On 7 June 2020, during a Black Lives Matter protest in Bristol, the statue of Edward Colston came to a violent end. A demonstrator knelt on the statue's neck in a symbolic reenactment of the action that had killed George Floyd in Minneapolis the previous month. It was daubed in graffiti, dragged through the city and dumped into the harbour.

A bitter debate rages around the globe. In one camp are to be found those demanding the removal of statues of individuals cast as foul people responsible for foul deeds. Slave traders, empire builders, Confederate generals. In the other, those insisting on their preservation, arguing that history should be remembered in all its complexity, and contesting critical interpretations of the lives of hitherto revered figures.

The genesis of Voices in Stone lay in the realisation that this debate on the destruction of monuments is an unsatisfactory starting point to understand them. It recalls G. K. Chesterton's caution that before deciding to remove a fence, it would be well to ensure that you understand why it was put up in the first place.

I sought to look at statues from the perspectives of their full lives. Why were they erected? What did they mean to those who financed them and lobbied for them? Did the statues have the same meaning to those who gazed upon them? What happened after their construction? Were they the sites of commemoration? As the years passed, did their role change? And how did they die?

Viewed from this wider life-cycle perspective, the story of statues is a story of hubris. Typically carved and cast from durable materials like marble and bronze, their champions expect the statues to project admiration for their subject far into the future. This is a flawed assumption, as Shelley's poem Ozymandias nicely demonstrates. Shelley describes the boastful inscription on the pedestal of the statue that forms the subject of his poem:

'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'.

But the statue is a ruin, two 'trunkless legs of stone' standing in the desert, with a half-sunk head nearby. As societies' values evolve and heroes change, the changeless statues are out of step. The statue may simply appear quaint, or, as with Edward Colston, may take on a toxic quality. Occasionally, its effect may even be revelatory, as the statues of ancient Greece and Rome inspired Renaissance and Neoclassical artists.

‍

Ongoing thread. More from Paul Brummell to follow.