There was a time when I disliked windy days.

Like many people, I saw them as an inconvenience. A strong breeze meant tying things down, chasing loose objects around the garden and putting off outdoor jobs until the weather improved. Wind was simply something to be endured.

Then I started creating kinetic sculptures.

Now I find myself looking at the weather forecast hoping for a bit of wind, especially when I have just finished a new piece. As a sculpture nears completion, my excitement builds because I want to see how it performs in the real world. Will it move as smoothly as I imagined? Will it respond to the lightest breeze? Have I finally got the balance exactly right?

Of course, this is usually the moment when the wind decides to disappear completely. After weeks of blustery weather, everything suddenly becomes calm just when I'm most eager to see the sculpture come to life.

That change surprised me.

A kinetic sculpture only truly reveals itself when it moves. Even the lightest breeze can bring a sculpture to life, turning what appears to be a static piece of metal into something fluid and constantly changing. Every gust creates a different response. Sometimes the movement is slow and graceful, almost meditative. Other times the sculpture seems to dance with energy, responding instantly to changes in the wind.

No two days are ever quite the same. A sculpture that barely moves one morning may be dancing by the afternoon as the wind changes direction and strength.

What surprises many people is that no two sculptures behave exactly the same either, even when they are standing side by side. A sculpture's shape, balance, weight distribution and surface area all influence how it responds to the breeze. One may be turning gently while another remains almost still, only to come alive when the wind changes direction. Each piece develops its own character and relationship with the environment.

I've noticed that people who own kinetic sculptures often experience the same thing. They find themselves glancing out of the window to see if the sculpture is moving. Visitors pause to watch it. Conversations stop for a moment as eyes follow the changing patterns of motion.

The weather becomes part of the artwork.

Unlike a static sculpture, a kinetic piece rarely fades into the background. A sudden movement in the corner of your eye or a brief flash of reflected sunlight is often enough to draw your attention back to it. Even after months or years, there are moments when a sculpture catches me by surprise and makes me stop and watch for a while.

One thing I hadn't anticipated when I first started creating kinetic sculptures was how often they would catch my attention unexpectedly. I'll be focused on something else entirely when a subtle movement in my peripheral vision draws my eye towards the garden. Sometimes it's not the sculpture itself but a flash of reflected sunlight sweeping across a wall, a pathway or a nearby plant. The sculpture is constantly interacting with its surroundings, quietly reminding me that it's there.

As a sculptor, this relationship between art and nature fascinates me. Unlike a painting hanging on a wall or a traditional static sculpture, a kinetic sculpture is in constant partnership with its surroundings. The wind becomes an invisible collaborator, influencing the sculpture's behaviour from one moment to the next.

Creating that movement is far more challenging than many people realise.

When designing a new sculpture, I spend countless hours thinking about balance, weight distribution, bearings, friction and how the piece will respond to different wind conditions. The goal is always the same: to create movement that is engaging in a gentle breeze while remaining stable and controlled when the wind becomes stronger.

What looks effortless often requires a great deal of engineering.

Yet wind is only part of the story.

Sunlight brings an entirely different dimension to kinetic sculpture.

On bright days, polished stainless steel surfaces catch the light and throw reflections around the garden. As the sculpture rotates, those reflections move with it, sweeping across plants, paths and surrounding spaces. Shadows stretch, twist and change shape throughout the day. The sculpture begins to influence the whole environment around it rather than simply occupying a position within it.

I've often found myself standing in the garden watching not just the sculpture itself, but the patterns of light and shadow it creates. A passing cloud can change the mood completely. A low evening sun can transform a familiar sculpture into something entirely different.

In many ways, a kinetic sculpture is never the same piece twice.

The angle of the sun changes. The strength of the wind changes. The seasons change. What you experience today may be quite different from what you see tomorrow.

That, for me, is part of the magic.

And then there is the rain.

Most people assume a rainy day hides a sculpture, but I have found it adds another dimension altogether. Water collects on surfaces, changes the way light is reflected and can even subtly alter the balance and movement of a kinetic sculpture. A sculpture that responds one way in dry conditions may behave quite differently when covered in rain.

During heavier weather, the effects can be dramatic. On sculptures such as Storm Catcher, I have watched rainwater being thrown from the rotating blades in sweeping arcs as the wind gathers strength. What begins as a sculpture responding to the wind suddenly becomes a sculpture interacting with both wind and water. The result can be surprisingly beautiful and often completely unexpected.

And sometimes it isn't the weather at all.

One of the more unexpected things I have discovered is that kinetic sculptures can occasionally become bird-activated sculptures. On completely still days, when there isn't enough breeze to move even the most responsive piece, a visiting bird can provide all the movement required.

I have often watched birds land on a sculpture because it seemed like a convenient perch. The slight shift in weight is sometimes enough to set the sculpture gently moving. One of my favourite examples is a video I captured of Serenity with two starlings sitting on it. The sculpture was perfectly happy to become part artwork and part bird table for a few minutes.

A lot of people have said to me, "I bet you don't get many birds in your garden with all those sculptures."

Oh, how wrong they are.

In truth, I think the sculptures have become part of the landscape. The birds seem to accept them as naturally as they do the trees, fences and garden furniture.

The garden is full of bird life. Starlings, robins, blackbirds, pigeons and countless others seem perfectly comfortable sharing the space with the sculptures. Some use them as lookout posts, others as temporary resting places, and occasionally they become unexpected participants in the artwork itself.

Moments like these remind me that kinetic sculptures don't simply exist within nature; they become part of it. Over time they are adopted by the garden and its wildlife, creating interactions that could never have been planned or designed.

It serves as another reminder that kinetic sculpture is never truly static. It is constantly responding to the environment around it, whether that environment is sunshine, wind, rain, wildlife or a winter storm.

Just when you think the day is over and the sculptures have given their final performance, darkness brings an entirely new experience.

Over the years I have installed a series of colour-changing LED lights throughout the garden. Originally they were simply intended to brighten up the space during the darker months, but I soon discovered they transformed the sculptures in entirely unexpected ways.

During the day, the sculptures interact with sunlight, casting moving shadows and reflections around the garden. At night, the LED lighting creates a completely different experience. The polished stainless steel surfaces catch and reflect the changing colours while the moving elements create shifting patterns of light and shadow.

One winter evening stands out in particular. I had seventeen kinetic sculptures installed throughout the garden and a strong breeze had picked up. As the sculptures moved, coloured reflections swept across the garden while the illuminated forms rotated and danced in the darkness. It was mesmerising to watch. In many ways it was better than a firework display because it continued for hours rather than minutes.

The neighbours certainly seemed to enjoy it as much as I did.

Moments like that remind me that a kinetic sculpture is not simply an object. It is an experience that changes with the weather, the seasons, the time of day and even the lighting conditions. There is always something new to discover.

Perhaps that's why I now look forward to windy days.

What was once something to endure has become something to enjoy. Wind, sunlight, rain, wildlife and even darkness all reveal different aspects of a kinetic sculpture. Every day brings a slightly different performance and, even after all this time, I still find myself stopping to watch.

It's a strange thing to admit, but creating kinetic sculptures has taught me to love the weather.