Rivers and Tides

Greetings again from the darkness. Insight into the mind and motivation of a wonderful artist. How strange for most of us to see someone who MUST work... no matter the conditions, else his reason for living ceases. To see Goldsworthy's sculptures come alive and to see his reaction to each is extremely voyeuristic. This artist creates because he must - not for money or fame. It is his lifeforce. When you see his failures, energy seems to expel from his body like a burst hot air balloon. It is not the dread of beginning again, it is that he takes his energy from his work. Watching him create just to have nature takeover and recall his work is somewhat painful, but nonetheless, breathtaking. He discusses flow and time in the minimal dialog and there appears to be little doubt that the artist and the earth are one in the same. When he says he needs the earth, but it does not need him ... I beg to differ. Only complaint is the musical score seems to slow down further a pace that is relaxing at best.

On one level, this film can bring out the child in us that just wants to build sandcastles and throw stuff in the air just for the sake of seeing it fall down again. On a deeper level though, it explores a profound desire to reconnect with the land. I thoroughly empathized with the artist when he said, "when I'm not out here (alone) for any length of time, I feel unrooted."

I considered Andy Goldsworthy one of the great contemporary artists. I'm familiar with his works mainly through his coffee-table books and a couple art gallery installations. But to see his work in motion, captured perfectly through Riedelsheimer's lens, was a revelation. Unfrozen in time, Goldsworthy's creations come alive, swirling, flying, dissolving, crumbling, crashing.

And that's precisely what he's all about: Time. The process of creation and destruction. Of emergence and disappearing. Of coming out of the Void and becoming the Universe, and back again. There's a shamanic quality about him, verging on madness. You get the feeling, watching him at work, that his art is a lifeforce for him, that if he didn't do it, he would whither and perish.

Luckily for us, Goldsworthy is able to share his vision through the communication medium of photography. Otherwise, with the exception of a few cairns and walls, they would only exist for one person.

I admit that for the first 20 minutes or so of this film I wasn't entirely sure I was going to sit through the whole thing. Like many other people, I found it pretty boring, and I wasn't entirely looking forward to an hour and a half of watching this guy bite icicles and stick them together. However, if you sit through the creation of his first work long enough to see the finished product, you get an idea of how impressive the rest of the film is. I really think it's sad that so many people found this impossibly boring or a retread of ideas done by other artists.

Rivers and Tides is a quiet study of some of the artwork and methods of Andy Goldsworthy, who makes his art entirely out of things in nature, generally resulting in pieces that will be consumed by nature through the normal process of entropy. It is slow moving and unglamorous, but I think that a lot of the point of the movie is to show that Goldsworthy's art does not need any accompaniment in order for it to be appreciated. I've even heard people complain about how he is always talking throughout the movie, rather than just letting nature and his artwork speak for themselves, which I just think is madness.

On the other hand, lots of people complain about CDs coming with the lyrics written out inside them. A lot of musicians as well think their music should mean whatever the listener wants it to mean without the musician showing the exact lyrics, I guess I'm just the kind of person that believes that I'd like to know what the artist was trying to accomplish with his or her artwork. I can still take it how I want to even if I know what it was meant to do. I can understand not wanting to hear him talk through the movie. He does, after all, lose his train of thought and find himself unable to explain some of his work at more than one occasion, but if you don't want Goldsworthy talk about his art while you're watching the film, feel free to turn the sound off. That's like not reading the lyrics if you don't want to know what a musician is singing and would rather interpret the words yourself.

I think that Andy Goldsworthy's work, which I had no idea existed before I watched this movie, is incredibly impressive, and I'm glad that this film was made in order to showcase it. Indeed, since his work is generally not the kind that can be transported into a studio, photography is the only medium other than film that can express it, and I really appreciated being able to see the work that goes into his art, and the way that only things from nature are used. Whether or not you appreciate certain aspects of how this film is presented, Goldsworthy's work is moving enough to overlook that, because the film is not the star, Goldsworthy's art is. And given the lack of any music or even the smallest special effects and the slow-moving nature of the film, it seems to me that director Thomas Riedelsheimer knows that.

This German documentary, in English, is about a Scottish environmental sculptor named Andy Goldsworthy. He makes art from objects he finds in nature. For example, early in the film we see him taking sections of icicles and "gluing" them together with a little moisture into a serpentine shape that seems to repeatedly go through a vertical rock.

