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拍品專文
“This little beast, fast and fleeting, active in the spring, standing upright for only a second or two, can carry much of Flanagan’s purposes. It is the consummation of the vein of humour in his art. But it also has serious artistic purposes as a vehicle for formal variations. I think it would be wrong not to recognise that there are numerous forms and attitudes taken by the hare that repeat a kind of classic modern figure sculpture.” - (T. Hilton, ‘Less a slave of other people’s thinking’, in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan Sculpture, British Arts Council, Venice Biennale, 1982, p. 14)
The success of Flanagan’s work lies within its dichotomy, marrying whimsical humour and playfulness with the careful calculation and balance of form. This is evident in Six Foot Leaping Hare on Steel Pyramid, 1990, which stands impressively tall, its pyramidal base imbuing a sense of the monumental. The present work displays Flanagan’s iconic and most celebrated motif – the hare, which was introduced into his work from 1979. Here his beast majestically leaps out into the void, its limbs outstretched in a joyous and exuberant pose, grounded only by the stacked pyramidal steel base, on which it sits. Flanagan strikingly juxtaposes form and material – the geometrically composed base, built of layers of horizontal steel rods, dramatically contrasting with the sinuous and organic form of the bronze hare.
Motion and immediacy are tantamount, as Flanagan’s hare attempts to bound free. Flanagan seamlessly captures the elusive nature of the hare, portraying its characteristically swift and rapid response, which often outmanoeuvres and bests its predators. Its bid for freedom is marred, however, by the gravitational pull of its base, whose tip only just touches its stomach, preventing the hare from leaping away. This struggle between liberty and restraint creates a powerfully visceral tension which resonates throughout the work.
Flanagan, a member of the Royal Zoological Society of London since 1976, had a keen interest in animals from an early age, often depicting dogs, ducks and geese in his early sketches. It was not until 1979, however, with the introduction of the hare motif and Flanagan’s exploration of bronze casting, that they became an indominable and central part of his oeuvre. The origin of his inspiration for the hare has been variously recorded, with academics citing a host of potential sources from Joan Miró and Albrecht Dürer to Yves Klein, who’s famous photograph has been linked with his Leaping Hare works. Didier Semin contests, ‘The Leaping Hare was a new departure for him, a sort of leap into the void – and the posture of the leaping animal can’t help but evoke Yves Klein launching out into the open air in 1960 in front of Harry Shunk’s and John Kender’s cameras’ (D. Semin, Barry Flanagan Solutions imaginaires, Paris, 2019, pp. 81-82).
In literature George Ewart Evans and David Thompson published their seminal book The Leaping Hare, 1972, which was a known source of inspiration to Flanagan. Indeed, the hare had been a potent symbol internationally throughout history, adopting a host of symbolic and mythological attributes over the centuries. Lewis Biggs explains, ‘The most consistent and pervasive meaning invested in the hare is its association with ‘life’ itself, whether by the Egyptians (the hieroglyph for hare means ‘existence’), the Chinese (whose hare visits the moon to look for the herb of immortality), or in our North Mediterranean cultures, in which it was connected to the gods of Hermes and Mercury, and eventually to resurrection and Christ’ (L. Biggs, ‘Introducing the Circus’, in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan Visual Invitation, Sculpture 1967-1987, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Laing Art Gallery, 1987, pp. 46-49)
Flanagan, although drawn to the rich history of the hare and its transcultural symbolic implications, was not bound by it. Instead, he used it as a surrogate figure for human expression and a vehicle to express universal truths. Tim Hilton explains, ‘the hare is used to make a connection between the particular and the numinous. It can be thought of as personal, or a person; or as a symbol for a person; or as a symbol for some universal principle’ (T. Hilton, ‘Less a slave of other people’s thinking’, in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan Sculpture, British Arts Council, Venice Biennale, 1982, p. 14).
This is surmised by Flanagan: ‘Thematically the choice of the hare is quite a rich and expressive sort of model; the conventions of the cartoon and the investment of human attributes to the animal world is a very well-practiced device, in literature and film etc., and is really quite poignant. And on a practical level, if you consider what conveys situation and meaning in and feeling in a human figure, the range of expression is in fact far more limited than the device of investing an animal – a hare especially – with the expressive attributes of a human being. The ears for instance, are really able to convey far more than the squint in an eye of a figure, or a grimace on the face of a model’ (B. Flanagan, quoted in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan A Visual Invitation, Sculpture 1967-1987, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Laing Art Gallery, 1987, p. 49).
