Sculptor Turns Rain, Ice And Trees Into 'Ephemeral Works'

Transcript

TERRY GROSS, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross. Imagine walking through the woods and finding what looks like a giant spider web fashioned of twigs hanging from a tree, or a stone wall with a large row of sheets of ice stood on end across the top of the wall, or a dead tree dusted with chalk, giving the tree a ghostly appearance. These natural yet unnatural forms are both beautiful and unsettling. They're examples of my guest Andy Goldsworthy's art. His materials include stone, grass, leaves, ice, trees, rivers, streams. His art is partly formed and changed by the weather, time and decay. And since some of the work can melt, blow away, get washed away or collapse, photographic documentation is essential. That's the only way most of us will ever get to see his ephemeral work. A new book collects photos of his ephemeral works from 2004 to 2014. Goldsworthy has also made temporary museum installations at The Getty in Los Angeles and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. He lives in Scotland. Andy Goldsworthy, welcome to FRESH AIR. I think of you as using things that occur in the natural world, using that as your raw material, whether it's like, you know, leaves or stone or ice or twigs, but using these naturally-occurring things in ways that don't quite look natural (laughter). So is that fair?

ANDY GOLDSWORTHY: Well, the things that I make are that which a person will make. They're not meant to mimic nature. They are nothing but the result of a hand of a person. So they are about the human nature and the human touch and involvement with the world around me. And the intention is, as I said, not to mimic nature but to understand it.

GROSS: What you do definitely seems to have an element of obsession on a basic level, like, gathering leaves that are the exact same shade of yellow so that you can design with them, like arrange them in a certain way or almost paint with them in a certain way, or collecting the right number of rocks of a certain shape that you need to build something or putting pieces of ice together so, like, icicles suddenly take on a spiraling shape instead of the shape that they naturally had. This work really requires obsession. Do you agree with that?

GOLDSWORTHY: I can get pretty - I get very determined. The process is not one that I feel is one of design. I mean, design implies a sense of mapping something out and then you follow the plan. You know, these things grow. And the process of making parallels that of growth. And so in the making of a work - layer by layer, stone by stone, branch by branch, leaf by leaf, petal by petal - one being added to the next, you are - something grows in front of me. And the process of growth is obviously critical to my understanding of the land and myself. So the process is far more unpredictable with far more compromises with the day, the weather, the material. You know, this isn't paint out of a park - all materials from a lumberyard or a stone yard. These come raw from the ground and have all the irregularities and peculiarities that - because of that. And with that comes a resistance. There's always this tension and overcoming of problems and difficulties.

And this last week, I've been rather unusually maybe sort of obsessed with just one particular work, and I've worked on it for a week. And it's in a stump of a fallen oak tree, which I've tried to build a dry stone wall in the side of. And it's about 9-feet high. And so far I've only reached about 7 feet. That's the latest before it collapsed. And it now is still standing in Scotland - or not standing, part of it is standing in a pile of its own debris, waiting for me to return. So it's a - that's a process of stone by stone, getting to understand the stone a little better each time and getting a little higher each time and then these inevitable collapses. And it might be that I never succeed with that work. So the sort of sense of...

GROSS: So you're building a stone wall in a decaying tree trunk?

GOLDSWORTHY: Yeah. It's like half the trunk still remains - or two-thirds of it does, up to about 10 feet. And so I'm filling where the tree used to be with stone. And as you can imagine, the pressure of the stone gets greater as I build the work higher. So the stronger visually the work gets, the actually closer it gets to its collapse. So it's actually getting weaker as it's getting stronger. And there's this wonderful tension that occurs during that process. And it can be desperately upsetting when it collapses after doing all of that work. And then I just have to begin again.

GROSS: But are you documenting it every step of the way in case it does collapse?

