Keith Haring @ Tate Liverpool
The Tate Liverpool’s eponymous retrospective of Keith Haring is the first major UK exhibition of the American artist. This is somewhat hard to believe, when considering his role in pivotal grassroots activism of the late 20th century. Haring provided the accompanying visuals to generation-defining movements, whether it was anti-apartheid protests or the campaign for nuclear disarmament. The eminence of Haring’s work is aided by its distinctive composition — then and now, Haring’s style has been registered as a ‘widely-recognised visual language’.
On entrance to the exhibition, you are greeted by a wall of bright, acerbic yellow, upon which two monochromatic prints loom larger than life. Thick black rippling lines recall television headset men, dancing figures and Disney cartoons. This is a fittingly punchy beginning to the show, highlighting the themes of technological advancement, consumerism, and entertainment, that crop up throughout.
Haring’s work is bolstered by Joana Filipe’s excellent exhibition design — just as nightclubs and the New York streets functioned as his canvas, a superb synthesis is achieved between the art and the gallery. The top floor of the Merseyside building is transformed into a snaking journey through eighties Manhattan; physical remnants of early graffiti work lie next to photographs of the artist at work in the subway and studio, shot by personal photographer Tseng Kwong Chi. His repetitive imagery is emphasised by groupings of variant pieces, pop-art graphics jumping out fantastically against a riot of block colour. What’s more, videos of the artist are projected throughout, enhancing the immersion — visitors can watch Haring dance, paint, and kiss the camera, to the sounds of new wave.
Some personal favourites from the display of Haring’s sophomore work are the rearranged cut and paste headline collages from 1980 — mocking, overtly political pieces which nod to the aphoristic art of his contemporary Jenny Holzer. Haring spoke about these particular pieces in a Rolling Stone article, revealing, “The idea was that people would be stopped in their tracks […] They’d stop because it had familiar words like Reagan or pope and it was in a familiar typeface — so they had to confront it and somehow deal with it.”
This idea of manipulating iconography is endemic to Haring’s work and functions in a similar way in the piece called ‘The Matrix’, perhaps the most arresting piece of the exhibition.
‘The Matrix’ is aptly titled. Thirty-feet long, it is a swarming, almost pulsating collection of Haring’s symbols, all which interlock and interact with one another. Warning of the corruption of the computer age, flying saucers zap barking dogs, brains shoot out of disembodied robot heads and towering monkeys are depicted holding crosses up to the sky. Benches stationed in front of the collage encourage visitors to sit and reflect on the monumental rendering of apocalyptic modernity. (It should be noted that with the ticket to the exhibition comes a pamphlet which attempts to help attendees decode the semiotic aspects of his work).
In the late eighties, Haring’s work took a darker turn, and the exhibition closes with imagery of violence and disease. Beautiful and devastating, works created at the height of the AIDS crisis depict the virus as a horned sperm, infecting the helpless masses. It is a particularly sobering conclusion, but an appropriate one, considering Haring’s untimely death from HIV in 1990.
Keith Haring is at the Tate Liverpool until 10th November.
