Monica Bonvicini ‘I do You’ review: bondage, mirrors and feminist takes on masculine architecture

Monica Bonvicini’s new exhibition ‘I do You’ at the Neue Nationalgalerie in Berlin is nothing short of monumental—a scale that reflects her practice at large. Bonvicini is known for her site-specific, architecturally transformative works, a factor that means although this exhibition features pieces from the 1990s until today, it is not quite a retrospective. Rather, it is an installation representative of her expansive oeuvre but also focused on her modes of feminist and architectural inquiry, specifically tailored to the Mies van der Rohe-designed building. In fact, I found that the smallest work in the show—and the first one encountered inside—truly set the tone: an old TV monitor on the floor plays Hausfrau Swinging (1997), a video showing a woman wearing nothing but a cardboard model of a house over her head. Alone in an empty room, she bangs her head against two white walls. The sounds of the impact ring out with force; she is at once liberated and trapped within a home. Her body might be free, but her head, perhaps her thoughts, are confined. 

The echoes of this woman’s struggle and her fight against the architecture imposed on her sound throughout the exhibition space—the focal point of which is Upper Floor (2022), a functional platform that divides a space renowned for its expansiveness, clarity, and transparency into two levels. The staircase going up is the work SCALE OF THINGS (to come) (2010); three sides are covered in reflective foil inscribed with quotes about architecture (Doors, 2022) and the word ‘desire’ (Desire, 2006); and on top of the platform are sculptures like Bonded Eternmale (2002/2022), Chainswing Belts, and Chainswing Leather Round (both 2022), all of which invite viewers to rest. The floor is covered with Breach of Décor (2020–22), a polyamide carpet printed with hundreds of photographs of Bonvincini’s pants—ranging from Adidas sweats to blue, white, and black jeans—crumpled on the floor. The result is a welcoming, interactive space that could, in theory, resemble a domestic interior. However, the materials used immediately evoke other associations, transforming any such notions into something more reminiscent of lounge areas in Berlin’s clubs: Bonded Eternmale is a set of four design chairs by Swiss designer Willy Guhl, but each one is covered in a piece of black leather connected with a steel ring. The Chainswings resemble hammocks but are constructed from stainless steel chains. Leather accents dangle from one; loose chains collide on the other. 

Moreover, from this platform, the entirety of the exhibition space can be seen. In one far-away corner hangs Bent Glass (2022), comprising LED neon tubes strung tightly together with black leather, simultaneously referencing the traditionally female craft of weaving and the traditionally masculine notions of industrialisation. Along three of the building’s glass walls hangs You to Me (2022), a series of 20 sculptures, each one made of two floor-to-ceiling chains with a black steel handcuff on either end. Visitors are encouraged to lock themselves to the chains, and the rules stipulate they must do so for a minimum of 30 minutes. During this time, they can stand, sit, and look inside or out, but they are trapped in place. Other visitors, meanwhile, circle around them. Chaining oneself is at once an act of meditation and submission, yet when witnessed from the platform, the visitor becomes an overseer: from here, you can watch everyone chained in place, staring at themselves in the reflective foil or outside into freedom. It’s an unsettling feeling, especially when backdropped by the sounds of the hausfrau struggling to escape. In any kind of game of submission, there is both a passive and an active player; in this exhibition, Bonvicini asks the viewer to be both. And in doing so, ‘I do You’ ensures that a visitor’s perspective—towards the space, themselves, and their surroundings—continuously changes.

Monica Bonvicini, 'I Do You', until 30 April 2023, Neue Nationalgalerie, Berlin. smb.museum

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