Merry and Bright: Public Sculpture That Lights Up Our World with Ben Broadbent
Merry and Bright: Public Sculpture That Lights Up Our Life with Ben Broadbent
Lucy: Hello, Sculpture Vultures, and thank you for joining me today. I have a special co-host on this Christmas episode—Ben Broadbent, who has been a supporter of the show since season one. He’s a professional sculptor and runs Apex Art Services. With over 20 years of experience in casting and sculpting, his own work is figurative.
Hi Ben, happy Christmas!
Ben: Oh, happy Christmas! That’s probably the first time I’ve said that this year.
Lucy: Oh, thanks for coming on today! This is going to be a bit of a wild show. We’re not doing a formal interview; we’re just having a chat about all the things we love about sculpture—basically geeking out.
Ben: That sounds great! I’m really happy to be here—what an honour. I’ve been listening to the podcast since the very beginning, and some of my absolute heroes have been on. It’s been brilliant.
Lucy: Yeah, people often ask me, Who’s your target audience? And I just say, Me! I’m my own target audience—people who are completely obsessed with sculpture and just can’t hear enough about it. I think we’re probably a little niche, but it’s a great tribe.
Ben: Yes, exactly! What brought me to the podcast in the first place was sheer gratitude that you were doing it. I listen to a lot of art podcasts, and I always thought, Why is no one talking about sculpture?
Through the foundry, I know so many artists with incredible stories. I was probably on the brink of thinking about how to start a sculpture podcast myself, but then yours popped up, and I thought, Oh, thank God! That’s one less job to do.
Lucy: There’s quite a lot of work involved in it, you’d be surprised! But at the same time, it’s been really fulfilling for me.
When I hit a stumbling block—when my poor mum got very, very sick—I had to pause for a while. I tried to be logical about it, thinking, I have so much work on, I’ve got other creative pursuits I couldn’t possibly give up, like writing—so maybe I should let the podcast go.
But I just couldn’t drop it. It was like something that would wake me up in the middle of the night saying, You’ve got to carry on, you’ve got to do it! And I couldn’t bore my poor husband with sculpture talk night and day, so in a way, this podcast is a kind of therapeutic service for me!
Ben: That makes total sense. It’s definitely an important part of your creative life. And for people like me—humble sculptors trying to make our way—it’s an invaluable service.
It’s amazing to hear these established artists talk. You assume they’ve got it all figured out, but then you hear them expressing the same doubts that we all have. That’s so reassuring.
I remember something Pratley said just the other week—it really stuck with me. He talked about his doubts, how he didn’t really know it was going to work out, but he had to have faith, take a leap, and just believe in himself. That was the right moment for him to make it happen. It’s so inspiring to hear those little moments of courage.
Lucy: Yes! One of the things I really love is when sculptors want it so much, but you wonder, Where is the opportunity going to come from? Then suddenly, something presents itself—at the exact right moment, just when they’re ready for it.
You could never put that in a business plan for a bank manager. Imagine saying, The project is coming—I can feel the project is coming! Life just doesn’t work like that. But I do think sculpture has this natural ebb and flow.
The more I speak to sculptors, the more I see it as a pattern. Even if they don’t realise it themselves, I notice it.
Ben: Yes, there’s a real synchronicity to it. But I think a lot of that only becomes clear in hindsight. When you’re in the middle of it, you don’t see it at all—there are just too many things to juggle. But when you look back, it often appears as if it all happened in a neat, linear way.
Lucy: That’s absolutely true.
Right, before we get too deep into it—Ben, could you tell everyone a little bit about yourself, so they know who you are and what you do?
Ben: Of course! Well, as you mentioned, I’ve been working in foundries and in the casting industry for about 20 years now, so I have a lot of experience in the making of bronze sculpture, particularly.
Lucy: So, you give people a hand with their sculptures if they need it?
Ben: Yes, absolutely. It’s something of a calling for me, really—helping artists bring their sculptures into the world. It feels like such an important task, and I’m glad to be involved in it.
I think it also helps that I’m a sculptor in my own right. I bring 20 years of craft and skill from the foundry, but I also have the touch and sensitivity of a fellow artist who understands everything that’s gone into a piece.
Lucy: Tell me a little bit about what you’ve been creating recently.
