What’s the point of Martin Creed?

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Viewers either love or hate Martin Creed’s work. Rosalind Ormiston went to the Hayward Gallery to investigate

From the moment I edged my way past Work No. 142, 1996–2002, a three-seater sofa partially blocking the gallery entrance, I sensed that Martin Creed’s first major retrospective ‘What’s the Point of It?’ was going to be a bit different.  A split-second later I ducked as Work No. 1092, 2011, a vast top-of-a-building white neon sign saying ‘MOTHERS’ whirled around a few feet above my head. Standing beneath it one becomes aware of ticking sounds. A gaggle of 39 metronomes, Work No. 112, 1995–2004, placed on the floor along the walls, are beating time, one at every speed. And, on a wall, Work No. 299, 2003, a self-portrait photograph of a smiling, youthful Martin Creed looks out, directly at you. This artist knows how to disrupt and how to capture your attention. And his humour makes you laugh with him.

Martin Creed (b.1968, Wakefield, England), grew up in Glasgow, Scotland. He studied art at the Slade School of Art in London (1986–90).  Since graduation he has chosen to number his works as one in a sequence, or process of work. At the Hayward Gallery curator Cliff Lauson displays over 160 pieces dating from Self Portrait, 1984 to the 2014 Work No.1816, a monumental wall made of bricks and mortar featuring 80 different types of brick. And by now you may be thinking ‘what’s the point of it?’ And that is the point, does there have to be one? All the works are the product of Creed’s imagination made real. If one accepts that his imagination takes many forms, the show becomes even more pleasurable to take in.

The 30-year survey of Creed’s works includes the installation that people most closely associate with him, Work No. 127, ‘The Lights Going On and Off’ (2000), with which he won the Tate’s Turner Prize in 2001. Tate paid £136,095 for this piece of conceptual art: the idea, not the light bulbs. Yet Creed states that he is not a Conceptual artist and does not know what that means, which makes his work even more intriguing. Within the galleries other installations, such as Work No.569 (2006), a piano with its lid slowly opening then slamming shut (perhaps referencing Rebecca Horn’s exploding piano at Tate Modern, Concert for Anarchy, 1990 ) are intermixed with beautiful abstract paintings, and quirky pieces such as Work No.129 (1995) (a door opening and closing), and Work No. 1421 (2012), a small and delicate gold-plated bronze fist.

The vast size of the ‘MOTHERS’ neon sign cuts off Room 1 from the ramp normally leading to the mezzanine floor. Now one goes through to the second room at ground level. Here Lauson presents a wonderfully diverse mix of Creed’s paintings, sculptures, installations, film and sound. One cannot ignore the person seated at an upright piano slowly playing just one note in a scale. It is Work No. 736, 2007, a musical piece for piano, a piano and a player.  It reminds the visitor that Creed is a musician too – he has his own band and is a composer. And there is so much to see in here, from the Day-Glo yellow neon light installation ‘Don’t Worry’ (Work No. 890 (2008)), to Work No. 1293 (2011), a vivid watercolour on paper.

From this room I passed the audio, Work No. 401 (2005), the sound recording of ‘blowing a raspberry’, to find Work No. 1000 (2009–10), placed on a landscape wall of the mezzanine floor, featuring 1,000 small, square paintings of broccoli, in countless variations of colour. It is best viewed when ‘The Lights Going Off and On’, is ‘on’. Viewing his work brings its own small challenges.

Everywhere one turns in this extensive show there is something quite different to see and to think about. A new installation is Work No. 1908 (2014), a beautiful large-scale etched glass-and-steel screen. It gets a bit lost because one focuses on the hordes of white balloons behind the screen positioned to get one’s attention. That is Work No. 200 (1998), ‘Half the Air in a Given Space’, a room of 7,000 large white balloons. Visitors can step inside to mingle with them and feel like six-year-olds once more, trying to negotiate balloons above, below and all-around. The sounds of balloons popping and shrieks of laughter from people hidden by balloons adds to the fun of the experience.

With so many works to view and needing time to take everything in, it is worth buying the catalogue that accompanies the exhibiton, Martin Creed: What’s the Point of It (Hayward Publishing, 2014) (£30). It feels like a work of art in its own right and includes excellent essays by curator Cliff Lauson, and the comedian and musician Bill Bailey. The art and music critic Paul Morley also contributes to this retrospective catalogue, which acknowledges Creed’s other talents as a musician and composer. He performed with the Martin Creed Band at the Royal Festival Ballroom on 8 February, another part of ‘What’s the Point of It?’ In addition, there will be a premiere of Creed’s new organ commission at the Royal Festival Hall on 8 March 2014. Then Work No. 1020, a music and dance stage show, will be performed at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on 8 April 2014.