After previous shortlists, which have included Keith Tyson’s wall-text ‘Arsewoman in Wonderland’, Chris Ofili’s paintings with elephant dung and, of course, Damien Hirst’s various bovine experiments, this year’s Turner looks decidedly tame. There is little in the way of surface sensationalism; instead, all the artists seem concerned with raising questions through the de-contextualization of material or subject matter.

The room of Lucy Skaer’s work is dominated by a huge whale skeleton, concealed but for slits in the wall around it, part of her installation ‘Leviathan Edge’ (2009). It might seem gimmicky to have spectators peering closely and walking about to try and get a full view of what is in front of them, but Skaer’s approach questions the limits of empirical knowledge. Her enforced slowing down of the process of looking leads us to question how much we can ever know of this skeleton, whether it is partially obscured in a gallery or spot lit on a plinth in a science museum. The shapes of the whale’s bones seem to correspond to her work ‘Black Alphabet (after Brancusi)’ (2008), a series of 26 identical objects that repeat the form and number of all the ‘Bird in Flight’ sculptures Constantin Brancusi made in his lifetime. Whereas his were bronze, alabaster or marble, and praised for evoking the weightlessness of flight, Skaer’s are batch-produced out of compressed coal dust. The solid weight of these forms and their matte black surface entirely contradicts their streamlined, finlike shape. In transforming the originals, Skaer highlights the impossibility of sculpting something as intangible as ‘flight’. 

The next room’s installation by Enrico David, a self-described ‘modern Surrealist’, delivers perhaps more what you’d expect from the Turner Prize. The assortment of cloth dolls, pornographic photographs and large papier-mâché eggs looks cheap, more than anything. Bits of craft paper messily stapled onto MDF are so self-effacing they beg you to seek out an underlying conceptual framework – but the objects themselves aren’t giving anything away. The aforementioned eggs, for example, stand about two metres high with an oversized photo of a human face pasted on the front. They rest on wooden runners, which, if you stepped on them, would make the egg roll, forward and crash into you – presumably, you would be consumed by its face. Elsewhere, a long cloth doll drapes across things, its useless distorted limbs lolling grotesquely. It’s all very sinister, but apart from a general sense of impending doom, David’s various transformations of the human body do not seem to cohere. 

Roger Hiorns’ material experiments are perhaps the clearest demonstration that our ideas about everyday sights are completely determined by their contexts. The use of strange materials, or rather, materials in strange contexts, is a central concern of Hiorns’ work, and his untitled 2008 piece consists of what appears to be a pile of dust of different shades of grey, heaped on the floor of the gallery. When we learn that it’s actually an atomised passenger jet plane, our perceptions of what seemed insignificant dirt or rubbish are undeniably changed. What seemed like meaningless, pointless matter now appears to comment on the aviation industry, on 9/11, the fallibility of machinery, the limits of human invention. 

However, it is the untitled 2009 wall painting by Richard Wright that is this year’s winner. The single painting occupying one wall of a large white room was made directly onto the gallery walls and will be painted over after the exhibition. Few photographs are available of it and there are no postcards. The imagery is non-figurative, bafflingly intricate with many lines of symmetry, and all rendered in gold leaf. This material links back to religious frescoes of the Renaissance and earlier, but here there is no overt religious subject matter, and no hierarchy of divinity, since the gold covers everything. What is more, the certainty of this image’s destruction seems a comment on the impossibility of a truly everlasting religion. We may get caught up in the surreal mathematics of this design – close-up, the immersive patterns are sublimely  beautiful – but its existence as an object is finite.

Wright has said of his approach to painting that he ‘wanted to get at the idea without the object getting in the way’, and his Prize entry seems the closest possible way of doing this without painting nothing at all. In that sense, it is a quiet rebellion against art that demands to be remembered through sensationalist images seared on the viewers’ memories. Rather than attempting to evade the fragility of art in the face of time, Wright’s paintings acknowledge it by disappearing of their own accord. Perhaps this year’s Turner is not so tame after all, then. Its winning piece is thoroughly anti-institutional, just not in the same way a cow in formaldehyde is. 

Four stars

The Turner Prize 2009 is on at the Tate Britain, London until 3^rd January.

Admission is £8. 

Photo: Lucy Skaer – ‘Thames and Hudson’ (2009) – courtesy of the artist and dogfisher, Edinburgh. © Copyright the artist.

Glamour model Pamela Anderson is delighting children – and their middle-aged fathers – with a West End Aladdin appearance, while the rest of us ask ourselves whether the family friendly genre of pantomime really has a place for the most downloaded woman on the internet.

