A monument to Magna Carta is installed at Runnymede by artist Mark Wallinger in collaboration with architect Studio Octopi

Words
Chris Foges
Photos
Andrew Butler

Commissioned to mark the 800th anniversary of Magna Carta in 2015, and providing a new visual identity for the National Trust’s Thames-side site at Runnymede, where King John put his seal to it, ‘Writ in Water’ is an artwork by Mark Wallinger, realised in collaboration with architect Studio Octopi.

Wallinger’s title comes from John Keats’ epitaph, ‘Here lies one whose name was writ in water’, reflecting the poet’s unfounded fear that his work would be forgotten after his death. “Magna Carta is the beginning of common law and of what became known as human rights”, says Wallinger, “but as we have no written constitution, what might seem a birthright is something that has to be learned and relearned in every generation”.

This metaphor gave Wallinger his concept, for a cylindrical building recalling “castle baileys, neolithic mounds and other buildings in which people have been protected”, with an inner chamber containing a reflecting pool around which runs an upside-down inscription of Magna Carta’s Clause 39, protecting free men from false imprisonment.

Inscribed upside-down around the rim of the reflecting pool is Magna Carta’s Clause 39: ‘No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or deprived of his standing in any way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgment of his equals or by the law of the land.’ Vegetable dye is added to the pool to darken its appearance. The edge of the cast in-situ bench takes its profile from the Garamond typeface used for the poolside inscription.

When the Trust suggested that he collaborate with an architect, Wallinger turned to Studio Octopi, having seen its renovation of the Delfina Foundation, where he is a trustee. As the original intention was to complete the work within a few months, in time for the octocentennial celebrations, the design and constructional ideas were developed rapidly, says Studio Octopi director James Lowe, but the architects began by “backpedalling a bit” to consider the building from first principles.

Wallinger’s proposal had suggested a white-walled building with a grassy domed roof capped by an oculus. The architects were keen that the structure should appear to have emerged from the landscape itself, literally and figuratively. “For us”, says Lowe, “it was about treating it as we do all of our work: there is a site with a specific context, and we respond to that”. Rammed earth construction was explored but abandoned as the site’s clay soil proved unsuitable. Instead, they opted for ‘rammed stone’ using a mix of sand from the riverbed, aggregate from gravel pits at nearby Egham, and a small quantity of cement.

Walls were poured in 12 layers, each one cubit deep, with small quantities of dye added to parts of each pour to give a variegated appearance. Stainless steel reinforcement is used throughout in case water penetrates the rough-textured rammed stone.
The site chosen by the artist and architect lies at a break in a line of trees, where a small plateau could be cut from the sloping ground, safely above the flood plain. In choosing a circular plan, Wallinger had in mind ancient archetypal buildings such as castles, as well as the royal seals with which Magna Carta was signed. The meadow that the building sits within is flanked by the Thames on one side and an ox-bow lake on the other, formed by the river’s earlier course.

The plan is divided into twelfths, like a clock face. The entrance opening occupies one twelfth of the perimeter, and faces due north. Visitors turn either left or right, following curving passages between the outer wall and that of the cylindrical inner chamber to arrive at its entrance, at due south. With no power supply to the structure, the way is lit only by small openings in the base of the outer wall.

Throughout the building, the standard unit of measurement is the cubit – traditionally the length of a forearm from the tip of the index finger to the bottom of the elbow, and now standardised at 457mm. Walls are one cubit thick, and a bench that rings the pool is one cubit high, and one deep.

In place of the original dome is a dished roof that falls towards the central oculus. “If you push water towards the perimeter you have to collect it somehow”, notes Lowe. “As there is a pool in the middle, it made sense to direct it there”. The structure of timber rafters with a plywood deck covered in a grey membrane is deliberately unfussy and unobtrusive. The lower rafter ends are faced with a simple steel hoop that aligns directly with the steel-rimmed pool below, so that rainwater cascades over this rudimentary eaves into the water, disturbing reflections on its surface.

The entrance to the Trust’s 76-hectare property is marked by a pair of Lutyens gatehouses (now an office and a tearoom), flanking a busy road that separates much of the site from the river. The new installation was positioned some distance away, partly to draw visitors deeper into the landscape of pasture and low wooded hills. It is approached along a path that leads past an odd assortment of existing monuments, including a little temple erected by the American Bar Association in the 1950s.

Standing alone in the landscape, the drum-like structure has an archaic, timeless quality. Its enigmatic aspect is enhanced by the wide, doorless entrance, which admits views only of the blank, curving wall of the inner chamber.

The dark, narrow passages leading left and right are in sharp contrast to the open vistas of the approach. Another distinct change occurs as the visitor enters the inner chamber, where the central pool recalls a font or a well. Connection to the outside world is re-established with a sudden vertical emphasis, in a view of the sky through the oculus, mirrored in the apparent depths of the inky pool, along with a rippling reflection of the rough, biscuit-coloured walls.

Sitting on the encircling bench one can track the passage of time as sunlight moves across the stone, or just enjoy the swooping laps of the drum made by swallows that are already nesting in the roof. These subtle animations within the solid shell make for an enchanting space: solemn but not sombre, a poetic meeting of earth, water and sky.

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