There are artists who spend their careers trying to make sense of the world. Peter D Cole has spent more than fifty years now quietly building one of his own.
Surrounded by his works, it quickly becomes apparent that the ordinary rules no longer apply. Lamps become sculptures. Sculptures behave like architecture. Paintings abandon the wall and wander into the centre of rooms. Trees interrupt perfect geometry. Colour somehow feels louder than colour should, and between all of this you will catch yourself smiling, though you may not be entirely sure why.
Perhaps that's because Peter has never been particularly interested in making objects as something much more ephemeral.
How does an idea exist in space?
For decades that question has quietly guided his practice. Sometimes the answer is a sculpture. Sometimes it's functional. Sometimes it's a painted construction balanced somewhere between a drawing and architectural plan. The medium has never really been the point. The conversation between them is.
This exhibition continues a line of enquiry Peter has pursued for his entire practice. One that draws equally from art history, architecture, design, structure and the physical act of making itself. The way an image is held, balanced or suspended in space is never incidental. It is the work.
Geometry has long been part of Peter's vocabulary, but never its conclusion. His precisely ordered forms are continually interrupted by something less obedient. A weathered branch. An unexpected colour. A playful gesture. Mathematical precision gives way to biomorphic intuition. Order happily makes room for chance.
That's what makes these works feel so alive.
Rather than a collection of individual objects, this exhibition feels like an ecosystem. Sculptures gather like old friends in conversation. Painted forms migrate from one work to another like recurring characters. Ideas appear, disappear and resurface in unexpected places. Every object seems to recognise the others.
What has always fascinated me about Peter's practice is that it never insists upon a single reading. There are no riddles demanding to be solved, no symbolism to decode before entry is granted. Instead, the works offer something increasingly rare: permission to remain curious.
Spend enough time with them and they begin to oscillate between sculpture, architecture, furniture, theatre, toys and monuments. Just as you've decided what one thing is, it quietly becomes something else.
Perhaps we've spent too much time asking objects to explain themselves. Is it art? Is it design?Is it sculpture?Is it furniture?
Peter has spent more than fifty years politely suggesting those are the least interesting questions wecould ask. Because perhaps the point was never deciding what these things are.
Perhaps the point is simply allowing them to be.
Surrounded by his works, it quickly becomes apparent that the ordinary rules no longer apply. Lamps become sculptures. Sculptures behave like architecture. Paintings abandon the wall and wander into the centre of rooms. Trees interrupt perfect geometry. Colour somehow feels louder than colour should, and between all of this you will catch yourself smiling, though you may not be entirely sure why.
Perhaps that's because Peter has never been particularly interested in making objects as something much more ephemeral.
How does an idea exist in space?
For decades that question has quietly guided his practice. Sometimes the answer is a sculpture. Sometimes it's functional. Sometimes it's a painted construction balanced somewhere between a drawing and architectural plan. The medium has never really been the point. The conversation between them is.
This exhibition continues a line of enquiry Peter has pursued for his entire practice. One that draws equally from art history, architecture, design, structure and the physical act of making itself. The way an image is held, balanced or suspended in space is never incidental. It is the work.
Geometry has long been part of Peter's vocabulary, but never its conclusion. His precisely ordered forms are continually interrupted by something less obedient. A weathered branch. An unexpected colour. A playful gesture. Mathematical precision gives way to biomorphic intuition. Order happily makes room for chance.
That's what makes these works feel so alive.
Rather than a collection of individual objects, this exhibition feels like an ecosystem. Sculptures gather like old friends in conversation. Painted forms migrate from one work to another like recurring characters. Ideas appear, disappear and resurface in unexpected places. Every object seems to recognise the others.
What has always fascinated me about Peter's practice is that it never insists upon a single reading. There are no riddles demanding to be solved, no symbolism to decode before entry is granted. Instead, the works offer something increasingly rare: permission to remain curious.
Spend enough time with them and they begin to oscillate between sculpture, architecture, furniture, theatre, toys and monuments. Just as you've decided what one thing is, it quietly becomes something else.
Perhaps we've spent too much time asking objects to explain themselves. Is it art? Is it design?Is it sculpture?Is it furniture?
Peter has spent more than fifty years politely suggesting those are the least interesting questions wecould ask. Because perhaps the point was never deciding what these things are.
Perhaps the point is simply allowing them to be.
