What Have We Here? is an essential exhibition for our times, a testament to Hew Locke’s quiet brilliance. It is art that speaks softly but resounds deeply, urging us not only to examine the past but to imagine a more just and equitable future. If Britain’s history is one of taking, Locke’s art is a profound act of giving—an offering that reminds us of our shared humanity, even amid the scars of history.
Hew Locke’s What Have We Here?, now on display at the British Museum, is an unmissable exhibition that dazzles, challenges, and ultimately transforms its audience. A master of juxtaposition and metaphor, Locke has created a body of work that asks difficult questions about empire, identity, and cultural memory, all while maintaining an extraordinary generosity of spirit. His hand is firm but kind, his voice measured but unyielding, offering visitors a rare opportunity to reckon with the past without turning away.
The exhibition’s power lies in Locke’s ability to provoke without aggression. His installations—laden with the symbols of wealth and power, from gilded boats to monumental chandeliers—draw visitors into the heart of colonial histories. But this is not a lesson delivered with a wagging finger; rather, it is a compassionate yet unflinching interrogation of what was taken and the cost of that theft. Locke’s touch is gentle, his critique imbued with an empathy that Britain, in its imperial heyday, did not afford to the lands it conquered and robbed.
It is precisely this tension—between beauty and brutality, critique and care—that makes What Have We Here? so compelling. And yet, the British Museum itself must tread carefully in basking too deeply in the glow of this exhibition. While Locke’s work generously holds space for reflection and dialogue, the museum’s own role in housing the spoils of empire remains an unresolved question.
The timing of What Have We Here? is striking, arriving amidst renewed scrutiny over the British Museum’s stewardship of contested artefacts like the Benin Bronzes and the Parthenon Marbles. These controversies cast a long shadow over the institution, and this exhibition—though brilliant—is no salve for the deeper wounds of colonial legacy. If anything, Locke’s work sharpens these questions: How do we honour the stories behind the objects in our museums? And when will justice be served for those to whom they belong?
For all its complexities, Locke’s art never lapses into despair. Instead, it offers a vision of what dialogue and reckoning might look like, a model for moving forward with integrity and care. It is a testament to his quiet brilliance that he has created a space where even the most entrenched histories feel malleable, ready to be reshaped into something more just.
What Have We Here? is not just an exhibition—it is a mirror held up to Britain and its museums. And while the British Museum deserves recognition for hosting Locke’s work, it should approach any self-congratulation with caution. To truly honour the spirit of this extraordinary exhibition, it must go beyond curation and take tangible steps toward restitution, reconciliation, and repair. Until then, Locke’s voice rings out as both a celebration of art’s power and a challenge to do better.