Born out of ruins: the fearless art of Anselm Kiefer

William Cook meets the artist who shows that, though life is cruel and mankind destructive, amid the rubble and scorched landscapes of our lives there is always hope

‘I never say a painting is finished. I always get it back, after 20 years sometimes, and I redo it’: Anselm Kiefer at White Cube Bermondsey (Guy Bell/Shutterstock)

Entering Anselm Kiefer’s latest exhibition, at London’s trendy White Cube gallery, the first thing you encounter is a huge heap of sand. Cast upon it are several shopping trolleys and a dilapidated wheelchair. On the wall alongside it hangs one of Kiefer’s large and complex paintings – a bedraggled crowd advancing across a barren plain towards a great burst of light.

This painting encapsulates the core theme of Kiefer’s work, a theme he’s explored throughout his illustrious (and lucrative) career: life is cruel and mankind is destructive, but amid the ruined landscapes of our lives there is always hope.

In the next room, you emerge from twilight into daylight. Around the walls are a series of pastoral paintings: an iridescent river running through a verdant landscape. They’re supremely peaceful, yet darkness is never far away. Books are strewn across the floor, each one the size of a suitcase. When you look closer, you realise they’re made entirely out of metal.