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Time and relative dimensions in space On Tuesday night, at the height of the storm - thrashing rain and flashing thunder - a blue police phone box materialised on the lawn in front of the University Museum. As I cycled by, my vision flooded, I saw a shadowy figure emerge and run into the museum. A TARDIS had arrived, and in the electric ray of a storm's eye had I seen Dr Who? Not really, what I witnessed was the climax of Mark Wallinger's residency at the University Museum. This renowned contemporary artist's work cumulated in Time and relative dimensions in space, or the TARDIS, as all Dr Who fans will instantly recognise. There is now a silent police phone box on the museum's front lawn, counterpointed by the Californian redwood tree and the dinosaur footprints. Move inside, and there is another - or could it be the same one skipping through space? - tucked away in the corner with the dinosaur skeleton casts and models. They at once call to mind the Doctor's adventures or a BBC prop cupboard. I can remember as a child always fretting about what happened to the TARDIS when Dr Who left it and wandered off on his adventures. Now I get to find out. So are a couple of TARDISES appropriate? Well there are parallels to be drawn between the TARDIS and the museum: both are time capsules; both are British institutions, instantly recognisable to many, seeming larger inside than out; we can flit through time and space in the museum, finding tigers partnering reindeer; dinosaurs nestling with dodos while whales swim overhead. But is it art? Mark bought the replicas from an outfit in Cheshire, which "compounds the absurdity of Wallinger's spin on the ready-made". So no, he didn't spend days crafting them - which may disappoint some. And a year to purchase two pieces of fibreglass may seem excessive. However, art is about ideas and their execution, and this work makes me think. Every time I pass by, I revisit my own past, somewhere Dr Who could go back in time to find a small girl hiding behind the couch. Wallinger, through admittedly simple means, alludes to the recovery of things that have disappeared: our childhoods, the dinosaurs, and the dodo. All I can advise is that you go and see it to find out what you think - that's the best way to appreciate or depreciate the work. Me, well I think it's grand. Jacqui Mulville, 16 / 5 / 01 |