Article
Art
Culture
5 min read

Emily Young: the sculptor listening as the still stones speak

Unlocking the stillness, from underwater sculpture to St Paul's Cathedral

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A sculptor works on a carved face emerging from a stone larger than her
Young creating.
Emilyyoung.com

As a painter, Emily Young says she worked relatively quickly in her distinctive surreal style featuring penguins and figures with penguin heads. When she came to sculpture in the 1980s, what she most appreciated was the resistance she felt as she worked, meaning that she ‘had to slow down’ and ‘be super careful’. Right from her first works as a sculptor, the stone was speaking to her, teaching her the value of stillness.     

The stones with which she works still speak to her. The stone ‘tells me what it is willing to do’ and ‘lets me know exactly what it can and cannot do, and I work with that’. ‘The stone’, she says, ‘leads me through into this zone where we’re working together’. Ultimately, she says, ‘what I’m showing is that the relationship between a human and the planet can be very, very respectful, and very, very beautiful’. In this way, she uses the beauty, history, and energy of stone to connect people to the natural world. 

Her respect for the stones is, in part, because she moves ‘through layers of history in the stones’. Because of their age, stones bring ‘messages to us from a time before culture’; ‘nature has been making stones’ for millions of years meaning that ‘they are from deep time’. This is the ‘stillness of stone compared to me as a short-lived human being’. Her work, therefore, involves ‘throwing something out there that is more enduring than soft humans’. 

Her most recent exhibition was entitled ‘Comparative Stillness’. This title was chosen because the way the faces and the bodies she carves ‘always come out, there’s peacefulness there, there’s stillness’. ‘If you sit in this stillness of the stone’, she says, ‘you can find a great joy and a great peace’. She has asked herself, ‘What is it that I’m doing when I’m carving a human head out of stone?’ Her answer is that she is ‘finding an essential core of being alive that has in it, stillness’. ‘It’s the stillness that I’m after’, she says, and ‘out of that stillness come good actions.’ As a result, she says, ‘what I’m completely dedicated to now is to show that we do have access to that stillness and it could be our saving grace’. Everyone, she thinks, ‘should have quiet, kind symbols of internality around them’.  

Describing her symbols, she says that: her discs are translucent, holding light within while symbolising the wholeness of the universe; her heads are never of particular people and are embodied consciousnesses with a sweetness to their closed eyes; and her torsos show the beauty and vulnerability of the female form which holds the capacity to create life. 

The ‘quietness inherent in stone can also found in our consciousnesses’, which is why she speaks of her stone heads as ‘embodied consciousnesses’. She thinks that religion leads towards this same stillness and, therefore, thinks her art is doing a similar job to that which religion does, ‘trying to give value to people’s lives, what you can and can’t do’. Christ, she says, ‘is a particularly fine example of a teacher’. Her works ‘seem at home within the quietness of churches’ because ‘churches are places that have something of time, deep time’. She has made many sculptures for ecclesiastical settings, including St Paul’s Churchyard and Salisbury Cathedral, while exhibitions of her work have been held at St James Piccadilly and St Pancras New Church. 

When I met her, she was in London for the McDonald Agape Lecture in Theology and the Visual Arts 2025. ‘Theology and the Visual Arts: Firming Foundations; Firing Imaginations’ is a five-year project to strengthen the foundations of Theology and the Visual Arts as a discipline within academic Theology, and help to shape its future. The project’s work is showcased to a public audience through major public lectures in an internationally renowned arts venue. 

This year’s lecture put Young in dialogue with US painter, Genesis Tramaine, an expressionist devotional painter deeply inspired by biblical texts. Like Young, Tramaine also creates monumental heads, and both speak of being led as they create their works; Young, by the stories in the stones, and Tramaine, by the Holy Spirit following prayer, worship and study of scripture. By being led in their work, both essentially agreed that, as Tramaine put it, you can't be present when creating, instead you ‘have to trust yourself to the process, surrender, and play in the space’. Whether creating the heads of angels or of saints, both are depicting ‘messengers from heaven’. 

The good actions that have arisen out of stillness for Young include a project to re-diversify the Maremma seabed in Casa dei Pesci. The seabed in this area, as also in many other places, is being destroyed through illegal fishing by dredger trawlers which destroy the seagrass meadows that are the breeding grounds for marine life. A local fisherman Paolo Fanciulli decided to address the problem by asking artists, including Young, to sculpt huge blocks of Carrara marble as, once these lie on the seabed, they make it impossible for the dredger trawlers to operate in the area. 29 sculptures, including four Stone Guardians by Young, form the Talamone Underwater Museum, which has seen ‘the trawlers go away’ and ‘the seabed diversify’ once again.  

Young also creates large sculptures in the grounds of Convento di Santa Croce, the ruined monastery in Tuscany where she now lives. She says she has ‘been quiet’ and ‘become reclusive’ living there because the place itself is ‘really peaceful and quiet’ with a ‘handmade stillness to everything’. When the rains come, ‘bits of the steep hills fall away’ revealing ancient stones formed of volcanic materials, while caves which had fallen in on themselves have filled up with rainwater creating over time ‘a layered geology’. In this way in this area, ‘the earth is giving great stones to work with’.  

In this delightful, giving place of stillness, she can sit quietly, prayerfully. She notes ‘how difficult it is to find a place of stillness today because of the ‘cacophony of distraction’ we all experience. Her aim is to show the way we are ‘wasting the gift of life’ and to reveal ‘our one consciousness’ in the stillness of stone.   

