Over the years, the eighteenth-century house and grounds at Houghton Hall have been home to works by a vast array of contemporary artists. Where James Turrell framed a piece of the sky, and Richard Long’s overlapping slates make a rough sea in the garden, the current installation sees the intrusion of one hundred cast iron life-size sculptures by Antony Gormley, scattered across Houghton’s expansive and diverse landscape.
The Turner Prize-winning British sculptor and draughtsman is best known for his work with human forms, and this year’s summer exhibition has been Houghton’s most popular yet. The figures resemble those scattered across the United Kingdom, those which guard the entrance of Edinburgh’s Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, and lurk within the Water of Leith, nearby. Yet this begs the question, why does Gormley still generate such excitement and why have these works become so iconic?
It is perhaps standing from the steps leading up to the Hall that this becomes apparent as people weave in between the figures which stretch out across the landscape. The steps in question were erected in 1973 – the original pair were sold to cover debts – yet they have aged seamlessly with the rest of the Hall. The same can be said for Gormley’s work.
Though recently installed, the weathering of their cast iron surface appears to bear the marks of both the seasons and of time. The figures become almost organic, as they rust and change with the landscape around them. Each weighing approximately 640kg, they are simultaneously monumental and harsh. Rather than jarring with the luscious green land, they become terracotta coloured ghosts which are intended to arouse questions of how we interact with the landscape.
Standing in no clear direction, they gaze out beyond each other and the viewer, into the horizon. Installed at the same datum level they create a single horizontal plane across the landscape, all based off the lone sculpture, half-submerged in the ground floor of the Hall.
Interested in Buddhism – almost becoming a monk himself – since the 1960s, Gormley has investigated the relationship of the body in space and where humans stand in relation to nature. It was his ambition for visitors to roam far and wide. At different heights, each sculpture invites a different interaction. With several elevated and others buried in the ground, the relationship between the figures and the landscape varies.
Almost identical, the figures are made from twenty-three different castings. The artist was wrapped in clingfilm and bandages, covered in oil, and then plaster was poured over him. While each individual figure becomes dwarfed within Houghton’s vast landscape, the process of creation itself was claustrophobic, with the artist having two small breathing holes inserted in his nose. From the plaster cast Gormley constructed a fibreglass mould where moist iron and sand were then blown into it.
Yet in the sculptures’ enormity, the identity of Gormley himself becomes unimportant. Gormely does not treat the body as an object, but intends to question the condition common to all human beings. The figures are not him, but draw attention to those who have been before. Though we now question universal human experience, we can question how perceptions of the body have changed since 1981 when the first cast was made.
Houghton’s installations always provoke varying sensations. They force us to interact with the landscape and works of art in different and unassuming ways. This year’s exhibition is no different. Gormley prioritises the experience that objects can initiate. The viewer is on equal footing with both the organic and inorganic materials. Like the artists and sculptors who have in the past exhibited in these grounds – and whose works can still be seen around the grounds – Gormley’s figures also play with the quality of light, the time of year and the state of the weather. Here Gormley identifies the space of art as a place where new behaviours, thoughts and feelings can arise.
Whether you are a fan of Gormley or not, whether you have seen the works a hundred times or never before, displayed across the vast planes the figures entice intrigue and excitement. The sculptures are fossilised footprints of human life. Submerged at different levels they are at its mercy. They create a dialogue between past and present, perhaps best described as ‘sostalgia’ – noted by writer Daisy Hildyard to mean a longing for the times before.
With thanks to Nelly Laycock for this review.
