I fear the Tate Modern is losing it's shine. For years and years it's made me happy. Raised my spirits... in a sort of nourishing, sustaining type of way. But this time I just feel a bit flat. Deflated. I adore the building... that has not changed... perhaps I felt that even more strongly than on previous visits. Maybe it's because the anticipation of the building, the space, was so great that the collections could do nothing but leave me feeling frustrated. Maybe I shouldn't have spent so long in the Turbine Hall. But that's the bit that does it for me. Felt a bit cathedral-like with the sun filtering through its vastness. Could have should have stayed there. The sunflower seeds were... er.... intriguing... because of the sheer volume (that thing again about visualising enormous numbers that is still haunting me). How many where there? Quite amazing actually. Beautiful porcelain. I would have loved to kept one. But that's very naughty and I'm very good. Anyway... forced myself to leave the Turbine Hall and head up to the galleries.
It's not that the work was bad. Or of no significance. It's just that it didn't feel right. The whole point of art is that it touches or affects you in some way. And it just didn't. (Not like the Baltic). The spaces felt crammed. Not used well. I didn't understand the connections. Also too busy. Felt like merely a tourist attraction. I was on a converyer belt being taken from one room to the next. Integrity? Not sure. Won't go back. Life is too short....
Had intented to go to the amazing Saatchi Gallery instead. But it was shut. Grrrrrrrr....
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