Gormley's Gang and a thank you

 Turner prize winning British sculptor Anthony Gormley (best known for his sculpture ‘Angel of the North’) is currently exhibiting his 1993 installation ‘Field for the Biritish Isles’ at Barrington Court in Somerset.

National Trust photo

Three rooms of the usually empty medieval manor house have been invaded by a total of 40,000 terracotta figures handmade by the people of St Helens on Merseyside

In line with Gormley’s instructions the figures were set up by local Somerset people and took five days to complete.

Their simple faces stare back at you as you stare at them.

 

Antony Gormley said: “Field was my first collaborative work. The concept was mine, but it could not have been made without the help of many people. The instructions to create the work are very simple. You sit on the floor. You take a ball of clay from a pile. With your clay, you create a “body” in the space between your hands. You allow it to stand up, and make it conscious by giving it eyes with the point of a sharpened pencil. That repeated action of taking a hand-sized ball of clay, squeezing it between your hands, standing it up and giving it consciousness becomes meditative, the repeated action becoming almost like breathing, or a heartbeat.”

 

Little man and two creative friends had a go at making made their own little 'Gormleyesque' figures …

Same materials, same instructions.
Three different little people.
Just like humankind.
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The tumult of recent weeks (there has been a lot more going on than has been written about here), has often made me question the frivolity and dare I say it, egotistical, writing of a blog (Sophie of  Fading Grace recently summed it up perfectly). 

I try not to write about the bad bits, the humdrum and tedium, which maybe makes it all seem a little unreal and superficial, but believe me VJ’s life is not all a bed of roses.  I work long hours, the garden always needs doing, there’s a constant and ever growing ironing mountain, the house is usually a mess, I don’t spend enough time with my little man … you know the score.  I write about the good times because when I read back over old posts, possibly in years to come, I want to read about the happy times and not dwell on the bad.  I want to read about the treasures that passed through my hands and the interesting snippets I picked up along my vintage way.

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