Hello, Sculpture Vultures, and thank you for joining me today. I’m back after a couple of weeks of working away on my novel. I’ve been really immersed in it, getting the edits ready so it can go off for a first round with an editor. And it’s always a very bruising process. You think you’ve written Tolstoy, and then it comes back from the editor, marked up in the equivalent of what teachers used to do with red ink at school.

These days, of course, it’s all done in a Word document with track changes, but still, there are usually an awful lot of corrections. And although you think you’re near the end, you actually realise you’re really at the beginning.

I’ve also been doing some work for the 85th anniversary of the Little Ships of Dunkirk. I beetled down to Ramsgate to work on a memorial plaque, which was in a bit of a state and needed some conservation work. This plaque is the focal point commemorating a very touching story: the Little Ships, around 850 boats in total, that sailed from Ramsgate all the way to Dunkirk in northern France from about the 26th of May to the 4th of June. It was part of Operation Dynamo, which helped rescue more than 336,000 British, French, and other Allied soldiers who were trapped on the beaches of Dunkirk during the Second World War.

There were so many young men stranded on those beaches, completely cut off in France, and the big naval ships couldn’t get close enough to them. So they involved all the locals who had small craft in Ramsgate to sail across the coast. Many of them had naval officers aboard, or if you were an experienced sailor or fisherman, you were allowed to help. They crossed the sea and rescued those young men. It was really a privilege to work on something like that.

I’ve always felt it’s a story of genuine heroism. I love the fact that it was the little guys who saved the situation. It was the locals who enabled this rescue to happen. That’s really what conservation is for. I want to help make sure things like that are remembered. I want to make sure the bronze can be read. That’s the problem with plaques: they become so disfigured by corrosion that no one can read them. And then what’s the point of them? If you can’t read them, they’re not just being neglected, they’re also not being used.

But on a completely different note, today on the show I’m talking to Neil Armstrong, the creator and owner of Treer Sculpture Park, which is down in Cornwall. This is a bit of a different one. We’re not talking about bronze monuments in public spaces in quite the same way I usually do, but it’s one of those places that I think Sculpture Vultures will want to worship at. It’s a unique place, a sculpture garden located in Cornwall with some very important sculptures, international representation, and some renowned artists.

Since its inception, it has grown. It’s not just a sculpture park anymore, it includes a house, an indoor gallery, a restaurant, a gift shop, and a nursery. And all this is the result of one man’s desire for a project. Dr. Neil Armstrong, a GP, had a notion that he needed something to nourish his soul, and this is what he came up with.

I was asked to do a condition assessment for one of his sculptures, a contemporary piece called Red Stacksby Shaika Al-Mazrou. She’s a wonderful sculptor, and she had a piece down there which is now moving. So my assistant, my Neil, we’ve got two Neils on the show now, went down to Cornwall to look at the piece and have a good chat with Mr. Armstrong. He came back absolutely brimming with excitement about the place. They’ve got some really serious sculpture there.

Sadly, it’s not all bronze, that’s my only criticism. Red Stacks is a fibreglass piece. I do a lot of contemporary sculpture. I know I’m known for bronze, but I specialise in post-19th-century sculpture, which means it’s not always bronze. I’ve done an awful lot with fibreglass pieces, and this is one of those. It’s a particularly interesting piece.

He’s also got works by James Turrell, Richard Long, David Nash, Tim Shaw, who is coming on the show shortly, and an amazing list of others. Neil asked me to give a particular mention to Kishio Suga, a wildly obscure Japanese artist who was a founding member of the Mono-ha art movement. They were very influential on the Italian Arte Povera group, who in turn influenced the British land artists.

I think it’s the only work by him in Europe apart from the one in Tate Modern, so it’s really significant. You can’t see this kind of sculpture every day, and it’s the kind of sculpture that’s quite hard to understand. It’s very complex. But we’re up to the task. If Sculpture Vultures aren’t, then who is?

