It's an uncommon feeling to visit a historical museum and experience a part of history that you have witnessed, even if it's in the smallest way. For us it was a minute of silence in our school assembly, being hushed by our parents as they listened to endless reports on the news and noticing the sudden rise in security when we boarded a plane for holiday. At eleven, the age we were at that fateful time, you don’t understand the pure terror that rippled across the globe when two out of four hijacked planes crashed into the World Trade Centre in New York on the 9th September 2001.
The Imperial War Museum hosted the exhibition ‘Age of Terror’ in 2018, exhibition art work by modern British and internationally renowned artists, inspired by the tragic events of 9/11 and the unsettling years of conflict and warfare that followed. The exhibition began with a video by Tony Oursler ‘Nine Eleven’, filmed during and after the attacks. In one scene Oursler films a queue of civilians and tourists peeping through the gaps in tarpaulin to see for themselves the devastating debris of the Twin Towers. For a few seconds their eyes widen in horror as they gaze unblinkingly before they brandish a camera, taking a photo that will later be developed alongside their sightseeing adventures and family snaps.
The exhibition was divided into four sections; focusing on art work that was influences by the event itself ‘9/11’; the fear and paranoia that led to new security measures in ‘State Control’; the disconcerting advancements in technology in ‘Weapons’; and addressing the devastating trauma suffered in war torn countries in ‘Home’.
A corridor lined with newspaper headlines that dominated publications following the attack, collected by Hans-Peter Feldmann, reminded us of the great uncertainty and fear that plagued the public and media’s minds following the attack. The corridor directed you into a seemingly empty room only occupied by Ivan Navarro's sculptures ‘Untitled (Twin Towers)’, two light boxes on the floor. Looming over them reveals an eerie echo of an illuminated structure of a never-ending tower that tragically no longer looms over us, now lost in darkness. In the next room sat Jake and Dinos Chapman’s diorama ‘Nein! Eleven?’ displaying thousands of miniature toy figurines of Nazi soldiers suffering in various forms decay and mutilation, piled up into two twin mounds. The piece is a reminder that humanity should learn from its mistakes, so that the past does not recur in another lifetime, wrecking further havoc and devastation.
Many artists questioned some of the consequences caused by the attack, namely the intensifying levels of security and how the privacy of the general public was compromised following the tragic events. Jitish Kallat’s ‘Circadian Rhyme 1’ also uses figurines as a medium, recreating the invasive body searches performed on citizens in airports that have now become the norm. A marble CCTV camera on a plinth by Ai Wei Wei marks the age of heightened surveillance, the constant monitoring of the unblinking mechanical eye, its recording image projected on an unknown screen, watched by strangers, who can easily track your activities.
The first ever drone strike occurred on 7th October 2001, beginning the military’s controversial use of a new type of weaponry and the commencement of virtual warfare. Before you walk into the exhibition, there is an outlined shape of a predator drone marking the floor, or perhaps the taped silhouette indicates that a crime has taken place. Omer Fast’s 30-minute film '5,000 Feet Is the Best' tells a series of stories relating to virtual warfare, reverting back to the same interview in a hotel room with a distracted drone pilot, who continuously leaves the room.
The final rooms of the exhibition are dedicated to various contemporary artists from the Middle East, whose countries have suffered the carnage and trauma of war that many have been forced to flee. We were taken by a 2005 short film ‘White House’ by Afghanistan artist Lida Abdul. Set in a former presidential building on the outskirts of Kabul, now reduced to rubble from a recent bombing. Abdul, dressed in a black Afghan robe and armed with a paintbrush, paints the entirety of the remains in white, even the back of a man who stands in her path. The use of white symbolises purification and renewal as well as mourning, while the name of the piece points the finger at the United States government’s invasion and subsequent white-washing of her homeland at the cost of many lives and destruction of their culture.
The artists spell out feelings of anxiety, mistrust and fear from living with the repercussions of that day, thoughts that are shared within communities, whose voices are not often heard over those of politicians or journalists. The exhibition was given mixed reviews by critics, but everyone at the exhibition was intensely thoughtful as they recounted part of their history provoked by the artwork on display. Upon leaving the exhibit, we found ourselves revisiting the first video installation, where we had earlier commented on our dismay at watching the queuing tourists taking photos of one of the cruellest acts of terrorism. Watching this ritual earlier seemed disrespectful and inhumane but after going around the exhibition, you realise the importance of documenting these tragedies, and communicating your own personal outlook, which can differ so much from person to person.
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