Ben: Well, my work has always centred around people. I’ve done some commissioned work for animals and other subjects, but I tend to think of it as making what I’m told, in a way. Inspiration strikes, and those are the things I have to make.
The theme that runs through my work is courage. As a kid, I filled sketchbooks with images of heroes—action heroes, characters from cartoons, all sorts. In a way, I’ve never stopped doing that.
But as an adult, I’ve come to realise that those characters don’t really exist. They’re an idealised view from a child’s perspective. The people I once looked up to, I now see as equals, as people just like me. And suddenly, you realise how difficult, strange, awkward, and nuanced life is. You can’t simply be a hero—it’s a mess of responsibility and effort.
So, I like to use traditional images of the hero, but in a modern, more nuanced setting. Often, I focus on internal struggle—something you don’t consider as a child, but as an adult, it’s ever-present. That nonstop mental world of doubt, fear, angst, and confusion—it all happens behind the scenes.
That’s what draws me to the figure and the face. There’s nothing more evocative than a well-made portrait sculpture because it’s a vessel containing so much—so many hidden struggles playing out behind a composed façade.
Lucy: Yes, I love that.
Ben: I try to incorporate elements of narrative and symbolism, but ideally, I’d love to reach a point where just the turn of an eyebrow could convey an enormous internal battle. That’s my goal.
At the moment, I’m working on a range of pieces I’m calling the Hermit Series. They’re all inspired by found objects, particularly shells. It’s been a fascinating device to explore—the cold indifference of the sea, and how that can be a metaphor for the cold, indifferent forces of life itself.
It’s funny how the pieces I need to make will hit me suddenly—on the motorway, on a quiet afternoon—and I won’t know why at first, but I’ll be compelled to make them. Only later, looking back, do I realise that they were reflections of my own struggles.
It’s quite shocking, really—like the piece was pretending to be something else all along, and then suddenly, its real meaning is revealed. It’s like having the world’s worst superpower—the ability to make sculptures that predict the recent past!
Lucy: That’s brilliant.
Ben: But these pieces are deeply personal. I think if you’re being honest in your work—if you’re truly invested, if you’re giving something of yourself—then that’s the best thing you can do, whether it sells or not.
Art is about furthering the human condition—bearing witness, shining a light on things we all find difficult. And unfortunately, sculpture isn’t always the best medium for that, simply because of the cost involved in the process.
But it’s what I know—it’s what I’m an expert in. And the bronze process itself brings its own alchemy, which, to me, only adds to the narrative.
It’s this great trial by fire. The form is destroyed and replaced by wax, which is then destroyed and replaced by bronze. Then you have the chemicals, the fire, the brimstone—all of it coming together to create something permanent. There’s something inherently courageous about that.
Lucy: So, are you actually getting someone else to cast your work now, or are you still doing it yourself?
Ben: Yeah, I’m not doing the casting anymore—I’m doing every other part of the process and outsourcing the actual casting. So, I’ll do all the prep work, then put the casting out to tender.
Lucy: You must be a nightmare client! You’ll know exactly when they’ve cut a corner!
Ben: Oh, absolutely. They’ll probably see my name and think, Oh no, we’ve really got to get this one right… and he knows more than we do! And then there’s the temptation to just take it in hand yourself—thinking, I could chase that better, I could patinate that better! It can be difficult to let go and actually allow people to do their jobs. Yes, it can definitely go either way. With my first pieces, I hovered over every step of the process.
It’s so easy to fall into the trap of re-sculpting at every stage. You start with the sculpture in clay, then you take it to be moulded, then you get the wax copy and think, Oh, I’ll just tweak this bit… And before you know it, you’ve completely reworked the wax. Then it gets cast in bronze, and suddenly you’re thinking, Actually, now I’ve seen it in metal, I need to adjust this…
By the time you’ve finished, you’ve sculpted it three times over!
I’m a big advocate for sculptors making their changes in clay—because that’s what they do best—and then leaving it alone. Once it’s moulded, let the professionals do their job.
Hiding seams, chasing, and working the surface are all incredibly skilled processes that take hours of careful work. The foundry team know exactly what they’re doing, and at that stage, it’s not the time for major artistic changes. You can be the most skilful sculptor in the world, but making clay move is one thing—making bronze move and still look like clay is an art in itself.
