"A Fine Line," by Belgian sculptor Frederic Geurts, is currently in residence at the Fabrica Gallery in Brighton. Working as a volunteer at the gallery, I must sit with this monstrous sculpture - of which I have grown to admire - for hours at a time. My first meeting with this work was at my 'volunteer induction' meeting, where I was shown a small model of what the finished work would look like. This little model was seemingly incredibly fragile, but at the same time had an air of stability that screamed 'indestructible.' I did wonder how something of this fragility and apparent frailness would hold up on such a large scale. Looking around the exhibition space, I mused at the fact that this skeletal frame would be the only piece on show - a big job for any singular work in such an overpowering space (the building is a converted church, complete still, with altar).
The first day I sat in on the exhibition was the first day I saw the finished sculpture, and I have to admit, it definitely could hold its own in this already very strong space. The fine lines of the metal contrasted incredibly with the dark wood of the interior architecture of the building. A contrast that might not be seen if this work had been exhibited in the standard, white, characterless gallery spaces of today. At first I couldn't quite get my head around how this heavy plaster structure could sit so comfortably and safely upon metal legs as thin as cocktail sticks! But, it appeared to do so, without any support from above or below.
The plaster structure running along the top of the metal legs below appears almost as a white line in space from a distance. The metal stand is so unobtrusive that it is possible to almost just see the plaster - a wiggly line running through the gallery space. This was the idea that had driven Geurts. The concept of balance - a surprisingly sturdy, weighty top, to a conversely spindly, weak bottom. I remember one visitor came into the space with their child, who, upon spying the structure shouted "Look mummy, a giraffe!" And this I can see. To me, the sculpture is creature-like (it has move about a foot and a half along the floor since it was installed), taking on a life of its own. A baby foal struggling towards its first few steps.
The sculpture also changes dramatically when viewed from different angles. One afternoon, I decided to take a walk up to the altar. From here, the white line of the plaster appeared to meander uncontrollably towards the far wall - much more bendy than it seems from ground level. Visitors seem to grasp this necessity to view the creature from different angles, and as they stroll around it, like strolling around an animal at the zoo, they too seem bewildered, asking such questions as "It's nailed down, right?" Wrong. And this is what makes it so spectacular. Designed specifically for the space at Fabrica, it compliments the already existing architecture so well, whilst pressing issues about balance, fragility, space and material upon visitors. Of course, visitors get their own chance to try out balancing tasks, with large jenga and dominoes lying around the space, they are encouraged to experiment with the boundaries of balance and raise any questions niggling at them after viewing the structure. A fine example of balance at it's best.
