The Unresolved Tension in LR Vandy’s Rise: A Meditation on Labor, Movement, and the Unsettled Soul
There’s something profoundly unsettling about LR Vandy’s Rise at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, and I don’t mean that as a criticism. In fact, it’s what makes the exhibition so compelling. Walking into the Weston Gallery, you’re immediately confronted with ropes—thick, maritime fibers that seem to defy stillness. They climb, loop, and collapse, caught in a perpetual state of becoming. It’s as if the very act of movement has been frozen in time, leaving you to wonder: are these sculptures rising, or are they falling?
Personally, I think this ambiguity is the heart of Vandy’s work. The ropes aren’t just materials; they’re carriers of history. What many people don’t realize is that ropes have always been tied to labor—ships, cargo, dockyards, extraction. Vandy doesn’t need to spell this out; the associations are woven into the fibers themselves. But here’s where it gets interesting: the ropes aren’t just about the past. They’re about the tension between strength and malleability, between control and freedom. As Vandy herself notes, ‘It relies on strength while remaining malleable, always pulling, never pushing.’ If you take a step back and think about it, this duality mirrors the human condition—our constant struggle between resilience and vulnerability.
One thing that immediately stands out is the central maypole sculpture, A Call to Dance. Traditionally, maypoles are symbols of communal celebration, but they also carry a darker history. Authorities have long been wary of collective movement, whether it’s pagan rituals in medieval Europe or rave culture in modern Britain. What this really suggests is that dance isn’t just about joy; it’s about resistance. Communities that move together develop a sense of connection that’s hard to regulate. From my perspective, Vandy is tapping into something deeper here—the idea that movement is inherently political, a way to assert collective strength in the face of oppression.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Vandy balances these heavy themes with a sense of tenderness. The ropes are soft, frayed at the edges, almost worn out. There’s a vulnerability to them that feels deeply human. But don’t be fooled—this softness isn’t passive. It’s the kind of softness that comes from being repeatedly pulled apart and put back together. Joy, exhaustion, and history are all tangled together in these fibers, and Vandy refuses to untangle them. In my opinion, this refusal is an act of defiance. It’s a reminder that life isn’t neat or resolved; it’s messy, and that’s what makes it beautiful.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the way the exhibition was created. Much of Rise was produced directly inside the gallery, with Vandy and her team improvising as they went. This process mirrors the themes of the work itself—nothing is fixed, everything is in flux. The sculptures feel less like finished objects and more like temporary arrangements, as if they could shift at any moment. This raises a deeper question: what does it mean to create something that’s inherently unresolved? Personally, I think it’s a rejection of the idea that art needs to provide answers. Vandy is more interested in asking questions, in leaving us with a sense of suspension.
If you’ve ever felt the strain of being pulled in different directions, you’ll recognize the emotional core of Rise. The sculptures aren’t fully free, but they’re not entirely restrained either. They’re held in tension, on the edge of release. This sense of incompletion is what stays with you long after you leave the gallery. It’s a feeling that’s both unsettling and liberating, a reminder that freedom isn’t something you achieve—it’s something you feel, even if only for a moment.
In a world that often demands resolution, Rise is a celebration of the unresolved. It’s a testament to the power of movement, the resilience of communities, and the beauty of impermanence. As I walked through the exhibition, I couldn’t help but think: maybe the point isn’t to find balance, but to embrace the tension. After all, it’s in that tension that we find our humanity.
Takeaway: Rise isn’t just an exhibition; it’s an experience. It challenges you to sit with discomfort, to find beauty in the unresolved, and to recognize the power of collective movement. In a time when the world feels increasingly divided, Vandy’s work is a timely reminder that we’re all connected—by history, by labor, and by the rhythms that bind us together.
