Art Show: Carsten Hoeller at Tate Modern

The annual turbine hall craze. Mass gatherings. Corporate Sponsorship (Unilever Series). Big Names. Monumental Scales. Art Experience. Free Entry. Media Hype. Or, in Joseph Beuys' world: a social plastic.

All installations I have seen so far in Tate Modern's Turbine Hall (Anish Kapoor Marsayas 2003, Olafour Eliasson's Weather Project 2004, Bruce Nauman 2005, Rachel Whiteread and now Carsten Hoeller's Slides) were installations that facilitate social interaction, self-assessment and geo-whatever (physical, psychological, economical, historical...) contemplation. The latter refers to the unique scales, concepts, forms and materials of these site specific commissions. They were all interesting. The white sugarboxes a bit boring. The 'sun' was magic. But the German's slides are different.

Rather than seeing or hearing, you can touch them. Finally something for the kinaesthetics amongst us. Moreover, a form of interaction and experience with art that is forbidden in most of the art shows that you will ever enter in your lifetime. Like the forbidden fruit in paradise - I have once been kicked out of the Abteiberg Museum in Germany's province because of daring to touch a specially surfaced part of the museum's white wall (oi - minimal art...!). And for a hands-on experience, what could be better than the slides? They are action, they look great (the craftsmanship make them appear to be requisites of a science fiction movie), and they tickle our mischieveous desire to be kid again and to play. And how handy that you have to accompany your off-spring for safety reasons. Excuse me, could I borrow your son please?


And even for the spectators, who choose not to take the burden of queueing away their Sunday afternoon for a 10 second episode of accelerated happiness, it is a spectacle. Being an observer and assessor of family dynamics, fashion trends and social behaviour, in an art palace like that, with no entry fee, good light to capture the scenes by camera, that's pretty priceless. And here, I think Hoeller's piece continues where the others ended (maybe Eliasson came closest); it is a happening, a social plastic, and everyone is an artist for a day, part of a masterplan: to make art more accessible, understandable and enjoyable for a wider audience.

For those who know me, I have nothing against conceptual art or other hard to digest forms of creative expression, but I do loathe some of these high-brow art farts dominating the magazines (writing) and biennales (curating), master-of-the-universe investor-collectors, star-gazing Frieze groupies, and the ridiculous art market that is more inflated than the global property bubble. Therefore, Hoeller's art is a funny yet smart piss-take on the whole scene itself: this hilarious circus | zoo | kindergarden called 21 century art world.

Until 7 April 2007 at Tate Modern