Andy Goldsworthy: Land Art
Andy Goldsworthy is an “earth artist” known for landscape art installations made out of sticks, stones, and materials found in nature.
Most of his works are transient, existing for only days or weeks before succumbing to time and the elements. Exploring Goldsworthy’s art left me with one pressing question: “Why?” Here’s a man who willingly wakes before dawn, ventures into nature, and spends hours—sometimes days—creating intricate installations, knowing they’ll dissipate within weeks. What on earth (pun intended) posesses him to do this?
Nathan Drake’s journal in Uncharted 2 revealing the endless knot as a riddle-solving clue.
In my attempt to imitate Goldsworthy, I drew inspiration from the endless knot, a symbol of interconnectedness and continuity. Strangely, I first encountered the symbol in Uncharted 2, where the knot was a riddle clue, and then saw it again shortly after finishing the game—this time as graffiti at a defunct bus station near my apartment. Its sudden reappearance felt uncanny, almost like a cosmic nudge. As someone prone to extrapolating significance from the mundane, I refused to dismiss it as mere coincidence—I had to make meaning out of it.
Graffiti of the endless knot symbol affixed to the wall of an abandoned bus stop.
A block away from the graffiti was a local park. Armed with twigs and branches, I reconstructed the endless knot symbol there, paying homage to both the neighborhood graffiti and the Uncharted game. The project became a dialogue with Goldsworthy’s philosophy—an exploration of transience and the ephemeral nature of art.
A “Goldsworthy-worthy” land art installation I created in the local park.
Juxtaposing the two pieces—the permanent graffiti and my fleeting twig installation—prompted questions about impermanence. One was fixed, its persistence contingent on the city’s intervention; the other was bound together by nothing but balance and gravity, inherently fragile. When I returned to the park an hour later, my installation had already been dismantled—perhaps by wind or mischievous children at play. It existed briefly, then disappeared. But I like to imagine someone saw the graffiti, wandered into the park, and paused to consider my imitation, puzzled by why they were seeing this symbol everywhere. Even if no one did, I knew it was there.
Most interpret Goldsworthy’s work as commentary on earth’s fragility, but to me, it speaks to the fleeting beauty of life itself. We’re here for only a moment, a brief blossoming of brilliance, before we fade. Like Goldsworthy’s installations, the beauty of our existence is impermanent—sometimes forgotten entirely. In that sense, graffiti offers a counterpoint. It’s a declaration of, “I was here. I existed.” Whether a wall or a twig sculpture, it’s a mark left behind, a small rebellion against the erasure of time.
All that remains are the documents, the photographs—evidence as if to wave and shout: “Look at this. I was here. I existed, and it was beautiful.”