GOLDSWORTHY: No. I keep the documentation generally to the - after the work. You know, photographing the works is - it requires a different kind of approach, and I don't have that head on when I'm making the works. But having said that, this particular piece, after it's been - it's fallen down now three times - so it's three days, three collapses. The actual act of collapse and the attempt is becoming interesting enough to become the work. And I may have bitten off something I cannot make here, and I don't know if I will be able to achieve what I want to or I will with a huge amount of luck and chance. But if I don't, I think that act of building and rebuilding, building, rebuilding, collapse could become the work. The danger in that - how can I put this? - I mean, failure is really, really important. But failures have to hurt. And if I start making this work with the intention of its collapse and then I've lost that intensity of the will for it to succeed, which makes the failure that much more poignant and significant. So there's a really odd sort of state of mind that I guess I get into when I'm making these works that is necessary for me to extract the finished piece but also extract the right kind of feeling for the work as I'm making it.

GROSS: So this work becomes, like, a paradox, sort of like you want to succeed, but you're really interested in the failure. But you can't want the failure too much because then...

(LAUGHTER)

GROSS: Then the failure becomes the success, so it becomes ridiculous, yeah.

GOLDSWORTHY: Yeah, no, it really does. The whole thing - and, you know - and people don't understand - I don't think they understand that about the works. You know, that - oh, you know, they just collapse and fall and that this is, you know, what I accept. Well, I can't - to achieve what I want - to achieve the works that I make, I have to be fully committed to them succeeding. I couldn't make them otherwise. And you cannot feel that commitment without feeling or having a deep sense of loss when they do collapse or fail, and that's inevitable.

GROSS: So with this particular work, could you explain - like, do you have a rational explanation for why you even want to build a very tall stone wall inside a decaying tree trunk?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, the trunk itself is such an interesting form. And, you know, I knew the tree when it grew, and the tree is now gone. The farmers cut it up, and it's become firewood. And there's this tremendous sense of absence and shock and violence attendant to that collapsing tree. You know, if you've ever come across a tree that you've lived with for many years and then one day it's blown over, there's incredible shock and violence about that. And I worked with the tree when it was collapsed, before it was chopped up on the ground. And now I'm just left with this stump - this space - which I want to also understand, this space. And I made a work previously in the trunk with branches. So I completed this void, this negative area, with branches. And there will often be this dialogue between wood, stone. So the process of laying branches layer by layer, then stone, stone by stone, the sort of geological growth connections that I really quite enjoy exploring. And whilst it is a challenging work to make, I am learning so much about that tree, those stones. And even the stones that I'm using are from piles deposited at the side of the field by farmers over many, many years when they've plowed the fields. So they've already got the hand of a person on the stones before I've even come to them. And the whole process of agriculture that produced these stones is somehow part of this, you know, the cycle of the field and the cycle of growth and a cycle of decay that this tree has gone through. So it's much, much, much broader than just a stone in my hand. And that's why I work outside. I work with the stones that have this lineage in the place. The tree has - it also has its lineage. And by working with it, I go way beyond just the wood and stone but to the process of growth and farming and the tensions between the two.

GROSS: So the work that you've been describing, it has something that's pretty indomitable, stone, very lasting, something that lives a long time but eventually dies and decays, the tree. You're interested in growth. You're also interested in decay. And you have one piece that you've documented in your new book, "Ephemeral Works," of a hole that you dug and molded out of the rotted heartwood of a fallen tree. I'm not sure what rotted heartwood is, but (laughter) that's what it says on the piece.

GOLDSWORTHY: Rotten heart, (laughter) yeah.

GROSS: So anyways, what you're saying is it's like part of a rotted tree with this, like, perfect circular hole in it, this perfect circular void in it. And you've said looking into a dark hole unnerves you. So what is it about holes that interest you, particularly, like, holes in something big and organic like a tree?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, I think that I'm always trying to get beyond the surface appearance of things, to go beyond what I can just see. And I think that's one of the reasons of why there's many cracks, fissures, openings, holes that have appeared in the work over time. Generally speaking, I make less holes now than I used to. I think there is always dangers for artists that they get a particular form and then it becomes this motif that reappears because it's a motif. And that's a big danger, you know. But the one that you're talking about is a fairly recent work, and it's a big Ash tree that fell. It's near to where I live, and another tree that I've lived with for many years. And it fell because it was rotten inside, you know. And when it fell, I went to the tree, and I put my hand into its innards, you know. And it's soft and wet and rotten inside, you know. And that was - like, the heartwood of the tree had died, and I think there is this connection between the black of a hole and the absence of things. And I guess that's where words stop, you know.

