#maripolarama

The weeks leading up to exams are a stressful time for everyone, undergrads and post-grads alike. Some like to de-stress by going to the Vic or the Lizard on a Wednesday evening, others prefer to take a casual stroll on West Sands or paint the waves by Castle Sands. The ones who cannot not find satisfaction with either, or who want to make their procrastination count, decided to visit the Dundee Contemporary Arts Centre (DCA) in (you guessed it!) Fundee. The lovely Art History Society organised a trip for us on Monday 4th May to the DCA to view an exhibition of the combined works of internationally acclaimed polaroid artist Maripol, and the more local Glasgow-based Clare Stephenson and Zoe Williams.

On the bus heading to Dundee, which was populated by the white haired and bespectacled grandmas and grandpas (some with that heavy Scottish accent that I have yet to decipher) I wondered what the gallery and city had in store for us that day, as I had never been to either. On the way we chatted about current matters: revision, exams, our upcoming sleepless nights (like tonight, and last night, hmm and practically every other night before that…HELP), as well as the endless cycles of boredom, stress and procrastination. The list of aforementioned topics of conversation was punctuated when, passing by a roofless windmill in the middle of a barren field, someone related it to the St Andrews housing crisis. We all grinned wearily, tired out both by revision and those endless months of searching for a place to stay next year.

Finally we arrived to Dundee, a bright bustling town, not as dull as some like to describe it, and headed towards the DCA. The gallery was hidden behind a Roman Catholic Cathedral, and as we were passing by some beautiful Georgian houses, all of a sudden we turned left and found ourselves in the museum lobby. The building itself, built in 1996 by Scottish architect Richard Murphy, is stylish and full of natural light, composed of 2 galleries, a two-screen cinema, a print studio and a visual research centre, as well as a great museum shop that I enjoyed browsing at the end of our visit. The curator, Graham Domke, greeted us as we entered and invited us to see the exhibition spaces and art we had come to see for the purpose of semi-relevant procrastination. My first instinct was to find a description of the exhibition on one of the nearby walls, as I was completely oblivious of who either Clare Stephenson and Zoe Williams were, although I had a vague memory of Maripol being mentioned in a discussion about Madonna’s wedding dress on the cover of her Like a Virgin album. The sparkly holographic letters headlining the show changed hue as we entered the much anticipated exhibition space.

The first room we entered looked more like a boutique than an exhibition. The walls were lined with framed blown up polaroids of Madonna, Grace Jones and Andy Warhol, as well as a sultry woman who turned out to be Maripol herself, all amongst smaller polaroids arranged into panels. In one corner there was a rack with quirky clothes, in the middle of the room an 80s jacket in a glass cage, and against the other wall a display case in which an array of jewellery and accessories by Maripol herself were laid out. As I browsed through the myriads of faces in the polaroids, it was exciting to see one or two that I recognised - Madonna, Grace Jones, Andy Warhol, Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Debbie Harry, all of whom must have once collaborated and been friends with Maripol in order to allow such candid and revealing photographs to be taken.

My inspection of the photos could have gone on for hours, considering my love for the 80s style and vibe, but I moved onto the clothes and at closer inspection discovered why they were given centre stage. Shirts patterned with collaged reproductions of her Polaroid portraits and a pair of equally. Polaroided-up high heels demonstrated that art can be applied anywhere. Entering the second room, we stopped to look at the display case in the corridor, which featured Maripol’s drawings, calendar sheets with a series of epigrams marking the seasons of desire, vinyl records of Madonna’s first albums (Domke’s own copies), all alongside the artist’s own musical contribution - a song recorded with Leonard Lasry called 'Love Each Other', that can only be heard on headphones hanging next to a glass case containing 'EACH x OTHER' (2015),

Entering the second room, we were greeted with several large 2D martini glasses and bikinis strewn all over the floor and slung casually over domestic radiators installed in the gallery, a sculptural installation by Clare Stephenson titled Venetian Cocktail Glasses and French Bikinis. That was perhaps my favourite piece, reminiscent of Tracey Emin’s My Bed but with a pop art Lichtenstein element to it. The pale mint colour of the wooden sculptures represented the crème de menthe cocktails (order a Grasshopper next time you’re at the bar. Best. Cocktail. Ever.). It provided an illusion of sophistication against the casually strewn bikinis. The room was divided in two by a heavy dark blue curtain, behind which a divan covered by a dark blue satin cloth faced a wall on which Zoe William’s classic film Drench and newly-commissioned film Fleece (warning: nudity,satin, and lots of wool) were playing on a loop. A drawback was that no one could work out whether the divan was an artsy seating area or an actual installation, but thank God we didn’t sit down as it genuinely was part of the Glasgow-based artist’s study of sensuality, which complemented her film Drench depicting a back lit bar and luscious scent bottles, and used the hype and sensuality of perfume advertising to explore the way we respond to both marketing and erotic signals. The exhibition was rounded off with a simple slide-show in the gallery's back corner room where I enjoyed spotting the famous faces among the less familiar visages, until the curator broke the reverie by calling us to come upstairs with him to the conference room for a quick discussion.

From the top floor the River Tay and the Tay Bridge were visible, as well as part of the Dundee boardwalk, but the view was cut off by a hideous city planning scheme, and so we ended up staring into some gloomy grey office building. Domke invited us to sit at the conference table and talked to us about the exhibition, his decision to unite the world-famous Maripol with the young Stephenson and Williams (whom she had inspired), his experiences in the art world and finally a few insights on how the business works. He passed around several books on past exhibitions and artists he has previously collaborated with, including nun-turned-artist Sister Corita Kent, one of the most innovative pioneering pop artists of the 1960s, Swiss artist Roman Signer who tends to destroy his artwork in galleries, and the wonderful and magical illustrator Johanna Basford. The atmosphere was relaxed and casual as we discussed the subject of our common passion - art. Once the talk was over, we thanked Graham for his time and for his interesting stories and headed downstairs, some to get another look at the exhibition, while others, including myself, swiftly advanced towards the museum shop in search of a souvenir to mark our first visit to the DCA. You can imagine my dismay when I was informed that no such postcards were available. And so I went to sulk deeper into the shop, browsing with vague interest the funky Maripol-inspired jewellery, artsy measuring tape, and the Moomin kitchenware, but otherwise bored and heartbroken, for the object of my desire - a single postcard to fill my board of museum treasures - was nowhere in sight. And then my gaze landed on a book propped up on a plastic easel, with the proud heading of MARIPOLORAMA at the top with big bold letters. I pounced on my prize, taking a moment to consider whether I really needed a book on an artist I only learned about today. Seeing a friend of mine pick up a copy of the same book, however, I made up my mind and proudly marched off to the counter with my spoils. Exiting the gallery I looked around the sunny streets and concluded that the day had not been wasted, and taking a deep breath of the Scottish air, we went off in search of a well-deserved chai latte and apple crumble, over which we were to discuss what exactly constitutes art (with some reference to the aforementioned divan) and attempted to make a short video about the fragility of movement. Basically we recorded a plastic cup rolling up and down the table with the breeze… Go figure.