Duality Vessels: Voices of Strength - brilliant concept, disappointing execution

Photo: Savera UK

For an exhibition focused on ‘voices of strength’ their message was just a whisper, lost in a muddy mess of colour, glitter, and feathers. The art (supposedly) explored the themes of identity, resilience, and the realities of ‘honour’-based abuse. And while yes, it did make me emotional, I don’t think it did in the way it was supposed to.  

Contained in the belly of St Georges Hall, it was a slight challenge to find. I went with my nan, and we had to ask Zoe, working the front desk, to point us in the direction of it. We ended up walking down a dingy corridor to a tiny room that even a prisoner in solitary confinement would scoff at.  

To the right were paper mache balls dangling from the ceiling on fraying strings. Their bumpy exteriors had been lathered in thick coats of paint and stuck onto the outside were limp, clotted feathers. Without the plaques on the wall, I would have been incredibly lost. Apparently, they’re ‘vessels’ which represent a language of survival. Maybe I’m not fluent in the language though, because, to me, they looked like a child’s art project.  

Then there were the masks: cheap, hollow hunks of acrylic paint and chunky glitter tacked to the wall. What angers me about this is that there was a glimmer of hope in the few photographs of the women wearing their masks. In particular, there was a woman cloaked in all black; it forced me to look at her mask, with painted blue edges and gold and copper glitter filling the centre. Most haunting were her eyes, as she looked away from the camera: a subtle gesture to possible unwilling compliance.  

This is what the exhibition should have been – dark, raw photography.  

What could have been a haunting photography exhibition centred around the survivors of honorary abuse, felt like the aftermath of an unsupervised children's art lesson, and it’s knowing this that makes me emotional. Not the exhibition itself. I think my nan’s summary of the experience said it best.  

‘Well, that was a load of bollocks, wasn’t it?’. 

St George's Hall, until 30th April.