A crisp white structure stands in the shadow of the Tate Modern, facing out to the river. A light reflection of St Paul’s Cathedral across the Thames. But this structure is bisected, revealing intricate drawings of animals, birds, and insects, blown up beyond scale. Es Devlin, renowned lighting designer (or as i call her, light magician) has created this magical space, in the grove between the birch trees. On its own the structure is compelling and inviting — you want to climb up the steps and explore, looking at each drawing up close. Sounds of birds and insects pipe into the space, reminding us that before the city and the people, far before, this was natural space. The species depicted represent those on London’s protected list. These inhabitants who we might fear, or worse, shoo out of our houses — who have every right we do to be here (if not more!).
The magic is taken further, however, when each night at 7pm, two choirs fill the structure for a performance accompanied by a light play which highlights the magic of these creatures. Each choir sings in a language other than English — intentionally selected by Es Devlin to represent, but also make us consider the relationship between disappearing species of creatures and the parallel disappearance of languages in creating of monocultures. We visited Friday 30 September, on a windy and rainy evening — but we were not alone braving the elements. Our choirs sang in Bulgarian and in Liturgical Latin, their voices cutting through the wind and rain, through the noise of London on a busy evening, to create a moment almost prayer-like.
I feel honoured to bear witness to this, and hope I’m not the only one compelled by it. On our journey home, we stopped to watch a rather large snail make its way across our walkway, with a renewed sense of wonder and awe.
You can read more about Devlin’s inspiration and process for the piece here.
