The Flying Pigs

J. Fergus Lamont, Arts correspondent and author of The Man Who Would Be Kingsford – The Angus Jamieson Story

Aberdeen continues to be a bounteous mecca for art of all types! This week I took advantage of the warmer weather by walking the city on the trail of the exciting new Nuart festival. You won’t have heard of it. It has received little, if any, publicity, but the City Council should be commended for having the foresight to delay the re-opening of the Art Gallery, thus requiring us to engage our aesthetic senses in the open air for the second year running.

Cultural enthusiasts will recall last spring when various unloved and decrepit parts of Aberdeen were painted over with magnificent works of public art, instead of having to be renovated. This year’s event is bigger and, arguably, better than before – extending as it does into what might be described as the ‘nice bits’ of town, such as Union Plaza and Holburn Junction. I must say, the appreciation of these works is greatly enhanced by easy access to a reasonable decaf skinny latte and not having to trachle around the back of Aberdeen Market, with its unsettling aroma of uncooked meat.

However, the most monumental of all the Nuart works does not, inexplicably, appear on the festival’s map at all. Indeed, had I not wandered down to the beach for a vanilla slider from la Café Du Inversnecky, my eyes would never have beheld, a mile from the shore, a series of windmill-shaped structures, over 600ft tall and gleaming white. I realised immediately that this gigantic art installation was paying homage to the importance of agrarian farming techniques, as well as the bounty of the sea in the historical nurturing of the north-east of Scotland. Further, the unknown sculptors of this remarkable work of art are clearly passing comment on the unequalled quantity of wind to be found in the north-east. The finished installation will be truly memorable and iconic, and not something any Aberdonian will ever be able to ignore. In fact, so vast will the completed sculpture be that I wouldn’t be surprised if it were visible from Donald Trump’s Golf Course at Menie. It struck me that even he, not famed for his appreciation of the arts, could not fail to be overcome by the magnitude of the project. We can but hope. With that in mind, I ran pell-mell to the water’s edge in order to shout my approval, my cries mingling with those of the gulls carried by the biting wind over the majestic, unforgiving waters of the North Sea as they swooped to peck the slider from my very hands. I wept.

Shelley Shingles, showbiz correspondent and Miss Fetteresso 1985

O. M. Actual. G! She’s only gone and done it! Kate, the Duchess with the mostess, has popped her third Royal sprog and the nation has gone baby