I. At the beginning, there is stone

The petit granit
The large format
Direct carving

II. The symposiums

Sculptors from all horizons
Telling the story of the symposiums
Exhibition
Some notable figures (Willequet,...)

III. Stone, still and always

I. At the beginning, there is stone

At the origin of the sculpture symposiums organised at Les Avins en Condroz, there are a few sculptor friends drawn to the idea of each undertaking a monumental sculpture in "petit granit", on the very site where the stone is quarried. The aim was to escape the constraints of their studios, to take on a large format and, above all, to achieve it in this simultaneously noble and demanding material.

The "petit granit" is indeed a very hard stone, a grey-black enamelled with small pale fossils, whose carving demands both skill and patience. In exchange, it is a stone that offers a great diversity of textures and nuances. Its hardness allows for precision and variety in angles of attack. The mark of the tool remains visible and, through its graphic quality, accentuates the expression the sculptor gives to his forms. All of this, combined with the natural respect one has for a durable material, makes approaching this stone a particularly enriching experience.

It is curious to note that in the 19th century, few sculptors carved their works in stone themselves. This task was left to skilled workers who reproduced in stone a plaster model. The works of Rodin, who was a genius modeller whose least touch of clay was expressive and alive, did not fully retain in marble the vitality of that first creative gesture. Maillol complained about the excessive precision of these "point setters" whose expertise deprived him of any possibility of modifying during the finishing stage.

One can easily imagine what was lost in this mechanical execution of a sculpture first shaped in clay. Starting with the fact that the creative process is exactly reversed: modelling is done mainly by the progressive addition of clay, whereas stone sculpture is, on the contrary, the fruit of a progressive refinement. Searching for a form by adding or removing material represents two very different approaches. But above all, this overlooked the fact that only the direct carving of stone by the artist allows for that very particular exchange between a material and a creative act. The forms developed are influenced by the stone itself, in a permanent connivance and dialogue.

It was great sculptors such as Brancusi, Zadkine or Henry Moore who restored direct carving to honour. In their wake, a new generation of sculptors felt the need to reconnect, through the material itself, with the very origins of their art.

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II. The symposiums

Inspired by this desire to create by carving petit granit, over a period of about fifteen years sculptors gathered to work side by side at the Jullien quarry site at Les Avins en Condroz. The small founding group grew year by year, stimulating each person's artistic projects through an atmosphere of conviviality and collective enthusiasm.

Sculptors from all horizons

The regular symposium sculptors would meet others abroad and introduce them to this initiative, which thus quickly became international. There were sculptors from France, Germany, Australia, Japan, Norway, Canada, the Soviet Union, Bulgaria, Hungary, etc. All of this took place discreetly, without publicity or media fanfare, as the purpose of these gatherings was above all to offer the possibility of working for a month free from the concerns of daily life, to be able to concentrate on an ambitious project, stimulated by collective work. Inaugurated by two or three sculptors in 1977, the symposiums were bringing together around thirty fifteen years later. The experience came to an end in 1992 with the dispersal of the core group.

