Mining the Diaries 98: England
Scholars Cottage, Old School Drive Reydon, 4th July 2022
A visit to Snape, a short drive south down the A12.
One never knows quite what to expect at The Maltings, the temporary exhibitions of sculpture on the edge of the Alde marshes are always full of surprises. Today it was work by Lawrence Edwards (b. 1964, Suffolk), Heft and The Tribe. Massively powerful and menacing bronze figures over two metres high, rough cast with blurred features, they turned their knotted backs on civilization and headed for the marshes as though looking for the primeval swamp out of which they might have climbed.
Lawrence’s practice has long been a way of exploring the eternal entwining of man, nature and time. He casts his own work and is fascinated by human anatomy and the metamorphosis of form and matter that results from the lost-wax process. Figures like those at Snape express the raw liquid power of bronze; and the process marks he retains tell the story of how each work came to be imagined and created. I’ve never come across Edwards before; think of British sculptors and the names Hepworth, Moore, Caro, Kapoor and Gormley come to mind. Maybe Lawrence’s work is too figurative for some in the art world.
The immediate impact of this work was to make much of the art on display in the various galleries seen trivial, lacking in depth and emotional intensity. Too often there was a sense of artists churning out paintings, figures and decorative pieces, to a formula and hoping to find a market. The comparatively modest prices seemed to reflect this – art aimed at the passing tourist trade with its tendency to impulse buy.
We shared a Buddha Bowl and a crab salad for lunch in the River View Café looking out over the reeds to the tidal River Alde and hoping in vain for a marsh harrier to fly past.
Back at Reydon, I explored the housing development of which Scholas is part, a successful mixture of new build and conversion of the old school. House martins were nesting under the eaves of Pitches View, which I took to be a care home. I carried on to the early 14th century St Margaret’s church, which sits quite isolated from the village along the Wangford Road. Swifts wheeled around the church screaming joyously; swift calls were being played from the tower and they became repetitive and tedious. The big churchyard and the adjacent Southwold Cemetery were unusual in the absence of grand memorials to members of local families. Both are dominated by simple upright headstones, decoration extending only to the choice of lettering and some etched images. There is one exception and unusually Pevsner gives an extended description: ‘Large Monument in the churchyard to Mrs Watts, signed Paul R. Montford, 1921. A boldly stepped base and on it three bronze figures: a gentleman in a cloak, a demi-nude man kneeling and weeping, and an angel with up-spread wings.’ A grave in the Cemetery raised a smile: an inscription commemorating Stephanie Ann Holt (Granny Cuckoo) 8.2 1948 – 6.1.2017.