Public sculpture should be bold, rare and not set in stone

Every morning for years, I walked past the same statue on my way into the Telegraph: a bronze depicting a naked boy clinging to the dorsal fin of a dolphin. Until I encountered this piece by Sir David Wynne, I had been an unwavering advocate of public art. But this monstrosity, on Chelsea’s Cheyne Walk, sorely tested my resolve.

I thought of it this week, when Rachel Whiteread, whose retrospective has just opened at Tate Britain, said too much sculpture is “ill thought-out and put in places that it shouldn’t necessarily be”, adding: “Art is there for a reason and should be respected and looked at, and not just a sideshow.”

That was certainly the rationale after the war. Then many great metal monoliths were erected; while they might not have been universally loved, at least they had purpose – to create welcoming public spaces in our bombed-out cities and bring together shattered communities. Today, however, we have taken that philosophy to its illogical conclusion, with local councils and committees slapping a forest of sculptures willy-nilly all over our crowded streets, with no shared narrative.

Not only is this public art too prolific, it’s also too pricey. The Government has swung it axe at arts funding, with galleries and theatres scrabbling around for private donors to make up the shortfall. By contrast, millions are still spent on sculpture – much of it ugly.

Whiteread calls it “plop art” – a term coined in 1969 by US architect James Wines to describe sculpture carelessly plonked down, with little thought for scale or environment. Think of Maggi Hambling’s scallop shell on Aldeburgh beach, described as “rusting scrap metal” and repeatedly vandalised since its 2004 unveiling. Despite calls for it to be moved, the piece has remained. And that might be where we are going wrong.

Cast your mind back over the past decade, and three beacons of public art spring to mind: Banksy, Trafalgar Square’s fourth plinth and the Tower of London ceramic poppies that marked 100 years since the start of the First World War.

Part of Banksy’s allure, of course, is his (or her) anonymity. But we are also excited by the impermanence of street art. And although sanctioned via a more formal process, the fourth plinth (which features a rolling programme of modern art) and poppies, which were on display for just four months, also captured some of that same creative flair, imagination and rebelliousness. All happily transient.

Our little island is full to the gunwales with fixed monuments. Churches, cathedrals and squares are overflowing with statues, shrines and memorials which we can’t just chuck out. We already boast worldbeating statues and landmarks, from Sir Antony Gormley’s Angel of the North in Tyneside to Stonehenge.

Surely the key to falling back in love with our public art is moderation and flexibility? Be few, be bold, but also, as with the Tower’s poppies, be temporary. Very occasionally we must make space for important, once-in-a-generation works – like the first statue of a woman in Parliament Square, Millicent Fawcett, the result of a Telegraph campaign earlier this year – but the rest should be a movable feast.

That said, don’t touch the dolphin. After all this time, I’ve become rather fond of it.