s and Carla Åhlander’s Holding Places at Belmacz, but I got there eventually - and maybe that was the point of it all.
The highlight of the night, hands down, was Bhamra’s cross-line laser installation: four alarm clock needles made of laser beams, so delicate you almost didn’t want to breathe near them. It seems this installation subtly controlled the room, with the crowd thinning out as if nudged by an invisible hand, moving people outside or downstairs. It was uncanny—this interplay of art and audience dynamics. It was as if the artwork had a mind of its own—brilliant. It reminded me of Foucault's panopticon, where power is exercised subtly, making individuals internalise the gaze and regulate their behaviour. The audience, aware of the fragile art, behaved cautiously, embodying the controlled subject within a surveilled space.
From left to right, top to bottom: Aaron Amar Bhamra, untitled, 2024, Carla Åhlander, Ascending a Staircase, 2024. Installation view courtesy of gallery.
Next to this was Åhlander’s staircase series, an intricate exploration of time linked to Bhamra’s time-stopper laser installation. Her work retells a moment fragmented out of chronological order, creating a never-ending loop of someone ascending a staircase. Åhlander’s inspiration was Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2, but with a twist: Åhlander’s figures are fully dressed, walking upwards instead of a nude figure descending. She avoids objectification and conveys anonymity and disinterest by turning the figures' backs to us. The staircase series disrupts the flow of time, creating a loop that challenges traditional perceptions of movement and chronology. This interplay creates a rich dialogue on how we experience and perceive time and space. It’s like stepping into a temporal vortex, reminiscent of Bruce Nauman’s Walking in an Exaggerated Manner Around the Perimeter of a Square but with a Sisyphean twist.
Now, let’s address the elephant in the room: cohesion, or rather, the lack of it. I heard whispers about the exhibition feeling disjointed since many works were from previous projects. But maybe that’s precisely the point. This mishmash of past works into a new context amplified the sense of chaotic togetherness. The exhibition does not present a neatly packaged narrative but a collage of moments resonating on a deeper, almost universal level, much like the fragmented compositions of Höch’s photomontages. This approach creates a collage-like effect that forces viewers to find coherence in chaos, reflecting the Dadaist critique of rationality and order.
Installation view courtesy of gallery.
Ultimately, Holding Places is a masterclass in curatorial design, intentionally crafted to instil a sense of unease, forcing you to confront the uneasy balance between order and chaos. Åhlander and Bhamra explore how space influences behaviour, how chaos and order interplay to affect our perception. Åhlander's ability to disrupt the linearity of time, placing you in a perpetual loop of contemplation, whispers of spaces in flux. Bhamra’s cross-line laser installation, with its fragile precision, stands as a beacon of temporality, emphasising the transient nature of our constructed environments. It's a delicate balance that highlights the quiet disturbances in seemingly stable spaces.
As you wander through the gallery, you unwittingly become part of the art. Your movements and reactions to the crowd and space create a constantly shifting tableau. The room’s layout forces you to slow down, making you notice the underlying chaos—a misplaced glass here, kids playing in a corner, noises creeping through a door. These tiny disruptions break the calm, creating a tension that is both captivating and disconcerting. The setup nudges you into hyper-awareness, compelling you to slow down and notice the subtle chaos—the creeping discomfort in the midst of supposed calm, making you acutely conscious of your movements and the space you occupy, inviting us to pause. To be slow with a space; to dwell in the air of a space. Bhamra’s installation, with its fragile precision, emphasised the transient nature of our environments. By subtly instilling a sense of unease, it compels visitors to keep moving. The crowd dynamics are fascinating: as the gallery fills, the space seems to push back. People drift outside or downstairs, unable to find comfort in the growing chaos. This ebb and flow of visitors highlight the exhibition’s success in making you acutely aware of the space and your place within it. The gallery felt alive, pushing you to move, creating a dynamic tension between the artwork and the audience.
This sensation of being unsettled is intentional. Inspired by John Cage’s assertion that “There is no such thing as silence,” Åhlander and Bhamra create an environment where silence is a medium for chaos. The gallery, with its deliberate setup, becomes a living entity, reacting to the presence of people, amplifying the disquiet.
So, did I get it? I think so. And it hit me, not with a gut punch, but with a subtle, persistent nudge, reminding me that art doesn’t always have to scream to be heard. Sometimes, it just needs to make you feel a little bit uncomfortable.
Riddhi Dasgupta is a London-based writer & third culture kid who loves exploring the intersection of market, creativity, and society. She has a background as a marketer and fashion creative, plus an MA from King's College London in Cultural & Creative Industries.
