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WOlterton Hall is tucked so deep into the Bure Valley countryside that you can’t even see the Palladian mansion when you enter the castle gates. This was one of four Norfolk castles, built by Thomas Ripley for Horatio Walpole. Inside, Wolterton is dripping in 18th-century treasures, furniture, old Belgian tapestries, old pictures of important colors – but now, physical objects, strange shapes that cling to the walls and tumble down the stairs, as if they belong to someone else. Phyllida Barlow – broke in and destroyed the place.
It’s a difficult thing to know what to do with these old luxury buildings. Many have adopted the current program as a way to challenge their reputation and bring in new visitors. Simon Oldfield – Wolterton’s artistic director, brought in by new owners, the Ellis family, two years ago – has done more than that. He has reorganized the space, creating space for new ideas to take hold. There is no better artist than Barlow, whose works seem to take on a life of their own wherever they go. His show begins at the entrance, where an exploded installation Untitled: Painted Chairs greets you. The cacophony of red plywood chairs feels like a sound about throwing things away and starting over. It’s rebellious, disruptive and direct.
At the top of the beautiful staircase, there is a room dedicated to Barlow’s small sculptures, framed by large views of the building. There’s a rare tour of an original work called Loaf – yes, it looks like a loaf of bread but it’s black glass and latex-coated paper. It’s a perfect example of Barlow’s method of transforming the everyday with unusual materials. Maybe even a little adulterous. The latest wall sculptures made of cement, hessian paste, plastered with small rope-like pieces folded into them look like small objects thrown on the wall without dignity, and their pockmarked spaces disrupt the space.
On the plinths are several curved platforms, which create a kind of cyborgian forest that is in harmony with nature outside – but not really. They are confused, reckless, made of power and speed. The whole room also comes with Barlow’s irreverent attitude, the cheapness of his materials – there is cardboard, foam, plaster, plywood and plastic – in contrast to the beauty of the building.
Throughout his career, Barlow often places works in rural areas where few people will see them (although I’m told visitor numbers are good at Wolterton). So this all affects him. The artist, who died in 2023, thought of his works as “permanent monuments”, and is responsible for places where his designs reflect a strong belief in heritage. Barlow’s work is also about how the tools interact. The house says, I’m here, I’m important – Barlow says, everything is difficult, nothing goes as planned. It’s electric and a little too cheeky.
Oldfield’s vision for Wolterton feels different from that of other similar large areas. His team wasn’t afraid to strip history – all the family photo rooms are gone (saved). The Barlow exhibition continues in one such room, the gallery, which is now filled with Barlow’s paintings from the 1970s to the early 2010s. It’s the art of painting, the sculptural art, the changing shape that bounces off the walls. And those walls were stripped of their paintings, revealing the original pencil drawings, measurements, drawings and notes left by builders centuries ago. It creates a kind of conversation with history – Barlow and his 18th century workmen have conversations about form and how to put things together.
Moving on to Barlow’s final piece, I slip into Daisy Parris’s mini-show, Fist Full of Dreams. It’s a series of new paintings inspired by a trip to Wolterton in February, as well as a re-creation of a five-metre piece of abstract fabric, knotted and sewn in place. Parris’s works are a direct response to Wolterton and his transformation – since the artist was there and experienced it – but they are more sympathetic than emotional. The poems that work in the painting invoke images of winter light, flowers struggling to bloom, frustration and the coldness of winter as opposed to the pink, orangey drips and textures of Parris’s paintings.
Barlow: Confused it ends outside with the PRANK sculpture: jinx, a pile of his old rusty tables, with his rabbit ears on top. This work was part of Barlow’s final series, one of his last works – both visual and abstract, it was his thoughts on what public monuments and works of art could be. A lot of thought and effort went into it, but it doesn’t do much for me – I’ve never liked Barlow’s bunny ears, a concept he’s been playing with since the 1990s. At least it goes beyond boldness, adding something corporate to a beautiful romantic setting, deliberately creating confusion. Not everything has to be compatible. And this historic place can be reborn, with ideas, wisdom and charm.