So I was particularly interested in the man who could create such a place, and I began our conversation by asking where the idea for the sculpture park first came about.

Nine Unequal Angles – Bernar Venet. © Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens

The Story Behind Treemenheere Sculpture Gardens

Neil: In 1997, I’d been working as a GP for about 10 years as a partner, and I had a sort of mid-career need to do something different, just as a foil for my day job. Something more adventurous, if you like. A little bit of land came up, and initially I just thought, this is a wonderful place to hang out and spend my weekends dreaming, I guess, and doing some physical work, which is quite important if you’re sitting all day in a doctor’s surgery. It’s good to get outside, get some fresh air, and do something physical.

So, sitting there looking around, I became aware that this was a very special place. It just had a whole collection of amazing blessings in terms of the soil, the aspect, the climate, the views, and the spirit of the place was very special. So I thought, what can I do here?

I’ve got quite an interest in horticulture and quite an interest in contemporary art, and I thought I could have some proper playtime here. Initially, it was just an indulgence, doing some clearing and planting. Then I had an opportunity to buy a bit more land, which I did, and I thought I could do something a bit more expansive.

Then I wondered, what could I do that wouldn’t be a massive indulgence just for me? Something that would justify all this endeavour. I thought of creating a big garden using subtropical, architectural, structural plants in a dramatic way, something that would celebrate the blessings of this place. And that idea was quite nice, but again, it would have seemed a bit self-indulgent.

A Unique Vision: Balancing Landscape, Sculpture, and Planting

All the big gardens in Victorian times were centred around big houses, parterres, driveways, and all the elaborate infrastructure, none of which I had. So I thought, what about having contemporary art as the focus for the garden? Or not even so much the focus, but something that might complement the landscape and the planting to create something that made the best use of what was on offer.

So this essentially became the guiding principle, this holy trinity of landscape, sculpture, and planting. Each has to respect the other.

And it’s been a very useful touchstone in design, in siting the artwork, and in trying to create something that’s more than the sum of its parts.

I don’t think it’s really been done to this degree elsewhere. In fact, in 1997, I took a sabbatical from work and spent three months looking at sculpture parks and gardens throughout Europe, from Naples back to Penzance, and that was very informative. Essentially, I learned what not to do. I came across some spectacular sculpture that was very badly placed and sited, with no relationship to its wider context or even its micro-context. It seemed that very expensive and notable works weren’t being displayed to their best effect.

So one of my main goals was to try to present the work in a more sympathetic way. If it looks uncomfortable in a place, it’s probably in the wrong place. Siting is always a discussion, sometimes an arm wrestle, with the artist. And I only really work with living artists for that reason. I don’t want to be a depository for dead artists’ work. It’s a living process, the siting and presentation of the work, and I think it benefits from that.

Lucy: I’m going to take you back a tiny bit. So this began as a passion project something to nourish your soul. It sounds like you’ve had a hard career. I can’t imagine a harder career than medicine, actually. So this was something that was supposed to revitalise you in some way?

Neil: There’s a huge amount of work.

Lucy: how on earth did you manage to take on a passion project with so much work involved?

Neil: Actually, it was really helpful. This labour of love, or passion work was hugely restorative and addictive, actually. It made my day job all the more bearable. My day job was hard work, yes, but it was hugely engaging. There’s very much human interaction every day with 40 different people.

Neil: And it’s not easy by any means, but of all the jobs I could do, it was my number one choice. It was so hugely interesting, exciting, and absorbing. It’s not always a huge pool of fun, but it’s certainly a very engaging occupation. So this other activity actually helped me get through my day job. And I’m married with four kids as well, so that just added to the mix.

