Popularising public sculpture in Britain From landscape gardens to forest trails
Elizabeth Rankin
The placement of sculpture out-of-doors took its origin in civic, political or religious agendas, usually through representations that promoted dominant ideologies. But, even in ancient times, sculpture's propensity to enhance its environment in aesthetic terms was recognised, as when the Romans had their famous works by Greek masters copied to adorn their gardens -- Hadrian's villa at Tivoli is a particularly grand example. This fashion was echoed in the formal gardens of noble homes in Renaissance Europe. There, suitably symbolic sculptured forms articulated the avenues, groves and water features which extended the regularity of architectural symmetry into the surrounding grounds. In the eighteenth century the less formal English landscape garden continued to employ sculpture, though now its role was more obviously picturesque. A sculpture might form the focal point of a grand vista through the 'natural' planting of trees and shrubs, or the nucleus of a glade or grotto. Beyond its role in the composition of the landscape, it might also evoke some association, act in a commemorative role, suggest and ethical message, or invoke the presence of mythical nymphs of woodland and water.
The contemporary student of the landscape garden may feel a strong sense of déjà vu when visiting some of the cycle and walking trails in Britain where sculptural projects have been undertaken in recent years. [1] In these contexts, too, images form the focal point of intimate vistas or mark distant skylines, and are often chanced upon unexpectedly as one turns a corner on a forest walk, or explores a clearing adjacent to a cycle path. As the projects have become better known, they have come to form objectives for many hikers and cyclists, punctuating their trails and giving them a new sense of purpose. Just as much as famed gardens attracted visitors when recreational travel in Britain was in its infancy, so these projects are becoming a focus of tourism. And just as guidebooks were produced to meet the needs of earlier travellers, so today there is an increasing demand for information, maps and good signposting.
But while there are undoubtedly points of correspondence between the historical landscape garden and modern sculpture trails, there are also fundamental differences. Even though the less obvious ideology of garden imagery was not blatantly propagandistic in the way of political or religious sculptures in public places, garden statuary still carried messages which reinforced the authority of the established order. They were often linked with the ruling or monied classes, often designed to appeal to those who had enjoyed the privilege of education and travel. [2] At the very least, the growing fashion for opening private parks to the admiration of visitors as tourism developed underwrote the status of their noble owners. But the development of gardens also marked the possession of inherited land, in much the same way as was done by fashionable portraits of landowners set in estate landscapes. To those excluded from the ownership of arable acres, the point was underscored by the fact that so much space could be 'wasted', devoted to the pleasure of wealthy landlords, who were so well endowed that they could afford not to cultivate substantial tracts of their land.
It is a feature of the new public art projects that they are intended to contribute to the quality of life of the public at large, and the patrons and developers are at pains to avoid any overtones of elitism. Works are sited on `Common Ground' (the name of one of the organisations promoting works of this kind), and are presented as 'public property'. At Grizedale Forest, for example, as cultural projects were developed, 'the philosophy changed from that of government officials protecting government property to one of public servants managing a natural resource on behalf of the people' (Grant & Harris 1991:7). Also, unlike city projects which are often associated with their sponsors -- in that sculptures are often markers in public squares linked to local government or cultural institutions, or in the forecourts of buildings or shopping centres associated with corporate interests -- trail sculptures very rarely carry any reference to the source of their funding. Indeed, I found that I had to undertake considerable research to uncover information about the support structures behind these rural projects. On a number of occasions corporations were involved, but the amount of publicity received has been negligible. In most cases the funding seems to have operated through an umbrella body, so that even the name of the sponsor was not in evidence. Much of the support comes from non-profit organisations that encourage arts and recreation for their own sake. One comes across names like the Forestry Commission, the Countryside Commission, the Carnegie United Kingdom Trust, the English Tourist Board, the Henry Moore Foundation and various regional art councils. Sustrans Paths for the People, a charity organisation which has commissioned many artworks for its current 300-mile network of pedestrian and cycleways, has been successful in a recent application for Millennium funding (drawn from the National Lottery) sufficient to develop a network of 5 000 miles by the year 2005. [3] All these organisations apparently share the belief that culture and recreation contribute to the common good and wellbeing of the public, and should be available to all. It is notable that none of the trails mentioned in this essay charges any kind of entrance fee. [4]
One of the earliest examples of the introduction of arts into rural settings is to be found at Grizedale Forest in the English Lake District. The staff had already pursued an enlightened policy of afforestation and nature conservation, balancing ecologic aims with timber production, and had developed recreational facilities related to wildlife observation and forest trails. Under the enthusiastic leadership of Bill Grant, the cultural initiative here began with the launching of the 'Theatre in the Forest' in the early 1970s. Then in 1977 the Grizedale Sculpture Project introduced the visual arts, with Richard Harris and David Nash being appointed as the first artists-in-residence.