The success of Flanagan’s work lies within its dichotomy, marrying whimsical humour and playfulness with the careful calculation and balance of form. This is evident in Six Foot Leaping Hare on Steel Pyramid, 1990, which stands impressively tall, its pyramidal base imbuing a sense of the monumental. The present work displays Flanagan’s iconic and most celebrated motif – the hare, which was introduced into his work from 1979. Here his beast majestically leaps out into the void, its limbs outstretched in a joyous and exuberant pose, grounded only by the stacked pyramidal steel base, on which it sits. Flanagan strikingly juxtaposes form and material – the geometrically composed base, built of layers of horizontal steel rods, dramatically contrasting with the sinuous and organic form of the bronze hare.
Motion and immediacy are tantamount, as Flanagan’s hare attempts to bound free. Flanagan seamlessly captures the elusive nature of the hare, portraying its characteristically swift and rapid response, which often outmanoeuvres and bests its predators. Its bid for freedom is marred, however, by the gravitational pull of its base, whose tip only just touches its stomach, preventing the hare from leaping away. This struggle between liberty and restraint creates a powerfully visceral tension which resonates throughout the work.
Flanagan, a member of the Royal Zoological Society of London since 1976, had a keen interest in animals from an early age, often depicting dogs, ducks and geese in his early sketches. It was not until 1979, however, with the introduction of the hare motif and Flanagan’s exploration of bronze casting, that they became an indominable and central part of his oeuvre. The origin of his inspiration for the hare has been variously recorded, with academics citing a host of potential sources from Joan Miró and Albrecht Dürer to Yves Klein, who’s famous photograph has been linked with his Leaping Hare works. Didier Semin contests, ‘The Leaping Hare was a new departure for him, a sort of leap into the void – and the posture of the leaping animal can’t help but evoke Yves Klein launching out into the open air in 1960 in front of Harry Shunk’s and John Kender’s cameras’ (D. Semin, Barry Flanagan Solutions imaginaires, Paris, 2019, pp. 81-82).
In literature George Ewart Evans and David Thompson published their seminal book The Leaping Hare, 1972, which was a known source of inspiration to Flanagan. Indeed, the hare had been a potent symbol internationally throughout history, adopting a host of symbolic and mythological attributes over the centuries. Lewis Biggs explains, ‘The most consistent and pervasive meaning invested in the hare is its association with ‘life’ itself, whether by the Egyptians (the hieroglyph for hare means ‘existence’), the Chinese (whose hare visits the moon to look for the herb of immortality), or in our North Mediterranean cultures, in which it was connected to the gods of Hermes and Mercury, and eventually to resurrection and Christ’ (L. Biggs, ‘Introducing the Circus’, in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan Visual Invitation, Sculpture 1967-1987, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Laing Art Gallery, 1987, pp. 46-49)
Flanagan, although drawn to the rich history of the hare and its transcultural symbolic implications, was not bound by it. Instead, he used it as a surrogate figure for human expression and a vehicle to express universal truths. Tim Hilton explains, ‘the hare is used to make a connection between the particular and the numinous. It can be thought of as personal, or a person; or as a symbol for a person; or as a symbol for some universal principle’ (T. Hilton, ‘Less a slave of other people’s thinking’, in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan Sculpture, British Arts Council, Venice Biennale, 1982, p. 14).
This is surmised by Flanagan: ‘Thematically the choice of the hare is quite a rich and expressive sort of model; the conventions of the cartoon and the investment of human attributes to the animal world is a very well-practiced device, in literature and film etc., and is really quite poignant. And on a practical level, if you consider what conveys situation and meaning in and feeling in a human figure, the range of expression is in fact far more limited than the device of investing an animal – a hare especially – with the expressive attributes of a human being. The ears for instance, are really able to convey far more than the squint in an eye of a figure, or a grimace on the face of a model’ (B. Flanagan, quoted in exhibition catalogue, Barry Flanagan A Visual Invitation, Sculpture 1967-1987, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Laing Art Gallery, 1987, p. 49).