Metaphorically Temporal

To Bank tube station and then follow the street signs to get to the Guildhall.  But I’ve not come here to examine the archeological displays nor peruse the permanent art collection, though both of them are indeed worth taking a look at.  No, the reason I’ve happened upon this august institution today is to pick up one of the free little booklet guides revealing the route to be taken to cover this year’s annual Sculpture in the City urban art trail.

Gabriel Lester – The Adventurer

Unfortunately, while the map showing the location of the 19 artworks that I’m hoping to track down today also includes schematic representations of some of the City’s landmark skyscraper buildings, it doesn’t actualy go so far as to include the site of the Guildhall where I’m currently stood and so it takes me quite a while to orientate myself within my local surroundings before confidently walking off in completely the wrong direction.

Tracey Emin – Your Lips Moved Across My Face

No matter, as is well known, it’s the course of the journey rather than the arrival at any final destination that provides the value of travel, whether the nature of the path is strictly geographical or more metaphorically temporal.

Clare Jarrett – Sari Garden

And, consequently, sometimes what initially appears to be a wrong turning can retrospectively prove to be a useful diversionary short-cut leading to an important revelatory purpose; either that, or the route evolves into a more complex struggle that ultimately yields a greater, more fulfilling spiritual reward.

Juliana Cerqueira Leite – Climb

Although, on this particular occasion, I just seem to be headed west when I should be going east and the actuality of any metaphysical benefit is pitched at such a level of inscrutability as to be totally beyond my immediate grasp.

Michail Pirgelis – Univrs

I confess that it’s a situation not entirely new to me nor, frankly, all that unexpected since I’ve long since had to accept that I was born with a decidedly contrary internal compass and absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever.

Miroslaw Balka – The Great Escape

But, I’m not in a hurry and after a good deal of pondering, squinting at road signs and generalised head-scratching, eventually I manage to stumble into the region of St Mary Axe, a location best known as the site for that great glassy erection whose soft vegetable sobriquet doesn’t really convey the brittleness of its spiralling vitreous facade.

Karen Tang – Synapsid

Indeed, since the building shares neither the shape, texture nor colour of any actual member of the family of cucurbitaceae I’m not sure why it got to be called the Gherkin in the first place, but the name has stuck and I’m not about to bother trying to think up any more witty alternatives.

Sarah Lucas – Perceval

After quite a bit more bumping about and rootling around, I do actually manage to reach Bury Court which is my first stop on the trail.  Although, I should point out that for anyone else who might decide to follow in my confusing perambulating footsteps that I’m starting off with the sculpture listed in the booklet as number 3.  Looking at the guide map it just seems a bit more of a logical progression to begin with this one then find the others in their numerically sequential succession before catching up with the first two works by tacking them on to the end of the trip

Amanda Lwin – A Worldwide Web of Somewheres

But anyway, getting back to the start and the art, Gabriel Lester’s The Adventurer is not particularly startling or striking but it’s not a bad bit of work, consisting of a few clunky bits of metalwork that hold up a couple of small billboards showing stylised representations of the surrounding cityscape.  Frankly, it blends so comfortably into the generalised street furniture of the bustling urban background that it seems unlikely to get a second glance from most of the passing pedestrian traffic who will probably assume that it represents some oblique form of promotional advertisement.  But then I kind of think that in today’s Post-Modernistic environment, where junctions between art and life are forever blurring, may be this is what the artist intended all along.

Shaun C Badham – I’m Staying

Tracey Emin, on the other hand, is an artist whose whole career has been based on drawing dramatic detailed attention to herself, so it’s fitting that her latest piece of fluorescent graffiti is carefully positioned in one of the comparatively rare city situations that is not utterly overwhelmed by all the other visual distractions competing for attention among the chaotic clutter that characterises the contemporary street scenery in this part of town.

Sean Scully – Stack Blues

And so it is that the artist’s latest piece of gnomic neon scribbling is suspended high up a wall in a narrow pedestrian walkway set back from all the noisy visual hubbub and only properly viewable from a sort of low sideways angle.  But if the view is somewhat skewed then at least the message – Your Lips Moved Across My Face – is pellucidly clear in all its marvellously meaningless vacuosity.

Thomas J Price – Numen (Shifting Votive One & Two)

Running along another nearby passageway is Clare Jarrett’s swirling ribbon of cloth which presumably looked a good deal more interesting and impressive laid out on the studio floor than it now does wilting in the breeze intimidated by the glass and granite edifices of the monumental offices that surround it.

Jyll Bradley – Opening the Air

After which I manage to completely lose my bearings and wonder up and down and around and about until I backtrack, sidestep, reverse and, having exhausted all other directional options and possibilities, finally shuffle my way into the small grassy oasis that is Mitre Square.  And here Juliana Cerqueira Leite’s curious white obelisk points to the heavens, looking like a waxwork version of the Gherkin that’s started to melt in the gloriously polluted summer heat.  In fact, the structure was created by the artist tunneling through three tons of wet clay and then making a mould of the hand and foot prints that charted her slippery route.  Well, it’s easier than hammering and chiseling away at large lumps of rock and probably a good deal more fun.

Jean-Luc Moulene – Body

And it’s at this point on my journey that I notice another odd ball like myself who is actually looking at the artwork, unlike all the other slick city boys and highly polished city girls who appear pretty much oblivious to the cultural collateral inserted amidst their communal surrounds.  Well, they’re all currently distracted by having to gulp down their super-efficient hi-energy drinks and gnawing into expensive sushi sandwich wraps prior to dashing back to the office for a bout of dodgy derivative dealing or swindling pensioners out of their hard-earned assets or whatever else it is these whizzy young people do all day.

Thomas J Price – Numen (Shifting Votive Three)

Anyway, I strike up a conversation with the other I-Spy other art lover and it turns out that he’s working on some kind of app that’s designed to encourage people to go on walks through thei