Barry Flanagan review – a hare-brained scheme that wasted three decades

Waddington Custot, London
The artist once daring enough to put a hole in the sea then devoted himself to making hare sculptures – a decision that now looks hopping mad

Barry Flanagan, the bronze hare guy, has enjoyed a revival since his death in 2009. His hares have even materialised at Frieze art fair in London, dancing among the trees in Regent’s Park. These rustic images of beastly freedom suit our mood of ecological guilt. Or so I thought, until I decided to take a closer look at them – only to discover what a bizarre, obsessive and private artist Flanagan was.

One of his hare sculptures can be funny and memorable. A gallery full of them is quite alarming. His greatest strength as an animal artist is that he doesn’t anthropomorphise. There’s nothing human about his agile creatures, even when they tower on hind legs. The longer you look into their bulging blobs of eyes – or sometimes a hole where one should be – the less you discern a recognisable mind. They’re comic yet sinister, animated by a force that may be malign. The colossal sculpture at the start of the show depicts one melancholy hare sitting pensively in a garden grotto while three more of the varmints cavort in a crazy jig above it. If the sad thinker is an image of sensitivity, it is mocked by the braying dancers.

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