The Fossil Grove Review by Struan Kennedy

Fossil Grove

What was I doing here? A 22 year-old recent graduate and would be art journalist surely I should be somewhere else. I should be amongst my own kind- other eager wit buzzing around the latest offerings from the bright and breezy contemporary art scene. Instead where did I find myself? In one, small room faced with some sunken features, which were, in turn, contained within a sunken pit before me.

Wasn’t I meant to be in the midst of the chatty, huddled reverence? Had I taken a wrong turn? No. It was precisely where I wanted to be in order to demonstrate, at least to myself, that subverting the youthful expectation of an art world might be a worthwhile experiment. I was aware that at that moment the new ‘British Art Show 7’ was opening in venues such as the CCA and GoMA and it was their tempting wiles that I wished, on this occasion, to resist. In lieu of the stereotypical razzle-dazzle of such a show I sought a more democratic broadening of my critical vision away from the established hub and out toward the somewhat neglected peripheries.

So what could the periphery possibly offer that couldn’t be found in the magnetic centre? For most people the centre is where it all happens, it is the launch pad for new ideas however the very concept of newness is one that the Grove challenges. The new is not necessarily epitomized by the immediate freshness of production something can be produced yesterday and yet still fail to speak to you. Similarly something old can speak with a fresh voice from its grave. Once resigned as a dead and defeated piece it can surprise you but only when viewed through a certain lens. Given that the grove is primarily regarded as belonging to the sciences, Scottish National Heritage designating it as a site of Special Scientific Interest, perhaps a suitable paradigm of viewing might be a scientist, namely Darwin. Like any visitor to the Grove Darwin was presented with the old, the seemingly banal, material which had been overwhelmingly taken for granted and received from it something new. What is vital is the separation of visions, from those unwilling to imagine and those who are almost unable not to imagine. Therefore every visitor can be Darwin, an explorer recognising that the physical layers of the Grove could translate into metaphorical layers of meaning, sediments of the mind.

Apart from its age a second consideration, which may hold back art lovers from journeying westward to Victoria Park, is whether or not the Grove can really be called art. The problem, for some, is evident; no one has ever been directly involved in the crafting of the Grove. The first approach to solving this problem would be to admit that, without human involvement, the Grove would probably not be in such a state of fine preservation. Since its discovery in 1887 whilst an old quarry was being reworked to form the park the grove has been sheltered from the elements by a protective building. We should be appreciative of the exuberant curiosity of the Victorians because without their careful excavation of the fossils we wouldn’t have the remains of this ancient forest. The second approach would be to acknowledge the power of our imagination. By utilising this power those 11 stumps, a fallen 8m trunk and fragments of branches and roots can emerge as something more. Those impressions on the ground like lines across our skin or the surface of the brain with writhing contours can become tracked and trenched into your memory. Just as a scar carries a memory with it the scarred texture of the Grove bears the signs of its phenomenal growth. One major contrast in experiencing the Grove is the notable absence of the crowd. Here any reverence is a lonely, little thing and entirely your own. Where wall and floor appear as one giant cast filling and spilling into its lowered chamber the stumps can take on a quiet sculptural grandeur. So the mysterious whereabouts of the artist, if the Grove is to be labelled as art, is answered by the people.

The Grove can serve as a free platform for members of an audience to take on the role of artists, makers of meaning.

Lastly it should be noted that whilst the Grove as an outstretched vista of possibilities is alluring I am by no means suggesting that one should denounce the new flashy art shows. Rather than a strict ‘either or’ false dilemma I would recommend taking the time to delve into other areas. The arrival of something ‘new’ does not universally justify a whiplash of frenzied hysteria around it. There is no need to exclusively chase after that which will dance, shine and perform for you like a circus as you can make things dance, shine and perform…if you want to. In fact that very moment the circus rolls into town may be the most appropriate juncture to turn away from it and realise that greatness may lie elsewhere. It may have been lying underneath your very feet all along.