Page 73

London | Artist

In a dusty workshop off Brick Lane, Benedict Radcliffe is blurring the boundaries between industrial design and the world of fine art.

Benedict Radcliffe is a smiling and friendly man. He welcomes me into his amazing workshop and immediately disappears through a door to make tea. The chemical smell of paint, solder and metal is intoxicating – in a good way – and everything is in its place. “A tidy workshop, a tidy head, you know?” the affable Radcliffe says, reappearing with steaming mugs and smiling under his mop of fair hair. “It gets really messy here. There’s always a fine layer of metal dust from all the filing we do.“

Standing, imposing, right in the middle of the space on a raised platform is an unfinished wire frame sculpture of a Honda Goldwing motorbike – something that Radcliffe has been working on for many months now. Things keep getting in the way of finishing it: currently he’s putting together a new bike for his girlfriend, a wire sculpture of a rhythmic gymnast and a huge fixed gear bike frame out of scaffolding poles with his young, and first, intern Louis. “He’s been making it look much better, filing it down and adding body filler and stuff.”


The Dream Factory  
The Dream Factory  

The Dream Factory