The dead don't go until we do

An exhibition at a gallery I had never been to before

Wanda Siwak, from the series Siukar Manusia. Małtgorzata Mirga-Tas, 2022

The Talbot Rice Gallery is situated deep within the intestines of a lowering Victorian building at the top of an uphill cobbled street, to the left of the National Museum of Scotland. It’s the centre of the city. The whole area is wild architecturally, as it’s all built on a hill. A road bridge spans the street I started from, built between two multi-storied tenement buildings which still house residential flats.

On my way up the hill I passed the old swimming pool, now Dovecot Studios, which was somehow built into this steep incline.

Crossing over the road that’s carried by the bridge, I turned left, under an archway supporting a room between two imposing buildings, up the cobbled hill, until I reached the entrance to Old College, part of the University, and the home of the gallery.

Old College, originally ‘New College’, is a late 18th century/early 19th century building designed by Robert Adam, and completed after his death by Henry Playfair. As well as being the public gallery of the University of Edinburgh, the Talbot Rice Gallery is also part of Edinburgh College of Art. Perhaps that’s why I’d never visited it before, not being a great fan of the art associated with institutions. Hidden within a big chunk of University bricks and mortar, I’d never even noticed that it was there.

Stepping into a publicly-funded gallery always feels like entering a very specific world of art. In my mind I think of myself as entering into one of the institutions of contemporary art; the world of gatekeepers and wannabe history-makers, serious places that don’t need to be interested in what might sell, or where collectors might currently be focussing their attention. If it’s a gallery showing contemporary art, my prejudices and limited experience unconsciously make me expect to be bamboozled by bad-quality paintings, or offended by shoddy drawings, or bored by an obscure arrangement of objects that I have to read a page of A4 about before I can to begin to relate to what’s in front of me.

I got a big surprise. The current exhibition at the Talbot Rice Gallery turned out to be a moving, unfolding exploration through four very different spaces, without a single bad drawing or confoundingly abstruse object in sight.

The first part of the gallery was a large, conventional white cube, but the walls were painted cobalt blue.

Then there were steep stairs leading to a darkened room, which meant that the second exhibit hit me on a visceral level before I could even take in what it was about.

Who is Invited to the City? Amol K Patil

The third space was contrastingly bright; a small, round room, lit from above by a glass cupola in the ceiling.

Untitled, 2026. Kang Seung Lee

Finally I walked through double doors into another dark space, this time large and disorienting; I was suspended in a gallery, looking down at an exhibit far below.

Mafolofolo, 2022-ongoing. MADEYOULOOK

The only way out was to walk down the length of the darkened gallery towards the light and the stairs at the end. As I did so, feeling slightly vertiginous, I was engulfed by a loud soundscape of alternating music, voice, and silence.

I deliberately didn’t read the booklet before going round the exhibition, wanting to see how everything felt before filling myself up with ideas.

I did, however, know that its title, ‘The dead don’t go until we do’, was based on a poem by Scottish Poet Jackie Kay, who wrote it as a tribute to a friend who had died.

…what I didn’t know then
was that she hadn't really gone.
The dead don't go till you do, loved ones.
The dead are still here holding our hands.

Jackie Kay

I knew that I was about to see something about loss, displacement and attempts at cultural erasure.

As Rebecca Solnit has argued throughout her political writing, we live in an age where forgetting is everywhere. Contemporary politics operates on short timescales, obscuring the power of people and grassroots movements to effect change, which can take years or even decades. But where forgetting can lead to despair, remembering can lead to hope.

The dead don’t go until we do brings together four artists who demonstrate how we stand hand in hand with those who came before us...

…In the background of each of these projects is a sense of nature and an awareness of how traditions and systems of knowledge that root communities have been broken. Without a nation, or stable and dignified place to call home, the stories carried from family to family, friend to friend, mean everything. Here, landscapes, plants and animals are also called to bear witness.

From the exhibition booklet

Puffed out from four flights of steep stairs, I stepped into the cobalt room.

Articles about the four artists to come…..