The last time we saw Newton he was sitting in the sun on his front porch in Santa Cruz, CA, facing east. He was lean. His hair was long and elegantly combed back. The small wildflower meadow that he and Helen, his late wife and collaborator of five decades, had transformed from a lawn was blooming with lanky yarrow. We talked for a couple of hours while our dog heated herself on the sun-warmed stones.
As usual, it took us no time to get into it. Newton could be impatient with pleasantries, at least with us, and was always ready to turn our focus to the studio’s latest work: a reimagining of the Siberian steppe; a voice of the world oceans; a new water commons for Scotland—all visions of grand potential, of healing, at a scale that few artists dare to touch.
Helen and Newton Harrison’s works were defined by...