Hello, Sculpture Vultures, and thank you for joining me today. I hope you’ve had a good couple of weeks. At Antique Bronze, it’s been all hands-on deck with a focus on Remembrance Day projects. It’s always about that at this time of year for us. Now we’re at that moment where you’ve just finished the race—you’re bent double, feeling a bit sick at the finish line—but you’re in recovery mode, starting to pick yourself back up again and trudge onwards, this time towards Christmas.

On a personal note, the show has been attracting some interest from TV, which is very exciting. I must stress that it’s absolutely in its infancy, but it does make sense that the show would work well on TV. After all, sculpture is such a visual subject, and audio alone can’t really do it justice. The reason I mention this isn’t because I think it will necessarily happen—these things are often pie in the sky—but because it reminded me of a book, I mentioned a couple of months ago, The Magic of Thinking Big.

That book started me thinking bigger than I usually do. I’ve been daydreaming—though I wouldn’t even call it much more than a fancy—about what I could do with the show. I just let it sit in my mind as a possibility. It’s funny how, once you do that, once you give an idea some respect, things can start to happen around you without you actively doing much. I didn’t go knocking on lots of doors or chasing opportunities, but I allowed the idea to germinate. I’m putting it down to that book because it pushed me to ask myself, Are my goals too small? Am I being brave enough?

Being brave is hard—it puts a lot of pressure on you, and that’s not something I particularly need in my life. I’ve got enough madness and enough pressure as it is. But, if all this sounds too “woo-woo” for you, I’d still encourage you to be braver in your thoughts and dreams. You don’t have to believe in all the “woo” to let yourself dream big.

In keeping with the theme of Remembrance Day and thinking big, I want to mention Sabin Howard’s utterly vast and incredible war memorial, completed this year. It was cast and patinated at Britain’s Pangolin Foundry. Sabin is an American sculptor, and the memorial wasn’t created for the UK—it’s in Washington, DC. It’s the very first US World War I memorial, commemorating the servicemen who lost their lives. Located on Pennsylvania Avenue, near the White House, it’s a staggering 60 feet long, filled with full-size, dynamic sculptures.

The memorial is the culmination of over a decade of work for Sabin, and it’s truly exceptional. It’s on an epic scale, but it’s also breathtaking when you see the entire vision brought to life. If you have a moment, grab a cup of tea or coffee and look up images of the memorial. It’s a wonderful way to honour Remembrance Day and to appreciate the work of a magnificent sculptor. If I can, I’ll try to get him on the podcast to talk about it, though I imagine he’s overwhelmed with attention from everyone who’s been so touched and inspired by the work.

© Basil Watson – Usain Bolt, Ansin Sports Complex, Miramar, Fl. 2023 

Today on the show, I’m interviewing Basil Watson, whose sculptures can be found all over the world—from the UK to China, the US to Guatemala. His magnificent creations always lift my spirits because they celebrate human heroism. If you’re ever feeling disheartened about the world, just look at his work—it’s truly uplifting.

Basil was born in Jamaica, the son of the renowned artist Barrington Watson, and went on to earn the accolade of Jamaica’s leading sculptor. I first came across his work when admiring his sculpture of Usain Bolt, though he’s created many sculptures of athletes. He’s particularly good at capturing athletes in motion. Here in London, we’re lucky to have the magnificent National Windrush Monument at Waterloo Station, which is really special. If you haven’t seen it, do go and take a look—it’s absolutely gorgeous.

I began our conversation today by asking Basil if he had ever considered being a painter instead of a sculptor.

Basil: I think my first idea about what I wanted to be was a sailor. Then, going through high school, I thought about studying architecture because I wanted to be involved in the arts, and my father was a painter. I thought, Okay, let me try something different, so I decided to go to art school to become a painter. But in my first year of college, I discovered sculpture, and that was it.

Lucy: That was it? Love at first sight?

Basil: Immediately. Love at first sight.

Lucy: Your dad was obviously a very well-known painter. Did he introduce you to sculpture, or did that only come at college?

Basil: No, he introduced me to drawing. He was considered a master draftsman. Through living around it and constantly seeing his work, drawing became my first love—and it still is. I found that drawing translated better into sculpture than painting. Sculpture didn’t require a background, an environment, or light—it was purely form. Drawing was where I started, and sculpture fitted perfectly with that.

Lucy: So drawing is the beginning for you? Do you usually start with pencil, or can you skip that stage?

Basil: Most of the time, I go straight to clay. It’s easier for me to see a concept in 3D. I can see one aspect of it, and as I start building in 3D, the other angles naturally fall into place. Drawing it is more difficult. Most of my drawing is from observation—I draw the model, I draw from life, almost exclusively. But drawing develops my understanding of movement, line, and shape, and that translates into sculpture.