Lucy: Maybe it was a good escape from the madness of family life as well. A bit of…

Neil: That. I mean, some of the kids did come and hang out, kick a ball around, and have picnics here and there. It was a family adventure in some ways too. All four of the kids came with us to Naples in the back of the car. We drove and found all these sculpture parks on the way, and they had all their own ideas and views — which were very valid, I think, as regular customers or potential visitors. I don’t have any monopoly over wisdom or knowledge, so I’m always interested in other people’s views. And my family were keen to express theirs at times, which was great.

Lucy: Where did that interest in contemporary sculpture come from? Was that already part of your life?

Neil: No. I was fortunate to go to medical school at Trinity College in Dublin, which is right in the city centre. That meant, rather than going to lectures, I could go off and look at the art galleries, commercial galleries, and all the other interesting things going on. There was actually a contemporary art gallery in our college as well, and I was surrounded by quite an active cultural scene. This was in the early 1980s, so I was keen to learn and experience all the artwork happening in the city.

Then, of course, wherever we went on holiday, we always explored the cultural setup. Food and culture were the two main interests when we travelled.

Minotaur – Tim Shaw RA © Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens

Lucy: And did you have a vision right away for what you wanted it to be? Or was it just too big at the beginning to have a vision?

Neil: Everything’s happened incrementally. Nothing arrived fully formed on day one. It was always about slowly chipping away. When I arrived, there were maybe five or six acres of completely overgrown bush, brambles, bracken, which needed to be cleared. So there were about five years of just cutting and burning to get access to the woodland.

There were two small fields in crops, which had become slightly overgrown, but the rest of the land hadn’t been touched for maybe 70 or 80 years. It was impenetrable bush. That gave me plenty of time to get to know the physical properties of the land, the aspects, the shelter, the light. So I had an opportunity to think about planting schemes, and I’ve remained fairly true to the original landscape plan because it’s essentially self-evident. Plants are happiest where they’re happiest, on sunny slopes, at the edge of woodland or ponds, and so on. Respecting what the landscape tells you has dictated the planting scheme.

Then the sculpture kind of came along to fit in with that. I’ve always tried to keep everything in balance. There are so many standing features of the land, the views, the tall mature trees, the active stream, so my job was really not to muck things up. I was very conscious of that. It would be easy to get carried away with contemporary landscape design and make some rather heavy-handed insertions.

The idea has always been to keep a sense of this being a healing place, a place for de-stressing. We’ve carried that through in various ways. For example, we don’t use labels for the plants and keep signage to a minimum, so there’s less visual pollution. We don’t want to shout at visitors. I’m quite keen on this sort of understated exposure to nature and art, a sense of place that one explores in one’s own way, rather than being overly prescriptive.

That cuts both ways, of course. Some people wander around slightly dazed and lost, but that’s the price you pay for not ruining the spirit of what is, essentially, a wild landscape.

Lucy: And are you using it yourself anymore to restore body and mind, or do you feel like you’ve now done this for the public, for the greater good?

Neil: I retired from medicine about a year ago, so I’m there every day, pretty much. If I’m in the country, I’m in the garden. This is what I do now. It’s my retirement project, but it was also my lifetime project. Over the last year or so, things have really moved forward, not so much in terms of the artwork, but in terms of planting and redesigning the land.

It’s gained a little bit of acceleration in its progress, partly because the reality of having the public come in means we’ve had to be more mindful of health and safety and access issues. That’s been quite a driver of late. So I’m not sitting back admiring the works, it’s very much a work in progress.

Lucy: I just can’t imagine the scale of work. The maintenance alone must be huge.

Neil: We’re not the National Trust or one of the RHS gardens. It’s not manicured or maintained to within an inch of its life. It’s a relaxed garden, and I think a lot of our visitors like the idea that it’s not perfect. They don’t feel as if it’s a show garden, because it certainly isn’t. It’s maintained to a level where things are attractive and not overgrown or overrun.

In another part of my life, I spent a lot of time gathering seed in remote locations. Each of those journeys brought back a set of plants, each with its own memories and stories. So I’m very conscious that these are precious things I need to protect. The maintenance is partly for general visual purposes but also for preserving the integrity of some very rare and interesting plants and trees.

