Adrian Searle

5 days ago | msn.com | Adrian Searle

Microsoft Cares About Your PrivacyMicrosoft and our third-party vendors use cookies to store and access information such as unique IDs to deliver, maintain and improve our services and ads. If you agree, MSN and Microsoft Bing will personalise the content and ads that you see. You can select ‘I Accept’ to consent to these uses or click on ‘Manage preferences’ to review your options and exercise your right to object to Legitimate Interest where used.

6 days ago | theguardian.com | Adrian Searle

An alphabet of writhing tadpoles and globules, blots and worms crosses the paper, an underwater language of indecipherable signs. Is that a comma? Is this an octopus? Looking up, I notice that some of this stuff has broken free of the surface of the framed drawing and floated up to the ceiling, where it is trapped between the wall and the skylight, like a drifting tangle of seaweed. Some invisible current is pulling at the tendrils of colour, which tails off into the whiteness of the wall.

3 weeks ago | msn.com | Adrian Searle

Microsoft Cares About Your PrivacyMicrosoft and our third-party vendors use cookies to store and access information such as unique IDs to deliver, maintain and improve our services and ads. If you agree, MSN and Microsoft Bing will personalise the content and ads that you see. You can select ‘I Accept’ to consent to these uses or click on ‘Manage preferences’ to review your options and exercise your right to object to Legitimate Interest where used.

3 weeks ago | theguardian.com | Adrian Searle

Filled with laughter and pain, and bodies that cry and moan, suffer and sing, Ed Atkins’ exhibition at Tate Britain is populated by the unreal and the simulated, the present and the absent, the living and the dead. We go from light to dark and back again, from room to room, and constant shifts in tempo and register, swerving from one medium to another. Along the way, we keep meeting the artist. Atkins drawn in coloured pencil, pensive in profile.

1 month ago | theguardian.com | Adrian Searle

All that drinking. All that smoking. All that free love and those bohemian goings-on, all that Nietzschean nonsense, the symbolism and the expressionism, all that madness and early death. These are the reasons we seek out the company of laugh-a-minute, devil-may-care bon vivant and man-about-town Edvard Munch, a selection of whose portraits are now at London’s National Portrait Gallery. Sadly, little of the drama we expect of his art is in evidence here.