Playful nods to the Serpentine’s position in the middle of Hyde Park abound: in Finite Infinite (2010), looped footage of a labrador running in grass is projected along the wall, while against the window in another room are a gaggle of half-inflated sex dolls looking out to the verdant park.
On a bank of screens nearby is Elastic Tango (2010), a hectic procession of images from Betty Boop cartoons to Liberace’s tapping foot to the billowing stars and stripes, which plays forwards and is then reversed and subsequently fragmented. Meanwhile, in a sequence from the Eighties video game, Pac Man goes on his greedy quest and always ends up getting eaten himself.
This visual and aural bombardment is informed by what Sturtevant calls the “cybernetic imposition” of the digital world, where the flood of information is trumping deep knowledge and reality is crudely distorted. She has spoken of the “vast barren interior of man” — perhaps those sex dolls, empty and with gaping mouths, are Sturtevant’s grim vision of us in the 21st century.
The repeated image of an owl plastered all over the first gallery comes from a royalty-free website and emulates the type of reuse that’s rife on the internet. Sturtevant even refashions parts of her own previous work. Parts of the film ‘Elastic Tango’ reappear in two ‘Rock & Rap’ video projections, creating a rhythmic loop.
Time Out review