“Lived experience” is a loaded term, particularly in the era of TikTok therapy speak and online oversharing. It implies that we’ve experienced something noteworthy, having lived through an event rather than simply existed from day to day. It lends gravitas to things that might otherwise seem mundane. Such experiences are central to On Feeling, a group show featuring 11 artists in their early to late twenties—a cohort unafraid to embrace personal expression and individual thought.
As artist and curator Peter Davies notes in the accompanying text, the show offers a welcome break from an era characterised by the “prioritisation of criticality” where personal expression fell out of favour. During the mid-90s, theory began to overshadow individual experience, and I’m sure many mid-2000s art school graduates can relate to having their work dismissed as “self-indulgent” when daring to delve into their personal archives for inspiration. However, as this group of artists demonstrates, discussing personal experience is unavoidable and furthermore, interesting. Despite alarmist headlines suggesting that all internet-addicted Gen Zers are merging into a homogeneous blob, united through meme culture and devoid of independent thought, Davies’ cohort is much more inclined to delve deep and explore the intangible concepts we all grapple with, offering a unique insight into the psyche of the young artist. Embracing individuality, the show is a refreshing response to a time when “self-expression seemed embarrassing and subjectivity had to be rationalised.”
I recently heard someone say how much they loved group shows before adding, “If they’re any good.” While it’s true that placing work together with no cohesive or unifying elements can be a lazy curator’s dream, Peter Davies’ cohort is united in their individuality. On Feeling is a collection of personal explorations and each work stands alone as a unique offering, connected by its introspective nature rather than a forced cohesion with unrelated pieces. Gal Schindler’s nude takes centre stage, the minimal figure standing out against its minty background, unapologetically simple in its composition. It’s a piece that can be appreciated for its formal qualities—gorgeous, whimsical, and dream-like—without the need to overlay something more complex or theoretical, living up to its title No Explanations.
Similarly, Ruoru Mou’s greasy film sculptures seep and stick to floorboards with an unpretentious simplicity, the encapsulated debris threatening to spill onto the unsuspecting visitors below. The sculptures twist upwards and sideways unpredictably, immortalising the sticky aftermath of a house party, flip-flopping like those fortune-telling fish, inviting the viewer to reach out and prod while reflecting on their debauched nights gone by. Alex Margo Arden’s Shoes Said to Have Belonged to Amy Winehouse offers a further exploration of the fiction of personal history. For many of us in our mid-20s, Winehouse was a figure who dominated the noughties media, from unflattering Jonathan Ross sketches to blood-stained ballet shoes and the unmistakable tones of Back to Black. We have a shared knowledge of this character in addition to our individual experiences of how this public figure infiltrated our adolescent minds. Winehouse becomes a fascinating touchstone as you age, revealing how someone once vilified in the media is now seen as a tragic figure, allowing you to track your understanding of victimhood alongside this evolving character who has been fictionalised and mythologised posthumously.
Areena Ang’s I, I, I, I, I… depicts a group of dancing tube figures who appear to be returning home from the best night ever. I’d love to ask them about the sprawling nights that inspired this theatrical depiction of what I can interpret as the Northern Line. Where have they been, where are they going, and most importantly, where did they get those stripy tights? I love work that prompts the imagination and allows you to fill in the blanks and build a context without needing it confirmed. There’s a time and place for lofty theoretical explanations and complex artist statements, but I’m more interested in the individual. What does their work mean to them, and why do they want to share it? I don’t need an artist to parrot something I could read in someone else’s book.
A key difference between the present day and the 90s era Davies refers to is the widespread practice of commodifying the self. Personal experience is paramount, and personal branding is interwoven throughout our lives, whether we like to acknowledge it or not. Neither inherently good nor bad, it’s simply a symptom of the times. The problem arises when our individual experiences become too standardised, and individuality is lost to conformity. Fortunately, On Feeling shows that these artists are viewing the world through different lenses. Let’s hope we all continue to have something unique to say.
