So far, 2024 has involved more art than the entire rest of my three and a half decades on this planet combined. It’s been a very steep learning curve – art appreciation is an entirely new world for me, and not a particularly comfortable one for the most part. Having said that, I’ve been enjoying the experience, and having seen posters for When Forms Come Alive on my travels across Waterloo Bridge, my interest was piqued. Thanks to a friend who very kindly gave me a free ticket, it seemed like a perfect excuse for a Sunday morning trip into the city. 

So how was it? 

The basics: 

When Forms Come Alive is open Tuesdays-Sundays at the Southbank Centre’s Hayward Gallery (TfL Zone 1). Adult tickets are £18-19, and under-12s go free. The exhibition runs until 6th May, so you’ve got a few weeks left to catch it before it closes.  

The good…

One thing I’ve learned this year is that it’s virtually impossible for me to write anything at all about art without sounding incredibly wanky and pretentious. Maybe it’s because I am, or maybe it’s a skill I’ll pick up with practice, but for now I’m going to fully own the wankiness in all its ridiculous, flowery-adjective glory. 

Walking through the doors was like stepping into a parallel universe: soft lighting, high ceilings, space. A world away from the bustle of a half-marathon Sunday by Waterloo Bridge. I wasn’t the only person to arrive with an involuntary “wow” – I heard quite a few of them while I was there, and deservedly so. 

For an exhibition offering “sixty years of restless sculpture”, it was a remarkably restful space. Each of the three levels had a distinct character, but all of them carried that theme of slow, lingering peacefulness, inviting you to stop a while and just enjoy being there.                                                                                                                                    

That’s one of the things I appreciated most about the way it was put together. The sculptures themselves were well and truly centre stage, with the information labels nestled unobtrusively nearby on the walls. Unlike some other galleries I’ve been in, it felt like everything that was there was an invitation. Read or don’t read, stop or don’t stop, agree or disagree: just take what you want, leave what you don’t, and enjoy. And, dear reader, I did. The descriptions themselves were beautifully written, too, and really enhanced the experience in a way I wasn’t expecting. 

Usually at this point I’d mention one or two standout pieces that I especially loved, but I’d be listing more or less the whole exhibition. The photos online don’t do justice to the sculptures in reality; you really need to see them in the flesh to appreciate them fully. Shape, sound, colour, light, shadow, scale, texture, in some cases even scent, all mixing together to make a cocktail that was somehow both subtle and potent in equal measure.

Even the architecture lent itself to the theme beautifully; the swirling, spiralling concrete staircases that take you between the different levels felt like they were among the pieces on display, almost an opportunity to step inside the work as you travel between rooms. 

I could write a whole book on the feelings the exhibition evoked in me – it was a far more emotional, more physical experience than I was expecting. There was a magnetism about several of the sculptures that really drew me towards them and kept me there, almost daring me to blink first. I did two full circuits of all three levels, and I got just as much out of the second time around as I did the first. I kept finding myself doing big, contented sighs as I moved from piece to piece. I think I fell in love. 

It was such an overwhelming feeling that there were a couple of moments I had to sit down and just…be, before I could move on to the next area. During one of my little sits down, I found myself thinking “this is why people love art, isn’t it? Like, not just appreciate its aesthetics, but really, truly love it.” I think I might be starting to get it now. 

This being my first trip to the Hayward Gallery, I’ll be really interested to see whether I have a similar feeling about whatever is on there next (because make no mistake, I’ll be seeing it, whatever it ends up being!). I’m really curious to see how much of my reaction was because of the sculptures themselves, and how much was about the space, the way it was laid out and the clever – and contrasting – use of light in each level. 

Other than the exhibition itself, there were a couple of other points deserving of special mention. The staff were all lovely, without exception – and it was delightful to see some of them chatting with families about the sculptures. 

Speaking of families, there were quite a few there during my visit, probably helped by the kids-go-free offer. I was a bit worried that it would feel overrun, but on the contrary, having them there actually enhanced the experience in ways I wasn’t expecting. There’s something wonderful about watching kids explore new things, overheard them talking to each other (and their parents) about what they thought the sculptures looked like, and what they might mean – and just enjoying them for what they were. That childlike joy fitted perfectly into the tone of the whole experience, and helped me see things in a different light, quite literally. 

Accessibility was another big plus – physically, as well as in terms of the artwork on display. Properly gender-inclusive bathrooms, lifts to all three levels of the gallery and folding stools on offer for those who needed them, as well as a good number of benches dotted around, make it a pretty big tick in the access box from what I saw. 

The Hayward Gallery itself is in a gorgeous location, on the South Bank, just by Waterloo Bridge (which is almost reason enough to visit). I arrived quite a while before my time slot, so took the opportunity to grab some breakfast from the Strand and take a little stroll over the bridge and back first, which set the morning up perfectly. It also gave me the opportunity to take my first ever proper walk along the South Bank afterwards, on the way to my next stop. But more about that another time. 

The bad…

I’ve tried so hard to find something critical to say; I don’t want this to be a boring read full of nothing but “omg it was AMAZING” – but it was. The best I can do is that it’s a pity it isn’t a permanent exhibition, because if it was I’d happily go back time and again. 

Oh, and the fact I’m not a multimillionaire, and therefore couldn’t buy out the entire contents of the gift shop* which was packed to the rafters with gorgeous things, and books, and I wanted it all. But particularly these figurines. Just look at them. 

*obviously this doesn’t mean I didn’t buy anything, but I was very restrained and made do with a copy of the exhibition guide book, and a pack of postcards. Please applaud. 

Things I didn’t get to see…

I didn’t realise at the time, but apparently I missed a room. I think it’s only one piece, but it wasn’t obvious that there was anything else to check out. Having looked at the guide, it does explain why I could hear rumbling bass in one of the other rooms, though; I’d assumed it was just spilling over from something happening somewhere outside. Oh well, it’s an excuse to go back and see it again. What a SHAME. 

So…is it worth the trip? 

If you haven’t guessed by now, yes. Yes. YES. Reading through the notes I made during and just after my visit, I’ve written “oh my god, I love it so much” three times without realising I was repeating myself. I did love it so much. I can still feel the remnants of the almost magically peaceful and settled feeling I had while walking around. And I’m certain I’d have loved it just as much if I’d paid to visit; it’s worth every penny of the ticket price. I still can’t stop thinking about it. I’m already desperate to go back for one last look before it’s too late. 

The small(ish) print: This is one in an occasional series of reviews of places I’ve visited under my own steam. Everything’s accurate at the time of writing, and all the opinions are mine.