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Tate Modern

So the Tate Modern is ten years old and to celebrate it is getting out its gold card and buying up some new artworks from further afield than it has done before and consequently building on its already phenomenal popularity.

My trusty old, crumpled London A-Z marks the site as, “To be completed”and I remember clearly the first time I visited the Tate. I was bowled over, not by the artworks it contained, but by the building itself. The sheer scale of the place bears down on you as soon as you walk into the Turbine Hall, causing a physical change within you. Even though it has been discribed as a huge cement storage unit, it is so much more. As your eyes look up, up, up the central chimney, as it once was, the vertiginous height of the place replicates a religious experience. The Tate Modern’s building alone makes you feel intimidated, humbled and small. All this before you’ve even got a glimpse of a piece of artwork. This is not just a gallery, nor a decommissioned power station; this is a place of worship and it’s almost as if the artwork is irrelevant, which is curious given that it should be what the place is about.

It is also a big, brash symbol of Britart, of the Blair years, of the style over content ideology of New Labour. It’s imposing; it shows off and cannot be ignored. I have visited many times since its doors opened because despite its faults, it also does contain some fantastic pieces of art, and the views from its windows are worth seeing alone. Tate Modern has an entirely different atmosphere at night and it is interesting to compare a day time trip to a night time one.

Sadly though it is also far too touristic, it’s like you haven’t really “done”London without stopping off here and buying something from the shop so that you can proudly show off your Tate carrier bag, which shouts, “Look! I’m cultured me!”

So if you’re like me and you love it and loathe it in equal measure, one thing’s for sure, if in London as a resident or visitor, you won’t be able to ignore it.