So, you want to introduce small children to art. Why not ease yourselves in? No white walls. No string barriers. No alarms. No beady-eyed gallery attendants. Just a whole lot of green space in which to charge about and come across awe-inspiring art while you’re at it. There are several outdoor sculpture parks offering free-range art exploration in the UK, but one above all beckons. That’s right, it’s time for this toddler’s first trip to Yorkshire Sculpture Park (YSP).
Admittedly, my timing is a smidge off. When we head there, it’s mid-February, and don’t we know it. As we pull into the car park, the sky is a grisly blanket of greyish white. The drizzle starts soon after we open our doors, and doesn’t stop. As I’m pushing the buggy uphill, struggling to get a grip as my boots slip in the mud, I briefly wonder whether I should have saved this series for summer. But then I look around me at the tiny people in wellies and waders running wild around the Barbara Hepworths, and I reconsider.
Spread across the 18th-century Bretton Hall estate in West Yorkshire, YSP was the first of its kind in the UK. Founding director Peter Murray was a lecturer at Bretton Hall College when he first suggested installing sculpture in the grounds and inviting the public to explore it; since then, it’s grown into the largest sculpture park in Europe. Dotted across 202 hectares (500 acres) of fields, hills, woodland, formal gardens and two lakes are modern and contemporary artworks by beloved locals Hepworth and Henry Moore, and international stars such as Bharti Kher and Sol LeWitt. Come rain or shine, it welcomes traditional gallerygoers as well as dog walkers and folk who simply want to soak up the green. It also caters brilliantly to small children.
“We put particular care into supporting families with babies and under-fives to bring playful opportunities to being in the park,” says learning manager Emma Spencer. When we visit, there are free activity packs that encourage children to learn about the trees and create their own art by drawing, rubbing bark or gathering twigs and leaves. There’s also the Hidden Forest, designed with under-fives in mind but open to all. “YSP is really big – it can be quite a lot for little legs – so the Hidden Forest, which is enclosed, gives small children and their caregivers an opportunity just to be with nature.”
It’s true: the park is a lot for little legs, hence my persistence with our muddied buggy. And unlike those other, admittedly slightly older children splashing about in the puddles, every time I deposit my son on the grass to enjoy the sculptures, he scrunches up his nose and pronounces it “wetttttttt”.
But enjoy them he does. Particularly Vanessa da Silva’s Muamba Posy, a colourful triptych of intertwining forms that he promptly pronounces a “playground”. Children can’t, in fact, climb its pastel parts, but they can sit on them. He points out the “wah wah” (baby) curled up inside the womb of Damien Hirst’s whopping bronze-painted The Virgin Mother, and the teddy (“Teddy, teddy, teddy!”) tucked under the arm of the YBA’s young girl clutching the charity box nearby.
“It’s a very different way of approaching art,” Spencer says of the liberating experience of seeing sculptures in the natural landscape. “For small children, obviously, there’s the height factor, but most of all they’re just coming across the art, and they can take the lead. They might think, ‘Am I going to hop to that sculpture? Am I going to jump around it?’ They can do those things indoors, but they’re much more permissible for children to naturally do when they’re outside. And the weather impacts what the sculptures look like.”
Speaking of which, by now the drizzle has turned to rain, and we’re worn out and ready for lunch. There are a few options to choose from, but we’re right by the Weston, which is calling out to us with a roaring fire (safely out of reach of tiny hands). As soon as we arrive, we’re offered crayons and paper. The kids’ menu has everything from baked potatoes to chicken and chips, all served with a bucolic view. There’s ample room for my son to run around in here, too, which he does – and no one flinches.
By the time we’re done, it’s still cold and wet, so instead of traipsing across to the far side of the lake, we head back to the gardens surrounding the reception. We weave our way between William Kentridge’s Paper Procession, a group of six vibrant sculptures parading in front of a century-old yew hedge. My son lights up at Daniel Arsham’s Bronze Eroded Bunny, based on a Bugs Bunny plush toy, standing proud in the formal garden: “Hop, hop, hop!”
If the heavens truly open, don’t despair. Within the galleries are little bags and baskets brimming with activities and prompts. The Underground Gallery has a dedicated studio for making your own art. More sporadic offerings include Sculpture Baby – a sensory session that takes place once a month – and Storytelling in the Gallery, with narratives inspired by the exhibitions.
But, really, the art waiting to be discovered across the rolling landscape is hard to beat. (As are the animals – did I mention there are highland cattle and sheep?) The works subtly change in the natural light, and in spite of their often gigantic scale, feel less intimidating, more intimate, out here. I can see that, over the coming years, my son will get more and more out of it. Playing spot the sculpture. Skipping between them. Considering how they make him feel.
And the best bit? After all that fresh air, he sleeps for the entire two-hour car journey home … Bliss.