Suzanne Swarts' knowledge of art goes far beyond what can be admired within the walls of 'her' Voorlinden. In MASTERS, the museum director shares her insights, experiences and passion in an almost poetic way. Works of art in themselves!
Online Editor: Natasha Hendriks
Text: Suzanne Swarts
Suzanne Swarts: "I had almost not reached the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. It was already afternoon when I hailed a cab from the hectic airport and mentioned my destination. " Are you sure?" the driver asked. "It's almost closed when you get there." In a rush, I hopped in the car and left the raw hustle and bustle of Manchester behind. In dozens of minutes I found myself among the wintry rolling hills of the English countryside. We snaked along hilly roads through ribbon villages, far from the highway. The drive took longer, much longer than I had anticipated. Looking at the map on my phone, I saw that in retrospect, maybe I should have landed at a different airport - so eager had I been, so eager to get here. Through the window, I saw the sky slowly getting darker and darker.
When we arrived at the park, evening was already hanging menacingly over the landscape. Fierce thrust clouds had gathered over the trees. I begged the cab driver to wait for me, afraid as I was that I would never be able to get out of here. When I explained to the ticket vendor all the images I still wanted to see, he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. He circled them for me on the map and released me into the landscape, where the last visitors were scurrying among the trees. The outlines of the first sculptures were already waiting for me. First, there were moments of recognition. I met artist friends I have known for a long time: Antony Gormley and Giuseppe Penone, who can also be admired in Voorlinden in the near future, James Turrell, who also made a Wassenaar version of his Skyspace, and Sol LeWitt, who also adorns our sculpture garden. At least as special are the encounters with new artists, which immediately feel equally familiar: Roger Hiorns' sparkling blue crystal cave, Hilary Jack's neon letters towering high above you, and Andy Goldsworthy's tree sculptures merging with nature. Here, I discovered, art is not behind glass, a taut rope or the raised hand of an usher. Here, art is within touching distance, tangible as a loved one.
White box museums regularly strive to create as blank a canvas as possible, to let the art speak for itself. In the nature of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, the opposite happens: here the sculptures enter into an intimate relationship with their surroundings, fusing or contrasting sharply with their background. The natural human and natural forms feel at home thanks to their materials: dark rust, deep gray stone, gnarled wood. A single bright color stands out: a Buddha covered in cheerful mosaic, a rhino disguised as a fairground attraction. Some of the works were made especially for this place; all embrace the nature around them and vice versa. This art, I realize, can only be experienced here. Sometimes art can make you travel past places, times and cultures; in other cases, you, the viewer, must go on a journey to take in the art. Standing among these sculptures, I feel insignificant. Relative to the landscape, relative to time. Behind me, the gates of the park are quietly closing. I slip out just barely. I want to go back immediately."
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