River & Tides

Rivers and Tides is a 2001 documentary film directed by Thomas Riedelsheimer about the British artist Andy Goldsworthy, who creates intricate and ephemeral sculptures from natural materials such as rocks, leaves, flowers, and icicles.The music was composed and performed by Fred Frith and was released on a soundtrack, Rivers and Tides (2003).

Andy Goldsworthy makes sense-luscious sculptures entirely out of things he finds in nature — stones, twigs, leaves, plant stalks, clay, ice, snow. In this meditative 90-minute documentary by Thomas Riedelsheimer, Goldsworthy is seen working on new creations as he explains his philosophy that brings together a Zen-like appreciation of the natural world, a deeply felt connection with the Earth and all its thousand things, a fascination with time and the ephemeral existence of objects, a respect for place and all the marvels discovered within a space that one knows intimately, and a yearning to explore the energy that is running through the landscape. Sometimes his works change before our eyes and even pass away before we have savored all their mystery and magic. But to the artist, this is all part of the process.

                     "Art for me is a form of nourishment," Goldsworthy says, and we see what he means as he begins to assemble his earthwork arrangements. Arriving for a new commission in Nova Scotia, he has only a little time to familiarize himself with the seaside terrain. Still, he establishes a camaraderie with the natural world: "I've shook hands with the place," he declares as he begins to work on an icicle sculpture that fits perfectly with the chilly and desolate milieu. Goldsworthy respects the processes of life and death reflected in nature. As the sun illuminates the finished sculpture, he notes, "The very thing that brought it to life, will bring about its death." This is only one of the many spiritual insights emerging from his art.

                       He creates an igloo out of driftwood collected from the beach. When the tide comes in, the wooden structure begins to float and then drift to the sea in a slow swirl. But Goldsworthy is not attached to his art: "It feels as if it's been taken off into another plane, another world . . . It doesn't feel at all like destruction."

                  The artist also doesn't think in terms of success or failure. After he has spent many hours constructing an intricate mobile of twigs and thorns, the wind shifts and the piece collapses. Goldsworthy surveys the wreckage and practices equanimity. He seems to know that sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn't. What's important is that the creative process itself has been manifested along with an intimate meeting with "the heart of the place." Nothing is ever lost in the universe. There is always something to be cherished in this kind of environmental art.

              Back at his home in Penpont, Scotland, Goldsworthy enjoys the company of his wife and small children, then walks through the village gathering material for a new project. He picks dandelions from the roadside and places them in a rock hollow at the edge of a river; from overhead, it is a blaze of yellow beauty amid the rocks.

                The artist's openness extends to animals. He talks about the impact of sheep on the Scottish landscape; where they have grazed over the years, there are no trees. Goldsworthy sees these tough animals as possessing "dangerous and powerful qualities." In tribute to them, he creates a river of white wool on the tops of the stone walls dividing the fields.

               By now, we are well aware of his love of rivers for their free-flowing energy. Goldsworthy has made a chain of green leaves and placed them in the water; we are mesmerized as it seems to take the form of a snake slithering past rocks, into still pools, and out into the rushing current again. One of his most awesome creations is on display in the Storm King Art Center in Mountainville, New York. A stonewall crosses a field, wiggles its way under a river, and emerges to wind through the trees on the other side.