David Meredith: The Story Behind the Bronzes

A conversation with Lyndsey Selley, 30 years of crossing paths and 17 years of representation

One of the questions we hear most, especially from younger artists is:

“How do you even get started in the art world?”

Where do you go?
Who do you speak to?
How do you build something sustainable?

So instead of giving a polished, corporate answer, we thought we’d share something better, a real conversation.

I’m Lyndsey Selley, founder of Jarva Gallery, and I’ve known David Meredith for 30 years. We’ve exhibited at the same shows, watched each other’s work evolve, and we’ve represented David for 17 years, right from the beginning of Jarva.

Sculpture can look “posh” from the outside. Bronze. Foundries. Price points. There’s often an assumption that it must come from privilege.

David’s story is… not that.

“The coolest place on earth to grow up”

David was born in Leicester in the 1970s, when industry was struggling and work was scarce. His father, an engineer, made a bold decision: move the family to South Africa.

David was two and a half.

They lived near Pretoria, close to Kruger National Park.

Lions. Elephants. Vast landscapes.

“As a little kid, it’s the coolest place on earth to grow up.”

That early exposure to wildlife never left him.

When the family returned to England, he started school at eleven, rough school, by his own description.

“Loved it. And all I cared about was art. All I’ve ever wanted to do since I was born was be an artist.”

No grand strategy. No five-year plan. Just instinct.

Fantasy, rock culture… and a comic-book head

His early work wasn’t sculpture. It was drawing and painting heavily influenced by fantasy.

“I read Lord of the Rings when I was about twelve and that was it.”

At college he drifted into ceramics, sculpted a head from the comic 2000 AD, and that single piece changed everything.

A representative from the jewellery company Alchemy saw it and said:

“You’ve got a bit of talent do you want to come sculpt for us?”

David chose work over university.

Within three years he went from apprentice to head model maker.

Then he took a risk, went freelance, and was promptly ripped off by a subcontractor who never paid him.

Suddenly: no income.

“It was scary. But I’m stubborn. I wasn’t going to give up.”

That stubbornness becomes a theme.

The NEC, giftware, and learning to hustle

At 21, doing agency work to cover rent, David went to Spring Fair at the NEC.

Back then it filled seventeen halls.

He took sculpted busts and simply walked around asking:

“Do you use freelancers?”

That hustle led to wildlife giftware work, then pewter figurines for Clarecraft’s Terry Pratchett / Discworld range. He wasn’t even driving, he travelled by train with a bag of models.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It was graft.

Cornwall, grief, and Bangkok

The frogs that changed his career

David: Then my dad got ill and passed away, brain tumour. After that I went down to Cornwall with a mate and did a summer street-trading jewellery on the beaches.

Then he said, “Come to Thailand for winter, bring some sculptures. There are loads of foundries out there.”
So I went to Bangkok with these little frogs, meditating frogs, dancing frogs, leaping frogs.

I wandered into a foundry and asked if they could cast them. The boss offered me a house to live in, swimming pool, outskirts of Bangkok, and I was backpacking with no money, so… yes.

I was there for six months. He said:
“Why are you sculpting tiny pieces?”
I said: “It’s all I can afford.”

So he offered a deal: if he could sell to his American clients, he’d cast three of everything I sculpted, and I could have them as payment.

I shipped them back to England and did shows like Gardeners’ World Live at the NEC. Took loads of orders. Massive lightbulb moment.

Brass vs bronze

“I wanted good quality”

David: Then I found out it wasn’t bronze, it was brass and that annoyed me. Brass is porous and can crack in frost. A lot of people don’t know the difference but I cared.

So a few years later, I found a proper fine art bronze foundry in Thailand. Tiny at the time, about 20 staff, now it’s around 200, state of the art, clean, electric kilns, staff live on site, nothing gets copied.

I’ve worked with them for 20 years. Some people question casting abroad, but I’ve had it tested and tested. Anyone’s welcome to test my bronze, it’s the real deal.

And the frogs? Copied everywhere. I’ve seen them in TK Maxx, The Range, plastic versions, identical. I know it’s my frog. I don’t care.

Hares, refinement, and restraint

After the frogs came hares.

Hundreds of sculptors tackle hares. David did too, but his work evolved.

Earlier pieces were highly detailed. Fur etched meticulously.

Now the forms are refined. Streamlined.

“And that’s harder,” he admits.
“When you simplify, every mistake shouts at you.”

There’s a quiet strength in these pieces. Not aggressive. Not theatrical. Controlled.

Much like the mountaineering, endurance over spectacle.

The market vs the maker

Would he love to sculpt leaping tigers? Trojan warriors? Dramatic, cinematic forms?

Absolutely.

Would they sell consistently into British homes?

Probably not.

“Often, when a sculpture goes into a home, both partners have to love it.,” he says bluntly. “Men might want the Trojan. I don’t think the wife would.”

So there’s a constant balancing act between instinct and market, something every serious artist understands.

America, Santa Fe, and “aggressive” wildlife

David: I’ve got one gallery in America, Santa Fe, and Santa Fe is crazy. It’s got something like 200 galleries. Anything from $10 to $10 million. Rich Texans fly up there in private jets.

I do really well there, especially with jack rabbits, as they call them.

But it’s funny, because the stuff I think will sell over there, coyotes, wolves, they hate coyotes because they’re scavengers. Wolves feel aggressive. And again, it comes back to the same thing: people don’t necessarily want aggressive sculptures in their homes. Same here too.

If I sculpted what I wanted, it would be leaping tigers, eagles swooping in… dramatic stuff. But who buys it?

