the gloom room

It’s got a title, but this is how it is: a Darkness Box. Ursula Le Guin prefaces her story of that name by telling us of her daughter’s challenge to guess what was in a little wooden box. All the guesses were wrong. The answer, delivered with a slight lifting of the lid and ‘an unspeakably eldritch smile’ was darkness.

Here we are at Tate Modern. I reckon this big box is around the size of eight shipping containers, lined with black Fuzzy Felt. Up the ramp you go, into velvety blackness: I proceeded with caution, getting used to the low light, and enjoying the sound of it. Mixed with the everpresent hum of whatever it is that hums all the time in the turbine hall (ghosts of turbines?) you get muffled steely clanks and muted boomings, as of a subsonic wobbleboard. Never mind Jeff Koons’ inflatable rabbit – also currently at Tate Modern – let’s have a giant blowup Rolf!

It’s nice to listen in the dark to an intriguing soundworld. Francisco López, by the way, has some opinions on this. I was recording at the gloomy end, when someone more confident than me came to an abrupt halt and spoke some words into the close and holy darkness:

On the wall nearby there’s some artspeak to go with the work: be sure to read it to optimise your experience.

And underneath the whole thing, some kids thought it was great fun, swinging off the girders and dashing around. Another Tate Modern event came to mind: a Tango Nuevo evening some years ago. Under the ‘bridge’ at the bottom of the slope, couples danced. The sound of the band, muted and distanced down there, let you hear clearly the hypnotic swish of the dancers’ moves.