Wild sounds: why chateau homes now sit on manicured lawns in Scotland | Art & Design

ohAmid the endless manicured grounds of Mount Stuart on the Scottish Isle of Bute sits a neo-Gothic manor house, a most incongruous sight: a bright yellow and green Caribbean-style residence. It is the work of Scottish-Barbadian artist Alberta Whittle, who originally planned to build a cottage to accommodate visitors but realized the grand mansion might prove a hindrance.

However, the building ended up being a hybrid of hut and chattel house, reflecting her dual lineage. “The hut is a gathering space of refuge in the Scottish landscape, but I wanted to bring another island’s history of space-making into the mix,” said Whittle, who represents Scotland in Glasgow. Venice Biennale 2022“A chattel house is a kind of architecture that was born out of fugitive origin – so if you were seen as a troublemaker and the plantation owner wanted you to flee, you could quickly demolish your house.”

The self-confessed extremist added a new layer to the work, naming the hut The Gathering or Pavilion (2024), inspired by the Viking parliaments, or pavilions, found on the Isle of Bute in the 1950s. “The pavilions were spaces for reflection and debate,” she says. “I wanted to create an alternative space for gathering and conflict resolution, where people can come together to imagine alternative futures and reflect on past pain.”

Whittle’s work highlights themes of healing, anti-Blackness, and the legacy of transatlantic slavery. Her lyrical play, Under the Sea, Things Drive Us Wild, is the result of two years of research on the Island of Bute, weaving together ideas of ancestral roots and maritime routes, histories of migration and gathering, thresholds, and female waywardness as a form of resistance.

In the entrance hall, Whittle’s self-portrait, Memorial to Wildfire (2024), is dedicated to the neglected black and Native American sculptor Edmonia Lewis (1844-1907), and is placed on a plinth that normally houses Lewis’s work, now on loan to the Tate. The young artist thus places herself in the same family as Lewis, who achieved international fame amid extreme racial persecution, moved to Rome, and died in obscurity in London. For Whittle, Lewis’s story embodies the resilience of black women and the social challenges of retaining their identities. “How can one enjoy the feeling of wildness,” she asks, “without having to conform to the expectations of propriety?” This question is a powerful thread running through the exhibition.

Inside the Marble Hall, a dizzying mix of tapestries, columns and stained-glass windows vie for attention. The centerpiece of the exhibition: a series of sensual sculptural assemblages made from recycled doors that serve as thresholds. While many artists might have trouble coping with such a densely decorated environment, Whittle’s vibrant work stands out. The vaulted ceiling is covered with glass crystal stars, arranged in the shape of Cassiopeia, the queen in Greek mythology who was punished for her vanity – another example of a wayward woman said to run afoul of the patriarchy. The doors (all 2,024) suggest magical portals, reminiscent of the Tardis from Doctor Who or the famous wardrobe leading to Narnia in CS Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

The first door is decorated with Weavinga common religious symbol VoodooThe door is slightly ajar, with a bronze ear hanging from the doorframe and a painting of a furry masquerade figure on the back, beckoning visitors in. “It had a sense of mischief,” Whittle said. “I wanted it to be like an Anansi trickster figure who just left an ear as a little marker that they were still listening.”

Elsewhere, a battered door looks as if it has been kicked open. A tiny bronze foot – perhaps the culprit – seems ready to playfully dance on another tilted door, in keeping with the title of the trio of works, Knocks, Kicks and Grapevines.

The other two doors are decorated with tufts and are titled “Beneath the Waves We Transformed (Before I Was a Whale)” and “Before I Was a Seal”. Depicting colorful, vibrant scenes like twisting bodies that become tree roots, playful seals, or whale tails lapping against the waves. “When I make these works, I think about how it feels to do these movements in your body,” Whittle says. “When you dive into the water, you feel the water, you break the seal that feels so solid, and you move between the surface world and the underwater world.”

Part of the joy of these pieces is the myriad details they feature, like talismans and treasure shells hand-sewn onto a tufted surface, or a snail circling leisurely through the woods. Three bells hang behind a door – waiting to celebrate? Or to sound the alarm? Turquoise sandbags weighed down the sculptures evoke an uneasy sense of doom, while the chartreuse doorframes convey a sense of subsidence – perhaps a nod to the River Clyde outside, a waterway associated with Glasgow and transatlantic trade.

On the balcony overlooking the hall, three screen prints evoke the fear of the Middle Passage through the text in the center: “What sound does the black Atlantic make?” This layered exhibition provides space for memories of cruel fates and watery hauntings, while also evoking festivals and carnivals. One imagines masked revelers pouring into the house, livening it up with their revelry, only to disappear at the end of the night. Go through the door on the last level, titled “What goes up, comes down,” inside a greenhouse for stargazing.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Whittle drew inspiration for the doors from nearby prehistoric megalithic sites. “To me, they are transmitters, they have this power and knowledge. I don’t know what they are conveying, whether it’s to another community, to the stars, or to their gods,” Whittle said. “When you touch them, they radiate such energy.”

Representing ancient monoliths, gates, barriers and even humans, Whittle’s theatrical doors on wheels mark a breakthrough in her creative practice, allowing her to show the movement of bodies through space without involving actual performance. These portals to different worlds evoke multiple perspectives simultaneously. Reminiscent of the concept of a gathering and temporary house-cum-cabin, visitors can relax, debate and heal. Perhaps they can also forget established certainties and tap into the wild within. After all, for Whittle, this is the purpose of art: “Art is about opening up a space where you are not controlled.”