TKE Studios, Margate
Open weekends from
3 November 2024 – 26 January 2025
I’ve decided to ban myself from using the words ‘ethereal’ and ‘visceral’ in my posts on Margate Creates. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with these words, but they make it too easy to slide down a dreamy slope, relying on these almost onomatopoeic totems—trusty old friends when it comes to talking about art. I realise this may make things harder for myself, but I hope it pushes me to discover new, refreshing ways of capturing the essence of an artwork.
One more note for this first post: when I write about a show, I’m not reviewing it in the traditional sense. I’m not here to tell you whether a collection is good or bad, or whether you should visit. I only want to tell a story, to let my mind wander through chambers and pour it onto the page. There will be no star ratings or show-of-the-week highlights. All art presented honestly is valid.
And so, onwards to SHAPESHIFTERS at TKE Studios, down Victoria Road—past the resplendent post office, tucked among the terraces of hidden Margate. If you haven’t visited yet, you should. Even without any art, it’s a fabulous space, with amazing light and a calming ambience. As you enter, the largest gallery greets you, extending to the far reaches of the building, with a glass roof that lets in all the light the day has to offer.
This time, it’s the work of Joline Kwakkenbos, a Dutch painter. I didn’t know Joline’s nationality when I stepped into the exhibition, yet I immediately felt a kinship with the Van Gogh show I visited recently. While Vincent’s faces are mostly male, often of himself, Joline’s are of women—again, self-portraits. They share a certain quality of gaze, though, as if they are looking through you to an altogether more important place. Joline’s women are celestial, floating on the wall, perhaps unsure of where they might land. They often have faint companions—other versions of themselves drifting in and out of the main figure, holding hands, whispering secrets. It’s gorgeous and unsettling, a combination I embrace and perhaps seek in everyday life.
Standing alone in this main space, surrounded by these astounding works, I feel loved and cherished by the warmth that exudes from these portraits. That’s not to say these figures are beaming joy into the room. Joline has said one of her inspirations is trauma, and indeed, the women looking back at me seem wary of my presence, though strong in their existence. Even in their nakedness, they are composed, proud in their openness; shame cannot penetrate their souls.
I move to the other room, which is filled with large-format photographs by Elissa Cray (Elissa is also the director of TKE Studios). I feel small against them; they tower, hemming me in. There are trees, there are figures draped across the scenes. Here and in the room below, the motif repeats, though each image is unique, drawing me deeper into the forest. The figures are faceless, strewn across trunks, barefoot under a canopy of leaves. I don’t know what they want, or if they’re content as they are. I feel an unease that might be theirs—or mine. It’s hard to say. I need some air.
I emerge onto Victoria Road and the sky is grey, rain is on the cusp. As much as I love Margate in the summer, this time of year, with the permanent partial gloom, the threat of storm, fills me with a sense of belonging here. Maybe it’s the curse of England, always yearning to find a touch of bleakness on your doorstep, always hoping for someone to talk to about the weather.