Art on a Merseyside Beach

Two things I've never associated with Liverpool are art or the beach. The Beatles - yes, of course. The River Mersey made famous in the Gerry and the Pacemakers song - yes, who hasn't heard it? Football (which I have absolutely no interest in) - yes again, 'fraid so.
​But art? Really? And there's a beach?

The Liverpool Tate is a must-see. Our visit turned up paintings by Matisse, Mondrian, Klee, Miro, Dali, Picasso and Lichtenstein, to name a few 'names', as well a work by New Zealand's own Frances Hodgkins. The Walker Gallery is a delight of discovery. Entrance to both galleries is free.

Other free-to-view art are the statues that loiter around Liverpool. If Bristol is a city of street art, then Liverpool is one of sculpture. All kinds. Modern, like the neon-coloured block installation in front of the Tate; and traditional, like the statues found in the garden in front of Walker Gallery. But mostly they're realistic, life-size renditions in iron of people from the Fab Four, Cila Black and Gerry Marsden, to royalty, statesmen, philanthropists and other Liverpudlians who contributed to the city in some significant way.

The statues that haunt Crosby Beach on the Merseyside coastline (a 20 minute train ride from Liverpool city centre) are famous, life-sized and cast in iron. But they don't depict anyone from the city, nor are they native to it. One hundred clones spread across 3kms form the 'Another Place' installation by Antony Gormley (of Angel of the North fame). Originally intended as a temporary exhibition, it was decided that Liverpool should be their final home. Weighing in at 650kgs each and given the sinky mud on the beach, it seems to me to make as much logistic as aesthetic sense. 

A word about the mud. There's a notice as you enter the beach warning you of soft sand and mud along with the a fast in-coming tide. The latter I took due note of, I certainly have respect for that. But soft sand and mud? C'mon. We're Kiwis and beaches are our home. Yeah, well. . . fortunately I took off my shoes before I found myself slurped knee-deep in mud and sinking. 

A word about the beach. It's awesome. We lucked out with a blue-sky, only-slightly-breezy day. Expansive and surreal, even without the statues. The sky was littered with criss-crossing contrails and the beach with bombed building, red brick rubble, but very little actual litter; it's deservedly the recipient of the Keep Britain Tidy Quality Coast Award.

The Beatles, art and the beach - who knew Liverpool had it all? ​​