© Ben Broadbent – Matador
Lucy: It really is. And in conservation, we can always tell when a surface has been heavily worked over after casting rather than in the clay stage.
The metallurgy changes—the more you work a surface, the quicker it degrades. So, when we analyse a sculpture, it’s almost like forensic work. I spend a lot of time trying to work out what the artist originally did in the clay and what the foundry altered after that.
Ben: Yes, exactly! Large bronze pieces are often assembled like patchwork quilts, with all the different sections welded together.
Over time, those seams age differently from the rest of the sculpture. Eventually, you can see all the joins, which makes the whole thing look stitched together.
Lucy: Yes, and that’s what a lot of conservation work is about. It’s not necessarily about taking the sculpture back to what it looked like when it first came out of the foundry, but about maintaining a balance.
The patina might shift over time, but the sculpture should still read as a cohesive whole. It’s a very different approach from restoration, which traditionally aimed to bring things back to “day one.”
That’s fascinating. I did wonder whether the difference in colour along those seams was due to varying copper content.
Ben: Yes! When you’re welding, the welding rod usually has a higher copper content than the silicon bronze used for casting.
Ben: That makes sense—it has to run at a lower temperature. And I think the weld cures differently, too. It seems denser compared to the surrounding cast silicon, which can be more porous, especially in gravity casting.
Lucy: Yes, exactly. So, we’ve both spent a lot of time pondering metallurgy!
Before we get into our main topic, Ben, is there anything you’d like to ask me? You don’t have to, but I’ll give you the chance.
Ben: Actually, yes! Have you always been creative?
Lucy: Not in the way you might think.
At school, I actually pushed against art—probably because it surrounded me constantly. It was on the kitchen table, it was discussed at dinner… it was everywhere!
Also, the school art room didn’t feel familiar to me. It was too tidy.
Our studio at home was a mess—pigments everywhere, bodies on desks, materials all over the place. But the school art room felt like a laboratory. It didn’t feel like real art. No one was getting properly mucky.
So, I never really connected with art in that environment.
Ben: That’s so interesting.
Lucy: I adored art, but my creativity flowed more on the page. I loved writing—I wrote endless letters to people. God knows what drivel I must have sent them, but I just loved it! For me, my creative journey was always about words rather than sculpture.
I was always able to copy things—I could copy techniques, which is actually very useful in conservation. In conservation, you can’t impose your own style. Your job is to mimic the original artist’s hand, not bring your own artistic voice to it.
And, in a way, that’s exactly what I do when I write. When you create a character, you become that character—you are not yourself.
You’re completely in their head. It all kind of flowed together for me in that way.
But as I got older—when I say older, I mean 16, 18—it became clear that there was no other world I wanted to be in. I loved these people, these creative humans, who are so often completely bonkers in their thinking.
Ben: Oh, absolutely!
Lucy: I went to UCL—University College London—and studied History of Art with Material Science, which was completely mad. I was probably the only art history student who turned up at the chemistry department on the first day saying, I want to study this!
My background at school was in chemistry—I was pretty good at it. And it’s so relevant for conservation. But I definitely had that split personality, where I was often told, That’s very dichotomous—you need to pick a side! Be an art student or be a science student.
But I never felt like I had to choose. There are so many areas of creativity where art and science completely overlap.
In the work I do now, I have to analyse why a particular corrosion product has formed in one area more dominantly than another. My chemistry is invaluable. I use it daily—whether I’m looking at pigments, understanding which will degrade in a certain environment, or determining whether a base is carbonate or nitrate.
I couldn’t do my job without the chemistry. And yet, without the art, there would be nothing to analyse.
So yes, I’ve always been creative, just not in the traditional school sense. I wasn’t a great student—I found school too constrained, too full of rules. It never really came together for me there. But at home, and then later at university, I had so many more opportunities to be creative.
Ben: That makes so much sense. Actually, you almost pre-empted something I was going to ask—whether working at the foundry has changed the way I make work. It certainly alters the way I look at work, especially public sculptures.
I always end up doing an obligatory 10 minutes of looking for seam lines, analysing how it was made, and trying to glean information before I can actually step back and enjoy the sculpture as it was intended.