This question, however, proves tricky to answer. As the author of a banned school pantomime, I suspected Aladdin‘s producers weren’t the first to include latent adult material. In the starkly lit, post war confines of the Cambridge University Library, I sought more information.

It seems that panto has evolved since it first originated in Ancient Greece and Rome. The ancients enjoyed watching a masked male dancer perform anything from high drama to semi-pornographic filth; for the show to qualify as pantomime, the only requirement was for this dancer to perform all the main roles.

Unlike their modern counterparts, ancient pantomimes were definitely not for kids. The lead performer and his supporting dancers were an exotically dressed and had an erotic presence. The Roman doctor Galen once took the pulse of a female audience member and diagnosed her not with disease but with sexual infatuation for Pylades, a leading dancer.

Although hugely popular in the Roman Empire, pantomimes were forced to close in the 5th Century, after bishop Jacob of Serugh denounced them, calling dancers ‘the pipe of Satan.’ Pantomime faded into obscurity and reappeared, much changed, in Renaissance Italy.

Commedia dell’arte, as this Italian panto prototype was known, was equally contro

versial when it came to England in the 17th Century. The audience at Blackfriars Theatre didn’t object to the comedy, slapstick or topical jokes, but to the fact that female parts were played by actresses, rather than boys in drag.

This and a certain insular mentality may have been the reasons why Commedia never caught on here. However, one of its central characters had become a staple of English burlesques by the time the word ‘pantomime’ was first used to describe them, on a 1717 theatre advertisement.

Harlequin, as the character was named, survived for the next two centuries in the English pantomime. Cowardly, lascivious and incredibly stupid, he mimed his way through comic routines which would shock modern audiences: beating a baby, smearing it with grease and then ‘washing’ it with boiling water is one recorded example.

So perhaps it’s unsurprising that these ‘harlequinades’ became an increasingly small part of the show, while the pantomime’s sung or chanted prologue mutated into the main attraction. By the 1850s pantomimes were assuming the form familiar to us, but Pamela probably wouldn’t have made it into a Victorian Aladdin or Puss in Boots, given that era’s notoriously prudish sensibilities.

She doesn’t stick out among today’s daring performers, however. In 2004 Snow White’s wicked stepmother was played as a former prostitute by drag artist Paul O’Grady. A popular modern panto routine involves a striptease: the pantomime dame removes everything but a pair of frilly knickers and then the lights go out.

In short, pantomime nowadays is far from innocent, but that doesn’t stop families with young children from returning year after year. Historically, the genre has gone through extremes, from titillating eroticism to brutal violence. Against this backdrop, Pamela Anderson seems as innocent as Peter Pan – perhaps he could be her next role?

The battle for Christmas number one this year attracted the most media attention of any such battle since, well, last year’s. But the success of Rage Against the Machine, where the similar Jeff Buckley campaign failed last year, means it will not be as easily forgotten. For, unlike the Buckley campaign, this was not merely a musical complaint. Rather it was a revolt against the corporatism of an industry where artificial pop is served to a powerless population, who finally fought back, complete with Zack de la Rocha’s, urm, uncompromising message.

‘Why do we want these charts?’

At first it seemed potentially wrought with hypocrisy; that Cowell and Rage are both under Sony labels is well documented, and when Rage first came out in support I was hardly surprised, as they stood to make a mint out of it. However, they were never the type to betray their principles, and profit has never seemed to motivate them, so when they promised to donate a (albeit indeterminate) ‘large portion of their royalties from the track’ to Shelter, I was reassured. I already knew I much preferred the song, but that wasn’t what had bothered me. It’s just the campaign was accompanied by talk – from the Morters to the band themselves – about the people taking back the charts, and it made me wonder; why do we want these charts?

In the last few weeks the Christmas Number one has been presented as a once cherished title, won after genuine battles, victory in which represented the pinnacle of a successful band’s career – this is until Cowell’s X Factor monopoly came along. Which battles were these exactly? The battle between Westlife’s cover of ABBA song ‘I Have a Dream’ or Cliff Richard’s singing the Lord’s Prayer to the tune of Auld Lang Syne? Spice Girls vs The Teletubbies? I’m sure Rage fans positively yearn for these times. The chart never mattered to them before, so why do ‘rea

l’ music fans suddenly seek chart approval? Rage themselves as a band aren’t all that interested in commercial success, which is why they aren’t interested in cleaning up their potential chart-topping number, even for Radio 5 Live’s breakfast show. But it seems strange that they simultaneously crave the spot. The band have spoken about their

hopes for social change, and so long as they’re giving so much money to Shelter, all power to them. But for the others, who appreciate the general stick-it-to-the-man vibe but generally just think the music charts are in a lamentable state and need a shake up, I just wonder what motivates this change in heart, and what actual success their efforts will bring.

