Asian Geographic: Giants over time and space

Asian Geographic, October 2010

Deep in the Gobi desert there is a sculpture of a Silk Road messenger astride a galloping horse, 150 metres from nose to tail, built from vivid white rocks across the undulating browns and yellows of the desert topography.

On a hillside outside Kurunegala, Sri Lanka, a lion has been built from stone, stark against the black rock beneath it and the jungle around it.

And in Cappadocia, Turkey, 10 stone and basalt sculptures, made from 10,500 tons of material and seven kilometres of rock wall between them, stretch more than two kilometres down a limestone valley: a grinding wheel, a horse, a griffin.

These spectacular visions – and many more besides from Bolivia to Iceland, Israel to Nepal – are the creation of Melbourne-based sculptor Andrew Rogers. For a decade now, his medium has been the geoglyph: drawings upon the earth, in the tradition of the Nazca Lines of Peru, or Australia’s Maree Man. They all form part of one overall project called The Rhythm of Life: 40 sculptures built by 5500 pairs of hands on five continents (and work is underway on a sixth, in Kenya, as you read this).

Rogers is motivated by several central themes. “These geoglyphs can be contemplated from many viewpoints, but they are not about the physical structure, they are about an idea,” he says. “We are carried over great time and space from distant cultures when we contemplate these contemporary ruins. It’s an exploration of meanings and powers from the past and their meaning for the future. These structures are for people to walk through and contemplate what is important in life.”

Living up to these ideals requires a few certain ground rules. To the greatest extent possible, the sculptures must be built using local materials – stones found on site, using dry stone building techniques rather than cement. “We try to use local natural materials, and local methods to build,” he says. “In Nepal, we used mud with granite. In Chile, birds droppings with clay. Wherever we can find a local technique that’s successful and stood the test of time, we use it.”

This relates to Roger’s other rule: that the sculptures must be built using local people, and in most cases reflect local symbols or ideas.

Partly, this is pragmatic. “First of all, the work wouldn’t get done if you didn’t involve local people, that’s the practical outcome,” he says. “You can’t bring 1,000 people from around the world.” But it’s also important that there is a local connection between people and the sculptures. “These projects are about their history and their heritage, and helping them overcome stereotypes in terms of opportunity,” he says. “That’s why we try to employ women as well as men, pay them proper rates, and given them better working conditions than they normally receive.”

Building on this scale is, after all, a vast logistical challenge; the Cappadocia sculptures took four and a half years from the first phone call to their formal unveiling in May, much of it spent getting the appropriate permits from various land authorities. The building part, though surprisingly swift – a huge sculpture visible from space can be completed in as little as a few days provided enough people are involved – is highly labour intensive, and many of Rogers’s installations in Asia have involved a local workforce of as many as a thousand people.

Do they understand exactly what they’re working on? “When I start working with them it’s a fairly abstract concept for people who work on the site. But by the end of the process, they are very much involved and understand.” Consequently, long after Rogers has left, local people tend to take responsibility for maintaining the sculptures. “Most of them are interested in what they’ve created and adopt it as their own. You often hear them say: I would like to show my grandchildren I have helped build this.”

Local communities are engaged in deciding what to build in the first place. In some cases this involves local village elders; in others, local people or civic leaders. In Sri Lanka it was suggested that Rogers build a lion, based on an old stucco rendition within a nearby temple, a symbol of strength and of pride. In China, local villagers chose the image of a messenger so important to desert life and history.

Working within local cultures brings challenges too. Paying men and women equally is not considered normal in many places Rogers builds. “Often the reaction is surprise,” he says. “Sometimes it’s a reaction of more than surprise.” In Turkey, several men walked off the job in protest at the very idea. In India and Sri Lanka, the problem was that far more people wanted to work on the project than could be accommodated. “We tried to spread the work around and rotate people so they all had opportunities,” Rogers says, though he has also spoken of “trying to stop fights between two to three hundred people” on the India project. China was particularly unusual because the country graciously provided him with an army – “a very diligent workforce,” Rogers remarks. Other challenges come from terrain and conditions: the heat of deserts, altitude in Bolivia, humidity and wildlife in Sri Lanka.

At the time of writing Rogers was working with 1,000 Masai warriors to create sculptures out of volcanic rock in Kenya, and he says he continues to receive invitations to build in new places. Part artist, part architect, part engineer and part bull-headed logistical piledriver, his work requires a range of skills to get to the finish line. “I’ve basically found out you can build anywhere, in the most difficult situations of terrain and labour, as long as people want it,” Rogers says. “You just have to be very tenacious and driven. Fortunately I’m both of those things.”