The title of Miroslaw Balka’s new exhibition Nothere is a play on the words ‘not there’ ironically unveiling the once hidden cruelties of World War II. Currently on view at White Cube Mason’s Yard are two large-scale sculptural works and two video works that refer to Nazi death camps in Poland, the artist’s homeland, particularly, the Treblinka camp built in 1942.

As visitors approach the glass doors of White Cube they are confronted with a video screen positioned to greet them featuring an old man who was once a guard during the period at Treblinka when as many as 920,000 Jews were annihilated. Taken from 1985 footage, the man struggles to recall his past, seemingly troubled by the guilt of his involvement in the murdering of thousands. Balka’s message is clear as he concentrates on only two words by continually replaying a three-second loop where the guard says: "Primitive, yes." The repetition of this brief revelation reflects the man’s ongoing struggle with the acceptance and comprehension of the sins of his past.

The guard is at the entrance of the exhibition, as he was at the entrance of the camp. There is a clear parallel here – is the artist trying to make the visitor feel that he is experiencing entering the camp? Possibly, but the content of the video evokes the classic dilemma - Were those that knew of but did not necessarily commit the atrocities equally culpable as those that did? These unanswered questions create an instant level of discomfort that increases as visitors make their way through the galleries.
The ground-floor gallery holds the large, rusted steel sculpture, 250 x 700 x 455, Ø 41 x 41/Zoo/T (2007) which is a reproduction of the frame of the ‘zoo’ building constructed at Treblinka. It was used to house foxes and doves nested atop its roof, apparently for the guards’ entertainment. Balka’s model contains no sign of life: the rust insinuates neglect and the single light bulb in the middle conjures visions of interrogation or conversely, the revelation of the horrific events that took place at the camp. While the rusted bucket full of bubbling red wine in the centre is an obvious reference to bloodshed, its eeriness is further enhanced by the accompaniment of bubbling or dripping sounds provided by the pump mechanism built inside.
It is interesting to contemplate the artist’s choice to exemplify the structure that housed the animals to represent the camp itself. Is he using this as a metaphor for innocence destroyed? If so, is this simply a move away from images and sentiments surrounding the traditional exposure of the machine of the Holocaust – considering how traumatically moving – yet now, slightly clichéd – those images have become? Another possibility is that he is trying to make the visitor consider that the inmates were treated the same as animals. In which case, this metaphor seems slightly hackneyed as well.
Known for his Minimalist style, Balka’s sculptures are constructed with basic everyday materials and often employ materials relating to the human body such as hair, salt, soap, and ash; thus, it is no surprise that he has manipulated the height of the zoo in proportion to his own body. The result is a deliberate depiction of confinement.


Balka’s second installation designed especially for White Cube consists of a wooden walkway with walls that do not touch the ceiling comprised plywood and scaffolding creating a square closing off the middle of the gallery, which is surrounded by a claustrophobic tunnel. At first glance, it looks as if the White Cube is undergoing construction and it is not clear that this is part of the exhibition. Visitors are encouraged to walk the perimeter of the wooden tunnel, which is a bizarre experience as there is no indication as to what lies around each corner. The wooden floorboards creek to the extent that they seem to be giving way and it feels a bit silly to be walking around a big wooden box.

This work is a direct reference to the ‘Schlauch’ at Treblinka, a narrow path that connected the area where the inmates were forced to undress with the area housing the gas chambers. At the time, the path was lined with barbed wire and disguised with pine tree branches so that people within the camp would not know its function. By simulating this walk to death and confining the visitor with wood, the constrained nature of the passage implies that he has no option but to go forward to an unknown future.

The second video, 170 x 126 x 10/T. Turn (2004) projected onto a bed of salt depicts the artist’s point of view while lying on his back at Treblinka and turning the camera 360 degrees. Viewing this piece for more than a couple of minutes can bring about the feeling of vertigo and nausea. On that note, the entire show evokes ill-welcomed feelings such as anxiety, claustrophobia, confusion, and loneliness. Nevertheless, given the subject matter and exaggerated by the fact that part of the exhibition is interactive; it seems to evoke the appropriate combination of sensory responses.

Haunted by his country’s history, which is stimulated by the fact that he lives within close proximity to the Treblinka site, Balka’s relationship with these works seems to be both personal and impersonal. Personal in that he is recalling an event that occurred in his country of which he feels emotionally attached and impersonal in his choice to identify his works as numeric measurements rather than names as if to distance himself (just as the Nazis branded their prisoners as a way of dehumanisation).
This thought provoking exhibition cannot help but parallel horrific historic events with the state of affairs in contemporary society.