‘I don’t see a revolution in the music industry as realistic’

The charts are generally designed to accurately reflect what people are buying. Sometimes its controversial and might get it a bit wrong, but its better than our own electoral system, so it’s not totally unrepresentative. So songs which top the singles charts are the most popular singles. Why has ‘good music’ not been the most popular? I think its fair to say that there are two trends – music enthusiasts tend to buy more albums, and also download more music for free. This isn’t necessarily even illegal, and becomes less so, aided by bands like Radiohead and Them Crooked Vultures, who released each album track on YouTube the week before it came out, as well as programmes like Spotify and Last.fm. The TCV move was lauded by fans as an anti-commercial move, yet could they complain if it dented chart sales? Websites like Stereogum have songs available for download, released by artists, perhaps to promote their albums, which they know their fans prioritise… So its no surprise that such bands chart less well, but as long as you’re their fan, and have the songs yourself, isn’t that all that matters?

Apparently not, but I wonder where this campaign for real music will go from here. I hope Rage can go on and make the world a better place on the back of the promised UK free gig next year – as they seem to be planning. I sincerely wish them every success. I bought the single, and was as happy as the next guy when Rage won. But I don’t see a revolution in the music industry as realistic.

‘The problem arises if good new music is underfunded’

Next year, there will be another X Factor, it will be popular, popular enough to win any ordinary number one battle. Will there be another gargantuan effort to take the power back, constantly reminding fans that they need to actually PAY for the song in question, something not many are used to, and probably another old song which many will already own? Or will the hope be that this experience is enough for the charts to be dominated henceforth by good old critically-acclaimed music naturally, without such an effort? If the latter transpires, then great – not all bands are Radiohead, or composed of members of Nirvana, Led Zeppelin and QOTSA, and not all can afford the trend for good music coming free. I fear that habits which have minimized the influence of alternative music on the charts are only set to continue and intensify. In one way this doesn’t matter, it has been this way for years. But people who think tub-thumping will change this are mistaken.

In a way, this all reminds me of a common complaint about Christmas more generally. People complain it’s over-commercialised, not enough about religion, etc. but as long as you are spiritually satisfied personally, its not really of concern what others are doing. Similarly, if you have Rage Against The Machine’s eponymous debut, you don’t need to buy it again to prove to the world that you still like them. As long as you listen to the music you like in the way you want, be it for free even via Spotify, it doesn’t matter who controls the charts. The problem arises if good new music is underfunded, because they are outside the industry, and need the money. Then not only the charts, but music as an industry may be dominated by Joe McElderrys – and we’ll need bands like Rage Against The Machine more than ever.

The National Gallery seems to have turned to the ‘dark side’ for its choice of present exhibitions. Whilst haunting religious Spanish painting and sculpture is on display in its Sainsbury Wing, ‘The Hoerengracht’ occupies its Sunley Room.

Nancy and Ed Kienholz have achieved notoriety in the art world for their controversial installations. Made in the couple’s Berlin studio, ‘The Hoerengracht’ (‘Whore’s Canal’) is a life-size walk in installation of a stretch of Amsterdam’s infamous Red Light District, as it appeared in the 1980s.

In and amongst narrowly spaced brick walls, eleven mannequin prostitutes are presented in garishly glowing windows and doorways that we are invited to peer into. Having taken around 5 years to create, the installation doesn’t fail on details. The spaces are filled with objects that convey the reality of the grim prostitution trade. Bicycles are parked in bicycle racks before the main passageway and curtains are drawn in some windows. Resin has been extensively and thickly applied on the mannequins’ faces and bodies, and it has formed a thick dribbling that runs down windowpanes and doorways. This resin, says Nancy, connects the things on display and makes them cohesive; to me, the resin evokes gunge, the unnerving image of tears, or indeed an altogether more unsavoury substance, gushing down the prostitutes’ faces.

The installation seemingly explores the sex-trade that in contemporary times has become synonymous with Amsterdam’s canal-side streets, but this theme in the history of art is not a new one. Albeit in a less upfront manner, a number of paintings by the Dutch masters in the 17th century present women who are ‘pictoral cousins’ of the mannequins. Further, the tradition of visually structuring paintings using framing archways, doorways and windows has arguably been an established artistic technique since the discovery of perspective. So perhaps, it is not as bizarre as first thought to have an exhibition like ‘The Hoerengracht’ in a gallery that houses paintings that date back to the 13th century.