Today this has become a sought-after residency amongst local and international artists alike, a number of whom have returned to work here more than once, although the project does not afford the personal acclaim that other commissions might. The works are not signed or labelled and artists can be identified only from guidebooks or maps or other publications. 'Explanations' of the works in situ to guide viewers' responses have also been avoided. But the educational role of Grizedale was expanded in the late 1980s, no doubt in response to public interest. [5] As well as souvenirs, the Visitor Centre provides brochures, guides and books on the forest, not only about its art but equally about other projects, related to its wildlife, conservation or local history. The old sawmill was converted into a Gallery in the Forest, exhibiting works related to those in the forest itself, together with preparatory sketches and maquettes, which offer insight into the conception and making of the works. Later a craft workshop and a painting studio were also added to bring artists other than sculptors to work in the forest environment. In 1990 Grizedale was awarded the Prudential Award for the Visual Arts.
Resident sculptors appointed at Grizedale select a site in which to work, [6] usually along the ten-mile Silurian Way, and are encouraged to familiarise themselves with their environment, responding not only to the physical character of the locality, such as the terrain and natural materials, but also to its identity in terms of history, legend, culture and forest industries. As Peter Davies, Visual Arts Officer of Northern Arts, writes: 'The historical, social, and cultural backcloth of Grizedale intervenes with landscape, nowhere is it neutral' (Grant & Harris 1991:20).
But the majority of artists choose to work with materials drawn directly from the environment and develop overtly related subject matter, although the ways in which they respond vary enormously. A number of sculptors have focused on man's intervention in the landscape, for example. In Quarry structure, one of the first works at Grizedale, Richard Harris created a form with raised `stepping stones' supported on a wooden substructure to provide a walkway from the path towards a disused quarry. A number of sculptors have used the Silurian slate available in the area and also on the building technique of dry stone walling traditionally used to enclose fields. [7] In a later project Harris developed the remains of old walling to shape a sense of direction and enclosure in Dry stone passage, heightening the visitor's spatial awareness. Donald Rankin created The fort, building dry stone structure on a natural outcrop in a work that stressed the inherent monumentality of the traditional building technique. In contrast, by taking The wall that went for a walk on a winding route through a line of trees, Andy Goldsworthy wittily challenged the normal expectations of structure, as did Kees Bierman when he elevated a Raised wall on a ring of tall supports, By offering an unexpected reworking of local motifs, such pieces challenge viewers to reconsider the commonplace.
Many other sculptors have chosen to work with the wood from the forest itself. They explore the properties of wood in numerous ways, carving and constructing their forms. The constructions often remind the informed viewer of modernist pieces, but at the same time they conjure up qualities of the forest. In this way the artworks integrate with their surroundings and, as they are not necessarily closely adjacent to the main pathways, they are not always easy to find. Harris's Windblown is a structure suggesting the forms of trees that topple on each other, skittle-like, when they fall, and was a response to the storms of February 1990 (Harris 1991:66). Goldworthy's tall tapering Seven spires echoes the soaring verticals of the growing conifers that surround the work, but also seems to refer to lofty architectural forms like cathedral naves and church spires. In this Goldworthy seems to be inverting the sequence suggested by some early architectural historians who believed that Gothic architecture was derived from forest forms. Other artists work with more supple elements such as slender flexible branches or stems which can be bent into shape and tied or woven, as done by the Japanese artist Masao Ueno for the Axis of the earth, an open hemispherical form that stands amid deep bracken at the top of a winding hill path. Sally Matthews combined twigs, brushwood and roots with pine needles and a mud and cement binder to fashion a group of remarkable boars to inhabit Wild boar clearing, skilfully transforming these unconventional materials into lifelike forms. Because the boars are made with material drawn from the forest floor, they merge with the undergrowth, suggesting that they are at one with their environment, a syntheses that increases as the years pass and the organic forms decay and are reconstituted into the forest.
The works of Matthews, and of Sophie Ryder who also weaves animal forms, raise the issue of representation in forest art. Unlike the other examples already cited, quite a number of artists choose to make representational works, and these are understandably popular with the public, because they are readily recognisable. Animals like those by Matthews and Ryder also seem appropriate in their woodland environment to the nature lovers who walk there. But other themes are also found. Some of the works develop images perceived in the natural growth patterns of treetrunks and branches. Some transform the wood entirely, relying on the humour of vivid colour and almost caricatural form, like Andy Frost's brightly painted Chieftain in a hot spot, who emits smoke signals from his flame-like headdress, and the tree and animal forms he has created for the children's playground.
