Doris and Lubin

Labelling itself "a pop-up guerrilla gallery, dedicated to breaking down both social and artistic hierarchies", the Komachi Gallery certainly attempts to adhere to its own tagline with its current exhibition, courtesy of artists Sarah Wilson and Claire Ferguson; the eponymous Doris and Lubin. Through the scattered pieces of poetic expression that run over the space’s four tight walls, we are given a dramatic yet somewhat overwhelming insight into the deeply personal contemplations of the two artists, who co-edited these words independently of one another.

Following the well-known concept of art as a vehicle for creative catharsis, the honest and explicit stream of consciousness that floods the gallery walls is an expression of tension, desire and failed communication within the relationship that it depicts. Despite being essentially a rather self-indulgent collection of poetical fragments, there is a beauty in lines such as "I will fill the mattress with blossoms, so that you are surrounded by love", and a distinct expression of personal pain in "there is a vortex somewhere near my womb where there is no gravity at all."

These words are combined with various physical manifestations from the text; a tube, a line of muesli, a wolf mask and a spoon are displayed consecutively on the gallery floor, acting as relics of the verbal recollections that surround them. As viewers we enter into the mind of the artist, where kitchen-sink realism is countered by poetic beauty, and framed by an intense intimacy.

Yet for all the conflicting styles, images, and suggestions, one can’t help but question whether it all actually works. Although the words seem desperate to draw us into the inner sanctum of a pained mind, the lasting effect seems to be one of alienation rather than inclusion. The words are almost too honest, too hyperbolic and too suggestive, such that the resulting self-indulgency becomes a barrier preventing any level of empathy or identification on behalf of the viewer.

Considering the self-involvement of artists such as Tracey Emin over a decade ago, one can’t help but feel that we’ve been here before. In this sense Doris and Lubin’s work not only fails to break any boundaries, but becomes a lacklustre return to one already broken.