Calling All Angels

At night, the angels look different. What is stone or bronze by day comes to life in the dark. Folds that shift, wings that cast shadows that do not exist in sunlight. A face that reveals little at midday takes on an expression in the dark, thanks to the light.

Not every angel is what it appears to be. Some are carved from sandstone or marble, solid, hand-hewn by a stonemason. Others are made of bronze, some of plaster or hollow, encased in a layer of metal just a few millimetres thick. A technique that, around 1900, allowed for mass production without this being apparent in the individual figures. From the outside, the difference is barely noticeable.

Not everyone could afford an angel. Companies such as WMF, the Württembergische Metallwarenfabrik in Geislingen, supplied the middle classes, who at the turn of the century could afford a family grave of a certain standard. In smaller cemeteries, often only a single example of each design was permitted. For two or three decades, the angel was a middle-class status symbol. Around 1900, it was ubiquitous. In the period following the First World War, it disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Today, some figures have damaged wings, are missing a hand, or have cracks in their bodies through which water seeps in. In the case of electroplated sculptures, the core becomes visible where the metal layer has flaked off.

I was still young when I lost two people who meant a great deal to me. The series was created during that time, over a period of two or three years. Its title is inspired by the song of the same name by Jane Siberry.