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Review
Culture
Film & TV
Monsters
War & peace
6 min read

The Fantastic Four taught me about family, truth and the end of the world

The whole film has a grown-up sophistication about what really matters.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

THe Fantastic Four stand on a podium
Walt Disney Studios.

I’ve just been to see the The Fantastic Four: First Steps, and honestly, I think it’s brilliant. It’s my favourite Marvel film in a long time. I might have to go all the way back to Guardians of the Galaxy to find something as funny, engaging, and moving. There’s a lightness to it, but also a surprising depth. 

First of all, the setting. It’s done in this beautiful, kitschy 1960s style—retro aesthetics, clean design, soft colours. It’s subtle, not forced, and it gives the whole film a kind of grown-up sophistication. Then there’s the casting—each of them is just spot on. Vanessa Kirby plays Sue Storm as an independent, intelligent, maternal powerhouse. And Pedro Pascal’s Reed Richards—brilliant but vulnerable—brings something pretty human to the role of a superhero. Even through the layers of CGI animation, Ebon Moss-Bachrach brings pathos and quiet dignity to the role of Ben Grimm aka The Thing.  

But what really grabbed me wasn’t just the style, the humour or the casting—it was the themes. At the heart of this film are some big, timely questions: about family, about sacrifice, about truth—and about how we respond when the world is falling apart. 

The power of sacrifice 

Here’s the big plot point—and this is not a spoiler because it’s in the trailer—the Fantastic Four are about to become the Fantastic Five. Sue Storm aka The Invisible Woman is pregnant. She portrays well that beautiful mix of nervous excitement that every expectant parent knows. But because she and Reed Richards aka Mr Fantastic are becoming parents with superpowers and gamma radiation in play there is an additional fear and uncertainty about their unborn child. In the middle of this domestic intimacy things escalate. A threat emerges—Galactus, a cosmic entity capable of devouring entire planets. Sue and Reed are given an impossible ultimatum: to relinquish their unborn child to Galactus and save the world or keep their child and see the world destroyed.  

The film could have taken the easy route and made the unborn child symbolic or vague. But instead, it takes this child seriously. There’s a very beautiful moment where Sue uses her invisibility powers to reveal their baby as a fit and healthy little boy asleep in her womb. He is real, precious and non-negotiable.  

The heroes will not even consider sacrificing the unborn child. They are willing to give up their own lives. They are willing to risk everything they have. But they won’t hand over their child to save the planet. 

That hit me hard in a culture where the idea of sacrificing a child—or at least, the rights of the unborn—has become politically and ethically contested. People take a range of views on the issue, but here is this blockbuster superhero movie saying: “No. Even if the planet is at stake, this child matters.”  This is a brave, countercultural stance that surprised me.  

It is also particularly poignant given a view that is becoming more widespread: some people are suggesting that in order to save the planet, we should stop having children. Clearly they genuinely believe the world would be better off without future generations. But that logic feels deeply broken. It is as if we are trying to protect the planet from children, instead of for them. 

What this film offers is a total reversal: the child is not the threat—the child is the hope. And for Christians, that resonates. Because at the heart of the gospel is the story of a child—born into a broken world, not to destroy it but to save it. And while Sue and Reed won’t give up their child to save the world, the Christian story is that God did just that.  He was willing to do what this superhero family wouldn’t—sacrifice his Son to save us.  

Truth and politics 

As if the personal and familial dilemma was not enough by itself, the film also raises important political questions. The Fantastic Four are given the ultimatum about saving the world in the privacy of a meeting with Galactus on the other side of the universe. When they finally make it back to earth, they are asked to make a press statement and told to keep it short. 

I found myself willing them to be quiet, to protect the privacy of their decision to save their baby, to save themselves the inevitable backlash, but instead they choose honesty. They tell the world the truth about the impossible decision they had to make—and why they made it. 

In today’s political landscape, that kind of transparency feels rare. We’ve seen moments—during COVID, during the cost-of-living crisis, even around immigration and the rescuing of Afghan families—when the public hasn’t always been trusted with the full picture. Leaders hide behind spin, afraid to speak plainly, or take responsibility. 

In the film we see what happens when the Fantastic Four choose honesty, even as a baying crowd surrounds their base. A speech is made that displays vulnerability, integrity, and courage. It reminded me that truth isn’t just about facts—it’s about trust. The best leaders are those who invite people into difficult conversations, who treat others as grown-ups, who inspire hope rather attract blame.  

How do you face the end of the world? 

It is not unusual for a superhero movie to navigate a global catastrophe, but this time planet earth is given some warning. The Silver Surfer comes as a herald ahead of the impending doom, warning of Galactus’ plan to devour the planet, and challenging people to use their time well, to celebrate life and show love to their families. The Surfer is almost a John the Baptist figure, although the prophet’s advice was repentance not just holding your loved ones closer. God was not coming to consume the earth for his own gratification, but to make the ultimate sacrifice to deal with the problem and reconcile humanity to himself.  

A headline in the Daily Express the other weekend claimed: “Global Crises send GEN Z to church” It does seem that for some young adults there is renewed interest in spiritual things in general and Christianity in particular. Perhaps it really is because the world feels like it is about to implode. With climate crisis, political chaos, and global conflict, people are looking for hope, purpose and salvation in real life as well as in happy endings to movies.  

Fantastic Four really made me think - while also making me laugh about car seats, pregnancy tests and giving birth on a spaceship.  I left feeling encouraged. Not because it offered easy answers, but because it reminded me that love—real, sacrificial, inconvenient, dangerous love—is still heroic. Truth matters. Children matter. Andd all the more so when faced with a brewing apocalypse. 

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Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
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