It’s not a huge hardship, really. It’s not backbreaking work. I wouldn’t like anyone to think this was some kind of purgatory, because it isn’t. It’s joyful.

The Challenges and Joys of Curating a Living Art Space

Lucy: No, I didn’t mean that, but I wondered if it was like a monster of your own making. It’s such a wonderful idea, landscape and sculpture, at least from my perspective, but you’ve now got an indoor gallery, you’ve got people coming in, which brings health and safety concerns… it just seems like a lot for a retirement project.

Neil: Yes, but I need something to do. I’m not going to sit in a chair. The idea of stopping work and sitting by the fire doesn’t appeal at all. I’m very happy to be doing this. It brings a lot of people a good deal of joy, and me too, and that’s very rewarding.

We’ve also got a restaurant, a shop, and a nursery, so we’re providing quite significant employment in a very socially deprived area. I’m very conscious of where I live. It’s one of the poorest parts of the country, and Europe, actually. So we try to make a positive contribution. We source all our supplies locally wherever possible. It’s done in what I believe is a socially responsible way, and I’m proud of that. It has legs, too. It’s a growing enterprise that will hopefully carry on when I’m gone. Creating a legacy like that is very rewarding, though I’m not quite ready to go just yet.

From Passion Project to Public Space

Lucy: No, stick around a bit longer. So are you constantly on the lookout for new artists? You mentioned wanting to work with living artists, which I think is a good idea if you want to have them involved. But does that mean you’re always keeping an eye out for something that might work? Or are people pitching to you now?

Tewlwolow Kernow – James Turrell RA. © Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens

Neil: Everything arrives in a strange way, it’s all on the good ship Serendipity, really.

To go right back, the first major artist I worked with was James Turrell in 1999. In fact, he first arrived in 1998, which is a good while ago now. So to start off an adventure with one of the most important artists on the planet was a pretty good break.

We have two works by him, two significant, permanent works, which is just amazing. I get invited to openings and events all the time as a result of that, and I think it opened the door for other people to ask, “What’s that guy down in Cornwall up to?”

From there, I started getting approaches from various places. The selection process is very democratic and benign, it’s a committee of one. I can’t really tell you the criteria or exactly why some things arrive and some things are rejected. It’s not easy to articulate. Sometimes it’s just that question of: Will it work? Will it fit in? Will it bring something to the party?

I’m not interested in hosting work just because it’s by a big name or satisfies someone else’s ego. It’s a broad church, and everything has to contribute, even in small ways.

Sometimes that means just acting as a directional prompt or providing a focus for a view. Sometimes a piece does something very functional, like anchoring a corner that might otherwise seem dull. The works have to earn their keep. They can’t just hang around and be beautiful, they need to do something.

Of course, it’s nice if they’re visually attractive, but most of the work is abstract or conceptual. I’ve always felt that figurative work might look a bit out of place in such a wild setting.

Choosing and Placing Sculpture: A Thoughtful Process

Each work is considered in terms of what it will bring, where it might go, and how it could affect or disrupt other works in the landscape. I often think of it like throwing pebbles into a pond, the ripples need to avoid interfering with the ripples of other sculptures nearby. A work that has a big psychological impact might dominate a space, even if it’s not physically large. So it’s always about thinking of the bigger picture, not just the micro-detail of the sculpture itself.

Lucy: Oh, I love this idea that the sculptures have to be useful. I’ve got this image of them all out weeding in the evening to earn their keep.

Neil: Yes, they do have to earn their keep, not necessarily by doing something functional, but it’s not about providing a stage for something to just flaunt itself. Each sculpture has to have its own integrity, its own merit, and its own story. That’s something people can engage with when they come and look at them.