Of course, the icicles melt, but that transience is a part of most of Goldsworthy's work. He goes to a site and gets a feeling for it, deciding intuitively what to make that day. He talks of having a "dialog" with the rocks and other materials that he works with, attempting to work *with* rather than against them. It might be stones, or flowers, or leaves, or sticks. The sculpture might last for minutes or years, or might not even last long enough to be completed and photographed. The work seems to be more of a process than a goal.

The film, and the work, is beautiful, inspiring, and thought provoking. It moves pretty slowly, which is appropriate for the material, but you should be sure to go when you have had a good night's sleep. But do go if you have the opportunity.

Search the web for some other pages about Andy Goldsworthy or to read about his local sculpture at Stanford University. There are also several books available with photographs of his sculptures.

My thoughts: Skip reading this part if you want to find what this film means to you completely independently. I recall a couple of ideas that occurred to me while watching the film which I thought I would share for those of you still reading. First, the transitory nature of much of Andy Goldsworthy's work reminded me of the natural ebb and flow of human life. We're born, we live, and eventually we die. That's natural, and that's also naturally a part of Goldsworthy's art.

The other thought was to be awestruck with the way that Goldsworthy has managed to integrate his passion and his work so thoroughly into his life. Most of us have work which is tolerated at best, a life which we hardly notice living, and passions which we really mean to spend more time on, if we even remember what they are. Andy Goldsworthy has managed to create an amalgam of all of these aspects of his life that looks like it works very well, and is nourishing for him and those around him. Wow.

Seen on 8/28/2002.

As the jacket proclaims, this film is "Gorgeously shot and masterfully edited," and, yes, it is mesmerizingly beautiful. The timelessness that we perceive in stoic rock and in the unceasing ebb and flow of water frames the ephemeral works from Goldsworthy's hands so that in their very ephemeralness they point to eternity.

And so the beauty of his compositions haunt us with just a touch of melancholy woven in--or in the words of Matthew Arnold from "Dover Beach":

Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.

At one point near the end of the film Goldsworthy says that "Words do their job, but what I'm doing here says a lot more." As a wordsmith myself I take no offense and not for a moment do I think him immodest because the combination of form and time and change and texture and color and composition that Goldsworthy painstakingly and intuitively creates, is indeed something more than mere words can say.

At another point he remarks on "What is here to stay...and what isn't." That is his theme.

I think that artists sometime in the twentieth century became acutely aware of how ephemeral even the greatest works of art are compared to the vast expanse of cosmic time; and so they began to reflect this understanding by composing works that were deliberately ephemeral. The idea was, that by emphasizing how short-lived are even the mightiest works of humans, a sense of the timelessness of art would be expressed.

Perhaps part of the effectiveness of Goldsworthy's work is in this sort of expression. He painstakingly composes some form of straw or leaves where the tide will reach it, or places it in the river where it will be swept away; and in this process is merged both the composition and its ephemerality.

Both the transitory and the timeless are necessary for us to understand our world and our place within it. And it is important that these works be done within the context of nature so that what is composed is set within what is natural. Thus the walls of stone and the eggs of stone that Goldsworthy constructs are silent and solid yet we know that they are not monuments to eternity, but instead will stay for some undefined length of time and then dissipate and return to a state much like that which existed before we came along.

This is art as art should be, akin to the spiritual.

In a sense Goldsworthy's work is an inarticulated understanding. It is an experience purely of time and form. In a sense his work "answers" Shelley's famous poem "Ozymandias" by saying, even as the tide washes the work away, and even as the river dissipates the expression, even so the art lives on because of our experience of it. Similarly one thinks of Tibetan sand paintings so carefully composed and measured out, and then just as they are so beautifully and preciously finished, they are given to the wind, so that we might know that all is flux.

Yet, in the modern world these works of art endure in photos and videos. Goldsworthy is an accomplished photographer (of necessity I would say) and all his works, even the unsuccessful ones, he tells us, are photographed so that he can look back at them in a more reflective mood and see what he has accomplished and what he has not.

This cinematic production directed by Thomas Riedelsheimer with the beautiful and appropriately haunting music by Fred Frith is not to be missed. It is one of the most beautiful documentaries that I have ever seen and one of the most spiritual.

(Note: Over 500 of my movie reviews are now available in my book "Cut to the Chaise Lounge or I Can't Believe I Swallowed the Remote!" Get it at Amazon!)