Serpentine North, London
Making lyrical films for over 40 years, about everything from the end of empire to sexual brutality, Kanwar focuses on the parts of gruesome stories that are often missed
The exhibition begins in darkness. A darkness so complete, in fact, that I’m forced to wait at the threshold while my eyes adjust to it. To my left, images flash up on screens that seem to float in the gloom: a peacock preens its wet feathers; dried flowers in a wooden bowl; sunlight scatters on water. When the room has resolved to the point that I can identify a chair to sit on, I realise that these pictures are combined with snippets of text telling stories like parables: about a landlord punished for breaking a promise to a beggar; about two friends who survive a massacre because they are down by the river, arguing over the moon.
Welcome to the world of Amar Kanwar: if you want to find beauty and truth, you must be prepared to step into the darkness. Over 40 years making increasingly lyrical films about stories ranging from the collapse of empire to endemic sexual brutality, the Indian artist has developed a method that neither reproduces the violence of these histories as spectacle nor glosses it over. Instead he trains his focus on those parts of the story that normally escape attention: the shadows, the neglected, the blind spots. He does not find revelation there, at least not of the kind that suddenly lights up the world and makes sense of it. But there are enough flashes of light to guide us through the darkness.