GROSS: The circle - the circular hole is a perfect circle. I doubt it occurred naturally, so perfect a circle.

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, I made the - I formed the circle, you know. I gouged out the rotten wood with my hand. So that shows just how rotten it was. I mean, it wasn't easy, but I could - you know, a lot of it was very wet and moist. It was really like organs, you know, of the body. And so I took out them and formed the edge of the hole with the rotten wood. And the darkness of the hole is achieved by making a very thin, fine edge that cuts the light into dark and light. So it is a constructed hole in that tree.

GROSS: Can I say, though, you're making this sound, like, oddly sexual?

GOLDSWORTHY: (Laughter) Was I really? I had no idea. I think that, you know - it's a very sensual - yeah. Yeah, maybe sexual - no, my art is fed by every emotion and feeling that I have, of course.

GROSS: So is all this happening on your own land?

GOLDSWORTHY: No, it - well, that particular tree was growing on the - I have six acres in front of my own house, which I very rarely work on. Most of the work occurs on farmers' fields around me. And I like the discipline of working on other people's land. I think that - and that's not some sort of hippie ideal. It's just that when I work on someone else's land, it makes me aware of the social nature of that landscape. And Britain has - is a landscape that has been fashioned over thousands of years and has a strong social nature to it. And it makes me aware of the farmers' touch and the people who pass through that landscape. And many of the works - most of the works are seen by farmers, you know, who come across me working.

GROSS: You just did the hippie disclaimer that this wasn't, like, a hippie thing. Did you feel the need to say that because you think people project onto your work things that you aren't interested in and don't see there yourself?

GOLDSWORTHY: Yes, I think - I think probably. And there is a sort of a, you know, a tendency to sort of romanticize work like mine as a lone figure in the landscape, out there communing with nature and floating around and making these things with leaves and petals. It's actually a really vigorous and intense physical and practically-based process.

GROSS: I'm wondering about the injuries you may have gotten over the years from lifting stone, from working with ice, from breaking twigs, from insects that might have interfered with your work. So I'm wondering, have you gotten any of these things in this little list that I made - poison ivy and other rashes, back injuries from lifting heavy stones, hurt feet from stones dropping on your feet after one of your sculptures collapsed, slipping on the ice while you're in the Arctic making ice sculptures, weird insect bites. I know you've scratched your skin 'cause you do have a documentation of that in your new book and stuff like various photographs of just close-ups of your skin with scratches and just, like, a little bit of bright red blood kind of, you know, covering up some of the hairs (laughter) on your skin. So have you gotten all of those injuries and more?

GOLDSWORTHY: Oh, yeah, all of the above. I haven't been bitten by a snake yet, and I haven't had a scorpion bite. But it's a very physical process.

GROSS: You must have had frostbite over the years, too, working with ice.

GOLDSWORTHY: I've never actually had frostbite. You know, I've had skin peeling off in places that got pretty close to it. But considering what I've done in life, I've come away thus far relatively unscathed.

GROSS: Good. If you're just joining us, my guest is Andy Goldsworthy - has a new collection of photographic documentation of his sculptures or works. The book is called, "Ephemeral Works: 2004-2014." Let's take a short break here, then we'll talk some more. This is FRESH AIR.

