Lanzarote and César Manrique

During reading week I went to Lanzarote, mostly for a wedding but I also got chance to have a wander around. In one of my favourite parts of Lanzarote there is a new sculpture put up. These huge pieces of wood have been taken from a Greek Merchant Shipwreck nearby in the harbour of Arrecife which has been there ever since 1980. The paint on the pieces of wood highlight the main parts of damage from when it became wrecked.

I find it interesting how a lot of sculpture in Lanzarote is situated on roundabouts. It is ideal because it means that people cannot really get to touch the sculptures to damage them and it forces people to notice them.

A lot of the sculptures on the island are by César Manrique. He was born in Lanzarote and after receiving a large grant he set up a studio in New York and moved there to persue his career however he began to feel nostalgia for Lanzarote.

"(...) more than ever I feel true nostalgia for the real meaning of things. For the pureness of the people. For the bareness of my landscape, and for my friends (...) My last conclusion is that man in N.Y. is like a rat. Man was not created for this artificiality. There is an imperative need to go back to the soil. Feel it, smell it. That's what I feel."

" When I returned from New York, I came with the intention of turning my native island into one of the more beautiful places in the planet, due to the endless possibilities that Lanzarote had to offer. ".

Manrique had a major influence on the planning regulations in lanzarote, when he recognised its tourist potential and successfully encouraged sympathetic development of tourism. One part of this is the lack of high rise hotels on the island. The ones that are there are in keeping with the use of traditional colours in their exterior decoration.

Interestingly Manrique didn't drink, didn't smoke and didn't allow others to smoke next to him, he regularly went to bed very early and got up at dawn, and began work in his studio very early.
He died at the age of 73 in a tragic car accident, near a roundabout with his own sculpture on. Poor bugger.