William Reid Dick – a sculptor 'air brushed' out of history

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As an artist who didn’t fit the modernist mould, Reid Dick has long been ignored, even though his sculpture is seen many Londoners every day

William Reid Dick, Sculptor by Dennis Wardleworth

William Reid Dick (1878–1961) is hardly a familiar name, even to art historians. But if you know central London, you may well be familiar with his public sculpture without realizing it. Reid Dick was one of a generation of British sculptors who – without overstating the case – was ‘air-brushed’ out of art history by the modernist critics of the mid-to-late 20th century, but many of his works are still on show in galleries and in public places for us all to appreciate.

There is an almost ‘rags to riches’ element to his story. He came from humble (though not completely poverty-stricken) beginnings in Glasgow, and at the age of 12 was apprenticed to a stonemason. In 1899 he registered at the Glasgow School of Art, studying at night, and becoming an art master at Bell's Hill Academy in Glasgow.  He then moved to London to further his career, and during the First World War served with the Royal Engineers in France and Palestine.

His urge to sculpt was immense. During the war he continued to carve from whatever was to hand, such as chalk from the trenches; a photograph shows him outside his tent, holding a statuette, and by 1915 he was already an associate of the Royal Society of British Sculptors (of which he later became President). 

After the war he was busy with memorials, including two large commissions in London, the Royal Air Force Memorial on the Embankment (1923) – shown on the cover of the book – and the memorial chapel in St Paul’s for Field Marshal Lord Kitchener (dedicated 1925). These commissions transformed Reid Dick’s professional and personal life. Others commissions followed, and his reputation continued to rise, culminating in a knighthood from George V.

Many of Dick’s sculptures are bas-reliefs for commercial buildings, such as Selfridges in Oxford Street, London (1928). His work varies in size, and the stone groups entitled Controlled Energyadorning Unilever House, London (1931) are enormous. But Reid also produced portraits, such as the marble mask of Lady Diana Cooper (1920), and a series of royal portraits over some years. He was also an organized and energetic committee man, serving on boards and committees so numerous that one wonders how he fitted it all in.

Certainly Dick’s reputation deserves to be rescued. This study examines his legacy and the reasons for his neglect by modernist art historians, and also considers the question of whether he was basically an artist or a craftsman.

What particularly impresses about the study is how it came to be written. The author wrote his PhD thesis on the art and architecture commissioned by London-based multinational companies, 1918–39, during which he came across Reid Dick and simply wanted to know more. In other words, sheer curiosity and enthusiasm. Would that many other art historians could show as much delight in finding out more about a neglected body of art work, and reasoning through the how and why of an artist’s life and reputation.

The study draws on a great deal of previously unpublished material, including letters and photographs held by Reid Dick's family, and press cuttings and photographs in the Tate Archive. The book has a bibliography and index, images of over 40 of Dick’s works, and a list of over 200 works identified (so far) by the author. It is the first monograph since 1945 and will be of interest both to students and specialists alike. It provides a full account of Dick’s life and work, setting him in social and art-historical context, and in the context of the historical events that largely determined his career path. 

William Reid Dick, Sculptor by Dennis Wardleworth is published by Ashgate, 2013. 215 pp., 50 mono illus. ISBN  978-1-4094-3971-4