Sculptor Andy Goldsworthy's new exhibition The Passage at the Albion Gallery.
(Edited highlights of the panel's review taken from the teletext subtitles that are generated live for Newsnight Review.)
You would not get a good impression of him just by seeing this exhibition. There are wonderful things. I love the wooden igloo. And it's wonderful standing inside something where you think there's no glue or pins. But you get a better sense of him if you see his books, because photographing his work really works. He has built structures out at sea, and waits until they're washed away. You either think it's wonderful or a waste of time. I find it wonderful. I like what he does with nature and the way he uses time and decay, and light and darkness, and different substances. The book is great.
He has created a type of art that strips away your layers of skin when you look at it. He manages to turn us all into little Andy Goldsworthys. So whenever you are out and about, just by pushing a leaf or moving a feather, and in anonymous hotel rooms, I find myself getting the notebook and getting the pen, and getting the flex of the kettle and making little Andy Goldsworthy things. And what he's taught us is that we can all do this.
I thought the extraordinary thing was, we went into the gallery and a huge long branch was being covered in clay, and I remember someone saying drawing was like taking a line out for a walk. And I never see a sculptor take a line out for a walk. That was amazing. And then the different lines in the wooden igloo, you can see why he is so great at making memorials; because he wants to create this sense of dwelling at the centre of the world - very fascinating.
You can see it's a huge emotional as well as physical effort for him to put it together. He doesn't romanticise landscape does he? This is a place where hard work gets done.
It's very very physical, and I think people who criticised him in the past by saying he was romantic and soft - he knocked it on the head by what he did with the Jewish memorial in New York, with the huge boulders, and the tiny oak trees growing out of them; a wonderful idea of something growing out of the heart of stone. That's tough.
He's celebrated in San Diego, the biggest collection of his work is in Nimes in France, but nothing in the Tate.
Maybe it's because the work appears to be easy, to be easy to create, that he's not working hard enough on it. Like I've been saying, anybody can get a leaf and move it about, but importantly it's what he does with it. Hopefully this exhibition, although it's odd seeing it inside, will open people's eyes to him.