Anthony Gormley's fallen statue

An Anthony Gormley statue installed at Kimmeridge Bay earlier this summer has been blown over by the wind. Our two weathermen were discussing it.

Weatherman 1: Did you read that Gormley’s statue toppled over in Dorset?

Weatherman 2: It couldn’t have been very well attached. We could have told the people at the Landmark Trust how bad the storms were down there.

WM1: It prompted me to read a little of what Anthony said about his statues. He talked of buildings such as follies “being in the world but not exactly of it.”

WM2: Some might note that sounds more like a psycho analysis of his own state of mind.

WM1: Ouch. He was talking about the way landmarks create a point of focus and noting that they are usually sited in isolated places.

WM2: So is his argument that it’s more about where it is than what it is?

WM1: Maybe. And he’s got a point. It’s what we do with all art isn’t it? No-one puts a new statue in the middle of a busy high street because it will be ignored. You raise it up, or make it 10 times life size.

WM2: Because if you stick a statue in the high street like his ones at Crosby Beach, you’d bump into it on your way out of Sainsburys and drop your shopping on the pavement. No one would marvel at it then, just curse the broken eggs lying at the statue’s feet.

WM1: He said he searched for the most potent places to erect his Landmark statues and these were coastal situations.

WM2: Sticking it in an isolated place or up on a pedestal, says “I am important, notice me.” I can stand on a pedestal and shout “notice me,” to passers-by. Even if they do, you need to humbly ask if you are worth looking at.

WM1: Your self-deprecation masques a penetrating question. Is this about the statues or their creator? I suppose it is a question we can ask about all follies.

WM2: I saw a picture of it and it looks like it was made of big Lego bricks. What’s it really made of?

WM1: Cast Iron.

WM2: Does he work for Lego?

WM1: No, but I can see why you ask. The Landmark trust couldn’t have asked Lego to do it, because that would be offering free advertising to a company.

WM2: Isn’t that what these statues are? Free advertising for Anthony Gormley? He should consider himself blessed. If I am a painter, I usually stick my picture in a gallery and hope someone visits, is willing to tolerate bag searches, and finds my art noteworthy in amongst the hundreds of other exhibits. Anthony casts a Lego like lump of cast iron on a cliff top and you can’t help but see it when you are out for your Sunday walk with Fido. If that isn’t free advertising, I don’t what is.

WM1: Anyone would think you don’t like them. But you are correct that he chose places where the verticality of the structure acted against the constant horizon.

WM2: Did he say that?

WM1: Yes, I read it. His introduction also said the horizon was the perceptual limit of our bodies.

WM2: That’s the sadness isn’t it? You read it.

WM1: What do you mean?

WM2: If he hadn’t given you something to read, a way into the exhibit, you’d be scratching your head wondering what it was all about.

WM1: But it’s thought provoking. Surely that is good?

WM2: It strikes me he is more of a philosopher than an artist. Athens had Socrates, and 2400 years later- Kimmeridge Bay has Gormley. If I ponder my relationship with the horizon, the nature of follies and the contrast of vertical and horizontal, well I will miss the pebbles on the beach. I will miss the golden sand and the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. That beautiful sunset will be lost because I am wrapped up in some contemplation of ego.

WM1: I see your point. It’s not very “in the moment” is it? Not very Zen.

WM2: Surely Kimmeridge Bay was beautiful enough already. Did it need the statue? It’s a distraction.

WM1: Well it fell over.

WM2: There will be those who say that was a fitting end. A divine judgement noting that the ultimate beauty was nature itself, not a piece of iron dug up, refashioned and positioned where it didn’t belong.