We’ve just completed quite a bit of work trying to provide bios for the artists and also to make the pieces more accessible to visitors, accessible in terms of helping them understand what the artist was trying to communicate. There’s the micro detail of the work itself, and then there’s the bigger picture of where it’s placed.

The idea of something being “site-specific” is a bit of a cliché now, and it’s rarely taken as seriously as it should be. For us, site-specific means not just in relation to the landscape but also in relation to the planting, the existing trees, the views, other sculptures, and the paths. The gardens are also compartmentalised, in a way, each area has its own zone, and within that zone, the sculpture carries its own weight. So it’s about trying to keep the balance between each area and the overall setting, if that makes sense.

Lucy: Is the decision-making entirely down to you, or do you now have a team helping with that?

Neil: I’m afraid it’s just me.

Lucy: That’s not a criticism, by the way.

Neil: I may not be right about everything, I’ve no idea, but at least it’s a single vision. I think once you involve committees, you’re on the road to mediocrity. You start compromising the spirit and the principles of the place. So keeping it simple and having me involved until I’m no longer involved helps to keep the vision coherent.

That said, there are lots of other people involved. We’ve got volunteers who are always happy to offer their views, and not all of them are complimentary. We’ve got lots of people chipping in, and I really do welcome their ideas and thoughts. If there’s something I can work with, that’s great. But normally, the work arrives, it’s placed, and then I ask people what they think of it. By then, it’s often a done deal, mostly because, until recently, I didn’t have the time to keep moving things around.

I’ve got a very trusted digger driver who’s been a great ally. He’s my fellow artist, in a way. He’s incredibly helpful in creating the space, levelling a plateau, building a plinth, or whatever’s required. So it’s usually technical help, and then, of course, lots of discussion with the artist throughout. That’s the main collaboration rather than a wider committee.

Lucy: Your way of doing things is quite independently minded. You’re doing it how you want to do it. That’s not to say you don’t take feedback on board, but you’ve definitely carved your own path. And in a way, that’s exactly what sculptors do. It’s the same for creatives more generally.

You’ve created a world, your world, and you’re inviting people into it. But the point is, none of it would exist without you. You are the creator. I think there’s a lot in common between what you’ve done here and what the sculptors whose work you feature are doing.

Neil: Yeah, I’m very happy to work with the artists. That’s part of the fun, actually, just kicking ideas around. One piece took us two years to place, literally, from the initial concept to finding its final home. So while it might sound like things just arrive and get plonked in, there’s actually a proper process. We take into account how it looks from all angles, how it interacts with the paths and views, and all sorts of other factors until we land on a solution that feels right.

It’s a small team, and every sculpture is placed with a slightly different team depending on the piece. I’m the only consistent presence in that process. Others come and go, but I think that’s how it should work.

Lucy: And have you funded all of this yourself, or have you had some help along the way?

 Black Mound – David Nash RA. © Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens

Neil: The second major piece we did was by David Nash. I had this oak tree I’d been chainsawing for a couple of months. Then I heard David was nearby, so I invited him over to have a look at the tree and the setting. He said, rather bluntly, that my oak tree was a bit puny, which hurt, but he was used to much bigger timber from the 1987 hurricane. He said he liked the setting, though.

So we set about creating something new. Back then, things were simpler. We contacted the Henry Moore Foundation, asked what they thought, and they said yes, their only criterion was quality. It’s very different now, much more bureaucratic. But that piece is still looking great 23 years later.

Most of the other work has either been funded by us, donated, or on long-term loan. I’ve tried to avoid outside funding where possible. Once you go down that road, it can start to distort the process, and honestly, it drains your will to live.

Lucy: It sounds like you’ve taken the approach that keeps you sane.

Neil: We did get some EU funding for the restaurant. That nearly finished everyone off. It was a horrendous experience. We got through it, and the result was successful, but it took a serious toll on everyone’s mental health. That whole experience made me decide I’d avoid funding bodies altogether if I could.

