The meal deal: Jacob Wilson reviews Frank Auerbach, Tiona Nekkia McClodden and Erwin Wurm

I’ll let you in on something: despite the title of these reviews, I don’t buy meal deals. I don’t think I’ve ever bought one. I am the last man standing in a world of wet sandwiches, e-number crisps and sugar-free soft drinks. But my distaste for meal deals isn’t because of the (questionable) quality of the food on offer, it’s because they present such a narrow, predictable way of experiencing the world. You know exactly what you’re getting until you mix it up by going to Boots rather than Tesco. When I go out for my lunch hour, I want to experience something new. It’s hard to break out of this cloying sameness, I know. But that’s why I write these reviews, to show you that there’s more to life – good, bad, and ugly – than cold hoisin wraps.

Frank Auerbach at The Courtauld Gallery

It’s as if Frank Auerbach was making art from first principles. His early charcoal portraits at the Courtauld Gallery are made of little more than a subject, a surface, some burnt wood and sheer persistence. He said that he didn’t want to make superficial statements, so he focussed on the people he knew best: Stella West, Leon Kossoff and his cousin Gerda Boehm. They sat in his studio day after day for months at a time, while Auerbach worked on sheets pinned to the floor, drawing, erasing and redrawing until he was satisfied. I see desperation in these pictures. He wants to keep his subjects close. It’s as if with each short stroke he was holding the paper in place, saturating it with charcoal so that it couldn’t blow away. It’s difficult enough making art, but to do so knowing that it will probably be a failure, then destroying your work and starting all over again. It’s painful, but for Auerbach, it paid off.

Tiona Nekkia McClodden at White Cube Bermondsey

Black metal headgates are mounted like head trophies on the walls of White Cube Bermondsey in Tiona Nekkia McClodden’s installation A MERCY. On the farm, these machines are used to restrain cattle during inspections and slaughter. In the gallery, they’re part of McClodden’s exploration of the thin lines between pleasure, pain, brutality and mercy. With their chains and levers and hinges and solid frames, they may resemble guillotines or neck irons, but they’re designed with the cattle’s welfare in mind. Their firm grip actually guides and soothes the cattle who would otherwise panic and injure themselves. I get the feeling that McClodden is doing the same to her viewers. Her presentation of these headgates – cleaned of rust, mud and shit, stripped and painted, mounted on the walls – guides and soothes gallery visitors. It’s like she’s holding their hands and telling them not to worry – it’s only art – even as she’s bringing down the bolt gun.

Erwin Wurm at Thaddaeus Ropac

Erwin Wurm’s One Minute Sculptures allow anyone to become an artwork. The idea’s great in its simplicity: a few props (buckets, brooms, chairs, hats), some written instructions (stand in a bucket with another bucket over your head) and a minute-long performance. Whichever way you approach these works, the joke’s on you. There’s the absurdity of seeing it as art and there’s the ridiculousness of playing along, but if you don’t get that it’s art, then you’re a laughing stock. There are only a few of these ‘social sculptures’ on show at Thaddaeus Ropac, and they’re only really ‘on show’ when some brave viewer steps up. The rest of the works on display are new sculptures from his Dreamers, Paradise and Mind Bubble series, and some older Substitutes. But once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. They’re one-liners: did you hear the one about the suit with no body? What about the inflated shoe?