Laura Aldridge builds colorful, multisensory environments infused with an atmosphere of freedom and play, and ripe with potential. In her work, textiles, ceramics, glass, and found objects come together to invite myriad interpretations and emotional responses. Since 2023, Aldridge has been based at Sculpture House, a collective studio practice with a passion for social inclusion, located in the Ferguslie Park area of Paisley, near Glasgow, Scotland.
“Lawnmower,” her current exhibition at Jupiter Artland near Edinburgh, features a generous new body of work installed indoors and out. Her starting point was a ceramic doll discovered at the Paisley Museum. Aldridge found herself making wall-mounted ceramic lights and using plant dyes to color fabric that she later incorporated to make evocative forms filled with presence. Brightly colored sculptural takes on tête-à-tête chairs, decorated with wood, ceramic, and glass objects, offer intimate conversational seating within the equally bright space. A series of collaborative video works map different ways into “Lawnmower”’s emotive terrain through sound, text, color, and song. The sensory journey continues outside, where Aldridge has constructed a joyous fountain in Jupiter’s garden pond.
Beth Williamson: You are a founding member of Sculpture House in Ferguslie Park, Paisley. How does the collaborative nature of that environment work within the local community? Why is the idea of linking sculpture and social inclusion important?
Laura Aldridge: It’s a twofold thing that benefits artists and the community. As artists, we wanted to house all the different things we do in one place. We wanted to create a space where there could be continuity for us and for the community. The idea was that the local community would benefit from us hosting activities. We have a room—we call it the “front room,” because Sculpture House is very much a house—that the people of Ferguslie Park can use for free. I sometimes think that one of the hardest things about being an artist is to keep going and to motivate yourself, so to have Sculpture House Collective, a group that supports each other, generating opportunities is special. It’s also about having starting points that aren’t intimidating but welcoming, which was the whole idea with the house. The generosity of the agreement that we have with the council means we are able to share that with the people we work with, which is positive.
BW: There is a back and forth in your work that seems to open up a space for viewers to enter with their own imagination and experience. You set opposites against each other. For instance, in a lot of your work, inside and outside seem to be quite fluid concepts. How does that work for you in terms of making and for the people engaging with your work?
LA: The hope is that conversation is felt in the viewing, because I don’t want to ascribe a fixed meaning. I want there to be a certain element of flux. It is important to me that I’m offering something, rather than insisting on something. That duality is how my mind works. I’ve always had to have teaching, practice, workshops—it’s always been a balancing act, and everything started to make sense when I acknowledged that. This all coincided with the beginning of Sculpture House and the idea that I don’t have to pretend that the only thing I do is work in my studio. These other things feed that, and allowing all of these things to permeate each other is important.
BW: “Lawnmower” features a new body of work in the Steadings Gallery inspired by a ceramic doll in the Paisley Museum. What’s your overarching idea here, and how does it work in the collaged space you have created?
LA: I’ve always thought of my work as an expanded collage. I always work in collaging in a sculptural way, and the videos feel very collaged; the language, even the titles, very often consists of bits of found language collaged together to find a new purpose or meaning for things. The doll spoke to me in the same way that a book title might.
A few years ago, I made a book, Things That Soak You, which the videos grew out of, and that title was from an advertisement for Wellington boots. I did a show a few years ago called “The Outside is Inside Everything We Make,” which also involved the work of Judith Scott and Leanne Ross, and that title came from an L.L.Bean advert; but if you think about it in terms of a practice and an artist like Judith Scott, who bound everything in wool and hid things inside the work, there’s the idea that everything leaves its moorings and becomes something else.
BW: Is your work very intuitive?
LA: I’d probably say “responsive.” One decision leads to another, and it’s hard to say how things come about, but I definitely never have a plan. With a lot of materials, I let it become something rather than impose: let the fabric fall, let the color be. Doubt is a really positive thing, and not knowing is exciting, as is trying to figure things out—I think that’s why I make sculpture. On a bad day, I think, “Oh, I wish I was a painter,” because you have more boundaries. Sometimes you feel you’re not getting anywhere, but you are always learning and getting somewhere without even realizing it.
BW: That links into working collaboratively with other artists and makers. You said before that when you use fabricators, you try to keep your hand in the work.
LA: When you make work, you learn all these things along the way. Without realizing it, I’d absorbed the idea that everything had to have a certain finish, and if I couldn’t do that, it had to be fabricated. I almost got myself to the point where I couldn’t make anything anymore. Because I wasn’t doing the research, it didn’t feel like it was mine—I didn’t feel connected to it, I didn’t feel like I’d learned anything, it was missing a human touch. Being able to make decisions, to be responsive and change things, is really important to me. If the fountain were installed somewhere else, it could be ordered differently, or the bulbs in the lights could change. I like the idea of feeling that it’s not the end point, it’s the beginning; there is more to come, it’s full of potential, like a springboard for things.
BW: I love that you start with tiny creatures in A Cosmic Reset, and then these hugely scaled-up ceramic snail shells are brought together to create a functioning fountain. Were you interested in water, its wonderful sound aspect, as material?
LA: I definitely had it in mind, but I underestimated how much of an impact it would have. I love the idea of listening and hearing being different. If you really listen, you can hear the water inside—it’s making a different trickling noise, and it echoes. I knew that the sound element would be important, but I couldn’t test it in my studio—it’s lovely to be surprised. It’s always my wish that there isn’t one reading. There isn’t one fixed point of view. Even if you did have that approach, you can’t control how people experience things. The experiential, sensory qualities are really important. It’s not one sense that I want to activate, but more of a haptic experience.
BW: Could you explain a bit about the video works? Was it important that you made them with artists and musicians whom you already knew?
LA: The video came out of my book project, Things That Soak You, which I wanted to make more accessible. I did an audio version, very loose and sensorial. There was a sound bath for one chapter. I gave another chapter to the artist Juliana Capes, who had done a lot of audio description for museums in Edinburgh. She wanted to sing, so she made 12 songs, like an album, and that became part of the audio book. Then, I spoke with artist Morwenna Kearsley about the idea of videos, and then Sarah McFadyen. It felt very natural and grew from there. The four of us started to forget what we’d done when editing. We’ve made six and there six more to come. The best thing about being an artist is other artists. We are all so different, but also not.
“Lawnmower” is on view at Jupiter Artland in Edinburgh through September 29, 2024.
