Squall

In the wake of a stormy spell that hit London I noticed a growing number of broken and discarded umbrellas appearing throughout the city. Each seemed to carry with it some tragic yet comical idiosyncrasy: the massive bombastic brolly, the leopard print, the little black bat — all crumpled and broken, discarded in the street, hurriedly stuffed into bins, hung on door handles, and left rocking and rolling in the wind. Their skins stripped and sagging, limbs twisted and broken.

There was something about these now redundant objects that I found engaging. Something about their former owners clinging to this fragile shelter and challenging the elements, the desire and necessity to venture out into the rain and wind, to face the storm and battle through the city. There was also something poignant about finding the remains of that battle littering the streets.

I found myself considering each individual battle, people’s reasons for venturing out, the reasons they left home in bad weather. Was it a trip to work to support a family and a life? Maybe meeting friends, a social event, the umbrella a flimsy shield to protect hair and make up? Maybe a pop to the shops for supplies? I began to look for clues as to the former owners. Location, print and pattern, projecting stories and scenarios, and wondering…

Then there is the wind, this massive global force, invisibly rising and growing in power, ebbing and flowing, passing over the country and through the London streets. I thought about the stillness preceding it and the force and power of it, and how it used to support my full weight during walks on the Welsh cliffs. I considered how aware of these larger forces I am now that I live in London, how and where I meet and experience them.

I remember working in North Wales, as a sculptors assistant, listening to talk of the weather and realizing that for those people there was a mountain to negotiate, putting a different perspective on the pop to the shops, the work trips and the social gathering. There was a need to be aware of these greater forces as floods, mud slides and snow were real things to be reckoned with — as are wet leaves, high winds, and storms, in urban life. Granted, the rural context may be more life-threatening, but still the effects of these greater forces are felt — as the umbrellas are a testament to — and how easily the networks and shelters we create and cling to can be swept aside.

Squall uses these personal fragile shelters as a metaphors for their previous owners, representing different shapes, sizes, tastes and preferences. It also refers to kites, bags and other debris that get blown into and caught by trees: the once useful or loved, now redundant. It playfully reminds us of how these larger forces outside our control can still touch and disrupt our otherwise insulated domestic lives.

Squall was installed outside The Old Church in Stoke Newington as part of BREATHE: a celebration of air in February 2016.