Telling the story of the symposiums

Participating in the symposiums sometimes demanded a certain courage from sculptors. First they had to become accustomed to the particular environment in which the sculptures were created. It was a vast esplanade that dominated the whole village, used ordinarily as a storage area for stones awaiting use. Each sculptor marked out their working space, often separated from other sculptors by large blocks of stone belonging to the quarry. This outdoor studio was obviously exposed to the elements, but the collective emulation drove each person to continue working whether it rained, blew or was very hot. The stone itself was influenced by these climatic variations, appearing sometimes lighter, more powdery, more grey in sunlight, sometimes blacker, deeper and unfathomable in the rain. I have kept a precise memory of those days when one heard nothing but the clinking of chisels, when one had the pleasure of taking part in that collective effort and, at the same time, of being concentrated on one's own work, in harmony with the surrounding nature. Another difficulty faced the sculptors: working partly under the gaze of others. Most of them were more accustomed to the privacy of their studio than to this open space, always liable to be disturbed by a visitor. And this was no doubt one of the other assets of these gatherings. By a tacit understanding, each person's concentration was preserved, glances were discreet, any remarks were always of a technical nature or encouragement rather than a value judgement on the work in progress. Even so, it was fascinating to meet and watch working artists from such distant horizons with often different training and practices. The essential part of these working encounters belongs to lived experience. It gave the sculptors an unusual impetus, without seeking to form a school or an aesthetic tendency. Certain things allowed one to see that, through their differences, they all belonged to the same family: first their love of stone, then their reluctance to use machines to speed up their work. They did not use pneumatic tools and only rarely resorted to the angle grinder. And when they did, they took care to do so only outside the working hours of the other sculptors, so as not to disturb them with untimely noise. It was an almost ethical choice, tacitly accepted by all — a refusal of the profitability that commands speed of execution, a refusal of the noise and dust that hinders reflection. During breaks, the quarry workers would come out of curiosity to see what we were doing and were amazed to see us doing for pleasure what they were obliged to do to earn their living. The Jullien quarry employed about twenty workers whose activity gave dynamism to the sculptors, who paced their work at the same hours. There was therefore no antagonism between the industrial activities of the quarry and the artistic project taking place within its walls. From one to the other, it was still a question of the same thing: the taming of this particular material that is "le petit granit".

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Exhibition

This stone is the one used to build most of the village houses. So it was quite naturally that the idea arose to organise, every two years in the village, an exhibition of the completed works. The inhabitants were called upon, as they agreed to receive a monumental sculpture in front of their house or in their garden. Each work was unexpected and, at the same time, as though justified by the stone of the houses, farm buildings, the church, the walls bordering the streets and surrounding the gardens. After the exhibition, the works went off to live their lives in other places.

Some notable figures

Many sculptors produced works arising from these symposiums or created on the occasion of them: Serge Vandercam who, through an architectural ensemble, made a wood at Sart Tilman full of mystery; Philippe Jacques created a large portico that became something like the symbol of UCL in Woluwe; Antoine de Vinck created a stele in two elements of clever interlocking; Marcus De Vestele a monumental fountain, etc. One cannot name them all. One of them played an essential role. This was André Willequet, a faithful participant who greatly loved this kind of "retreat in the quarry". He left, for those who saw him work, the memory of a way of being that illuminates his work in a particular light. His presence, that of an elder, radiated a precious encouragement. One was struck by his great capacity for concentration. When sculpting, he forgot everything that was not his work. Despite his great mastery of form, he was not immune to the anxiety of beginnings, because for him each sculpture became the first again. He never repeated himself and each time set himself anew the problem of creation. Unlike other sculptors, he never removed much material, leaving to the stone its weight, the power of its volume. Despite this, he possessed the secret of profoundly modifying it. But what he modified always came from the core, from the basic form, and was never a surface effect. Often too he would turn his stone around to extend the form in a continuous movement. His sculptures, full of nuance, communicate a subtle emotion that lingers over time and continues to dialogue with us.

Le noeud, 62 x 30x 25, white stone
André Willequet

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III. Stone, still and always

Some see direct stone carving as an outdated means of expression. Impressed by the development of communications technology and new technologies, they feel that the artist no longer needs to modify the material he works with and must concentrate on ideas and the desired effect. The choice of direct stone carving is obviously counter to this tendency. Though spontaneity is not absent, it hardly lends itself to romantic trance. We are closer to a slowly meditated creation. Nothing is more ridiculous than a sculptor who gets angry. Making the stone one's own, making it an ally in creation, entering into dialogue with it is no small matter. It is a question of rediscovering an emotion that surely goes back to the dawn of time. The enthusiasm often shown by beginners who complete their first stone sculpture demonstrates just how little this traditional medium has lost its magic. It is obviously a good thing that new materials and new techniques allow the contemporary sculptor to broaden the world of creation. But stone carving nonetheless still has fine days ahead of it. For those who prefer to reflect on the world rather than rush through it, it remains a powerful means of expressing the inexpressible.