I was wondering—does your work in sculptural conservation change the way you appreciate art?
Lucy: Oh, completely. What you just said really resonates, because I also do conservation on architectural features. When I go shopping on Oxford Street, I don’t look at what’s in the shop windows—I’m staring up at the mouldings and the bronze detailing!
Ben: Yes!
Lucy: Being involved in something so hands-on—whether it’s foundries, conservation, or another craft—makes you approach art differently. You understand the technicalities involved, and that gives you a different kind of appreciation.
Sometimes, I can be completely transported by a sculpture—not just because of its visual impact, but because I know the love, the soul, the sweat, and the tears that went into getting it onto that plinth.
Even if I don’t personally know the people involved, I feel like we’re all connected in this ongoing, historical collaboration. It’s like a virtual circle of people, across time, all contributing to keeping these works alive.
And that makes it feel worthwhile. There’s something very special about it.
Ben: Yeah, I was actually going to ask—what draws you so much to sculptors’ stories? I feel like you’ve touched on it already, but I’d love to hear more.
Lucy: That’s a great question.
Ben: For me, knowing what goes into making sculpture has definitely changed the way I look at it. Before I started making work myself, I would approach it from a more traditional art history perspective—learning the dates, the movements, the key figures.
But the moments that really stuck with me were those little personal snippets, the anecdotes about the artists themselves. I find myself drawn back to those again and again.
Lucy: Yes!
Ben: It’s those human moments that make history feel alive.
I mean, take this morning as an example. I was up at five o’clock, getting a couple of hours in the garage to work on some sculpture before heading to work.
I’m out there in what is basically a sleeping bag with armholes, trying to stave off the cold, and suddenly I catch myself thinking, What on earth am I doing?!
Why are you doing this? What are you putting yourself through this for? But it’s that sense of being completely driven—totally compelled to bring that flash of inspiration into reality.
MERRY CHRISTMAS From SCULPTURE VULTURE
Lucy: Yes! I think you’ve absolutely hit the nail on the head. It’s that thing where you just can’t not do it. That’s the madness of it. On paper, it makes no sense. You shouldn’t be out in the freezing cold at the crack of dawn when you’ve got a long day ahead, and a family to look after in the evening. But you can’t not do it.
I wake up at half past four most mornings to work. My husband always says, Just rest! Lie in! You’re going to be exhausted. And I wish it was that easy. One of the things I really love about sculptors’ stories isn’t just hearing about their struggles, but seeing the commonality between creative people. It doesn’t matter whether you’re making music, writing novels, or sculpting—there’s a universal experience to creating.
If we’re lucky, we get to be part of that. And that’s what I find so inspiring. The struggle applies to everyone, regardless of their medium. It’s this shared ground that connects all of us.
Ben: Yes, absolutely!
Lucy: What I also find fascinating is that so many of the professionals I’ve spoken to—people who are incredibly successful—would still be doing this even if they weren’t making a living from it. Even if they weren’t selling, they would still be on this road. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to do it full-time, but they would find a way.
Ben: And that’s such a beautiful thing to celebrate, isn’t it? That deeply human desire to create, even when it doesn’t make logical sense.
Lucy: Exactly. One of the things I thought we’d talk about today is sculpture that has transported us—pieces that have taken us out of our daily lives and made a real impact.
We’ve each chosen two sculptures that have given us that kind of moment. And I have to say, the two I’ve chosen… I’ve never actually worked on! Which, honestly, I’m a bit gutted about. I might have to tap up the sculptors and make sure they know I exist!
But no, these are just pieces that have stayed with me. Let’s start with your first choice, Ben. Tell me about a sculpture that has transported you.
Ben: Okay—well, the first piece that came to mind was actually one of the first I worked on at the foundry. It was Ian Rank-Broadley’s Armed Forces Memorial.
Lucy: Oh wow.
Ben: Yes, it was particularly significant for me because it was the first time I became fully aware of all the different elements that need to come together to make such an important monument work.
It wasn’t just the sculpture—it was the stonemasonry, the groundwork, the sheer scale of collaboration required. The piece is at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire. It was installed in 2007, I believe. It’s well worth a visit.