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GROSS: This is FRESH AIR, and if you're just joining us, my guest is artist Andy Goldsworthy. He has a new collection of photographs of his work called "Ephemeral Works." And his work kind of has to be photographed because they are ephemeral. They're made out of things like leaves, twigs, ice, stone. And some of them collapse. Some of them melt. Some of them get slowly destroyed while traveling in a stream. And so for those of us who aren't there to see it before they are changed or destroyed, it's great to have this documentation. You work with ice a lot. You live in Scotland, where it can get very cold in the winter. You've traveled to the Arctic to work with ice. And one of the things you do is take icicles and refashion them, like, you break the icicles into bits and fashion them into spirals or other shapes that wouldn't occur in a naturally-forming icicle. Can you talk a little bit about your fascination with ice and with ice as a material for you to use?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, I love the winter. Well, I love all the seasons, but the winter is possibly one of the most intense. And the British climate, although it is very wet, it is quite mild in winter. We don't get these severe - generally don't get severe winters. And when it does get below freezing and there is - it's cold enough for ice to form, then that changes the whole landscape, and it makes the landscape a different landscape to the one that I worked with previously. And I want to understand that. But the big tension of the ice works is that they're often made when it's cold enough to freeze one piece of ice to another. And the temperature very rarely stays below freezing all day long in Britain. So I typically will get up very, very early when it's dark, and I'll start working in the dark, which can be difficult 'cause I can't really see what I'm doing. And I can work very, very quickly whilst it's freezing. And then the temperature starts to rise, and the work slows down. And then if it stops freezing, the work collapses. But if I can get through the midday period - and I often try to find places where the sun can't reach so I can work in the cold shadow of a sunny day. And if I can get through the midday, then I can work through to the evening after and then - in those very rare occasions, there'll be two or three days of continuous freezing. And then I can continue to add to the works or latterly, even leave the works for the flowing of waters to start covering the work up. So they become imbedded in frozen ice, so the process continues. So there's a huge number of things that are occurring with the ice works which fascinate me enormously, but it's driven by this kind of frantic race against time. And whilst that creates a huge amount of tension and problems, it's a tension that I think I feed off, you know? On those times when I have been to places where it's been constantly cold, the luxury of having constantly subzero temperatures is amazing, is really wonderful, and I enjoy that. But I wouldn't like that all the time. I think I have been fashioned by the fickle weather of Britain that it is - it's forever changing. There's no kind of constant sun or dry weather or freezing weather, and I'm always having to change and adapt to that. And I think that brings a sort of energy to the work that I might not have if I worked in another place.

GROSS: My guest is sculptor Andy Goldsworthy. He has a new book of photographs of his ephemeral works from 2004 to 2014. After we take a short break, we'll talk about making rain shadows. I'm Terry Gross, and this is FRESH AIR.

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GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross back with sculptor Andy Goldsworthy. He has a new book of photos of his outdoor ephemeral art, art made from stones, twigs, trees, ice, flowers, grass, rain. Many of his works melt, decay or blow away over time. His most famous work is the Storm King Wall at the Storm King Art Center, an outdoor sculpture park in New York. He lives in Scotland.

When asked about why you do ephemeral work, you've said, well, you know, everything dies. And that's true, but there are great paintings and sculptures that have survived for centuries. I mean, art endures - or at least some art endures much longer than any life - any individual life does or that even certain civilizations have, you know, certain cultures have. So why pass up the opportunity for any kind of permanence and create works that are so ephemeral they're going to melt?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, it's not that I pass up on that opportunity because there are works that I have made that will last many, many years with stone - Storm King Wall and many others. And it's not a stance against art or well-made art or long-lasting art. It's not about art. It's just about life and the need to understand that a lot of things in life do not last. And to understand the nature of things, I have to understand the nature of change. And I cannot just work with stone or the more permanent materials. I need to work with leaves and ice and snow and mud and clay and water and the rising tide and the wind and all these. I need to work with those to understand what's around me, and that's the reason for making those works. It is also important that the work does not just live in the form of photographs. So the work needs to, on occasions, be made in a place that people can engage with it. And the large-scale projects - it's like being two different artists, in a way. You know, I have the ephemeral work, and then I have the large-scale works where I will use machinery, cranes, tools, people. And they're made in a very, very different way. And there is, I suppose, a big difference between - one of the big difference - it's a fairly - it's a simplification, but when I make an ephemeral work, when it's finished, that's the moment that it ends, in a way. From there on, it melts, decays and disappears. When I do the permanent projects or the big projects, when a work is finished, that's the beginning of its life. And they do look to the future in that respect - not as a vehicle for my work to last for posterity. They are about the future. And they depend - their life depends very much upon how people care for them, respond to them. They have a strong social nature to them - not as people as an audience, but they're made in a landscape of which people are part of and are typically walls that can be walked alongside, chambers for people to step into, houses for people to enter and, most recently, a wall that you can walk inside of. So people are bound up in those works. And without that relationship with people to give it life, to bring it to life, the works will not work. They will not be successful.

