The purpose of our recent trip down to Wiltshire was to visit the exhibition of work by the sculptor Laurence Edwards. I had never heard of him before I received a catalogue from Messums, not regularly taking an interest in sculpture. As soon as I opened the catalogue, however, I knew that whatever else I did this summer I just had to see that exhibition. It might appear to be a long way to drive just in order to see an exhibition, but having done two I can say that I have no regrets whatsoever. There were two parts to the display. One consisted of a retrospective collection of a variety of Edwards’ smaller pieces. The other centred on his large Walking Men, displayed in the amazing mediaeval truck barn on the site. Rather than attempt to describe Edwards’ work in detail here, I am sure that it will be straightforward to track down images of it on the net. Suffice it to say that he produces rather rough-cast images of the human figure, in bronze.
I know that it could be considered crass to express everything in monetary values, but as a form of short-hand this has its uses. I could easily have walked out of the exhibition having spent £100,000, had I followed my usual self-advice of responding spontaneously to works of art.
The Walking Men is a staggering achievement. It consists of five male figures, each about 8 ft. high, walking roughly in single file. Their attention is directed to different things. The rearmost figure is barely in motion, arrested by the sight of something behind them. The foremost figure is focussed completely on the purpose which motivates their journey. The three intermediate ones are also aware of the distraction, but their responses to this vary. The rough-cast nature of the work, and the fact that Edwards incorporates into the casting of each figure a variety of objects, such as rope or wood, lends a suggestive ambiguity in relation to who they are or what their shared purpose might be. The whole ensemble has a completely mesmerising intensity which makes it impossible to confront it without becoming absorbed into creating a narrative around it, and this narrative in turn challenges us to reflect on the basis of our own experience of viewing it.
The experience of viewing The Walking Men reminded me of my encounter with the statue of Apollo and Daphne, by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1622-5) in the Borghese Gallery in Rome. In each case I was riveted to the spot by the intensity of my own engagement with the subject, and in each case I live in hope that I will be able to renew the experience on another occasion.