I think it holds such personal significance for me because it was the first project I saw through the entire process. When I was on work experience at the foundry, some of the pieces were just coming out of the moulds. I probably even dipped a few pieces in the shell mixture to get them started!
Lucy: That must have been surreal.
Ben: It really was! There were these huge, life-and-a-half-scale heads being dunked into this liquid clay-like mixture. It felt like something out of Terminator, seeing them submerged and pulled out again.
And then, after that, I got to follow the entire process—making the waxes, casting the pieces, fettling them, patinating them, waxing them.
Lucy: What was the moment for you? The one that gave you that hairs-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling? Was it when the whole piece was finished? Or was it actually in the foundry, when you first saw the pieces emerging from the moulds?
Ben: It’s interesting. When you work in a foundry, everything becomes a bit… bread and butter. You’re doing your job to the best of your ability, but at the same time, your “everyday” involves working on incredible sculptures. And because you’re in the process of making them, it’s easy to forget the deeper artistic meaning behind them.
But for me, the moment was when we were invited to view the installed sculpture as a foundry team. The memorial is set on a large mound—about 100 metres by 6 metres—designed like an English barrow. On top, there’s a stone structure made from Portland stone, with two curved walls. Inside those walls sit the sculptures.
And it has this amazing feature—a narrow slit in the walls, positioned so that on Armistice Day, a shaft of light shines through and lands perfectly on a wreath in the centre. I thought that was just a stunning detail.
It was such a well-thought-out piece, from beginning to end. I think what really struck me was how considered it all was. I felt humbled by that. But the day we were invited to see it in situ—that was astonishingly moving. That’s when you truly realise the cultural impact.
The memorial commemorates all those who have died in active service since the Second World War. The stone sections feature hundreds of panels inscribed with names—around 16,000 in total. That sheer number is overwhelming. And not only that—when we visited, there were little gifts, teddies, and personal messages left around the bases of the walls.
The space itself has this incredible acoustic effect because of the way the curved Portland stone creates a kind of resonance. It makes everything feel ethereal, almost otherworldly. I’m not an overly emotional person, but I have to admit—there was definitely something in my eye that day.
Lucy: I can imagine. That kind of human connection—the weight of it, the meaning of it—must have been profound. Ian Rank-Broadley is such a fine sculptor. His work is incredibly thought-provoking.
I have to say, I’m gutted he doesn’t want to do an interview with us! But I understand it’s not personal—he’s just not one for interviews. I would love to talk to him about his process because his work is so clever and deeply considered.
I can see why this piece had such an impact on you. I suppose there’s always a danger, when you work so closely on a project, that by the time it’s finished, the emotional impact might be lost. You’ve spent so much time on the practical side, on each individual element, that maybe the whole wouldn’t hit as hard.
But that’s the power of great sculpture, isn’t it? And, of course, the architectural element elevates it even further.
Ben: Yes, exactly. The collaboration on that project was incredible—so many people coming together to make it happen. And for me, having that personal connection—having nursed the piece through its construction—really made it sink in.
It was also a moment of realisation for me. This was early in my career, and it was when it clicked that what I was doing mattered. Helping sculptures into the world is important.
Sculpture has this unique power to be a focal point for impossible losses, impossible grief. We have the ability to create and facilitate objects that offer sanctuary and consolation.
Lucy: Yes, and I know from working on war memorials that they become places of release. People desperately need to tell their stories. They see us there—caring for the sculpture—and they feel the need to unload the burden they’re carrying.
Often, it’s family members of those who have been affected. And you can’t build that into your pricing, can you? You can’t say, Seventeen hours of conversations with grieving people, added to the invoice! But it’s vital. People need that.
We’re not physically there at every sculpture all the time, but memorials become places where people mentally unload their grief. And thank goodness they exist, because not every loss is given a space to be remembered.
When you look at the number of names on that wall—so many people who have died in conflict since the Second World War—it’s staggering. You’d think there wouldn’t be that many names, but there are.
Ben: Yes, that’s exactly it.
Lucy: Well, I think my choice is about to take us in completely the opposite direction! Yours was incredibly moving—mine is not sad at all. I’ve chosen Nick Fiddian-Green’s Horse Head, which used to be at Marble Arch but has now been moved slightly down the road, near Hyde Park.
