Imogen Stuart Passionate, prolific and playful German-Irish sculptor renowned for her striking pieces of work that adorn many public places

Imogen Stuart, the German-born Irish-based sculptor and woodcarver, died on March 24 at the age of 96. Renowned for her striking sculptures which were solid and strong with distinctive curves, her work adorns many churches and public places.

It includes the giant statue of Pope John Paul II in St Patrick’s College, Maynooth; her angel of peace in St Teresa’s Church, Clarendon Street in Dublin; and The Fiddler of Dooney in Stillorgan Shopping Centre. In the last few years, she also did a self-portrait which she said nearly killed her. She was prolific and creative right up until her death.

Happiness for her was time in her studio.

“I don’t want telephone calls,” she said. “I like to work. It is part of me. I’ve always loved work. Looking back, I’m surprised by how much I did. I don’t understand how I managed. I was always working in a playful way and so it didn’t feel like work.”

This sparky manner was an intrinsic part of Imogen Stuart. But beneath the laughter, she was serious about the work and very driven. She was always creating.

“It’s the type of work that you die with your boots on because you can’t stop,” she said.

She worked in bronze, stone, glass and marble but wood was her favourite. She had many commissions from Catholic churches. Last November in Dublin Castle there was an exhibition of her work spanning more than seven decades and, in 2022, she created her last design, Stele, a three-metretall Wicklow granite statue near her home in Sandycove.

It was carved by Ciaran Byrne and they worked on it together for years. There are photographs of her sitting on her rollator talking to Ciaran about it in the work yard.

In Imogen from the Heart, the 2023 documentary made by her grandson Emile Dinneen, she drew a design for her headstone. When Emile asked if she was going to make it herself, she replied with cheery logic. No, she told him, because she did not know when she was going to die.

Age did not diminish her passion for her craft. Rather, the older she got the more focused she became. She also had great clarity about the things she no longer wished to do.

At 87 she said: “Now that I am older, I resent housework. I used to like it as a change. Washing cupboards and doors gave me a lovely feeling of peacefulness but not anymore. It’s probably because time is running out and I am slow at everything.”

Even though she was encouraged to exercise, she said that she would rather work than walk.

“I have a feeling that exercise is all very nice but when you’re working and excited, you don’t care a damn about anything. You are so relaxed that you don’t even have pain. You don’t even have to exercise.”

Born in Berlin in 1927, Imogen Werner was raised as a Lutheran. Her father Bruno was the cultural editor of a German newspaper and their childhood was steeped in the arts.

Her father wrote poetry and did weekly drawings of their lives and their mother would play the piano while Imogen and her sister, Sibylle, sang along. Bruno’s mother was Jewish, so he was half-Jewish.

Her grandmother was made to wear the yellow star and her father was summoned to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp. At the time, Imogen and her sister had no idea about it, as it would have been dangerous to tell children. The family went into hiding. The bombings started, the schools closed and they fled to Bavaria.

“The war started when I was 12 and it finished when I was 17. As a teenager, you don’t get it but I really get it now,” she said in recent years. “The war years creep into me.”

In Bavaria she studied sculpture. While there, she met a fellow sculpture student called Ian Stuart. He was Irish. It was 1948 and she was 21. They fell in love.

“He was so good-looking in his tweeds and charming and so daring. I had never met a man like that before,” she said.

She was enchanted by him and his country. He quoted Yeats’s poetry to her. His mother was Iseult Gonne, daughter of Maud Gonne and his father was the writer Francis Stuart.

Imogen and Ian were kindred spirits. Two driven sculptors, they worked on their art together. Her first sculpture was of a farmer resting.

In the beginning, she and Ian would barter some of their pieces in exchange for food from farmers. They got married in Bavaria and came to live in Ireland in 1949.

“Ireland was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. I came into this beautiful Catholic country. I loved all these tiny churches, all in ruins of course. These Catholic churches with all the art. It was so inspiring,” she said.

So inspired was she that she converted to Catholicism and it influenced a lot of her work. However, she didn’t partake in some Catholic traditions like confession.

“I couldn’t go to confession. I used to say to Ian — what am I supposed to be sorry for?”

They lived in his family home in Laragh which she referred to as the “so-called castle”. She recalled that it was full of damp and on certain days there was water running down the walls and the books became so wet that there was mildew. She and Ian had three daughters — Aoibheann, Aisling and Siobhan — and with the help of au pairs, they were able to sculpt away.

“In the beginning the marriage was perfect but people develop in different ways,” she said.

They were married for 20 years. The first decade went well but the second one was full of his philandering.

“He was very unfaithful and straight away he told me about it. He was quite open about it all and then he’d say, ‘but you are the only one.’ Sometimes I cried and sometimes I got quite used to it.”

After she had a bad accident in Berlin, she decided she’d had enough and wanted a divorce. She called it her liberation day. The distraction of her work took her away from the pain.

“In the beginning I felt very bitter and horrible about him but that is all gone now. I’ve moved on. Since Ian died, I only think of the nice times. Looking back I feel sorry for him rather than angry or bitter,” she said.

After the divorce, her career blossomed. “I could do what I wanted. I got a lot of commissions for churches and public places.”

In 1988, her daughter Siobhan was killed in a car crash.

“It was the most difficult thing for me to get over,” she said. But once more, work was her balm.

“I hope to leave something behind when I’m dead. I’m very lucky that I’m leaving monuments behind. It gives you great responsibilities and it’s inspiring for living and life.”

When she was asked about her faith, she said: “I wouldn’t call it religion. I would call it faith in life.”

She loved life and music.

“I believe that I would never have worked as much or as happily, if I hadn’t had music. I love classical music. I adore Bach and Mozart is my favourite. You know the way cows produce more milk when there is music playing, I’m a bit like that,” said Imogen.

Passionate and playful to the end.