‘Thank God for the Chalice’
The title quotation comes from my impassioned letter to The Press, answering Lesley Beaven, loyal wife of the late Christchurch architect Peter Beaven, arch-critic of Neil Dawson’s sculpture. I should have simply called it ‘Chalice’, which Dawson far prefers, as the ‘the’ would look arrogant. Its omission is moreover consistent with this highly idiosyncratic, ‘see-through’, outsized and stemless interpretation of the Holy Communion vessel. Yet so familiar is this landmark (imagine someone saying ‘Let’s meet by the Chalice’), that Dawson should relax. Nomenclature aside, 20 years after the unveiling, writing Chalice’s art history is overdue.
Minus the critical chatter of resource consent submissions, numerous letters to and editorials, history would be relatively uncomplicated and uncontroversial but duller. With apologies to the historian Lord Macaulay, there was ’no spectacle so ridiculous’ as Christchurch having one of its ‘periodic fits’ of opinionatedness. For a significant public commission (18 metres high and 8.5 metres apex diameter), to not hold at least a limited design competition was unusual. But for Councillor (later Dame) Anna Crighton, chairwoman of the Art 2000 committee, there was no alternative to simply inviting Dawson, ‘our home-town boy’, to produce a major Christchurch sculpture. She bemoaned the disparity between Dawson’s international profile and his inadequate representation in his birthplace and base as a student and subsequently as a practising sculptor. His 1981 at the Christchurch Arts Centre, however delightful, was much earlier and relatively modest in scale. For Crighton, a new commission would bring an asset to the city and redress Dawson’s local neglect. This fait accompli caused Canterbury School of Fine Arts lecturer Stuart Griffiths to complain of ‘the uneven process that does not foster excellence’, and later, shrilly, of ‘the perpetuation of cronyism which is flaunted in The Press’s feature on Chalice’. Dawson’s own perspective naturally differs: ‘Competitions can end up being unfair to all parties. They take up a vast amount of energy . . . time-consuming, often for little reward and no resulting commission. Not being part of a competition was frankly a relief.’ Indeed, he was delighted to be belatedly involved in a major Christchurch project—and to rise to the challenge. The first approach came in August 1998 from Crighton’s Sculpture 2000 working group colleague Sir Miles Warren, when Dawson told him that a proposal, including a scale model and an engineer’s report, would cost $6000. A design brief was then framed and a ground plan established by architect David Sheppard, locating the proposed work in the south-west quadrant of Cathedral Square, then in the course of redevelopment. The design notes originally stipulated that the sculpture ‘should be abstract’ and 12–15 metres high. It would The Citizens’ War Memorial, located north of the Anglican Cathedral, was never a major concern, however. By late November, Sculpture 2000 envisaged ‘a splendid contemporary structure which will be a celebration of Christchurch, Canterbury, the 150th Anniversary, the year 2000 and the new millennium’. The working group also established the ownership of the forthcoming sculpture: its parent body, Turning Point 2000, would commission it on behalf of Christchurch City Council. Dawson accepted the commission in January 1999, provided the ‘abstract’ requirement was deleted, as this was ‘a complex issue open to varying interpretations’. Indeed, contemporary art buffs rarely deem Dawson’s sculpture abstract: his subject matter made frequent, playful references to diverse figurative objects (architectural details, rubber balls and fern fronds), contributing to his public appeal.
