this issue contains
>> Immaculate White: Art and Winter
>> True North: Isaac Julien
>> Frozen Sculptures: Marc Quinn
>> Felt and Fat: Joseph Beuys

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Ironically, occasional rumours of the refrigeration unit having been switched off – for example during a power cut at the Sensation exhibition in 1997 and when workmen at the home of the piece’s owner Charles Saatchi reportedly pulled the plug – have prolonged the notoriety and visibility of this 15 year-old work.


Across the Univers, 1998, © the artist
Courtesy Jay Jopling/White Cube (London)

The Egyptians practised a nascent form of posthumous body preservation, not unlike the latter-day cryonic process, and for an exhibition among the ancient sarcophagi in the galleries of the British Museum in 1994, Quinn created a variation on Self. This time, he created a perspex mould of his head with a transparent box suspended inside where the dormant area of the brain should be. The box contained a frozen North American wood frog of a certain species ( Rana sylvatica) that allows itself to freeze solid in winter and then thaw in the spring. Technically, then, the frog remained alive throughout the exhibition, albeit in a state of hibernation or suspended animation.

Love is All Around You, 1999, © the artist
Courtesy Jay Jopling/White Cube (London)


In 1998, Quinn created a life-size cast of himself in ice called Across the Universe, but this time the glass container was not kept below freezing point and the ethereal effigy slowly thawed. Incidentally, in the chronology of his career, Quinn’s own form also metaphorically melted away from his oeuvre after this work; subsequent self-portraits became more abstract, involving mirrors and DNA representations of the artist. In fact, he began to turn to the bodies of others, as in another ice sculpture of a kissing couple made a year later, entitled Love is All Around You. This work also gradually evaporated into the atmosphere of the gallery and the visitors inhaled the vapour. "You are literally taking it into your body, and it becomes you," says Quinn of the physical relationship between viewer and sculpture.

Eternal Spring (Lilies) I, 1998, © the artist
Courtesy Jay Jopling/White Cube (London)


Next for the deep freeze were delicate, freshly cut flowers. In 1998 Quinn began dipping lilies, orchids and tulips into chilled silicone oil, cryonically freezing the dead organisms and effectively stopping time. Even his oldest frozen bouquet in the installation Eternal Spring (Lilies) has not aged one day in the seven years since it was encapsulated in its own vitrine at minus 20 degrees. "The paradox is that you turn the fridges off and life reasserts itself," says Quinn. "The micro-organisms get working".

His most ambitious cold storage project is The Garden commissioned by the Fondazione Prada in Milan. He built a walk-in steel and glass chamber containing 25 tonnes of silicone in which to conserve a forest of exotic vegetables, tropical fruits and plants such as plumbago and banana trees, none of which grow together in nature. The mirrors placed behind the flora and fauna replicate the spectacle over and over, metaphorically cloning the perfect moment of full bloom for eternity.



The Garden, 2000, © the artist
Courtesy Jay Jopling/White Cube (London)

Recently, these installations have been transformed into two-dimensional prints, paintings and photographs, although the processes are still technically complex. The prints known collectively as Winter Garden -a series of them is also represented in the Deutsche Bank Collection- are in fact permanent pigments ink-jetted onto paper and then sealed with several layers of gloss varnish. "I’m refreezing the image a second time," explains Quinn.

Most works of art enact some form of stasis or a freezing of time, whether it is the gesture of a painting preserved on canvas, a moment captured by the camera’s shutter, or even the video record of a performance or event past. Quinn’s frozen sculptures, photographs, and paintings highlight the impermanence of art and life, but unlike much contemporary art, the threat of dematerialisation is not simply an issue for museum conservationists of the future, but an integral part of his practice – many works even have their own built-in self-destruct buttons (ON/OFF).


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