Wolterton Hall is nestled so deeply into the Norfolk countryside that the grand Palladian mansion remains hidden even after entering the estate gates. Once one of Norfolk's four powerhouses, built by Thomas Ripley for Horatio Walpole, the house now drips with 18th-century treasures—furniture, Belgian tapestries, and dusty portraits of important figures. But today, it also hosts knobbly bodily forms, strange shapes stuck to walls and tossed down stairs, as if Phyllida Barlow has stormed in and trashed the place.
Reimagining the Stately Home
It is a challenge to know what to do with historic country houses. Many have adopted contemporary art programs to confront their past and attract new visitors. Simon Oldfield, Wolterton's artistic director, brought in by new owners the Ellis family two years ago, has gone further. He has reinvented the space, making room for fresh ideas. No artist suits this better than Barlow, whose works seem to take on a life of their own. Her exhibition begins at the entrance with the explosive installation Untitled: Stacked Chairs—a cacophony of red plywood chairs that feels like a declaration of throwing out the old and starting anew. It is rebellious, disruptive, and direct.
Intimate Works and Bold Statements
Up the elegant staircase, a room showcases small-scale Barlow sculptures, framed by vast estate views. A rare early work, Loaf, resembles a loaf of bread but is made of tar-black glass and paper coated with latex. It exemplifies Barlow's approach to reshaping everyday objects with unconventional materials—and is perhaps a bit sexy. More recent wall sculptures, cobbled from cement, hessian scrim, plaster, and rope, look like big gobs of bubblegum rudely stuck to the wall, their pockmarked surfaces interrupting the space.
On plinths, several knobbly towers form a cyborgian forest that echoes nature outside, yet remains distinctly artificial. They are messy, sloppy, and fashioned with energy and pace. The entire room reverberates with Barlow's punk irreverence, as cheap materials like cardboard, foam, plaster, plywood, and plastic contrast with the house's opulence.
Monuments to Impermanence
Throughout her career, Barlow often placed works in random rural locations where few might see them—though visitor numbers at Wolterton are reportedly good. This exhibition feels quintessentially her. Barlow, who died in 2023, considered her works 'monuments to impermanence,' a concept that resonates powerfully in a place built on legacy. Her work also explores what materials communicate. The house declares, 'I am here, I am important,' while Barlow counters, 'Everything is precarious, nothing goes as planned.' The result is electric and a bit cheeky.
A New Vision for Wolterton
Oldfield's vision for Wolterton differs from other grand estates. His team has not hesitated to strip away history—entire rooms of family portraits have been moved to storage. The Barlow exhibition continues into one such room, the portrait gallery, now filled with her drawings from the 1970s to early 2010s. These cartoonish abstractions and sketches for sculptures bounce off the walls. The walls themselves have been stripped of wallpaper, revealing original pencil markings, measurements, and notes left by builders centuries ago. This creates a unique dialogue with history—Barlow and the 18th-century laborers conversing about forms and placement.
Complementary Voices
On the way to the final Barlow piece, I step into a concurrent solo show by Daisy Parris, Fist Full of Dreams. It features new paintings inspired by a February visit to Wolterton and a reconfiguration of a five-meter-long abstract textile piece, its knotted surface a landscape of its own. Parris's works respond more directly to Wolterton's alteration, but feel emotionally rather than materially reactive. Poems woven into the paintings evoke fading winter light and struggling flowers, contrasting angst with bright pink and orange drips.
Barlow: Disruptor ends outside with PRANK: jinx, a teetering stack of rusty studio work tables topped with her trademark rabbit ears. Part of a late series, this wonky, ungainly work was Barlow's riposte to public monuments. Despite careful positioning, it does not resonate with me—I have never liked the bunny ears, a motif since the 1990s. Yet it maintains tension, adding an industrial element to a sublime Romantic landscape for deliberate jarring effect. Not everything must be harmonious. These heritage places can be reborn with imagination, wit, and charm.
