On a bustling corner of the city’s downtown precinct, passersby have been stopping in their tracks, captivated by an unusual display of creativity. Fragments of old chairs and splintered table legs, once destined for landfill, now rise from concrete and parkland as striking sculptural installations. Local artist Finn McGregor is the mastermind behind these evocative pieces, seamlessly blending urban utility with artistic ingenuity in ways that enliven the public landscape.
Finn McGregor, 37, has long been fascinated by society’s discarded objects. Growing up amidst the vibrant diversity of Sydney’s inner suburbs, he recalls childhood days spent rummaging through council clean-ups with his grandmother. “Furniture has stories,” McGregor explains. “Each scratch or dent reflects someone's life, so transforming these cast-offs is my way of honouring the invisible histories within our everyday world.”
The process behind McGregor’s work is as thoughtful as the results are eye-catching. Sourcing unwanted wooden furniture from kerbside piles and charity shop backrooms, he carefully dismantles each piece. Instead of restoring them to their former use, he reimagines them as raw materials. The resulting sculptures—some soaring as high as four metres—feature intricate arrangements that challenge viewers to reconsider what most would simply discard.
McGregor’s installations have appeared across the CBD, from Martin Place to the green lawns of Hyde Park. Each unique creation draws crowds and invites them to interact physically with the art. “I want people to navigate around and through these structures, to touch them and even sit on them where possible,” says McGregor. This focus on engagement is intentional, blurring the boundaries between functional object and aesthetic monument.
Feedback from the public has been overwhelmingly positive. Local resident Clara Zheng describes the sculptures as “a breath of fresh air” in a city too often dominated by glass, steel, and uniformity. “It makes me pause and think about my own preconceptions of waste and value,” Zheng adds. Social media, too, has buzzed with photos and comments, with Instagram posts of the sculptures attracting hundreds of likes and sparking lively discussions.
City officials have also embraced the project, granting McGregor special permission to exhibit his sculptures in several high-profile downtown locations. “Art like Finn’s challenges us to reflect on our patterns of consumption,” notes Councillor Maria Romero, who oversees the council’s public art initiatives. She cites the installations as an example of creative sustainability in action, aligning with the city’s broader environmental goals.
Environmental advocates have praised the focus on reuse and creative recycling. According to a recent report by Clean Up Australia, Australians discard nearly 800,000 tonnes of furniture annually, most of which ends up in landfill. Projects such as McGregor’s shine a spotlight on this issue while demonstrating that reclaimed materials can hold surprising and meaningful value when thoughtfully repurposed.
The artist’s influence is already extending beyond the art community. Local schools have invited McGregor to host workshops, where students learn about recycling and artistic transformation. “It’s all about sparking creative solutions to environmental problems,” says Sandra Wallace, a primary school teacher who recently partnered with McGregor for an after-school program. She credits his hands-on approach with igniting students’ curiosity and optimism around sustainability.
Indeed, McGregor sees education as an essential part of his mission. During guided tours, he shares the stories behind individual pieces—revealing, for example, how a battered highchair once belonged to a family celebrating a child’s first birthday, or a coffee table bore silent witness to decades of lively neighbourhood gatherings. These narratives imbue the works with a sense of continuity, layering new meaning atop the physical transformation.
Despite the widespread praise, McGregor’s installations have also sparked some debate. A handful of critics argue that the sculptures are out of place in the city centre or worry about maintenance and long-term safety. McGregor welcomes the dialogue, seeing it as evidence that public art can challenge and provoke. “If we’re not asking questions about what belongs in our shared spaces, we’re missing an opportunity to grow as a community,” he reflects.
Technical challenges abound for large-scale installations of this sort. Concerns about weather, durability, and security must all be addressed. McGregor works closely with engineers to ensure each structure is both stable and safe for public interaction, using hidden steel frames and eco-safe protective coatings. Such behind-the-scenes work is laborious, yet essential to ensuring the installations survive bustling foot traffic and Sydney’s unpredictable weather.
Looking ahead, McGregor is planning a new series of interactive works loosely themed around the concept of ‘home.’ These future projects, he hints, will incorporate even more community input, potentially inviting residents to contribute their own discarded items, which will then be woven into the evolving pieces. It's an invitation for the city’s population to see themselves, quite literally, reflected in its art.
Ultimately, Finn McGregor’s urban sculptures are more than just decorations for the cityscape—they are meditations on community, history, and environmental stewardship. By transforming humble cast-offs into site-specific works of art, he not only redefines the boundaries of sculpture but also inspires a broader cultural shift. In every salvaged leg and weathered seatback, McGregor’s vision invites us to reconsider what we throw away and to see beauty in second chances.