Ben: Ah, yes!
Lucy: I chose it not just because I adore horses—I’ve loved them all my life, worked in racing when I was younger, and just think they’re extraordinary creatures—but because of the moment I had when I first saw it. At the time, I wasn’t familiar with Fiddian-Green’s work. I’d been at Selfridges—one of my clients—and I was rushing to jump on a bus.
I came around the corner at Hyde Park, and there it was. This colossal horse’s head, seemingly grazing from the sky. It just looked like it belonged there.
You know how you were saying that a roundabout isn’t necessarily the most logical place for a sculpture? Well, in this case, it absolutely worked. It stopped me dead in my tracks. I thought, Yes, that is exactly what I needed to see today. It pulled me out of my busyness, out of my rushing. The size, the scale, the composition—everything was just… perfect.
It needed to be that big. You wonder, don’t you? But no—it absolutely had to be that scale. And I think part of what makes it so striking is the way the neck just disappears into the sky. It’s only a head and a neck, yet it feels so complete.
For me, that moment was unforgettable. It didn’t make me cry—neither did yours, for the record! But it was one of those moments that stays with you. And I think that’s exactly what sculpture should do—it should shake us out of our own heads, out of our busyness.
Everyone is so busy, especially in London. There’s always a thousand things to do, a thousand places to be. And yet, for that moment, it just stopped me. Nick Fiddian-Green has, on three separate occasions, promised me he’ll come on the show—but I’ve yet to pin him down. I will pursue him indefinitely! But honestly, his work did exactly what I imagine he wanted it to do.
Nic Fiddian Green – Still Water (2010)
Ben: Well, I’ve got an inside connection on that one too—I worked on it!
Lucy: No! You did? I knew I’d invited the right person on!
Ben: Yeah, it was an incredible piece to work on. As you say, it’s such a beautiful, arresting sculpture—monumental, yet somehow placid. But what I always think about is the experience of physically handling it. I was one of the principal metalworkers on that job, and I remember trying to roll it over in the workshop.
Lucy: Oh my god, I can’t even begin to imagine how you’d do that!
Ben: It was stressful. Trying to choke the lifting hoist at just the right point, so it could tip under its own weight without suddenly tumbling and taking out half the workshop—it was tense.
Lucy: That must have been one of those stand back, everyone! moments.
Ben: Exactly! And then there are all the things you don’t see in the finished sculpture. During that job, I remember thinking it would be brilliant to do a calendar of photos of people working on sculptures.
There were so many incredible images of welders working inside that casting. Inside, it was like this subterranean cavern system, full of reflections, colours, tones—all these shades of heat and oxidation. It was a whole other world, completely unseen once the piece was finished.
Lucy: That’s so true. The only criticism I have now is that they’ve moved it down the road, and it’s practically inaccessible. I mean, you can get to it—if you’re willing to risk life and limb crossing three lanes of traffic on either side.
Marble Arch was busy too, but at least it was open. Now, it’s on this weird little island, and it just feels too cut off. And that’s one of my biggest frustrations with public sculpture. There’s no overarching curation of public spaces.
Ben: Yes!
Lucy: That’s why we have so many statues that should be moved elsewhere, while new work struggles to find the right home. There’s no central vision. Every council does its own thing. Sometimes it falls under highways planning, sometimes it’s Royal Parks—it’s all completely fragmented.
I swear my life’s mission is going to be becoming a curator of public spaces. Because without that, we end up with exactly this problem. That sculpture would be perfect in Hyde Park or somewhere with just a little less chaos around it. I mean, how are you supposed to have a moment with a piece when there are six lanes of traffic roaring past on either side?
Ben: Yes, exactly.
Lucy: Anyway—next sculpture! Have you got another one?
Ben: Yes, something a little different this time—something I wasn’t involved with, because it’s carved from alabaster. One of my earliest great sculpture moments was with Jacob Epstein’s Jacob and the Angel.
I first saw it at Tate Britain. Memory might be playing tricks, but I recall it being tucked away—not in a major room, but somewhere off to the side, near a stairwell.
Lucy: Oh, I love that piece!
