Shona Davies, Dave Monaghan, and Jon Klein’s 3D installation animation Never Eat the Cone sits unassumingly in the penultimate room in the RWA’s 167th Annual open exhibition. The work nestles amongst over 600 other pieces of art, many of which are far more vibrant and overpowering. However, the aesthetic subtlety of its muted tones and its simple, geometric structure suggested a closer look was needed. Indeed, the installation’s built-in peep hole beckoned the innate sense of curiosity in me. I was lucky enough to catch this exhibition in November 2019, before COVID-19 reared its ugly head and stopped my usual gallery-visiting habit in its tracks. Today, the RWA is slowly re-stretching its muscles and, once again, opening its doors to the public. Although this exhibition, and the treasure trove of artworks it held, is long gone; it felt apt to comment on the themes Never Eat the Cone encapsulates.
The installation consists of a pale green box with a circular hole cut through its primary wall. The interior is gloomy, lit only by small translucent windows. Inside, the miniature room is filled with two model armchairs, a model zimmer-frame and a scaled-down TV screen. Peering through the hole, I was transported to my childhood years spent enraptured by the antique doll’s house in my Grandparents’ spare room. While the space within the box was indeed reminiscent of a doll's house, it was eerily bereft of any figurines. The only movement comes from the small TV screen within the box, which loops a 3 minute stop-motion animation. This video explores the experiences of dementia sufferers in residential and nursing care homes. After putting on the provided headphones, I was transported into a multi-layered audiovisual experience that was, in fact, lengths more meaningful than the many of the other pieces surrounding it.
The animation begins with an elderly man dozing peacefully in a comfortable, plain bedroom. He is harshly awoken by the sound of someone clapping. From this point onward, the narrative thread of the animation slowly disintegrates into a series of disjointed scenes played over garbled snippets of gibberish, whispering, and ghostly singing. Scenes falter between past and present, and memories blur to reveal elements of a dreamlike reality. It becomes impossible to articulate whether the events presented are a far-gone memory or an immediate act. As the viewer, I felt one step behind each scene; excluded from the ghostly, nonsensical world teased before me. The care home is depicted as a chilling and uncomfortable space, within which care workers transform into garish animal versions of themselves. Cool tones of blue, black, and grey are used throughout. It seems that if sunlight were to touch this little world, it would smoulder and burn away. Within the care home, comfortable rituals of eating and drinking are transformed into terrifying acts of obedience. Surprisingly, the video is self-aware, displaying multiple shots of care workers peeping through the very same circular hole that the viewer is simultaneously using. It becomes clear that we too, are being watched. Frustratingly, the animation ends exactly where it began, with an elderly man being jolted painfully awake. The video is stuck playing an excruciating loop all too familiar to dementia sufferers.
Never Eat the Cone is situated deep enough into the exhibition that it is likely most visitors are tired while encountering the installation. Moreover, in order to gain an unobstructed view inside the structure, one must crouch with bent knees, somewhat uncomfortably. This is both a purposeful and meaningful curatorial choice. It is a macabre exchange of two evils. In order to observe such an intimate and debilitating aspect of someone’s private life, one is first required to tolerate a level of discomfort. To become the voyeur, you must give away something of yourself first. I myself was tinged with a profound sense of melancholy watching a group of people suffering in a tiny world, unable to enter.
Almost a year on, Never Eat the Cone is more poignant than ever. With care homes struggling immensely under the greedy weight of the pandemic, one feels an incredible level of sympathy toward their residents. The installation is decidedly dark. In fact, it solidifies the fact that nightmares are not only confined within the bedrooms of small children. Although, it is not touched without a hint of humour and playfulness. One cannot downplay the whimsy of escaping everyday life for a couple of minutes within a miniature world.
Watch Never Eat the Cone here: https://vimeo.com/139921106
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