Miroslaw Balka ‘How it is’ (part of The Unilever Series)

I always get excited when visiting the Turbine Hall at the Tate... it’s just such a huge loaded vertical space towering over everyone. To get the full dominating impact I like to use the entrance near Southwark at the back which slopes down, gradually reducing me to a small child looking around in amazement. It’s such a unique experience that I find it remarkable that the Turbine Hall’s original purpose wasn’t to house art, as it could comfortably fit under the well designed banner of a Moma or a Guggenheim.

As a treat for Sarah’s birthday, I’d bought her lunch in the Tate’s restaurant – mainly for the views of St.Pauls’ although the foods not bad either. I didn’t want to bombard Sarah with a day of looking at artwork but casually mentioned that as she hadn’t seen the Turbine Hall she might like it, and so after dinner we made our way down to see Miroslaw Balka’s ‘how it is’. At a first glance it didn’t look too impressive. Mimicking the rectangular architecture of the Turbine Hall, the large shipping-like container looked at home but not necessarily inviting. I remember feeling quite disappointed as I hoped to impress Sarah by showing her an amazing ‘wow factor’ piece of artwork, many of which I’ve seen in the past in the Turbine Hall.

With fairly low expectations, we walked slowly up a long ramp into the container which led us into a vast pitch black space. Walking next to each other we chatted and laughed at what might be inside as we entered the darkness. A couple of paces in and slowly the light was fading. We noticed people walking towards us, walking out of the installation. A few more paces in and I was becoming aware that I could no longer make people out in the darkness until they were next to me and was a little concerned I’d accidentally walk into someone. A few more paces in and the light had completely been swallowed. I turned round to look at the entrance where we’d come in – it was only a few metres away but the reassurance of the light made me feel comfortable again. I turned again to face the now pitch black darkness and continue walking forward, constantly chatting to Sarah and sensing that people were walking past me although were it not for their footsteps I would have no idea they were there - I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of my face. A few more paces in and I began to grow slightly nervous. I looked around again, in hope of some reassurance. We were quite a way in now and the entrance was growing smaller. I turned around and held onto Sarah (yes, I know I’m a wuss!) A few more paces in, and I kept thinking that no matter what’s in the darkness or what’s waiting for us at the end, there’s no way that this piece can hurt me. It’s got to be safe otherwise people would sue the rear end off the Tate. That thought comforted me for a short while. A few more paces in and not only was I fully attached to the whole of Sarah’s arm, but quite embarrassingly I’d begun to start a nervous laugh. A few more paces in and I’d given up all hope, laughing uncontrollable now and quite frankly hiding behind Sarah. A few more paces in and Sarah let out a sign of relief as we finally reached the back wall. Maybe the sigh was relief that I’d stop clutching onto her or laughing uncontrollably, I’m not sure!

Lined with soft felt-like material, the back wall felt so comforting and we both stayed there for a while in the darkness feeling a small satisfying sense of achievement. As we turned and walked out of the installation – it was easy to see the people walking towards us as they were silhouetted against the light of the entrance, which made me feel quite silly as I was so concerned earlier about bumping into people.

I was pleased with the piece and the experience it gave me. I get scared quite easily so my reaction wasn’t that surprising but afterwards I appreciated the sense of the unknown and the gradual build up of fear and uncertainty.