Boro is the term given to the textiles that have been created out of scraps, in many layers and made over the years, being mended as it wore out.  The fabrics used were mainly worn out old clothes or textiles found by bartering with seafarers.  They were indigo dyed, covering the colour range from almost black to pale blue.  The makers, believed to be mainly women, used sashiko stitching to reinforce the fabrics, with the opportunity to stamp their individuality on the pieces, clearly seen in the works on display.

Boro was born out of necessity - poverty.  Only a few pieces in relatively good condition have survived - the Japanese authorities felt embarrassment at the harsh conditions in rural Japan.  Although the exhibition was beautiful and moving, as one could not but think of the makers of the pieces, I felt a slight unease; all the work was for sale at prices which the makers could not dream about and to some extent it felt a bit voyeuristic, peering into their poverty.  But the same could be said about a lot of artefacts in galleries around the world.

Nonetheless, I felt privileged and moved to have seen this collection of textiles,  sympathetically restored and mounted and displayed in a beautiful setting.  A rare treat.

The title of Martin Creed's exhibition is "What's the Point of it?" and some of the pieces did raise that question.  Nonetheless, there was a lot of work which I loved.  

The huge neon sign "Mothers", twelve and a half metres long with letters two and a half metres high, spinning round at variable speeds, is in honour of motherhood.  To quote Creed "when you're small, your mother is always really big."  

The 1,000 broccoli prints are gorgeous and the impact of seeing them displayed together is a visual feast.  According to the exhibition guide, the individual prints were made with different heads of broccoli and all the paints Creed could find.  I wish I had thought of doing them first!

There were some exhibits which show  the artist's love of organisation - stacked chairs, tables, cardboard boxes and cacti displayed according to height.  This is also evident in the iron beams and wooden planks, neatly arranged according to size, and his paintings of ziggurats.

The exhibit with 39 metronomes was joyful, each being set to a different tempo.  And the car on one of the sculpture terraces had a life of its own, with doors, boot and bonnet opening and closing, and Radio 4 playing loudly.  There was a piano in the main hall with a security guard sitting at it.  He picked out all the notes with one finger, stopped and left.  Speaking with one of his colleagues, I learnt that the artist showed some of the guards exactly what to do and explained that while they were playing the piano they were not members of staff but part of the artwork.  I tried discussing this with the guard who had been playing but the concept was lost on him.

I enjoyed this show, which was thought-provoking, playful, shocking and beautiful.

In my first post about this show, I mentioned a section of work which was going to be mounted on 12" square canvases, with each piece incorporating two specific fabrics - a jute scrim and a cobalt blue batik.

The photograph below shows the finished pieces - I believe they work well together, in spite of the varied uses of the fabrics.  Indeed, in some pieces the viewer really has to look hard to spot them!

The exhibition has been up for the past two weeks and will be taken down tomorrow, Saturday 19 April.

We all have very different styles of working but the pieces on display work well together.  The pictures below of selected works give some idea of the exhibition.