
Through the character of each room Nelson creates a pervading atmosphere of decay and unease, a feeling of detachment that contrasts with the intimacy of walking through someone’s home. Each room is made to take on its own persona, and the objects are meticulously yet effortlessly arranged so as to give the viewer a snapshot glimpse into the personality of the inhabitant. Objects range from old issues of Playboy to beaten volumes of Marxist literature to kitschy vintage wall hangings to coasters that look as if they had just been used, all personally scavenged from junkyards and pawnshops by the artist. One room appears to be some kind of counter-government guerilla hideout, another a dimly lit office stacked with tax forms and paperwork, another containing a garish clown mask and a rusted machine gun seems to be in the aftermath of a heist.

However, the most interesting part of the exhibit is how the rooms are all connected, for they represent, as Nelson puts it, the “lost world of lost people.” Each room represents the separate identity of an outsider, yet at the same time they are all on the fringes of the same society. One of the most fascinating aspects of the exhibit is how the rooms are arranged so that the viewer can drift in and out of each without following a set path, and there is no straightforward way to enter or leave. The artist even put in sets of fake doors and windows so that the bounds of the installation seemed endless, while at the same time creating a sensation of confusion for the viewers as they struggle to find their way to the exit.

Coral Reef was the work that launched Nelson to prominence, whereas previously he had been a kind of outsider to the mainstream British art world of the 1990s, often ignored by the big collectors. Nonetheless, he previously completed some major installations similar in nature to Coral Reef, my favorite being his 1999 To the Memory of H. P. Lovecraft.

The installation consists of the bare gallery walls of the Hayward Gallery in London smashed up and demolished to give the impression that some wild, unknown creature had rampaged through. There is the similar sense of anxiety and unease as one is unsure if the wild creature has left the gallery or not, like a disturbing film set brought to life. Like Coral Reef, one sees the remains of the creature who lived there, but not the creature itself, further isolating the viewer from the unseen subject.
Link to the article:
http://www.artnews.com/2011/06/01/britains-curator-of-garbage/
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