Probably the idea of the Grizedale Sculpture Project is embodied in popular imagination by representational figures like these, and particularly David Kemp's Ancient forester, [8] whose legendary presence marks the starting point of the trails at the Centre's car park. But forms that are less familiar seem to excite equivalent interest. Bill Grant suggests that exposure to 'modern' non-representational structures in the forest environment 'converts' many who would never have taken an interest in abstraction and is contributing to a better understanding of art. Certainly the exposure operates on a large scale, with some 350 000 visitors to the forest annually. Of course not all have come to look at the sculpture, but in that 100 000 maps are distributed in the same period, and normally be used by two people at a time, the proportion of visitors interested in the artworks is high. [9] The most recent walk to be developed, the Ridding Wood Trail, has extended the visitorship even further, as it has been designed for access to wheelchairs and pushcarts so that the elderly, the disabled and the very young can also enjoy the forest. Because of the graded paths, carefully visible placement of the sculptures and incorporation of open vistas to suit the intentions of this trail, it is closer in spirit to landscape gardens than the wilder, overgrown enclosures of the forest. But whereas historical gardens relied on elaborate conceits and esoteric symbolism, on the Ridding Wood Trail the images are conceptually accessible, and often literally accessible also, inviting visitors to participate in the works. While some pieces, like Andy Frost's Stag herd roof, entice youthful visitors to clamber energetically among unexpectedly placed cut-out deer on the roof frame, others invite more gentle participation for the less active. There is a series of marimbas made by Will Menter, ingenious wooden xylophones for making music, and there are also inventive forms of seating, carved or constructed, that provide places to rest and enjoy views of the surrounding countryside. These examples suggest a more interactive exchange between spectator and artwork than most other examples in Grizedale, where physical energy is possibly concentrated more on walking and climbing the forest paths than on the sculptures themselves, which rather provide opportunities for pause and contemplation. Yet the different activities fuse. David Kemp remarks that seeing Grizedale works only in photographs omits 'the rhythm of walking, there is no evidence of trudge of boots on the ground, on mud, on pine needle carpets, uphill and down ... The eye seeks for a feature. Sometimes it is a bird or deer. Sometimes it is a root or branch. Sometimes it is a sculpture' (Grant & Harris 1991:22).
Direct interaction with the work is a prominent feature of a sculpture walk in Haldon Wood in the Forest of Essex. This was a project of the early 1980s, initiated and carried out by a single artist, Jamie McCullough, who wanted to create an autobiographical piece to reflect the path of his own life. There were not only carved and constructed forms and various kinds of route markers, but also different types of route to negotiate -- arches, stepping stones, bridges, a tunnel, stairs -- symbolising various aspects of his life. Visitors 're-enact' the different stages by travelling his Beginner's way, through a series of visual experiences and activities controlled by the piece, whether narrow passages, precarious stepping stones or uneven steep steps, which heighten consciousness of different forms of movement and their possible meaning. The work does not have an independent visual character; it exists and is `completed' by being walked. Perhaps the sense of being an essential part of the experience explains the great popularity of this walk; perhaps some see it simply as fun. Although it was never advertised and is not signposted in any way, there were 60 000 visitors to Beginner's way in the first year alone. [10] While the forest authorities had been happy to support McCullough's proposal, to assist him in raising funds for the work as well as in some aspects of its execution, the popularity of the trail introduced problems that they could not have foreseen. Various parts of the trail became damaged -- through use and natural deterioration rather than vandalism. [11] A young boy was injured at a bridge, and the authorities realised that they would have to intervene. The artist himself proclaimed that he had no further interest in the project, which he had intended would gradually decay. So the foresters have taken on the responsibility, reinforcing the tunnel, for example, and constructing a sturdier bridge. The new forms are probably less evocative and more practical than the old, but they serve the clientele well. The most frequent visitors are local families, who return again and again for the children to re-enact the trail. It may be questioned whether they are fully aware of the ideas which prompted McCullough's scheme, which he called an `experimental instrument of insight' for his own life as he worked through it, and offering others `a tool to aid ... the process of creative thought'. [12] But they are at the very least interacting with the forms and shapes that the artist shaped.
