It’s one of the world’s oldest outdoor sculpture parks, with more than 400 artworks by a roster of world-famous artists, including some of the most globally recognisable names – Henry Moore, Rodin, Ai WeiWei, and it covers an area of 30 acres, large enough to be seen from space (probably). Yet, the most extraordinary thing about the Middelheim Museum sculpture park is that I had never heard of it, nor had anyone I know.
It was only a chance discovery while looking for something else on a popular online map that I found out about it. I’m glad I did because it is an amazing place, with artworks set amidst splendid landscaped parkland where dog walkers and joggers mingle with art aficionados. The real kicker? Entry to the park and its wealth of art is free. I clearly wasn’t alone in having not heard of Middelheim, wherever I went, there were few other people.
Middelheim started with a sculpture Biennale in 1950, and since 1989 has been an open air museum – which they probably, almost certainly, should tell some people about. We’ve lived here for almost three years and only heard of it three weeks ago. Admittedly, it is absolutely wonderful to walk around the park without any crowds, so maybe they should keep it below the radar.
In the 16th century, rich Antwerp merchants had their summer residences in this area. It was probably a bit unsanitary in the city during the summer months, and this was open countryside outside the city walls. Over the centuries it was saved from development as the city expanded and still retains a sense of sanctuary from the urban environment – despite being straddled by a series of major roads.
Even earlier, in the 14th century, there was a small castle here that in the 18th century was converted into a lovely country house. Still known as Middelheim Castle, today it is an information centre and has a fabulous outdoor cafe where you can grab a glass (or two) of locally brewed beers while looking out over the park. It was the one place that was genuinely busy on a warm Sunday afternoon in April.
I entered the park at the “Artists’ Entrance”, a pavilion designed by Dutch artist John Körmeling, having walked from Antwerp’s Berchem train station through parks and interesting neighbourhoods. The pavilion felt like it belonged to a 1950s American Sci-Fi film, and gives way onto a long diagonal path leading into the centre of the park. This is the Zone East and it is more open with fewer sculptures.
A little further on, close to Middelheim Castle, is where the permanent outdoor collection lives, and the sculptures come thick and fast. The well maintained pathways lead you around the site, but it is so large that it would be easy to miss sections of it without a map. In the wooded areas near the castle every corner turned or gap between the trees seems to reveal more sculptures. Here I found l’Ours, François Pompon’s minimalist polar bear.
A section reached by crossing a road seems to be the most densely populated with some of the most prestigious works. It’s the sculpture equivalent to sensory overload. It can also be a lot of fun. In a pavilion called Het Huis is a sound ‘sculpture’ by Louise Lawler called Birdcalls. She mimics exotic bird calls and simultaneously parodies the male dominated art world. I found myself laughing as I came out.
One of the most innovative parts of the park is in an area called Open-air Depot. Here are pieces in need of restoration, or have been taken out of the main exhibition for other reasons, all jumbled together in an area that in a museum with walls would be a barely used annex where few people go. The quality of work ‘not on display’ is extraordinary, including a sculpture by Auguste Renoir.
There is a section of the Open-air Depot that is more akin to a statue mausoleum. Here are sculptures removed from Antwerp’s public spaces for a variety of reasons, including those that represent or glorify Belgium’s deeply problematic colonial past, as well as its tortured contemporary debate. Stepping into the culture war on depictions of Europe’s appalling imperial legacy is brave but right.
The statue of the Belgian colonial officer with his baton raised as if about to assault a Congolese villager, is both shocking and in need of contextualisation that it almost certainly wouldn’t get elsewhere. Given the impasse Belgium, like most other European countries, finds itself at trying to address the crimes of its past in a modern, multicultural society, the statue graveyard provides a way to talk about some of these issues.
Elsewhere in the park is a sculpture called Fallen Dictator by Philip Aguirre y Otegui. It depicts a statue of King Leopold II, the ‘Butcher of the Congo’, sawn off at the ankles and toppled onto his back. That too can help start a debate on the place such a man has in modern Belgian life, and why his statue can still be found across Brussels and other parts of Belgium.
You’re not alone in never having heard of it. But what a fabulous discovery!
It’s a fabulous place, I still can’t quite believe it’s so low key.