© Basil Watson – pen & ink wash. 2017

Lucy: Your sculptures always seem to have a wonderful sense of movement. I know you create athletes, so of course, movement is essential there. But even in the sculptures that aren’t athletic, there’s always this sense of flow or rhythm. Does that begin with a pencil drawing? Is that where you first see the movement?

Basil: Yes, I see it when I’m drawing, and I look for it—that’s what I try to find. My concept is to approach things more like an eagle than an ant. The ant will only see your toe and see you in small increments, but the eagle sees the whole form. The rhythm from head to toe is one of the things I look for in my drawing, and I carry that into my sculpture.

I think being Jamaican influences me as well. Jamaicans live with rhythm—in the way they walk, the way they talk, the music. Rhythm and movement are always present, and I suspect that has an impact on my work.

Lucy: What was it like growing up in a household like yours? Most kids are told to practise their times tables, but I imagine your dad might have been telling you to get your sketchbook out. Was art expected in your home?

Basil: No, he didn’t encourage or discourage me. My parents were divorced, so I mostly lived with my mother. Art was always on the walls—especially in my father’s home—but I was encouraged to be a good student rather than specifically to pursue art. Art was something I chose. My father accepted it, but he didn’t actively encourage it.

As a child, I liked to doodle, but with no real purpose or idea that I would become an artist. In high school, I started going to the art room to escape other subjects. I excelled there and was encouraged by my art teacher, Alexander Cooper, who was very supportive. When I finally told my parents I wanted to pursue art, they said, If that’s what you want to do, go ahead.

Lucy: I read a beautiful line about your work: I am inspired by the heroic in mankind. I wondered—do you choose figures to sculpt because they are heroic, or do you find the heroism in them, in their stories?

Basil: I think looking for the light is one of my personality traits. I tend to have a positive outlook on life—I look for the light, so to speak, rather than the darkness. It’s a natural tendency for me. I seek the heroic in people because I’m looking for inspiration for myself. Focusing on negatives isn’t something that appeals to me. So, I try to seek out and encourage the best in people. I believe it’s in all of us, if not most of us. We don’t need to be big, popular heroes—often, heroism is found in the small, simple acts of everyday life.

Lucy: I remember speaking to my husband’s grandfather quite some time ago. He was a doctor on the front-line during World War I, an unbelievably gory and harrowing job. I asked him how he coped with it, why he chose to do it, and he said, I am endlessly fascinated with people. From what you’re saying, it sounds like you feel the same way.

Basil: I do. I really do. This is, I think, the greatest reward of being an artist. It teaches me to observe and to learn about people—not in a judgmental way, but in understanding who they are, why they are, and what they are. And in turn, it teaches me about myself. I am totally enthralled by people, their stories, and their spirit.

© Basil Watson – The National Windrush Monument, Waterloo Station. 2022

Lucy: You’ve done some amazing sculptures of sportsmen and women. Is sport a particular passion of yours?

Basil: Yes, I’ve always been involved in sport. I played football—what you call soccer—throughout high school and up to club level in Jamaica. It’s nowhere near the British level, of course, but it was a big part of my life. Then, in my early twenties, I got into karate. I competed and did very well in it. Movement has always been a central theme in my life.

I don’t necessarily look to sport as a deliberate design for my work, but the attributes of being a sportsman—the discipline and the challenges—are reflected in the themes I explore. In Jamaica, athletics and sport are very strong, and it’s something I’ve enjoyed working with.

Lucy: There’s so much story in the journey of athletes, though. I can see how it fits so well with your sculptural style. Athletes have this incredible fight in them as they strive for their goals. It’s often not brilliantly rewarded financially—some are, like footballers, but many athletes undertake this arduous journey for themselves. I can see why they inspire you as heroic figures.

Basil: Yes, I think the greatest value of sport, beyond any financial rewards, is what it teaches you about yourself. It’s about self-enlightenment. Sport takes you through the entire spectrum of life’s challenges, and it has taught me so much. That’s what makes it so inspiring.

Lucy: I have to ask you about the Windrush sculpture at Waterloo Station. For me, it’s one of my favourite monuments of all time. I absolutely loved how you used the suitcases as the plinth—it’s such a genius idea. Did you have a cast-iron brief for that sculpture, or were you able to design it without much interference?

Basil: No, it was entirely my concept. The brief was simply to commemorate the Windrush generation, which spanned from the late 1940s and early 1950s to the 1970s. That’s a wide timeframe—over two decades—encompassing people who came to the UK, those who achieved great things, and those who fell by the wayside. The challenge was how to create something that captured the full spectrum of their experiences and aspirations.