The experience of Beginner's way has changed gradually over the years, not only because some elements deteriorated, or because of the efforts of the Forestry Commission to make the trail safer, but because of natural changes that took place over time as the forest itself grew and changed. One of the most obvious modifications took place on a hillside where McCullough sited wooden logs as viewing platforms, where the growth of the trees has closed them in and limited and changed the vistas. Artists working in forest environments are conscious that their pieces will interact and change with the environment and think of impermanence as part of the concept of the work, rather than seeking durability. It is probably more than a happy accident that the development of forest projects of this kind has coincided with the development of conceptual art and particularly `land art' and `process pieces'.
Beginner's way is particularly close to the idea of a conceptual piece because of its consistency and integration, created by a single artist. It was viewed as a pilot for a project at the Forest of Dean, where the sculpture trail was conceived as a single scheme but not a coherent narrative. Different artists were invited to visit the forest and submit proposals for works, with the brief `to interpret the forest for the visiting public and encourage them to explore the forest on foot and to use their imagination about some aspect of its past or current activities' (Martin 1990:11), an aim captured in the initial project title, Stand and Stare. The forest with trees of mixed ages and diverse species offered a wide range of environments for interpretation, and artists' responses varied widely, as is clear in the analysis of the works by Wendy Ross in the accompanying de arte article. The project was carried out in two phases, in 1986 and 1988, the first `opening' on Midsummer's Day 1986, with two complementary exhibitions at the Arnolfi Gallery in Bristol, one with artworks on forest themes, the other photographic studies of the Forest of Dean. Thus, although the artists were not asked to work in any standardised or preconceived way, there was a sense of unified intention, similar to a group exhibition on a chosen theme.
In involving a variety of artists, like those at the Forest of Dean, forest sculpture projects encourage different approaches which provide different points of access for viewers. Works may be representational or abstract, pragmatic or fantastic, related to personal agendas or local themes, contemporary of historical. Importantly, though they may develop the independent art interests of the participants, they invariably lend themselves to different levels of understanding so that they are popular without being conventional.
These ideas apply to many projects of this kind throughout Britain, not only in forests, but on other walks and also on cycle trails, like the Consett-Sunderland cycle path initiated by Sustrans, which runs along an old railway line in the countryside in northeast England, near Newcastle upon Tyne. In contrast, the St Peter's project in Sunderland is not rural, but shows how the same ideas can be applied in more developed areas without taking on the formal agendas that inform so many public sculptures in the urban context. The St Peter's sculptures (named after an ancient church there) are sited along a pathway on the riverbank and yacht basin at the estuary of the River Wear, on the edge of a quiet residential area. As this makes it less of a `national' project than forest sculpture trails, the sponsorship has come from local business, such as the North of England Building Society, together with organisations such as RSA Art for Architecture and Sunderland City Council Arts Development Unit
The work here has been associated chiefly with a single sculptor, Colin Wilbourn (who has also been employed at Grizedale Forest), but others have been drawn in on his collaborative projects. To have the artist working on site (at `Colin's Cabin') has encouraged a high degree of local consultation and, appropriately, a community picnic was organised to celebrate the completion of the most recent work, Watching and waiting on Look Out Hill, made by Wilbourn with Craig Knowles and Karl Fisher, using stone reclaimed from a local jetty. The contribution of writer Chaz Brenchley, who composed the inscriptions for a diary which forms part of the ensemble of campstool, picnic basket and telescope, suggests the strongly narrative overtones of works on this site.
Wilbourn's Red house, for example, invites audience reconstruction, not only of the story suggested by an inscribed letter near the entrance, but of the house itself. The naturalistic forms are opened up, rather like a stage set, revealing a domestic still life to the viewer's gaze, transforming carved red sandstone not only into floors and walls, doors and windows, but upholstered furniture, curtains and household bric-à-brac. Further elements from the house, an item of furniture or a chimney stack, for example, are distributed as independent sculptures across the site, to be discovered as you stroll along the path, with overtones of delight like a treasure hunt for the children. Even the functional stairway down to the jetty has acquired a carved carpet runner, which suggests that it too was once part of the house. The domestic subject matter seems entirely appropriate for its site on the perimeter of suburbia, and the representational style makes it readily accessible. Yet, although recognisability is an important part of the work, the fragmentation of the homely imaged avoids too pedestrian a representation. The forms seem to have rendered them unrecognisable, but through some magical redistribution of the imagination.