GROSS: There's one other series I want to ask you about. You have a series of what you call rain shadows of your body. That's not an expression I've heard of before. Is that a word you made up, or am I the only one who doesn't know what a rain shadow is?

GOLDSWORTHY: (Laughter). Well, that is one of - has been one of my main obsessions. I'm getting a little out of it now, but for a while, if it rained, I just had to lay down.

GROSS: Yeah, explain what a rain shadow is and how you make it.

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, it's - when it starts to rain, I lay down...

GROSS: Outside, not in your bed (laughter).

GOLDSWORTHY: Oh, yeah, no. Yeah, yeah. No, no (laughter). Yes, these are outdoor works. So it rains. I lay down, or I find a surface quickly that I think will produce a good rain shadow. And I lay there. And when it's wet enough, I get up. And there is, left behind me, my imprint, my shadow. And that sounds really quite simple, but it is - it is beautifully complex - what kind of rain, the length of time. Sometimes, it stops raining when I'm halfway through. Sometimes, I can lie there for an hour, waiting for the rain, and other times it's over in four or five seconds. And I often do them on video, so you have the whole film of laying down and then me getting up and leaving the shadow.

GROSS: You've done some of these on a country road, and so it looks as if, on a forensic investigation, they've outlined where the body was. It's kind of like that shape, but it's what you call a rain shadow. It's, like, your impression, or it's, like, a dry part of the road and everything else was wet and transformed by the water. So you see the difference between the impression of your body and the road or the earth around it. If I came across that in the middle of the road, I would think, oh, there was murder here?

(LAUGHTER)

GROSS: The police have been here and done - like, they chalked it off or something? Like, I wouldn't know what's going on. There's something really unsettling about it.

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, it is, yeah. There - a lot of the - nature, for me, is...

GROSS: Like, here's a - if you told me this was a piece of art and I came across it, I'd say, oh, that's really beautiful. If I came across it not knowing what it was, I'd be concerned.

GOLDSWORTHY: Yeah, well, you should be.

(LAUGHTER)

GOLDSWORTHY: You know, nature, for me, is not this - you know, it is - it is raw and dangerous and difficult and beautiful and unnerving. It is so unnerving, you know? I've laid down in dried up streambeds, leaving a shadow. And then, five minutes later, it's flash flooded, and where I once laid is now running water, which would've washed me away, you know? There's that power and danger often in places that look so calm and pastoral to begin with, you know? And then this violence erupts out of the place, which I think is quite extraordinary and very unnerving but, at the same time, very beautiful.

GROSS: What does it feel like lying on your back in the middle of a rainstorm?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, it depends where I am. And I have actually have made them in New York, on the streets of New York, too.

GROSS: You've got photos of that in the book, too.

GOLDSWORTHY: They are in the book, yeah. The Times Square one - I mean, laying down for 15 minutes in Times Square is a long time.

GROSS: (Laughter).

