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Thursday, May 7, 2015

Andy Goldsworthy: the true work is the change

Ice arch
left to freeze overnight
before supporting pile of stones removed
(made in a field of cows - tense wait)
pissed on stone too frozen to come out
fourth attempt successful
other three arches collapsed or melted
Brough, Cumbria
1-2 December 1982


by Andy Goldsworthy

When I began working outside, I had to establish instincts and feelings for Nature: some I never had, while others I had not used since childhood. I needed a physical link before a personal approach and relationship could be formed. I splashed in water, covered myself in mud, went barefoot and woke with the dawn.

I have become aware of how nature is in a state of change and how that change is the key to understanding. I want my art to be sensitive and alert to changes in material, season and weather.

Beech leaves
collected only the deepest orange
from within the undergrowth
protected from sunlight
unfaded
each leaf threaded to the next by its own stalk
Hampstead Heath, London
26 December 1985
Beech leaves, 1985 (detail)

A rock is not independent of its surroundings. The way it sits tells how it came to be there. The energy and space around a rock are as important as the energy and space within. The weather - rain, sun, snow, hail, mist, calm - is that external space made visible. When I touch a rock, I am touching and working the space around it. In an effort to understand why that rock is there and where it is going, I do not take it away from the area in which I found it.

Balanced rocks
Morecambe Bay, Lancashire
May 1978

I work with some materials and places many times over. Each time is different. Often I can only follow a train of thought while a particular weather condition persists. When a change comes, the idea must alter or it will, and often does, fail.

Sometimes a work is at its best when most threatened by the weather. A balanced rock is given enormous tension and force by a wind that might cause its collapse. I have worked with colourful leaves, delicate grasses and feathers made extra vivid by a dark, rain-laden sky that casts no shadow. Had it rained, the work would have become mud-splattered and washed away.

Grass stalk line through trees
thin end of one pushed up wider hollow end of other
Bentham, Yorkshire
January 1980


Feathers plucked from dead heron
cut with sharp stone
stripped down one side
about three-and-a-half feet overall length
made over three calm days
cold mornings
frost
smell from heron becoming pungent as each day warmed up
Swindale Beck Wood, Cumbria
24- 26 February 1982
Dead hazel sticks
bent over
stuck into bottom of shallow pond
waited for froth and mud to clear
had to go back into water several times to bend a stick that had sprung up
then had to wait all over again for water to clear
very calm
took a long time for froth to float away
overcast and humid
Bentham, Yorkshire
September 1980


I make one or two sculptures each day I go out. From a month's work, two or three pieces are successful. The 'mistakes' are very important. Each new sculpture is a result of knowledge accumulated through past experience. A good work is result of being in the right place at the right time with the right material.

Slate arch
made over two days
fourth attempt
Blaenau Ffestiniog, Wales
18-19 May 1982


My sculpture can last for days or a few seconds - what is important for me is the experience of making. I leave all my work outside and often return to watch it decay.

I document what I have made with notes, drawings and photographs. For me the photograph is a memory which evokes the experience of making and of being outside.

In the main my approach is intuitive. Sometimes an idea travels with me until conditions are right for it to appear; even then, I need my intuition to bring the idea out.


Snowball in trees
Robert Hall Wood, Yorkshire
February 1980

The ball, patch, line, arch, spire and hole are recurring forms in my work. I often feel with my sculpture that I am treading deep water and that these forms are familiar rocks that I can always out a foot to. In that respect they are important and probably necessary. They are also an effective way of exploring and extending a work over time, materials and locations.


Sycamore leaves
stitched together with stalks
hung from a tree
Glasgow, Lanarkshire
1 November 1986



The hole has become an important element in my sculpture. Looking into a deep hole unnerves me. My concept of stability is questioned and I am made aware of the potent energies within the earth. The black is that energy made visible.

Hole covered with small pointed rocks,Clapham, YorkshireJanuary 1980
Horse chestnut tree
torn hole
stitched around the edge with grass stalks
moving in the wind
Trinity College, Cambridge
24 July 1986


I do not use glue or rope, preferring to explore the bonds and tensions that exist in nature. If I used glue I would forfeit the joy of discovering how materials join together by their own nature. The coloured leaf patches were discovered when I found one dark and one light leaf of the same size. I tore the dark leaf in two, spat underneath it and pressed it on to the light leaf: the result was what appeared to be a single, tow-coloured leaf. Excited by this discovery, I went on to make yellow (Elm), green (Elm), orange (Beech), white (Sycamore) and red (Cherry) patches.


Yellow patch (elm)
[Leaf patches
edges made by finding leaves the same size
tearing one in two spitting underneath and pressing flat on to another]
Middleton Woods, Yorkshire
6 November 1980


Green patch (elm)
Middleton Woods, Yorkshire
7 November 1980

Because I do not use conventional tools, I am forces to be more inventive and responsive to Nature. I enjoy the unpredictability of breaking rock on rock - hand against rock against rock. Touching is essential to understanding and my art gives direction to touch.


Line to follow colour in stones
St. Abbs, Scotland
31 May 1985


Cairn to follow colours in stones
St. Abbs, Scotland
1 June 1985


These limitations that I work under are not set rules and I will not be bound by them. I have always felt uncomfortable making an image from what is a very physical, outdoor process and have welcomed the recent opportunity at Grizedale Forest in Cumbria to make a sculpture that will last longer.

Limestone cones
Brough, Cumbria
July 1985

Working at Grizedale has felt natural to me. I want an art that makes sense of, and uses my past experiences. Since the age of thirteen, I have worked part-time on farms and in gardens. The billhook, axe, chain saw, gavley, spade and hammer are familiar tools in my hand. I am accustomed to using tools, equipment and people to shift large quantities of material within the landscape: building haystacks, ploughing fields, planting crops, fencing, walling.

River stone supported by hazel sticks
collapsed several times
the last four or five stone being the most awkward
made across a path at the entrance to a glade
Swindale Beck Wood, Cumbria
13 September 1982

In many ways my approach to the earth has been a reaction against the abuse of the land by the industrial farmer. Among other things the work I have done at Grizedale represents a reconciliation between my art and my experiences on the farm. My approach to the earth has evolved it still evolving and will continue to change.

Snow Circles, December 19, 1987, Izumi-Mura, Japan

Storm King Wall (1997-98) 2,278-foot stone wall, Storm King Art Center at the Hudson River in Mountainville, New York, 1997-98

Roof, (indoors) Ground Floor of National Gallery's East Building, Washington, DC, USA, 2005

Hanging Trees, Yorkshire Sculpture Park, Yorkshire, England, 2007

Clay Steps, Folkestone Triennial, England, 2014‘Working with change is to also work with the future.’

Mud Wall, Presidio of San Francisco, California, USA, 2014












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