Lucy: Yeah, I totally get that. We get fantastic offers to collaborate or expand, but I’m actually very happy staying small. I know there’s potential out there, but I just can’t do more than I’m doing now. It’s too much.

Neil: And everything comes with obligations. They might seem like good opportunities, but they can easily pull you away from your original vision. That’s why I’m so committed to maintaining that balance, that Holy Trinity of landscape, sculpture, and planting. It has to stay in harmony.

So I’m not out looking for particular artists or artworks. If something comes along and it interests me, I’ll explore it. That kind of organic process has worked well so far. Of course, we do turn down a lot of offers. It’s not because the work isn’t good, it’s just not the right fit for this setting.

Lucy: It’s got to be a match, hasn’t it?

Neil: Exactly. And right now, we’re commissioning new work. Some pieces are being installed this week. There are some significant projects in the pipeline, and the gallery has an incredible programme coming up over the next five months. We’ve got three artist-led, artist-curated exhibitions, all inspired by sculpture.

Two of the exhibitions are curated by artist couples, husband and wife teams. All three curators have had work in the gardens at some point, so they’re people we know well and trust. This model, letting artists lead and collaborate is something we’re really excited about. It’s a new direction for the gallery, and it feels like the right one.

Lucy: Oh Neil, that’s really interesting. Can you tell people where they can find out more about you and the sculpture park, if they’d like to?

Neil: I’m honestly the least interesting part of the whole thing. But yes, there’s a website — it’s a .co.uk — and it includes some really fascinating history. The land dates back to 1295 when it was owned by the monks of St Michael’s Mount. Then it was owned by the Tremenheere family for over 600 years. The last of the Tremenheeres was a major Victorian social reformer who introduced 14 bills to Parliament. He was an extraordinary man, and I feel honoured to be using what was once his land for a very different kind of purpose.

I like to think he would’ve been supportive. He planted the original woodland, sweet chestnut, beech, oak, so he really shaped the landscape we have today. He’s a fascinating figure in his own right, worthy of a whole other conversation.

We’re also part of the Great Gardens of Cornwall, there are 14 in total.

Lucy: And do you have an Instagram page?

Neil: Yep, we do. And there’s a new book out on the Great Gardens of Cornwall, plus a new film that came out just a few weeks ago. It’s a really eclectic mix, everything from contemporary places like the Minack Theatre, which is literally carved into a cliff edge, to huge institutions like the Eden Project and the Lost Gardens of Heligan. So it’s a very broad group.

I’m featured in their Instagram reels, and we’ve got our own feed too. We’ve got a lovely social media person called Polly who takes care of that. And we’ve been mentioned recently in The Telegraph Online as one of the best gardens in Cornwall, so there’s been some nice publicity now and again.

Lucy: Oh Neil, thank you so much for joining me today. I really appreciate it.
What captivated me most about Neil was that he operates as a committee of one. He simply does this to please himself, on his own land, and in an age dominated by stakeholder consultation and institutional processes, that kind of creative independence feels almost old-fashioned, even though it’s so contemporary.

He’s pursuing excellence for its own sake. It reminded me of those Victorian gentlemen scholars and Olympic competitors who trained to the highest level purely for the love of the discipline, not for gain. In their time, that was the pinnacle of idealism.

And the idea of a Holy Trinity, landscape, sculpture, and garden, well, that’s what my version of heaven would look like. I have to doff my cap to him, because he’s created something quite unique.

Please support the show by buying one of my books. You can start with nonfiction if you’d like to learn how to conserve and care for bronze, just search my name wherever books are sold. You can also order them in bookshops; they’re all listed in the catalogues.

Or if you’d like a bit of fiction, something to get your heart racing with a touch of sculpture, mystery, and conservation, every one of my novels is packed with that sort of thing. I think you’d enjoy them.

I’ll be back in a few weeks, and I look forward to being with you again in June.

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