One of the more notable aspect

s of the installation is the use of old cookie boxes that frame the faces of all the mannequins. Supposedly the idea behind this was that the women could close themselves off. To me, this conflicts with the very business they are a part of. Though perhaps we can also interpret the cookie-box frames as having a humanizing effect by making the women seem imprisoned. Either way, I feel that these are an unnecessary extra. It’s not clear to me what the motive was for this installation, but I would say its intrigue certainly stems, at least in part, from the way viewer is put in the place of voyeur. Without the cookie boxes, there would be nothing separating us from the melancholy gazes of the mannequins; the discomfort we feel looking into their own personal window spaces – that uneasiness of being on the outside looking in – might be heightened.

On his investigative work for this piece, Ed Kienholz insisted that what interested him the most was the light that pervaded the apertures and spilled into Amsterdam’s streets, illuminating the spaces in a way that rendered them comparable to ‘little paintings’ that he found beautiful. I don’t know if I agree wholly with this, but nonetheless this installation is ambitious and worth a quick visit if only to say that you visited Amsterdam’s Red Light District on wholly innocent grounds.

Three stars.

‘Kienholz: The Hoerengracht’ is on in the Sunley Room in the National Gallery, London until 21st February.

Admission is (perhaps ironically) free.

Photo: Edward and Nancy Reddin Kienholz – ‘The Hoerengracht (detail)’ (1983-8). © Kienholz estate, courtesy of L.A. Louver, Venice, CA.

An Olympic cyclist, a Rwandan genocide victim, a care worker, migrant workers, the winner of a prison beauty pageant in Brazil and a mortuary assistant are some of the many subjects of this year’s Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize. Seven judges narrowed down over 6300 images submitted by 2451 photographers – emerging young photographers, established professionals, students and amateurs – to present sixty photos in this exhibition.

Sandy Nairne, the director of the National Portrait Gallery and one of the seven judges said of the judging process, ‘The pose, posture, expression, clothing or appearance of the subject may play a part, but whatever the photographic scenario or style, the most important consideration is the creative work of the photographer. The crucially inventive choices of lighting and camera position, the angle and orientation of the shot, and the saturation and colour range of the prints are all critical in determining which portraits stand out and catch the judges’ attention.’

The exhibition claims to present the very best in contemporary portrait photography and it certainly does a good job of meeting that claim. Images taken from the personal projects of their photographers hang alongside editorial and advertising images. You will be hard pressed to find a theme, style and approach to photographic portraiture that is not explored in the exhibition space and that doesn’t appeal to you. Some images capture your attention immediately, perhaps because of their use of lighting and colour, whilst others leave you with a strong sense of the setting in which the subject is placed, as well as a sense of the subject’s emotions too. We are drawn into people’s homes, their professions and their daily routines.

Many of the photographs have an enduring intensity to them. One of my personal picks from the selection on display is ‘Arif ‘Tokai’ (Arif ‘the Collector’)’ by Amy Helene Johansson. It is a beautifully bleak portrait of a young Bangladeshi boy who makes money by collecting re-saleable rubbish. Johansson has tenderly captured him standing by the railway tracks of the station in a town called Tongi, awaiting custom for his business. The train tracks extend into a dizzying mist in the background, and far from this, alongside the presence of an old man and a dark tree detracting from Arif, the central subject, they add to the sorrowful atmosphere of the portrait.

Other personal choices of mine are Damián Ucieda Cortes’s beautifully composed black and white portrait of a girl gymnastically posed semi-nude in a woodland setting, and Michal Chelbin’s image of a young man in juvenile prison, which is full of awkward angles that effectively convey the awkwardness of photographing a convicted murderer.

Photography is a highly intriguing art form. To a certain degree, one must wonder where the balance lies between the subject matter and the photographer doing the ‘work’ for the photograph. Having said that, many of the photographs that capture the mundane and the everyday do stand shoulder to shoulder with far more intense images, such as a haunting one of a man born with birth defects as a direct result of the Vietnam war. Each photograph has its own specific allure.

I won’t pass judgement about whether or not the winners of the competition are deserved or not. I shall leave that to you. In my eyes this is more than a competition. It is a showcase and platform for the exciting work produced by working portrait photographers today. Centrally located in the capital and with free admission, the exhibition is well worth a visit for both Londoners and non-Londoners alike.

Four stars.

The ‘Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait Prize 2009′ is on at the National Portrait Gallery, London until 14th February 2010.

Admission is free.

Photo: Sean Raggett – ‘Queen’s Wood’ © Sean Raggett.