London might be the market for that, high-powered businessmen,  but it’s niche. And you’ve got to reach that market.

The best advice

At my school the teachers didn’t have time for art. No one in my life had time for art except my uncle and auntie. Because it’s not seen as a job, is it, as a working-class lad?

But I was stubborn. I went, “I’m doing it anyway.” And I did.

And I did a lot of horrible jobs while I built it, every factory in Leicester you can think of  for about £3.50 an hour. It paid the bills at the time.

It probably took three years until I could make a living in art again. I don’t regret it.

The “magic” pieces

Peregrine falcons, dodgy agents, and a £30,000 fibreglass lesson

David: The best piece? There are a few. I did a two-metre peregrine falcon, more for the Arab market. I sold four of them. I don’t even know where they are now.

I used to have an agent who sold through Sotheby’s. He was dodgy. Didn’t always tell me he’d sold a piece.

A lady once came up to me about the big sitting hare (five-foot one) and asked me to make a base — and it turned out she’d bought it at Sotheby’s three weeks earlier and I hadn’t been told. So I sacked him off.

Lyndsey: I remember your flying pheasants, around 2009/10/11 when I opened Whaley Gallery. We had them in.

David: Yeah, good pieces.

Lyndsey: And then there was a Chelsea commission...

David: I delivered a set of pheasants to a house near Chelsea and his wife asked if I did frogs. I said I could sculpt anything… but it would be expensive at that size.

She gave me a funny look, so I said, “Don’t worry, I can always do it in brass.”

She gave me a really funny look.

I went away and Googled them, they’d just sold their business for about £100 million.

(Collective laugh.)

Then I made that big horse head, about three metres, in fibreglass. He said he’d have it. Because he’d bought the pheasants, I didn’t take a deposit. No paperwork. Just trust.

Took me three months.

I got it down to Chelsea the following year, invited him to come and see it, thinking done deal, and his wife came the next day and said:“Oh no, we’ve changed our mind.”

I was thinking: what am I going to do with this?

It was still fibreglass, thank God, but to cast it in bronze would’ve been about £50,000. I didn’t have £50,000.

So I took it down to Sotheby’s, got there with about 30 minutes to spare before the deadline, parked it up and said:
“You can have that. I’m not coming back for it, you better sell it.”

They thought I was joking. I wasn’t.

The agent priced it, and it ended up selling, bearing in mind, it was never meant to be the finished sculpture, it sold for £30,000.

I wasn’t going back for it. (He laughs)

Unexpected Collectors

Royals, comedians, and quiet moments of recognition

Over the years David’s work has found its way into some unexpected collections.

Several members of the Royal Family have acquired pieces through galleries, and his sculptures have quietly travelled further than he sometimes realises.

One of the more surreal moments happened at the Chelsea Flower Show.

A woman approached him to buy a pair of small bird sculptures as a gift for her husband, who had just finished writing a book.

Later she introduced David to him.

It turned out to be the comedian Bill Bailey.

“I was completely starstruck,” David laughs.
“I just said hello… and then walked off.”

There have been other moments too, collectors you wouldn’t necessarily expect, sculptures appearing again years later through auction houses, and the occasional surprise when a piece resurfaces somewhere entirely new.

For David, though, the names are never really the point.

Whether the sculpture ends up with a well-known collector or someone who simply loves wildlife, what matters most is that it’s living in a home where it’s appreciated, not sitting unseen in storage.

The Adventurous Side

Everest, Annapurna… and following through

There’s another thread running through David’s life: adventure.

Two years ago, at a friend’s 50th birthday party, a group had chipped in to send him to Everest Base Camp.

After a few drinks, David announced:

“You can’t go on your own. I’ll come with you.”

And then he followed through.

Three months of training. Late-night gym sessions because he hates gyms. Endless time on the step machine. Testing himself on Ben Nevis and discovering “hiker’s knee” on the descent.

Instead of quitting, he researched it. Strengthened the muscles. Carried on.

Everest Base Camp is a steady climb, eight days up, two down. Oxygen levels drop to around 50% of sea level. Sleep feels strange. Breathing becomes deliberate.

He later trekked Annapurna, steeper, tougher on the knees.

At one point, halfway through a descent, helicopters were constantly ferrying trekkers and supplies. Out of curiosity, he asked the guide what it would cost to take one down.

The price made sense given the strain on his knees, so he made a practical decision.

So he paid for the Sherpas and guide to take the helicopter.

Practical. Decisive. Loyal.

Later he learned the local aviation safety record wasn’t comforting, a crash occurred the following week.

He shrugs when telling the story.

It’s not bravado. It’s endurance.

Why this matters

This is exactly why we wanted to share David’s story.

When you buy a David Meredith bronze, you’re not just buying a sculpture you’ve seen on a plinth or a website.

You’re buying:

• a lifetime of obsession that began near Kruger National Park

• years of graft, rejection, hustle and stubbornness

• craftsmanship that’s been refined over decades

• and an artist who cares deeply about quality, even when most people don’t know what to ask

And from our side at Jarva, you’re also buying through a relationship that’s been built properly, over time. We’ve represented David for 17 years because we believe in the work, but also because we believe in the integrity behind it.

We’re not here for quick wins. We’re here for long careers, long relationships, and collectors who feel looked after, and proud of what they’ve chosen.

Explore David Meredith’s Work

If knowing the story behind the sculpture changes how you see it, that’s exactly the point.

If you’d like guidance choosing a piece, whether it’s your first sculpture or an addition to an existing collection, we’re always happy to talk.

No pressure.

Just honest advice.