A Winter’s TaleEarly one winter’s morning I pulled my beanie down over my ears and set off for my shed to begin work for the day. Not the most fashionable of headwear; the beret would be more appropriate in my line of work; but what colour; the colour has significance.
Hands in pockets and breathing clouds of vapour I stamped my way down the path and passed through the gothic arch of the doorway. I was working on a piece for an all wood exhibition later in the year and because of its allusions to gothic architecture wanted to leave tool marks in the surface reminiscent of those left by stone masons a thousand years ago. Starting an artwork is often a problem but deciding when it is finished can be equally problematic. In this case, too smooth or too rough and the proportions of scale are ruined. But what is just right?
The wood was eucalyptus marginata, or jarrah as it is more commonly known. It is native only to a small area in the south west corner of Western Australia. Known for its strength and durability it has historically been used, and used up, for the construction of large buildings. I use the burl wood, the scar tissue of the healing process of the damaged tree, wood that was, until fairly recently, wasted.
In the area where this tree grows is the small town of Denmark known mainly for its tourism. Some of the many artists who live and work in this town are sculptors of various persuasions working in wood, of course, metal and clay. One of the latter is Ulla Zettergren whose highly finished clay sculptures seem to have oriental features superimposed on those of a more Scandinavian origin that her name suggests. Ulla comes from Sweden.
At its closest point, only a strip of sea four kilometres wide separates Sweden from Denmark in Europe and on the tip of this particular Danish island is Elsinore, the setting for Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Shakespeare knew a thing or two about making a mark; he left his alright but I wish he had mentioned sculpture more often. The bard made very few references to the visual arts and only one to sculpture. In Act 5, Scene 3, of ‘A Winter’s Tale’ he attributes a statue in stone to Giulio Romano and lauds its lifelikeness; ‘a piece many years in doing and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer’; the aim of every sculptor of realistic busts.
Giulio Romano, who died about fifty years before Shakespeare wrote the play, is not noted as a sculptor, he left his mark as an architect and painter. So is this a false attribution on Shakespeare’s part or just a flippant gesture to an artist he had no knowledge of but of whose name he had only heard?
Further up the coast of Denmark I could don the red beret of the paratrooper and drop in on the sculpture park curiously named ‘Louisiana’. It looks out over the sound between Denmark and Sweden and boasts large works by Moore, Serra, Calder, Arp, Shapiro and a host of other modernists including some local sculptors.
In the interests of symmetry I wondered if there is a Denmark in Louisiana, U.S.A. but no such luck. In any case to visit there would I have to wear my green beret and make a commando raid into what the neo-cons have made Fortress America? I certainly could not wear my black beret I might be mistaken for a Basque Terrorist.
Louisiana, U.S.A. does, however, boast two sculpture gardens both in New Orleans. They too have large collections of most of the moderns but that will have to wait for another time. I have spent so much time chatting to you I forgot to prepare the evening meal before she gets back. Now I’ll have to wear my pale blue beret and do a bit of peace keeping.
