The Forked Forest Path // Fabrica, Brighton

A Clayton

Olafur Eliasson at Fabrica, Brighton Festival 2021

Entering into Fabrica, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is the first exhibition I have visited since full lockdown ended, and galleries could reopen on the 17th May. To that end, what an absolute treat to go somewhere and see something three dimensional, inside. Last time I visited this slightly obscure venue in Brighton last Autumn, the space seemed, as we all did, confused and frustrated with the most recent bout of government regulations. After taking an inordinate amount of time to hand over contact details, the Earthworks installation by Semiconductor was abrasively noisy, claustrophobic despite the lack of people, with jarring amoeba-like psychedelic graphics, it tapped into the feeling of dystopian uncertainty. Last week, I stepped into an equally psychedelic environment.

The Forked Forest Path transforms the chapel into a woodland. Tightly wrought branches spring from the floor, weaving together to create pathways which the visitor is invited to journey through. As soon as you enter the exhibition space, you are down the rabbit hole, expecting a trail of breadcrumbs; a forbidding yet enticing interior in which you cannot help but feel Puckish. There’s a hushed atmosphere, muffled sounds of footsteps and dappled light moving through the branches from the clerestory windows of the church. This is an excellent curatorial move; if the windows had been blocked out and the space artificially lit, the effect would have been quite different, less organic, less real, perhaps.

The Olafur experiences I have had, first at the Tate Modern in 2003 with his ubiquitous Weather Project - the vast sun lighting up the Turbine Hall, which genuinely felt like it was giving off heat motivating visitors to sunbathe in front of it - then in 2019 with In Real Life, also at Tate Modern, the psychological line between ‘real’ and ‘imagined’ experience is blurred to hallucinogenic levels. So, I would guess that the lighting was not a decision of Fabrica’s, but instead was included in the instructions which are the actual artwork. By this I mean Eliasson has imagined this piece, designed it with various stipulations, the Towner art gallery in Eastbourne bought the instructions, and has loaned it to Fabrica as part of the Brighton Festival. Fabrica’s team worked with local woodland keeper’s to source the material for the exhibition, to Eliasson’s specification. Perhaps the vast carbon footprint of all of his major exhibitions to date, which I have always found to be a bitter pill to swallow under the “We are drawing attention to the relationship between peoples and nature banner”, can be pacified by this Yoko Ono-esque system of art making?

Enough quibbling. Stay local is the message here, one that we have all repeatedly considered because of the pandemic. We might see this crossover between that and our lived environment as it should be seen: inextricably intertwined. Technically the exhibition has rewilded an interior space in the centre of a city, contributing to the dystopian mood of the times, with a playful riff on fairytale and imagination. Yet the branches are dead, and were dead before they were installed. So the sense of being in an organic, living space is entirely projected, and it is here that Eliasson’s ability to create these oscillating environments is truly appreciated, if a little spinny. On entering you are told that at some point, you will need to make a choice of which direction to take in the forked path. Overloaded with symbolism of human freewill at a time of extreme restriction, I took one, instantly regretted it (because, what was on the other side?), and found myself on a lone journey looking for other life through the branches. Blinking out into brighter sunlight, the whole experience took about 7 minutes, yet it felt like the entirety of 2020 was bound up in that path. In those solitary steps, a conditional moment of peace closer to nature... Congratulations Fabrica - what an excellent start to getting back to (ab)normality.