Teal Griffin and Charlie Harrison at Chemist Gallery
Our perceptions of reality are no longer aspirational. That is not in a "fake news" or conspiratorial sense, but the reality that belonged to older generations is no longer feasible for most younger generations. All this being said, there is something bizarrely appealing about the hyper-mundane. Young people are indulging less in hedonistic pursuits, nightclubs are closing down, and conversely, the popularity of sedating activities like ambient YouTube videos (this 'book nook ambience' is my personal favourite; even the video description opens with: 'You're safe now'). The romanticised mundane has seemingly usurped the fantastical escapism of the recent past.
My washing machine stopped working recently, and I went to the local launderette to scope out the scene there, if you will. In my head, I had worked up an incredibly mundane, but secretly satisfying, fantasy of dropping my laundry into a machine, inserting an amorphous token, and sitting and reading my book on the voyeuristic bench, occasionally looking up to see how my socks were getting on. Alas visiting a real launderette near my house was a different story; I discovered the extortionate cost of washing clothes in a communal facility, and instantly wondered how it is not a more ailing, beleaguered business model in this day and age. The bubble, thanks to the financial realities that we are all embedded in, swiftly burst.
Installation view, Teal Griffin and Charlie Harrison’s Oracle at Chemist Gallery, London 2024. Photo: Ariel Caine
Speaking of launderettes, I first encountered artist duo Teal Griffin and Charlie Harrison with their installation project, Neptune's Launderette, last year, which saw them develop a functional launderette, with machines spilling out bubbles to fill out the space. Immersive installation art at its most fun. In the trailer, the voiceover says, "we do spinners, we do dryers. You've never seen anything like it," followed by "it's out of this world". Incredibly facetious and tongue-in-cheek, the narrative certainly keeps you wondering as to what is going on. The air of whimsy alongside the hyper-mundane is an exciting fusion, and allows a sense of presence and mindfulness with a pinch of fantasy.
Installation view, Teal Griffin and Charlie Harrison’s Oracle at Chemist Gallery, London 2024. Photo: Ariel Caine
So it was with this excitement of another immersive installation and the mundanity of the high street that brought me to their latest installation at Chemist Gallery. As the gallery's name suggests, the space is a former chemist, located in Lewisham, in amongst a highly residential area, which plays very well with Griffin and Harrison's exhibition. From the outside, the show, titled Oracle, appears to be an opticians. Amusingly, it looks like one of the ultra-modern opticians that pop up on gentrified high streets every so often, always markedly devoid of people and customers. Alas, a bright white space greets us, which is both isolating and inviting in equal measure. Emblazoned with "See the future, clearly" in a neon sign above a makeshift reception desk, initial impressions are rooted in the 'live, laugh, love' school of thought, which tends to materialise in semi-aspirational interior decor.
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Installation view, Teal Griffin and Charlie Harrison’s Oracle at Chemist Gallery, London 2024. Photo: Paul Chapellier
This is the moment we realise everything is a play on the uncanny. Fake chocolate chip cookies tantalisingly sit on the desk, and a water dispenser sits near the back of the desk; upon closer inspection we notice that this is, indeed, a sculpture, and decidedly nonfunctional. In its unashamed playfulness, other gallery viewing experiences seem comparatively staid and unnecessarily serious. Equally, there is an inherent questioning of this interpretation, and similarly the ways we engage with public spaces (as much as an optician can be considered as such). If I am experiencing play inside Chemist Gallery, what stops me from experiencing play elsewhere? The child-like wonder of looking into a hole in the wall and seeing the traditional air balloon scene enacted at every eye test, and looking into a hole in a stack of cardboard boxes only to find an intricate model of Delphi keeps the excitement alive.
When we think about carving out opportunities for fun and play in mundane environments and scenarios, we might ask: How many of our emotional experiences are a choice? There is a great deal of privilege in such a line of questioning, from being able to dodge the extortionate launderette prices (temporary accommodation often has no access to such basic amenities within the home), to the art world privilege of seeing an odd, new opticians on the block and wandering in, knowing it is an art gallery, free and open to the public. So the provocation of considering the choice in our experiences, and certainly how we perceive them, is more a case of leaning into the absurd. Things (socially, globally) are fairly bleak; there are times in which we must face them, fight them, and cry together, and others that call for necessary respite. We simply cannot be on high alert 24/7. Perhaps whimsical play can be that respite. Essentially, there is something incredibly satisfying about a former chemist being transformed into a pseudo-optician. The spectacle and the experiential value of such an exhibition sets Oracle apart from much of what the art world has to offer, bringing some lightness and laughter to both the scene and the local area.
