Housed in the uber-slick yet strangely tacky offices of the nations favorite pseudo-narcotic beverage Red Bull, Yasemen Hussein’s new exhibition presents a series of figurative works that gently lift organic motifs from their everyday surroundings in order to delicately render them in sculpted copper, steel and concrete.
In the order of wings, fathers, hair and headdresses, Hussein’s work takes joy in both deception and craft. Outside of the decked balcony of the offices stand a giant pair of angelic wings. A plucky photographer delights in offering me the opportunity to stand before the work and have my photo taken. Avoiding the temptation to render my mortal form divine and become, as I have always desired, a Wenders-esque archetype, I decline the offer. Instead I carefully inspect the mesmerizing flexibility of the wings, watching as they move and gently bob in the light breeze. I suppose this motion epitomizes Hussein’s work; subtle grace is found in the transference of that which is light, ephemeral and organic into that which is solid, heavy, and sculptural.
Other works appear less successful; a number of hair pieces – looking much like wigs on stands appear ‘slightly creepy’ (but that may just be me – hair, as dead matter, is not a favourite thing of mine). Of note are the beautifully engraved panels upon which a number of works rest. Darkened slabs of metal are subtly illuminated with ornate floral flourishes – engravings at once reminiscent of William Morris or Karl Blossfeldt.
Where the heart of Hussein’s work lies is not immediately locatable. Purely decorative, or underpinned by an inanimate and material investigation of the spirit of the organic? This reviewer is unsure, while nonetheless remaining charmed.
Tags:
exhibition, sculpture, Yasemen Hussein