GOLDSWORTHY: And I'm not - you know, I'm not a - I'm not a performer, in that I don't like the public, but I work in that respect. They're not being made as a kind of theater. So they're very private acts in an incredibly public place, but how appropriate for the pavement, this surface that is ingrained with the passage of people, you know? That's what makes a city. People are the nature of the city, and you can feel it in the pavement. And we leave our presence in the pavement. We're walking over it, sitting on steps. You know, you can feel where people have been before. So the idea of laying down and leaving a momentary shadow there seems very much in the spirit of the city and the streets.

GROSS: So when you were lying down in the rain in Times Square to create a rain shadow, was there somebody with a camera documenting the whole thing, making it clear that this was some kind of art thing? Or did people just pass you by and think, like, you were homeless...

GOLDSWORTHY: (Laughter).

GROSS: Or that maybe you were having - you know, that you were sick and they were going to ignore anyways, or did people come to your aid? Like, what - anything can happen in Times Square.

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, generally in New York, people just walk over you with no problem about that. Other countries, people want to resuscitate you, like, after a bit. And, of course, I can't move because I'll spoil the shadow. So I always say, it's OK, I'm just making a shadow; I'm making that. But I do have a camera - the camera on the - the movie - small, you know, camera to video the work. And there'll be - I usually try and have someone who can look after that, but it's fairly low-key. And it is - you know, I'm prone to people in - but it's only after, actually, when I see video, that I realize how much activity is going around me at some time - you know, people laying down next to me, jumping over me.

(LAUGHTER)

GOLDSWORTHY: I sort of - I sort of just concentrate on the rain, and I have learned so much about rain, you know, the different kinds of rains, the rhythms of rains. And, you know, people will say, well, why don't you just use a hose pipe, you know? But that would be totally pointless, you know? The point is not just to make the shadow; it's to understand the rain that falls and the relationship with rain and the different rhythms of different rainfalls.

GROSS: Do you ever gets sick afterwards?

GOLDSWORTHY: No, not that I can remember. Although, there was a rather wonderful New York policeman who said - I remember her saying, do you know how many communicable diseases you could get by laying down there?

(LAUGHTER)

GOLDSWORTHY: And in Times Square, they were absolutely amazing, you know? They were protecting me at one point.

GROSS: My guest is sculptor Andy Goldsworthy. He has a new book of photos of his outdoor ephemeral art. We'll talk more after a break. This is FRESH AIR.

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GROSS: If you're just joining us, my guest is artist Andy Goldsworthy. He has a new collection in a book called "Ephemeral Works" documenting his ephemeral works from 2004 to 2014. You went to art school. Did you at any point think that you were going to work with more traditional mediums, that you were going to work on a canvas or do sculptures, you know, working with more traditional materials, things designed to be indoors or to endure as outdoor sculptures made out of things like metal?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, I started working outside pretty early on. In fact, I have a show in New York in three weeks' time, which is new work to do with the - a lot of the kind of body things that I've been doing recently. But there're also some works from way back. And there's one from 1976, when I was 20. So I began fairly - almost when I began at art college. And it was - you know, when you go to art school, or at that time, it was - you sort of have this idea that art is this means of self-expression. And you have a canvas or whatever, and you express yourself on this canvas. Well, you know, I don't think I'm that kind of artist that - and particularly at that age - that I had anything to say, you know? And it was just very difficult in a studio where you have a blank canvas and just yourself. And when I started working outside, it just - I felt as if I was tapping into things that were important, that were alive, and learning about things as opposed to trying to express something about that. And that was a big shift, and that's what has sustained me for 40 years - nearly 40 years.