I decided to start at the beginning: the journey to the UK and arriving here. The suitcase became the central element. My parents were part of the Windrush generation, and my mother had a suitcase, something similar, under her bed for years. I don’t even remember what was in it, but I know it came from her return to Jamaica from England. It was always there, almost like a curio.

There was also a radio serial in Jamaica called Dulcimina Comes to Town. Dulcimina carried a suitcase packed with everything she needed. From time to time, she would go into her suitcase and pull out the magic solution. That idea resonated with me, and it developed into the concept of the suitcases being the pillars on which the figures stood—symbolising their values and aspirations. When I hit on that idea, I thought, Yes, this is it. I’ve got it.

Lucy: I think that one is really something special. It must be quite hard to choose a favourite. I imagine your favourite is always the one you’re working on at the time, but that one—yeah, it’s pretty good.

Basil: I am pleased with it, yeah. I must say.

Lucy: I’ve got quite a lot of sculptors who listen to the show, and I wondered—what’s been your strategy with your career? Have you always had work from the very beginning, or has it been a struggle at times?

Basil: Oh, it’s definitely been a struggle. I’ve had my ups and downs. Having a father who was an artist helped—it encouraged me, seeing him do it. It made me believe I could do it too, as long as I focused on being as good as I could be. The theme for me has always been excellence—always trying to improve.

Early on, I decided that I wanted my sculptures to be in the public domain. I remember saying to myself, If I can get one sculpture in the public domain, I’ll be happy. Now, I have a few more than one, but still just a few—there’s a long way to go!

My brother is also a sculptor, and we used to share studios. We didn’t necessarily work on the same projects, but we did collaborate on exhibitions. Fairly early on, we developed a Sculpture in the Park exhibition. We sold the idea of monumental sculptures to various companies and collectors in Jamaica, and it was very successful.

We each created four monumental sculptures, rented a park, and hosted the exhibition. This was in the late 1980s to early 1990s, and the whole project spanned two or three years. It was a success—it introduced Jamaicans to the concept of public sculpture and got them to see the possibilities of it. We placed sculptures in private collections, as well as in companies. That project really kickstarted the promotion of public sculpture in Jamaica.

When I moved to the United States, I followed that same path—seeking opportunities for public sculptures while still receiving support from Jamaica. That combination has been the real boost for my career.

© Basil Watson – Rosa Parks, 2024

Lucy: So do you apply for public commissions, or do people now come directly to you for projects?

Basil: In the beginning, I applied for commissions—and I still do. My daughter, who is my manager and assistant, looks for opportunities and submits applications. But as I’ve gained more recognition, people now come to me with projects. They feel I’m the right fit for their ideas, and that’s a very welcome shift.

Lucy: That’s when you really know you’re riding high—when the momentum shifts, and they’re coming to you instead of you chasing them.

Basil: Exactly—that’s what’s happening now, and it’s where I’ve always wanted to be.

Lucy: Do you draw your inspiration from anywhere in particular, or do the ideas come from within?

Basil: My inspiration comes from observing life. If it’s a specific project or person, I might do some reading, especially if I don’t have literature or photographs to guide me. I try to put myself in the subject’s position and find empathy with them.

Years of experience drawing and sculpting the figure have been central to my career. Sometimes, I’ll have an idea and find a way to express it through models or sketches. This builds a kind of reservoir of knowledge about what the body can do and how to use it to express certain emotions or ideas.

So, it works both ways—sometimes the inspiration comes from within, but other times it’s about connecting with the subject and using that as a starting point.

Lucy: Are you influenced by other sculptors, either contemporary or from earlier eras? Do they play a role in your inspiration?

Basil: There are sculptors throughout history, and even contemporary sculptors, who I admire and learn a lot from. My father, with his strong background in art history and the masters, often talked about them, and his home was filled with books about their work. I find that ideas come to me—not necessarily from a specific artist, but as concepts. Later, I sometimes recognise connections to my past experiences.

However, my greatest influence is drawing the figure. Each person, each model, has a unique personality, and I allow them to bring their stories to me. That has been my greatest reservoir of knowledge—it opens up life in ways far beyond what I could dream of. People bring their own stories and personalities into my work, and that’s incredibly inspiring.

Lucy: Have you ever had an epic failure with a project? Like, you’re working on it and suddenly realise it just isn’t working the way you envisioned?

Basil: I wouldn’t say I’ve had epic failures in that sense. But I’ve had moments when I finished a project—monumental sculptures—and the armature wasn’t strong enough, and it collapsed. That’s happened a couple of times! In terms of the design not working, there have been occasions where, in hindsight, I’ve seen glaring flaws and thought, Oh, I should have done this or that. When I realise that, I try not to look at the sculpture too closely anymore.

