Quirky show about superstition that doesn’t know witch way to go
What does “magic” mean in our culturally inclusive age? Are we still allowed to write off other people’s beliefs as superstitious tripe? Is making a distinction between the rational and irrational not nowadays inherently discriminatory?
This quirky exhibition wants to have its cake and eat it. Bringing together an array of oddball historical artefacts, from mummified cats to human hearts encased in lead, along with lots of ancient tomes and the currently obligatory “responses” from contemporary artists, it sets out to explore the deeper meanings behind residual superstitions – and our ancestors’ wackier beliefs – in a non-judgmental spirit. At the same time it wants to create an “unsettling”, owly mood perfect for Halloween – and we’re only just into September.
But demystifying and titillating proves a tricky balance to maintain. The books and prints require too much detailed perusing to get the neck hairs prickling, and the contemporary responses mostly feel inconsequential. Objects that sound utterly bizarre on paper, meanwhile, can prove oddly mundane in actuality. A heart encased in silver and lead, for instance, dating from 13th-century Ireland and designed to bring the spiritual aura of the church in which it was kept to the soul of the donor, looks like a bit of dried liver surrounded by old bashed-up metal – as you might imagine it would.
The show eschews traditional terms such as “superstition” and “occult” in favour of cutesy “magical thinking” – defined as “imagining your thoughts and actions are influencing things beyond your control”. Yet attempts to throw the historical material into contemporary relief often misfire.
By far the best section is devoted to magic and the home, with well-lit and evocative exhibits, such as a pair of barn doors from Suffolk scratched with anti-witch marks, bringing to life a whole world of rustic belief that persisted until quite recently. I wasn’t convinced, however, that all the exhibits extricated from wall cavities and from under floorboards had a magical intention. Decomposing children’s clothes always create a frisson, but why were the ones displayed here interred with two railway timetables and a packet of Player’s Navy Cut?
Indeed, the show never decides what it wants to do with its notion of “magical thinking”, leaving the cruelty, credulity, wonder, sentimentality and plain fraud involved in so-called magic all reduced to the same rather uninvolving level. I left little the wiser about what magic means today and very little spooked.