Theatre Picasso Exhibition at Tate Modern: A Grand Performance That Fails to Stir

Sarah
3 days ago
3 min read

There’s something thrilling about walking into a new Theatre Picasso exhibition at the Tate. The hum of the turbine hall, that moment before the first room opens up – you can almost feel the promise of genius in the air.

Cured reindeer skins on wires — One of those installations that make you go hmmmm

I wasn’t quite sure what I was walking into at Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall this time—something vast, yes, but also strangely quiet. Máret Ánne Sara’s Goavve‑Geabbil looms like a question mark made of reindeer hides and power cables. It’s beautiful, but also unsettling. Why are the hides bound like that? Why does it smell faintly of earth and something older? The whole thing feels like a warning, but whispered in a language I don’t fully understand. There’s a tension between the natural and the industrial, between tradition and extraction, and I found myself wondering: who gets to decide what survives? It’s not an easy piece, and maybe that’s the point. You don’t leave with answers—you leave with a weight in your chest and a sense that something sacred is being slowly, quietly undone. But that's the joy of Tate Modern, there's always something to get you wondering and thinking.

Abstracted painting of a man preforming acrobatic manoeuvres — The acrobat

Theatre Picasso sets out to explore the artist’s lifelong fascination with performance: the circus, the stage, dance, and costume. It’s a brilliant premise on paper, and there are moments when the show truly sings. But, if I’m honest, it didn’t quite sweep me off my feet.

The exhibition gathers more than a hundred works from across Picasso’s career – paintings, drawings, sculpture, photographs, and stage designs – all orbiting around his theatrical impulses. The centrepiece is The Three Dancers (1925), a painting that still vibrates with wild energy a century later. Its twisted, ecstatic figures seem to dance and fracture at once – it’s a masterpiece that could fill an exhibition on its own.

Nearby, Weeping Woman (1937) brings a familiar gut-punch, while later works like Nude Woman with Necklace (1968) reveal an artist still performing, still pushing, even in his final years. There are sketches from his collaborations with the Ballets Russes, delicate costume designs and curious props that show Picasso in full theatrical mode – painter, sculptor, designer, showman.

But as you move through the rooms, that sense of purpose starts to blur. The show wants to trace Picasso’s engagement with the theatre, yet what we get feels more like a scrapbook than a story – a hodge-podge of greatest hits mixed with side notes. Some rooms glow with life, others feel oddly filler-ish, as though they’ve been arranged to make the theme stretch further than it really does.

It’s impossible not to feel Picasso’s ego in the mix. His presence dominates – always centre stage, always the performer. There’s a certain brilliance in that self-awareness, of course, but also a fatigue. By the end, I found myself wondering what the exhibition wanted me to feel, beyond admiration for the man’s relentless drive.

And that’s the crux of it: admiration isn’t the same as emotion. I left Theatre Picasso impressed, but not moved. The show feels curated to explain Picasso rather than to surprise us with him. It’s missing that spark of revelation – the moment when art stops being clever and simply takes your breath away.

I kept thinking back to Tate Modern’s 2002 Matisse–Picasso exhibition, which remains one of those rare, goosebump-inducing shows. It managed to reframe both artists in dialogue, full of tension and beauty. Theatre Picasso, by comparison, feels more like a monologue – charismatic, yes, but also self-absorbed.

Still, if you’re a Picasso devotee or simply curious to see his theatrical side, it’s well worth a look. Go on a quiet weekday morning, wander slowly, and take it for what it is: a glimpse behind the curtain of an artist who never stopped performing.

A crumpet topped with crab and salad set against the background of the City of London — Crumpet topped with crab - and a view!

We finished our visit with a glass of fizz sitting outside the members bar on the 5th floor in the autumn sunshine and then made our way to the 6th floor for a bar snack, The crumpet with crab, was the perfect 'girly' lunch, and with a perfect view of St Paul's and the City of London.