I'd walked down Oliver Road a couple of times before, a busy main thoroughfare, connecting Lea Bridge to main Leyton. I'd either be on my way to town to run some errands, or meeting a friend, too busy in my thoughts to notice anything above eye level. I now stand facing the River Lea medallions, cars racing behind me, greeted by the smell of flame-grilled meats from a takeaway below.
The two large mosaic sculptures sit high on two brown-bricked blocks of flats, separated by the adjoining Walnut Road. Their height makes me need to bend my neck awkwardly to get a full view. One is more wheel-like, with spokes dividing the circle into twelve equal segments, and the other is more like a giant ornate broach. There are gaps in each sculpture – a visual transparency – exposing the brickwork behind, perhaps to signify a merging of the past and present. There is no wall-text or written explanation.
The wheel-like medallion is an ode to the area's industrial past. 'SOME OF THE GOODS MADE IN RIVER LEA WATERMILLS' is punctuated in black against white along the bottom of the wheel. The sun is depicted in the centre, fire-like flames fanning outwards, with more text - 'RIVER LEA WATERMILLS' – and the dates 1066 and 1854. Within each segment, are goods made in the area – a golden candlestick, a brown leather bag, and a loaf of bread, one slice hanging off the end by a crumb. Six fish weave between the iron spokes, some immersed in stand-alone waves (which at first, I mistook for more fish), some dancing in the air above the sun. The intricacy of these details, and how long it must have taken to create, gives a strong sense of pride for the area and the river it runs along. Precision requires time, and time is care.
I look across at the other medallion and a man walks past, looks at me with a confused expression, and then up – my gaze apparently guiding others to the sculptures. I'm struck by the great tree in the middle first, abundant with sage-green leaves. Its visible roots are an elegant tangle. A proud-looking cow and suspicious warthog stand either side of the tree, looking away from each other, with a crowing cockerel perching on the hog's back. A growling fox chases a hare, cautiously looking behind to check its predator's distance. 'HERE WAS ONCE THE GREAT FOREST OF ESSEX' – again, harking back to what once was. Swallows are present too, black on white and baby blue, whispers of their tails darting through the tiled sky. The colours of this medallion are more muted, making it feel less of a celebration and more nostalgic. The cars continue to race past behind me. I'd like to be in that forest right now, drinking in the peaceful silence and fresh air.
These public works of art are created to remember, to act as emblems of the past. They are an invitation for a community to look back on what once was, yet their placement, so far from the eyeline of passersby, means they are somewhat hidden. I imagine being able to reach up and pull them down, and wonder what other details I'd be able to see. Placed next to each other, there's an interesting dialogue and tension between them – one is of nature, earthy, rooted in melancholic pastimes, the other is of industry, ingenuity and change, the wheel always spinning forward.
Esme Boggis, Learning Programme Coordinator at Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art
This story was written as an example artwork review for the Write on Art programme. Write on Art is a national writing programme that invites young people (14 to 19 years old) to explore personal, creative and critical responses to art, and how they can be shared through writing.
