By Steve Dinneen Wander into the Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall and you will be met by the unsettling sight of what look like flayed, bloodied skins hanging from heavy industrial chains overhead. Dozens of them, all a sickly pink, each one stretched over rusting wires. As you progress through the hall you discover the source of these grotesque ornaments: an immense, rotating engine, draped in slithering, fleshy tentacles, dribbling a viscous red liquid over torn scraps of fabric strung beneath (the liquid then pools into a troublingly rusty vat). These freshly-made ‘skins’ are then hung to dry at …