Ben: Yes, and what struck me at the time was that you couldn’t really stand back from it. It’s an imposing sculpture—so solid, so full of volume—and you get this overwhelming sense of the stone it was carved from. It has this extraordinary mixture of strength, tenderness, power, and support.
I remember just standing there, feeling totally drawn in by it. It’s one of those pieces you want to walk around, to puzzle over, to try and understand. And yet, there’s something deliberately unknowable about it.
That sculpture has kind of become a touchstone for me. I’ve followed it around a little—when it was at Tate Liverpool, I went to see it there as well. And that’s something I find really important with sculpture—being able to check back in with certain pieces, to reconnect with that feeling, that moment of escape or release.
Just stepping into the space of a sculpture like that, being surrounded by the themes and emotions it evokes—it’s powerful. So yes, Jacob and the Angel was a big one for me.
Lucy: Great choice. Really great choice. I mean, shame it’s not a bronze, but you can’t have everything.
Ben: (laughs) True!
Lucy: I think Epstein must have felt a real personal connection to the piece—he does share a name with the Jacob in the biblical story.
Ben: Yes, and that connection definitely plays into it. The story, from Genesis, is open to so much interpretation. I’d encourage anyone to look into it and take their own meaning from it. For me, at least in the last six months, it’s become a sculpture about struggle—and about being blessed for not giving up.
There are so many ways to read into it, but that’s the meaning that resonates with me most. And I think in my own work, I’m always drawn to themes of human strength, struggle, and courage.
This piece really captures that. And the feeling of support, too—physically, you can see how Jacob is being lifted. His heels are raised, as if he’s just leaving the ground, while the angel has its knees bent, taking his weight. There’s this moment of uplift—it’s all in there. It’s just a beautiful sculpture.
Lucy: Okay—so, my last one. I really tried not to choose someone I’ve interviewed, because I didn’t want it to feel like favouritism, but I just couldn’t avoid it. Paul Day is one of those sculptors where I feel like I could look at any of his pieces and be completely drawn in.
They’re all incredible. But I distinctly remember the rush of emotion I felt when I first saw The Meeting Place – his sculpture at St Pancras, which is often referred to as The Kiss.
Ben: Oh, yes!
Lucy: When I interviewed him, he told me how much criticism he’d received for that piece—how much stick people had given him. And I was so surprised! I hadn’t clocked it at the time, but apparently, the reaction was quite divisive.
I felt, even in the interview, that he was a little sensitive about it. Not ashamed of it, exactly, but aware of the criticism. And yet, my own reaction was so overwhelmingly positive. Maybe it’s because I’m a bit sentimental, a bit romantic—but there’s something about the closeness of the two figures. The squeeze of the embrace.
For me, it just perfectly captures that feeling of love—of reunion. Anyone who’s ever been in love knows that feeling.
Ben: Yes, it really does convey something universal.
Lucy: Exactly. And the criticism—about the facial features, about the stylisation—I just don’t buy it. He wasn’t trying to sculpt ultra-realistic people. It’s stylised—but for me, it completely captures the essence of what that moment is. That seeing someone again moment. That grasp, that relief, that emotion, and I think the placement of the sculpture really helps. You can stand back from it, you can see it properly.
Ben: Yes, because it’s at the end of the platform, isn’t it?
Lucy: Exactly! It’s in a transitional space—a place of movement, of arrivals and departures, and that fits perfectly, because that’s what the sculpture is about.
It’s about those raw moments—when people are reunited, when all that emotion is there. For me, it’s definitely up there as one of my favourites.
Ben: That’s a fantastic choice.
Lucy: The problem with this topic is that it could go on forever. I started with a list of twelve, then had to force myself to cut it down to two! So I think we might have to do a follow-up episode—Sculptures That Transport, Part Two!
© Paul Day – The Meeting Place (St. Pancras)
Before we wrap up, Ben, would you like to let everyone know where they can find you?
Ben: Absolutely!
I’m on all the socials as @benbroadbentsculptor, and my website is www.benbroadbent.com.
And my business, Apex Art Services, is @apexartservices on social media.
You can also find a section about it on my website—for all your mould-making, casting, and finishing needs.
Lucy: Brilliant! Cold casting, all that good stuff. Thank you so much for joining me today, Ben—I’ve absolutely loved this conversation.
And Happy Christmas, everyone!
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