The Turner Prize has a long history of making people angry. From unmade beds to pickled sharks, it usually finds a way to get the public talking about what actually counts as art. But the 2024-2025 cycle feels different. It’s less about shock value and more about the existential weight of living on a warming rock. This year's nominees aren't just playing with shapes or colors. They're tackling the visceral, often messy relationship between human industry and the natural world.
If you’ve followed the prize lately, you know it’s moved away from the brit-pop flash of the nineties. The current shortlist—featuring Pio Abad, Claudette Johnson, Jasleen Kaur, and Delaine Le Bas—shows a jury obsessed with how we remember the past and how we’re currently poisoning our future. Specifically, the inclusion of works that look at the environmental impact of oil and the legacy of colonialism isn't just a political statement. It’s a reflection of where the art world’s head is at right now.
The Haunting Legacy of Black Gold
When we talk about oil in art, we usually think about corporate sponsorships or protestors throwing soup at a Van Gogh. But the Turner Prize nominees are looking deeper. They’re looking at the physical and cultural scars left by extraction. Art has a way of making the invisible visible. We don't often see the "impact of oil" because it’s buried in pipelines or hidden in the plastic of our phone cases.
One of the most striking elements of this year’s conversation is how industrial history shapes our modern identity. You see it in the way materials are used. Artists are shifting toward objects that feel heavy, weathered, or even toxic. It isn't just about pretty pictures anymore. It’s about the grit under the fingernails of the global economy.
Think about the sheer scale of the environmental crisis. It’s too big to wrap your head around. But an artist can take a single "mythical shape"—a symbol or a recurring motif—and use it to anchor that massive, terrifying concept. They take the abstract concept of "ecological collapse" and turn it into something you can stand in front of and feel in your chest.
Mythical Shapes and Cultural Memory
Pio Abad is a perfect example of this. His work doesn't just sit there. It interrogates. He uses objects to tell stories about the Philippines, but the themes are universal. He looks at how dictatorships and global powers leave behind a trail of "stuff" that we’re forced to live with. It’s about the ghosts in the room.
Then you have someone like Claudette Johnson. Her work is a masterclass in presence. She uses large-scale drawings to demand space for Black figures, often using shapes that feel ancient and grounded. It’s a counter-narrative to the way history books usually try to flatten people into statistics.
Jasleen Kaur takes a different route. She uses sound and everyday objects—think vintage cars or family heirlooms—to explore her Sikh heritage in Glasgow. It’s noisy, it’s vibrant, and it’s deeply personal. She’s showing how global forces like migration and labor (which are often tied to the oil industry’s demands) play out in a single neighborhood.
Why This Shortlist Matters Right Now
We live in a time where everyone is exhausted by the news. You turn on the TV and it’s just one disaster after another. Art has to do something more than just report the facts. It has to provide a space for us to process the grief of what we’re losing.
The Turner Prize isn't just a trophy. It’s a snapshot of the cultural zeitgeist. By highlighting artists who engage with colonial history and environmental degradation, the Tate is admitting that art can't be neutral. It never was. The "mythical shapes" these artists create are new symbols for a world that’s rapidly changing.
- Pio Abad: Explores the debris of empire and the aesthetics of power.
- Claudette Johnson: Uses the human form to reclaim space and dignity.
- Jasleen Kaur: Blends pop culture with deep-rooted tradition to talk about identity.
- Delaine Le Bas: Creates immersive environments that challenge our ideas of "home" and "belonging."
Breaking the Industrial Spell
We’ve been under a kind of spell for the last century. The idea was that we could just keep taking from the earth without consequence. Oil was the magic fluid that made it all possible. Now, the bill is coming due, and artists are the ones helping us read it.
The impact of oil isn't just about carbon emissions. It’s about the way it changed how we see the world—as a resource to be used rather than a home to be tended. These nominees are using their platforms to break that spell. They’re using "mythical shapes" to remind us of older, more sustainable ways of being. Or, in some cases, they’re showing us the wreckage so we can’t look away.
It’s easy to be cynical about art prizes. People say they’re elitist or out of touch. But when you walk into a room and see a piece of art that perfectly captures the anxiety of the 21st century, that cynicism melts away. You realize you’re not the only one feeling this way.
The Physicality of the Work
What’s most impressive about this group is the tactile nature of the work. There’s a lot of "stuff" involved. It’s not just digital screens or clean white boxes. There is dirt, fabric, metal, and sound. It feels human. In a world that’s becoming increasingly automated and "AI-driven," there is something rebellious about making things with your hands.
The jury for the 2024 prize, led by Tate Britain Director Alex Farquharson, clearly wanted to highlight this physical connection. They chose artists who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. This isn't art for a boardroom. This is art for the streets, for the community, and for the future.
If you’re planning to visit the exhibition at Tate Britain, don't expect a relaxing stroll. Expect to be challenged. Expect to feel a little uncomfortable. That’s the point. If art isn't making you question your place in the world, it’s probably just decoration.
How to Engage With Modern Art Without Feeling Lost
You don't need a PhD in Art History to "get" the Turner Prize. You just need to be observant. When you look at a piece, don't ask "What does this mean?" Instead, ask "How does this make me feel?"
If a work about the impact of oil makes you feel heavy or claustrophobic, the artist has succeeded. If a giant mythical shape makes you feel small, that’s the intent. The goal is to spark a reaction, not to provide a neat answer.
- Look at the materials first. Why did the artist choose wood instead of plastic? Why is the sound so loud?
- Read the labels, but don't let them dictate your experience. They’re just a starting point.
- Notice the scale. Does the work tower over you, or do you have to lean in to see it?
- Think about the context. How does this artist's background influence the story they're telling?
The Turner Prize winner will be announced in December. But honestly, the winner doesn't matter as much as the conversation. We’re finally talking about the things that actually matter: our history, our environment, and our survival.
Go see the show. Talk about it with your friends. Argue about it. That’s what it’s there for. The world is changing, and the art world is finally catching up. Don't let the "mythical" part fool you. This is as real as it gets.
To really understand the weight of these works, you need to see them in person. The scale of Claudette Johnson’s figures or the immersive nature of Delaine Le Bas’s installations can't be captured on a phone screen. Head to Tate Britain before the exhibition closes. Bring someone who claims they "don't like modern art" and see what happens. You might be surprised at how much there is to talk about once you move past the "is it art?" debate and start looking at what the artists are actually saying about our shared reality.