Lucy: Let’s not dwell on that!

Basil: Exactly! There’s one sculpture I can only approach from certain angles because it hurts to see it from others. But, for the most part, I haven’t had any truly catastrophic failures that come to mind.

Lucy: It’s funny, isn’t it? Once we notice a flaw in something we’ve created, it’s all we can see. Other people might not even notice, but it becomes impossible for us to ignore.

Basil: It takes time—time away from the piece. While I’m working on it, the process consumes me. Every morning I wake up thinking, How do I fix this? How do I fix that? I don’t dwell on the successes—I’m constantly focused on what I perceive as flaws, which makes it difficult to see the work objectively. But after a year or two, when I revisit it with fresh eyes, I can look at it more objectively and tend to enjoy it more.

Lucy: Do you work steadily, or are you the type to have frenzied 24-hour sessions followed by a long break?

Basil: I’m definitely frenzied, but not in 24-hour bursts! I work long days and keep busy with various projects. When I have a project on my mind, I’m thinking about it 24/7. Sometimes I wake up at 2 a.m. and lie awake for hours, going over ideas or feeling anxious about the direction I should take. Once I choose a direction, though, the physical work happens very quickly. People often say, you work so fast! —but it’s really because I’ve spent so much time mentally solving the problem beforehand.

Lucy: So the actual creation is quick because you’ve already resolved it in your mind.

Basil: Exactly. If I can see it clearly, I can sculpt it. The real challenge is visualising it first—that’s the hard part.

Lucy: I often find that I don’t go to sleep with problems in mind, but they wake me up in the middle of the night. Suddenly, I’ll think, Oh no, there’s a problem I didn’t even know about, and I need to fix it.

Basil: I can relate to that. After finishing a major project, I often feel completely exhausted. It’s like exhaustion just swamps me out of nowhere, and for days or even weeks, my motivation and energy levels are really low. I need that time to mentally detox before something else comes along to spark my creativity again.

Lucy: That makes sense. You’re depleted because you’ve poured your soul into the sculpture—you need time to replenish yourself. It must be such an exhausting process. You’ve got to be quite physically fit for it, haven’t you?

Basil: Yes, you do. You need to be fit, and you have to climb up there because nobody has drones looking down on the sculpture to hide imperfections. Nothing is hidden.

Lucy: Absolutely. Do you have any words of wisdom for sculptors who are still emerging and struggling to get started in their careers?

Basil: I’m very technique-oriented. Whatever your approach, I strongly believe in developing solid technical knowledge first, then letting it go. Freedom comes after mastering the techniques. But letting go of technique can be just as hard—it’s a challenge. At some point, though, you need to let it go and allow for free expression. That freedom is always guided in a way by the foundation of your technical skills.

Lucy: Basil, I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me today. Could you tell everyone where they can find out more about you?

Basil: My website is basilsculpture.com. My Instagram, which is much more current and includes a mix of my drawings, personal projects, and public sculptures, is @basil.sculpture. Those are the best places to find me.

Lucy: That’s fantastic. Thank you so much.

© Basil Watson – Congressman John Lewis, 2024

Speaking to Basil left me with a sense that I’d spent time with someone who has a deep insight—not just into himself but also into the wider world. When he talked about his sculpture, he said, the challenge is to see it first. Isn’t that the truth? Not just for sculpture, but for anything we want to create.

From my own experience, I’m currently writing a story set in the 17th century, which is completely out of my comfort zone. For me, the hard part isn’t the writing—it’s seeing the threads of the narrative, figuring out how all the characters and their stories weave together. Similarly, for Basil, creating the sculpture itself doesn’t seem to be the hard part—it’s the seeing of it, the envisioning of the whole, that’s the real challenge.

Basil notices and champions the heroic in mankind. He believes in it, represents it, and embodies a humble yet positive outlook on life. He spoke about looking to the light, and the word luminary kept coming to mind during our conversation—it felt like that’s exactly what he is.

He’s made this idea of light—finding it even in darkness—a personal philosophy. He also talked about how creative processes don’t come in a neat, linear form. Creations don’t march down a straight line; they emerge in a flow. There’s a slow, uncertain period at the beginning, where you’re searching for what you’re looking for. But once you’ve found it, there’s a frenzy of activity, and the idea comes to life. After that, there’s a depletion—a complete exhaustion where you feel like you’ve got nothing left.

Then, you wait. You wait for the next idea, the next wave of energy, which always feels like it might never come because you’re so drained. But it does. Basil’s insight is a reminder that creativity ebbs and flows, and when you’re on a down, you just need to trust that it will rise again if you truly love what you do.

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