Road Trip V - Belsay Hall, Northumberland - 30/07

Belsay Hall is an English Heritage site near Morpeth in the heart of Northumberland. The Hall itself is Greek revival style villa built in the early 19th Century. Now empty, it is given over every year to assorted artists to do with as they will. When I heard that the ghostly cellars had been given over to a sound installation by Anthony (of the Johnsons) and the great New York contemporary classical / electronica composer William Basinski and when I saw the pictures of what Geraldine Pilgrim had done in the bedrooms, I knew I had to go!




I was so impressed, especially by the way that themes ran across the work of the various artists. Generally the artists traced the history of the Middleton family who lived at Belsay for seven centuries, and the work fell into two categories. Some examined the socio-political aspects, such as the life of scullery maids: I found this work a little too worthy. The other, more successful, approach was to turn the site into a phantasmagoria; haunted by the Middletons and their imagined lives.

Ghosts abound. You hear them in Anthony’s haunting spooky tones emanating from the cellars and drifting around the house. In Pilgrim’s rooms, ghost birds flutter behind open wardrobes, a spectre brushes her hair in the mirror, a single eye blinks in the wardrobe. It was like site specific promenade theatre (ok Faust!) all over again, except here the actors had departed into the shadows. What you are left with are traces, ghosts of ghosts.



In a room by Sandy Powell, a single spot light illuminates a key hole – you peep through it and watch Lady Middleton slowly undress – at the end she walks towards you, bends down, and winks. Who is the watcher here? The walls have eyes, as well as ears. In Mike Figgis’ room, wallpaper is torn to reveal a face staring back at you; a reflection of the picture in the related room by Boudicca next door.

In Francesca Steele’s room, you sit and watch the wallpaper morph. Part of the wall is a projection, perfectly matching the real botanical style paper, until it starts to move, and grow or shrink or tear; other images burn through, of plants and macro-biology.

In a film by the Quay Brothers, projected inside a coffin, the traces of the ghosts have all but vanished, just a creaking door or a footstep is left. Traces of ghosts of ghosts.

In works by United Visual Artists and Golan Levin (the latter in the 14th Century castle) it is the viewer who is made into ghost, the gaze turned back again on the visitor. In the former, wispy images of oneself are projected onto a screen; in the latter you are turned into a skeletal hieroglyphic, pacing around the room and waving your arms to find yourself amongst the other ghosts.

Between the Hall and the Castle lie wonderful gardens, formal at first, then you drop into the cool air of a former quarry where huge ferns and weird plants dominate, like something out of Jurassic Park.

Another wonderful, enchanted and enchanting place.