The Explosive and the Anodyne in Manchester’s Public Art: B of the Bang and Dad’s Halo Effect

Some of the bleakest vistas in Manchester are to be found on the long, wind-swept main roads that lead in and out of East Manchester. Unlike, say, the A6 that runs from Manchester to Stockport, there are no rows of takeaways or corner shops on the anonymous arterial roads of Beswick and Gorton to offer vital (if shabby) signs of life, or offer a sense of continuity, place and history.

Whole areas of East Manchester have been rebuilt over the past century – first, overcrowded terraced housing was demolished, then more modern housing as the replacements for the Victorian slums proved inadequate. To the pedestrian, those few buildings that exist feel out of scale, and the distances seem greater. To the outsider, it feels as if much of this area of the city is designed to be swept through at speed in a car, or targeted for a swift commercial stop off.

It would be easy to miss, then, Dad’s Halo Effect, a large public artwork in one particularly unlovely corner of East Manchester. The sculpture – a trio of gleaming steel shapes based on chess pieces in a checkmate position – stands in front of a corporate box that, from the exterior, could fulfil any number of purposes, from offices to university building, gym or health centre (it’s actually Connell Sixth Form College, which forms part of Beswick Community Hub alongside a specially-built leisure facility).

The artist behind Dad’s Halo Effect, Ryan Gander, graduated from the innovative Interactive Arts course at Manchester Metropolitan University in 1999 (the course shut in 2020, despite having produced many of the city’s most interesting artists). Now based between London and rural Suffolk, he is a respected and internationally renowned conceptual artist, although he maintains links with the city’s art scene as a patron of Castlefield Gallery. Dad’s Halo Effect was installed in 2014, the same year a major exhibition of Gander’s work took place at Manchester Art Gallery and he was awarded an honourary doctorate from his alma mater. In spite of this, it was unveiled with relatively little fanfare.

The lack of attention around Dad’s Halo Effect may be to do with the story of its commissioning, as part of a protracted and sorry saga that took place over more than a decade. Triggered by the failure of another large-scale artwork in East Manchester, B of the Bang (which stood less than a mile away), Dad’s Halo Effect is the end point of a cautionary tale about public art and its purpose, value and maintenance.

B of the Bang was a huge, site-specific sculpture composed of core-ten steel spikes that blew and hummed in the wind, by the designer Thomas Heatherwick (another MMU graduate whose subsequent – and sometimes controversial – projects have included a pavilion at the Shanghai Expo, Routemaster buses for London and the Olympic Cauldron at the 2012 Olympics). Situated on another nondescript main road outside Manchester City’s stadium, and adjacent to a gigantic ASDA, B of the Bang struck a dramatic and explosive presence in an area of Manchester that was, at the time, being rapidly redeveloped and attempting to leave its old image behind to attract new life into the area. Famously inspired by a quote by the runner Linford Christie about leaving the starting block on the ‘b of the bang’, it was commissioned to mark the 2002 Commonwealth Games which took place in dedicated new sports facilities nearby. The games have been much-credited as a catalyst for the regeneration of some areas of Manchester; B of the Bang is one aspect of the games’ legacy that many in power would rather forget. It does, however, speak volumes about grand ideas that fail to live up to their promise, or which fizzle out due to a lack of ongoing support and commitment.

A victim of its own ambition, in the event, B of the Bang was not unveiled until 2005 and was only on-site for four years. In 2009, its spikes began to fall, forcing its removal. The core was sold for scrap and the spikes were placed in storage. Manchester City Council sued Thomas Heatherwick Studio, resulting eventually in a substantial out-of-court settlement.

The resulting compensation was spent on Dad’s Halo Effect. It’s hard to imagine a safer, more anodyne replacement. There’s nothing adventurous about Dad’s Halo Effect; it’s unlikely to impale, or even offend, the viewer. Like corporate public art up and down the country, from hotels to office buildings and semi-private public squares (for a brilliantly entertaining take on the array of public statuary in the City of London, see Mark Leckey’s 2005 video work March of the Great White Barbarians), it’s not bad, just bland. Even the spirit in which it was conceived lacks the frisson and suspense of B of the Bang: the gallery which represents Gander, Lisson Gallery in London, explains of Dad’s Halo Effect that “because they are all made from the same material in the same colour, it is impossible to tell which of the fictional opposing players are in the lead”.

The configuration of the pieces changes according to your position: take time to stop and move among them and they take on the viewer’s reflection and the shifting colours of the sky and the light. Ultimately, however, the heavy industry that once characterised the area, and which apparently inspired the piece, appears to have been wiped clean, disappearing underneath a shiny surface.

Public art is famously fraught and contentious. There are important questions to be asked about how and why public art is commissioned, where it’s situated, how it connects with its surroundings and what it brings to an area, its cultural and artistic value – and who will look after it on an ongoing basis. At its best, public art can make us notice aspects of a place we may have otherwise overlooked, draw attention to our surroundings, or provide a point of interest and a talking point. All too often, however, it relies on short-term prestige and novelty over long-term vision about places, or is ultimately forgettable. Although B of the Bang is no longer physically situated in East Manchester, it is still remembered and talked about more than a decade since it was dismantled. It lives on in the popular imagination – loved or hated, it was subject to a level of debate and discussion not enjoyed by many artworks. In that way, it feels truly of the city, in spite of its technical difficulties. Only time will tell if the same will be said of Dad’s Halo Effect.

