Finally, a proper, grown-up retrospective from the Tate
From our UK edition
A month ago in Hampstead, a work of art stopped me in my tracks. The piece was a vast rectangular painting on board, 7ft tall and 5ft wide, almost entirely covered in a thick layer of black acrylic save for three rectangular apertures cut through the board: windows onto something yet darker. At the composition’s fringes, where black faded to grey, it was just possible to make out the collaged vestiges of the images lying below: monochrome grids of old passport photos and shots of grand plantation mansions. Below the anger lies a depth of artistic soul-searching What looked like a long metal soap rack protruded from the surface, its bars encasing an image of a sculpture of a headless female figure.