The examples that have formed the focus of this essay show something of the variety of sculpture projects that are being undertaken in Britain. They may be a series of individual works produced by different artists in either a single project or over a period of time, or collaborative works made by artists working in groups, or a unified scheme of individual initiative by a solo artist. They invariably involve the community in some way, whether in fundraising, selection or participation. It is important to acknowledge that in the projects described here, art has gone to the people, not the people to the arts. Whether in forests, developed land or semi-urban areas, the works have been sited in pre-existing, ready-made environments. The result is very different from sculpture parks specially designed to house monumental sculpture, which are closer in kind to art galleries and museums, visited almost exclusively by those already interested in and knowledgeable about the arts. Placing sculpture where there are already recreational facilities and where people feel comfortable goes a long way towards creating a popular art.
That the projects may be described as `popular' acknowledges their intention rather than belittling their quality. Many, if not all, of the works at these sites are rich and stimulating pieces that succeed in pursuing complex contemporary aims without becoming arcane and inaccessible. The sculptors have found ways to combine issues that concern them as artists with others that are appropriate to the chosen settings and to the audiences that those contexts provide. If Alexander Pope urged Lord Burlington and eighteenth-century landscape gardeners to `consult the genius of the place' these modern-day artists working in landscapes parley with people as well as places. [13] Their sculptures afford different readings for diverse viewers, whether they are interested in aesthetic qualities and formal compositions, the exploration of different materials, ecological issues, local traditions, or representation and narrative. It seems significant that works exploring contemporary artistic concerns, which might be found alienating in a `fine art' context, seem to become objects of delighted discovery, intriguing and worth seeking out, when placed in a natural `user-friendly' environment. The sculpture walks of Britain demonstrate that it is not necessary to demean art to democratise it.
NOTES
[1] I am very grateful to Wendy Ross, who has for many years made `pilgrimages' to rural art projects, for assisting me with information when I was planning a series of visits in 1995, as the projects are poorly documented in general books on sculpture which more often focus on works in galleries or urban settings. I also wish to acknowledge her valuable comments on reading this essay in draft.
[2] A good example is provided by the well-known gardens of Stourhead, fashioned in the eighteenth century to provide a picturesque lake walk punctuated with many styles of garden architecture. The garden reminds the informed visitor of pictorial compositions in the Italianate landscapes of Claude Lorrain, and may also refer to the story of Virgil's Aeneid.
[3] Sustrans has just embarked on the project, planning to complete 2 000 miles by the end of the 1990s. (Personal communications from Alison Scott, Sculpture Co-ordinator for Sustrans, September and November 1995.)
[4] It is equally noteworthy that there is almost no litter to be seen on the trails, even though it is forestry policy not to supply rubbish bins. Perhaps a sense of public responsibility on the part of the developers fosters the same in those who visit the site. This spirit is also promoted among school groups who undertake voluntary work to keep up trails.
[5] Forestry personnel have remarked that visitors were apparently frustrated by the idea of chancing on the works unexpectedly, which many sites promoted initially, and were soon demanding precise information and signposting to help them to find the sculptures. See in particular Martin 1991:12.32.
[6] Artists do not have complete freedom, but are directed to suitable areas to find sites, which then have to be approved by the forest authorities, lest they interfere with conservation or timber production. Maquettes also have to be accepted, although Grant recalls only very few being rejected, usually for safety reasons.
[7] There are still a number of builders who can produce the dry stone walling of the district with its distinctive angled stone coping. The walling is not merely a way of marking off fields and the territory of the different farms, but provides the sheep with essential protection from the prevailing winds.
[8] This work was initially made for the Forestry Commission at the Glasgow Garden Festival in 1988, so, although it is commonly associated with Grizedale, it was a generic response to the forest through its material and subject matter, rather than specific to its site.
[9] Information drawn from a personal interview with Bill Grant at Grizedale, September 1995.
[10] Figures cited by the District Manager, John Hunt, who was kind enough to conduct me personally along the trail in September 1995.
[11] However, the carved snake of `Paradise Lost', that accompanied shadowy images of Adam and Eve at the beginning of the trail, has had a habit of disappearing, and has not been replaced again after the first few attempts, as the human forms of Adam and Eve, traced on the forest floor, are no longer visible. The forest authorities intend repairing a stone folly near the end of the trail -- favoured by young people for evening barbecues -- where a fire destroyed the roof.
[12] Quoted from McCullough's unpublished notes on Beginner's way.
[13] Peter Davies too was put in mind of the landscape garden and Pope's discussion of it in his Epistle to Burlington when writing of the Grizedale Sculpture Project (Grant & Harris 1991:22).
BIBLIOGRAPHY
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