Step into a gallery and find yourself face-to-face with a blazing sun, its pulsating light transforming the space into a living, breathing entity. This is the magic of Olafur Eliasson, the Icelandic-Danish artist who dares to blur the lines between reality and illusion. But here's where it gets controversial: is this art, or just a clever trick of the eye? Spoiler alert: it’s both, and so much more.
In one room, a stark, rocky landscape unfolds, complete with a gentle stream inviting visitors to dip their toes—a tactile experience that challenges the traditional 'do not touch' rule of galleries. Outside, a long table piled high with white Lego bricks beckons, urging visitors to become architects of their own imaginary cityscapes. Eliasson’s work isn’t just about observation; it’s about participation, a theme that runs deep in his three-decade-long career.
Best known for his large-scale, immersive installations, Eliasson made waves in 2003 with his artificial sun at London’s Tate Modern. This piece wasn’t just a visual spectacle; it was a bold statement about the power of art to recreate the natural world indoors. Now, at Brisbane’s Queensland Art Gallery and Gallery of Modern Art (QAGOMA), curator Geraldine Kirrihi Barlow has masterfully woven together Eliasson’s diverse body of work—installations, photography, and sculpture—into an exhibition titled Presence. But this isn’t just a retrospective; it’s a journey through Eliasson’s obsessions: spectatorship, perception, and the urgent realities of climate change.
And this is the part most people miss: Eliasson’s work isn’t just about what you see; it’s about how you see it. Take the new installation, also titled Presence. An enormous sun hovers in the corner of the gallery, its depth and space amplified by mirrors that extend the ceiling’s grandeur. But here’s the twist: the sun is just a segment, with mirrors creating the illusion of a full sphere. Monofrequency light bathes visitors in yellow, editing out other colors to heighten the experience. It’s art as a sensory journey, one that forces you to question what’s real and what’s constructed.
Eliasson’s work is often seen as a warning about the climate crisis. In Ice Watch (2014), he harvested free-floating icebergs and arranged them outside the Tate Modern and the Place du Panthéon in Paris—a stark reminder of melting polar ice. His Glacier Melt Series (1998/2019) takes a documentary approach, juxtaposing photos of Icelandic glaciers taken 20 years apart to reveal the devastating effects of climate change. But is this activism or art? Eliasson’s work challenges us to consider whether these labels even matter.
Here’s where it gets even more thought-provoking: Eliasson’s use of mirrors and lenses connects his work to the history of optical devices, photography, and cinema. In Your Timekeeping Window (2022), 24 glass spheres embedded in a gallery wall project live, inverted footage of activity outside QAGOMA’s entrance. It’s a modern twist on the camera obscura, a device known for over 2,000 years, and a nod to the very nature of representation. The rocks in Riverbed are real, the water is real, but the installation itself is a celebration of artificiality. Eliasson isn’t hiding the trickery; he’s inviting you to see it, to become a co-producer of the work.
This idea of co-production is central to Eliasson’s practice. In Pluriverse Assembly (2021), moving shapes and shadows dance on a luminous screen, but walk behind it, and you’ll see the rings, projectors, and mirrors that make it all happen. It’s the ‘big reveal,’ a moment that demystifies the magic while deepening your appreciation for the craftsmanship. Even sound plays a role in works like Your Truths (2025), where fans blowing plastic sheets create an ambient soundscape reminiscent of ocean waves. You hear the work before you see it, a multisensory experience that blurs the boundaries between art and environment.
So, is Eliasson’s work a mirror to nature, or a mirror to ourselves? Does it matter if the sun in the gallery isn’t real, or if the glaciers in his photos are disappearing? And this is the question we leave you with: In a world facing a climate emergency, can art like Eliasson’s truly make a difference, or is it just another beautiful distraction? Let us know in the comments—we’re eager to hear your thoughts. Olafur Eliasson: Presence is at Brisbane’s QAGOMA until July 12. Don’t miss it.