The Explosive and the Anodyne in Manchester’s Public Art: B of the Bang and Dad’s Halo Effect

Some of the bleakest vistas in Manchester are to be found on the long, wind-swept main roads that lead in and out of East Manchester. Unlike, say, the A6 that runs from Manchester to Stockport, there are no rows of takeaways or corner shops on the anonymous arterial roads of Beswick and Gorton to offer vital (if shabby) signs of life, or offer a sense of continuity, place and history.

Whole areas of East Manchester have been rebuilt over the past century – first, overcrowded terraced housing was demolished, then more modern housing as the replacements for the Victorian slums proved inadequate. To the pedestrian, those few buildings that exist feel out of scale, and the distances seem greater. To the outsider, it feels as if much of this area of the city is designed to be swept through at speed in a car, or targeted for a swift commercial stop off.

It would be easy to miss, then, Dad’s Halo Effect, a large public artwork in one particularly unlovely corner of East Manchester. The sculpture – a trio of gleaming steel shapes based on chess pieces in a checkmate position – stands in front of a corporate box that, from the exterior, could fulfil any number of purposes, from offices to university building, gym or health centre (it’s actually Connell Sixth Form College, which forms part of Beswick Community Hub alongside a specially-built leisure facility).

The artist behind Dad’s Halo Effect, Ryan Gander, graduated from the innovative Interactive Arts course at Manchester Metropolitan University in 1999 (the course shut in 2020, despite having produced many of the city’s most interesting artists). Now based between London and rural Suffolk, he is a respected and internationally renowned conceptual artist, although he maintains links with the city’s art scene as a patron of Castlefield Gallery. Dad’s Halo Effect was installed in 2014, the same year a major exhibition of Gander’s work took place at Manchester Art Gallery and he was awarded an honourary doctorate from his alma mater. In spite of this, it was unveiled with relatively little fanfare.

The lack of attention around Dad’s Halo Effect may be to do with the story of its commissioning, as part of a protracted and sorry saga that took place over more than a decade. Triggered by the failure of another large-scale artwork in East Manchester, B of the Bang (which stood less than a mile away), Dad’s Halo Effect is the end point of a cautionary tale about public art and its purpose, value and maintenance.

B of the Bang was a huge, site-specific sculpture composed of core-ten steel spikes that blew and hummed in the wind, by the designer Thomas Heatherwick (another MMU graduate whose subsequent – and sometimes controversial – projects have included a pavilion at the Shanghai Expo, Routemaster buses for London and the Olympic Cauldron at the 2012 Olympics). Situated on another nondescript main road outside Manchester City’s stadium, and adjacent to a gigantic ASDA, B of the Bang struck a dramatic and explosive presence in an area of Manchester that was, at the time, being rapidly redeveloped and attempting to leave its old image behind to attract new life into the area. Famously inspired by a quote by the runner Linford Christie about leaving the starting block on the ‘b of the bang’, it was commissioned to mark the 2002 Commonwealth Games which took place in dedicated new sports facilities nearby. The games have been much-credited as a catalyst for the regeneration of some areas of Manchester; B of the Bang is one aspect of the games’ legacy that many in power would rather forget. It does, however, speak volumes about grand ideas that fail to live up to their promise, or which fizzle out due to a lack of ongoing support and commitment.

A victim of its own ambition, in the event, B of the Bang was not unveiled until 2005 and was only on-site for four years. In 2009, its spikes began to fall, forcing its removal. The core was sold for scrap and the spikes were placed in storage. Manchester City Council sued Thomas Heatherwick Studio, resulting eventually in a substantial out-of-court settlement.

The resulting compensation was spent on Dad’s Halo Effect. It’s hard to imagine a safer, more anodyne replacement. There’s nothing adventurous about Dad’s Halo Effect; it’s unlikely to impale, or even offend, the viewer. Like corporate public art up and down the country, from hotels to office buildings and semi-private public squares (for a brilliantly entertaining take on the array of public statuary in the City of London, see Mark Leckey’s 2005 video work March of the Great White Barbarians), it’s not bad, just bland. Even the spirit in which it was conceived lacks the frisson and suspense of B of the Bang: the gallery which represents Gander, Lisson Gallery in London, explains of Dad’s Halo Effect that “because they are all made from the same material in the same colour, it is impossible to tell which of the fictional opposing players are in the lead”.

The configuration of the pieces changes according to your position: take time to stop and move among them and they take on the viewer’s reflection and the shifting colours of the sky and the light. Ultimately, however, the heavy industry that once characterised the area, and which apparently inspired the piece, appears to have been wiped clean, disappearing underneath a shiny surface.

Public art is famously fraught and contentious. There are important questions to be asked about how and why public art is commissioned, where it’s situated, how it connects with its surroundings and what it brings to an area, its cultural and artistic value – and who will look after it on an ongoing basis. At its best, public art can make us notice aspects of a place we may have otherwise overlooked, draw attention to our surroundings, or provide a point of interest and a talking point. All too often, however, it relies on short-term prestige and novelty over long-term vision about places, or is ultimately forgettable. Although B of the Bang is no longer physically situated in East Manchester, it is still remembered and talked about more than a decade since it was dismantled. It lives on in the popular imagination – loved or hated, it was subject to a level of debate and discussion not enjoyed by many artworks. In that way, it feels truly of the city, in spite of its technical difficulties. Only time will tell if the same will be said of Dad’s Halo Effect.