KEN SCARLETT travels to regional South Australia to discover a unique sculpture park that showcases the works of an artist seized by his emotion-charged intersection with an ancient landscape.

The dirt road at Palmer, more than an hour out of Adelaide, leads to no major town, nor does it seem to go anywhere in particular. All the more surprising, therefore, to find that this isolated area is the location for a sculpture park, as this confounds the expected norms. Yet the unexpected venue succeeds astonishingly well. It is unique.

Collections of outdoor sculpture have proliferated over the last 50 years, frequently as extensions of public galleries such as the excellent sculpture garden at the National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, or the rapidly growing collection at McClelland Gallery+Sculpture Park near Melbourne. Palmer, however, is not attached to a gallery. And while a number of the world’s major sculpture parks have begun with extensive international collections donated by private benefactors — Hakone, for instance, an hour from Tokyo; Storm King, close to New York; and Kroller-Muller, near Amsterdam — Palmer was established to exhibit the work of one sculptor, the South Australian artist Greg Johns.

Some sculpture parks have benefited greatly from generous benefactors; Palmer, by comparison, has had only limited support from various sources along with some government funding to assist with land regeneration. Basically, Johns himself has been the main contributor. And whereas most sculpture parks have been designed by landscape architects with discrete areas of exotic planting to contain the works, Palmer is a place of limitless open spaces. Greg Johns, in fact, doesn’t use the term ‘sculpture park’ as he feels that a park is an artificial construct. He refers to Palmer as a ‘sculpture landscape’, which reveals a different approach, a different relationship between sculpture and the environment.

In December 2001, Johns purchased 160 ha of barren land — land that had been ruthlessly stripped of all trees by early settlers collecting firewood for the local gold and copper mines, or wood for the steam-driven paddle steamers which plied the Murray River. It is rain shadow country, a fragile landscape of low hills, rocky outcrops and vast, all-enveloping skies with no human habitation in sight. A most unlikely location in which to display sculpture. All human activity is dwarfed by the vast vista of rolling hills with its views from the escarpment to the distant Murray. It was a brave sculptor who was willing to pit his creative works against the overwhelming presence of nature.

Greg Johns, however, wished to work in collaboration with nature, not only to re-establish some of the native vegetation, but also to allow his sculpture to set up a dialogue with the landscape. Audaciously, he has placed his sculptures great distances apart, but as the silhouettes in themselves are direct and commanding they read convincingly.

Horizon Figure, 1998, stands strong and vertical, capped by a sweeping, outreaching linear form, which echoes the curve of the horizon. Small flame-like shapes emanate from this extended form — a warning of the danger of fire or an acceptance of the role fire has played in the evolution of the Australian ecology? In another variation, Horizon Figure, 2002, the dominant curve ends with small details at either end that hint, possibly, at sprouting leaves or hands tentatively extended. To be present as the sun is setting, to view these works as small accents in the landscape outlined against an orange-red sky, is a magical experience.

From the time Johns left the South Australian School of Art in 1978, he has pursued a career in sculpture and built a very successful professional practice with major commissions in Melbourne, Adelaide, Sydney, Singapore, Korea and Spain. He is also represented in both public and private collections throughout the world — from the UK to the US, from Australia to Japan. Over this period of 30 years there has been a gradual but decisive change in the artist’s basic concepts. Initially known for his monumental abstract structures, which were often fascinating visual paradoxes — in an astonishing manner, apparently simple forms changed dramatically as circles became squares, stars became cubes, or cubes converted to circles. Then, without entirely abandoning abstraction, there was a move towards figuration and the emphasis switched from the intellectual to the emotional. At Palmer, one sees a further development as Johns has freed himself from the urban environment and become intensely aware of his fundamental links with the Australian landscape.

The figures on the horizon at Palmer are as stark and dramatic as the landscape itself. Some, such as Returning Figure, 1992–1993, in Austen steel, are as slender and emphatically vertical as the flowers on the native Yaccas (Xanthorrhoea), while other installations like Corridor 11, 2004, are as spiky as its needle-sharp leaves. Floating Figure 111, 1998, in Corten steel, appears to spring from the rocks with a warning gesture. In sheer contrast to these slender works, the two Guardian Figures, 1991–1992, have a monumental presence. Linear, broad lines of steel suggest two figures standing intimately side by side; the symmetry and the repetition of similar shapes is both satisfying and reassuring.

The artist, however, has not only made works that relate to the landscape, the landscape itself has inevitably had a profound impact on the artist. Johns has written, “Although I live in the suburbs, my sculpture is not entirely urban in feel; there is a roughness, toughness, vulnerability about the work which is different in feel to the painted, highly finished work of the urban-based sculptors in Sydney.” And further, “As an object maker, I am connected to the eastern states, but the resultant sculpture is different in feel — I believe because it is from another region.” In the introduction to his 2008 catalogue, Greg Johns. Old Land, New Forms, Johns says, “The arid landscape of Palmer is certainly worlds away from the sub-tropical lushness of Sydney.”

From a modest beginning in 2002, Greg Johns now has nearly 20 sculptures in steel permanently sited in the environment — he has established his own sculpture landscape. And generously, he has also made the area available on a biennial basis for an exhibition of sculpture by other artists who wish to relate to the Australian landscape. Nine artists exhibited in the inaugural exhibition in March 2004 — artists including Max Lyle and Bert Flugelman, both ex-members of staff from the South Australian School of Art. By the third biennial in 2008, the numbers had grown to 24 artists and numerous people from Adelaide made the drive into the countryside. The invitations were distinctively different from the usual gallery invitation: “Conditions. Moderate to difficult terrain — appropriate clothing and footwear required. It is wise to bring bottled water. It is not permitted to smoke anywhere on this property.”

Palmer is certainly unique, and very Australian. As indeed is Greg himself, who recently wrote, in the introduction of his 2008 catalogue New Sculptures, “As a sculptor working in this great landscape, I remain perplexed by how little sculpture produced in Australia reflects this place, we are perhaps locked into our cities and international influences …” Greg Johns has moved beyond international influences; he is producing work that is intimately and integrally linked to this ancient land.

Palmer will be open 9–23 November 2008, 11.30 am–4 pm. Admission is free and four-wheel drive transport will be provided for those unable to walk over the rough and hilly terrain. For more information, including a map of the route from Adelaide to Palmer, visit

www.gregjohnssculpture.com/palmer/index.html

Images:

Greg Johns, Horizon Figure, 1998, Corten steel, height 350cm. Photograph by Ashley Starkey.

Greg Johns, Horizon Figure, 2002, Corten steel, 270 x 470 x 100cm. Photograph by Ashley Starkey.

Greg Johns, Returning Figure, 1992–1993, Corten steel, height 400cm. Photograph by Ashley Starkey.

Greg Johns, Guardian Figures, 1991–1992, Corten steel, height 400cm. Photograph by Ashley Starkey.