GROSS: When you were working on farms as a teenager, did you see the haystacks and the plowing, the shapes in the plowing of a field, as being art then, you know, of being beautiful and of being, you know, just, like, beautiful patterns and shapes?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, I didn't see them as beautiful patterns 'cause when you make - or shapes - because when you're making these things, it's just really hard work. And it's just hard - and I still see that. And that's their beauty is that they're not just these beautiful - there's this kind of structural, practical integrity to them, which I still try to achieve in everything that I make. It's not an attempt to kind of create something pastoral - ideal. I mean, this is - these are - if anything, what I do is a vigorous attempt to kind of counteract that idea of the landscape being some ideal. And those works that I've made in fields - you know, fields for me are battlefields. And you see that particularly on the East Coast of America, where the old fields have been taken over by briers and trees and how the farmer had to fight for that field. And so all fields are, in a sense, this forum for this fight that a farmer has to undergo to draw nourishment out of the ground. So it's always been this kind of rawness to the landscape that appeals to me. And - I don't know if it appeals to me, but it's what it is. So I think those were really important - they felt like important subject matter.

GROSS: How do you make a living? Do you sell the - do you do commissions? Do you do installations? Is that how you make your living? Is it, like, photographs of the work? You can't sell an ice sculpture that's on, like, a public stream or lake or something.

GOLDSWORTHY: The main source of my income is through the commissions of the large-scale works and big sculptures, the projects. And the - I mean, this book that we have now, I mean, it's the first book I've made for eight years. And I'm going to have an exhibition of some of the photograph - the printed photographs in Galerie Lelong in New York in two or three weeks. And that's the first exhibition I've done of the photographs for a long, long time. So whilst they may become some sort of revenue, they're certainly not done with that in mind and nor are the large commissions. I would like to think that everything I'm making is being done because of my needs as an artist. But I am very grateful that it does provide an income for my life too. Don't get me wrong. I'm very fortunate to be able to do what I do and live the way I do.

GROSS: So when you're looking for ideas or looking for materials, are you just kind of, like, walking through the world with an open mind just looking for things? Or do you pretty much have an idea in mind and then find what you're looking for?

GOLDSWORTHY: The - with the ephemeral work, it's very much an intuitive journey that starts with the day and the weather and depending on what's happening. So it's a response to that day and what is seasonally or climatically around at the time. And the works are very much about light and atmosphere in the same way that I talked about the stone not just being a stone in my hand but a connection - it's the connections it makes to the whole place. So the work is the atmosphere of the day, the place. And it is driven intuitively.

GROSS: What are your neighbors, who are farmers, make of your work and of you?

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, I moved to Scotland 30 years ago. It's a small village. And I'm Scottish - not Scottish, I'm English. And I'm an artist living in a small, Scottish village. So one would expect to be treated with some sort of caution. And the village and the farmers have shown enormous tolerance of me and interest in what I do. I mean, they don't necessarily understand what I'm doing all the time. But they, you know, I think they respect what I do and that there is a connection between what they do with the land and what I do, you know, that we're both dependent on weather and respond to that. And, you know, there's been times that they - I remember one work where I was making a frost shadow. So these works are made obviously on a frosty day. And I stand in a field, and as the sun rises behind my back, my shadow is cast onto the field in front of me. And the - as the sun burns off the frost around my shadow, the white shadow starts to come out of my black shadow. And then I step away leaving this white shadow on the ground. Well, I stand there for, you know, about half an hour, three quarters of an hour. And I could hear the farmer with his quad going around, looking after his sheep and whatever. He went up the hill, down the hill, over to his turnip field, and he then drove past me. And he said - he knew I was up to something, but he had no idea what I'm doing. And he just said, how are you doing, Andy, and dropped me a couple of turnips by my feet and went on. And those turnips are in the photograph of the shadow that I made, you know. And it's that kind of just tolerance of me being there, standing in a field, doing something. He knows I was up to something but, you know, whatever. It's fine. It's Andy.

GROSS: Well, Andy Goldsworthy, it's been great to talk with you. Thank you so much.

GOLDSWORTHY: Well, thank you. It's been a pleasure.

GROSS: Andy Goldsworthy has a new book of photographs of his ephemeral works from 2004 to 2014. You can see a slideshow of his work on our website, freshair.npr.org. An exhibition of Goldsworthy photos opens October 22 at the Galerie Lelong in New York City. Coming up, John Powers reviews a novel set in the scariest place John has ever been. This is FRESH AIR. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.