A handsome, rugged-looking young man, with a cowboy-country tan and tousled hair, his black T-shirt streaked with rust, lifts a glass water bottle to his lips and drinks slowly and purposefully. It’s a wonderfully theatrical moment. The theatre continues. He stands, poised, and looks over at the big rock almost-perched on an even bigger (human-sized) rock, held in place by a harness and iron chains, the whole thing hanging from a square-based pyramid (a pentahedron, even), the rusty metal of the structure the reason for the orange-brown streaks on his clothes. He and this large sculptural construct are circled by people, some sitting on a quartet of equally large rocks that mark the outer edges of the metal floor; some standing, and some lying on the beach half-watching whilst doing other things. There is, for example, a trio of teenage girls making their own small sculpture, pebbles and shells arranged into circles on the beach. I’m trying to avoid making a judgement on gender-specific activity, but the sight of these pretty young things in their white crop-tops and shampoo-scented long hair making delicate patterns with their sea-shore treasure up against this young man with his big rocks and his clanking metal chains and poles invites such thoughts…

The sculpture cum work-space is sited beautifully on Brighton beach between the sci-fi silver mast of the much-derided new tourist attraction, the i360, and the decaying hulk of the West Pier, the remains of which sit stranded off-shore – two visual icons that could be seen as representing the past and the future of Brighton. The remnants of what were the supports of the shore-side end of of the pier now stand alone and useless on the beach – great columns of rusted metal that complement and create a dialogue with the metal of the sculpture. The large grey pebbles of the beach are small echoes of the great big grey boulders of this work, which is called A Piece of Two.

The young man – Dutch rock-balancer and sculptor Nick Steur – ponders, counts on his fingers, seems to be making calculations, then moves back to his construction. Another 15 minutes go by – I’ve been here in the blazing sunshine for an hour and a half, and time seems to be moving slowly – and the giant rocks have now been manipulated to a point where Nick considers that they are balanced. There are murmurings in the crowd. ‘I’ve been here three hours, I could watch him all day!’ says the women sitting next to me on the rock, and a man behind us calls over to his partner, saying ‘Come back, he’s done it!’  The three girls look up from their own art-making – it’s hard to tell if this is approvingly but I suspect they are playing at cool – and a family of four arrive all in a rush and ask what’s going on. An usher tries to explain and they shrug, take a quick selfie, and walk off… Ah, the joys of outdoor arts!

Then begins the painstaking process of removing the harness and chains that were holding the top rock in place before the point of balance was reached. Much nail-biting (for me) moments of hooking and twisting and pulling and clunking later, the rocks are standing alone in the centre of the pyramid, and there is a round of applause from the audience.  Nick holds up his hand (another perfect theatrical moment) and says: ‘I’m not finished yet. I’m never finished…’ As I move away, he is starting to rearrange or perhaps dismantle the metalwork structure. Apparently, the process is continuous. Everyday he spends six hours (give or take a few tea breaks) here, and as soon as one balance is created, it is time to move off into the next challenge, using the same or other rocks, with just a few archaic pulleys, chains, metal poles, and bolts as tools.

I was pleased to see a conclusion of sorts, a point of balance reached, but do take on board that, like Sisyphus, Nick Steur’s task of manipulating his boulders is endless… Art. Life. Sculpture. Theatre. Big rocks or little rocks, Nick Steur is your man. Entrancing stuff.