Without the daily self-portraits, she thought she might disappear. (Francesca Woodman’s photography at Victoria Miro)

It’s January, I’m back in London after holidays spent with my family in the Czech Republic, and just like everyone else I have New Year’s resolutions and a bag of new-found enthusiasm. Perfect time to get off my bum and start exploring new pastures again.  I must admit I hardly ever got out of my West London bubble in the past few months. So, yesterday I took the Tube down to Angel to visit an exhibition of Francesca Woodman’s photographs  at Victoria Miro.

Wharf Road, where the gallery is, starts off with a massive McDonald’s Drive-Thru sign. It continues with puddles, construction and converted warehouses. Promising, I thought. It looked like the kind of place where one would expect to find up-and-coming things. I have this idea in my head that true art and poverty go together. (Remember that scene in Amadeus where Mozart’s body is chucked out of the coffin into a pauper’s grave? That’s what I’m talking about, that kind of cold and depressing reality.)

The gallery itself was a pleasant surprise – it’s huge! And I heard they even have a garden where they sometimes display artworks.

The exhibition consists of 100 photographs which give an overview of Francesca Woodman’s photographic career. Her work consists mostly of bizarre self-portraits. Woodman twists her body into strange positions, hangs off a door frame, puts herself in a glass cabinet, wraps her legs around with tape or makes wrist bandages for herself out of tree bark. She displays her naked body not in a sexual way, but more in a desperate, “look at me, I’m just a piece of meat” kind of way. Her face and intimate parts are often obscured by movement, mirrors and props. All in all, the photographs have “mental illness” written all over them. The kind of mental illness that makes you question yourself and the point of living … the kind of mental illness that drives you to insane levels of creativity. (Surprise, surprise … Woodman committed suicide at 22.)

The photographs are often shot in decrepit rooms, which gives you an added sense of just how haunted Woodman’s reality was. As a keen photographer who is a bit of an introvert, I could relate. I found her work creative and inspirational. If you like innovative photography, go see it. Just don’t expect pretty landscapes, rainbows or unicorns. 

The exhibition is open until 22 January 2011 and there is no entry fee (thumbs up for that, I am a student now).

Victoria Miro
16 Wharf Road
London
N1 7RW