Red tendrils descend from the roof of the gallery and cling to chairs dotted around the room. However, if we look at this scene from another perspective, we see that disparate pieces of furniture anchor an amorphous red mass collecting above our head. The structure obscures the light and overwhelms the room with spiky, threatening strands and shadows. From far away, it’s hard to tell what it’s made from – is it gaseous? Or a cluster of ruby cobwebs – but the scene becomes much clearer once our eyes land on the seating arrangement. Entering such a visually busy room draws attention to the emptiness of all 43 seats.
The thought-provoking installation is titled Everyone, a Universe (2024) and is the work of Japanese visual artist Chiharu Shiota (b. 1972). It’s an example of her signature immersive works, which bring to mind Do Ho Suh’s ‘hubs’ and Rana Begum’s cloud-like sculptures – both enormous structures that dominate surroundings despite their translucency. Shiota applies this use of texture and space to examine the universal themes of life and death, with a particular focus on memory, trauma and uncertainty. In 2005, Shiota was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and faced the possibility of death. The illness made her think of what her own disappearance would mean, and she told The Guardian: “I felt my soul was going to separate from my body … I was frightened. My daughter was nine years old. How can she survive without a mother?” The experience prompted her to view death differently – as “not an end, but something equivalent to life.”
Art is a way for Shiota to explore these questions and reflections. She has included body parts and intermediary objects – from feet to vacant furniture – in her pieces to suggest the feeling of presence in absence. Often, when we think of chairs, beds and shoes, we also wonder about the people who filled them. These associations are at the heart of the artist’s current installation at Antoni Tàpies Foundation, titled: Everyone, a Universe. In Out of My Body (2024), a pair of feet ground the scarlet netting that reaches to the tops of the white gallery walls. The wooden seats in Everyone, a Universe (2024) were collected from flea markets, their second-hand nature already recalls their former owners. Shiota states: “The objects in my installations always represent the existence of an individual. When I look at the chairs, I see people sitting next to each other, but each one is a universe unto themself.” Red threads links these separate entities.
The show’s curator Imma Prieto (b. 1976) writes: “Her intricate webs of thread, stretching across the space like constellations in the night sky, remind us of the complexity of human relationships and the interconnectedness of our individual lives.” For Shiota, these sanguine strands are loaded with symbolic meaning. They suggest the intricate micro-universe of blood and blood vessels that circulate around our bodies. On a wider level, the vital fluid flowing through our veins is something we universally share. No human can live without it. Throughout Everyone, a Universe, the artist pays attention to the links between the microcosm within us and the macrocosm that connects us all. Wrapped by these connecting threads, we see that these chairs are not abandoned objects but tangible reminders of people no longer here.
Antoni Tàpies Foundation, Chiharu Shiota: Everyone, a Universe | Until 23 June
Words: Diana Bestwish Tetteh
Image Credits:
- Chiharu Shiota. Out of My Body (Fora del meu cos / Fuera de mi cuerpo), 2024. Fundació Antoni Tàpies, Barcelona. Fotografia: Pep Herrero © VEGAP i l’artista, 2024.
- Chiharu Shiota. Cell (Cèl·lula / Célula), 2024. Fundació Antoni Tàpies, Barcelona. Fotografia: Pep Herrero © VEGAP i l’artista, 2024.
- Chiharu Shiota. Everyone, a Universe (Cadascú, un univers / Cada, quien un universo), 2024. Fundació Antoni Tàpies, Barcelona. Fotografia: Pep Herrero © VEGAP i l’artista, 2024.
- Chiharu Shiota. Everyone, a Universe (Cadascú, un univers / Cada, quien un universo), 2024. Fundació Antoni Tàpies, Barcelona. Fotografia: Pep Herrero © VEGAP i l’artista, 2024.