I am trying to tell Andy Scott, without sounding like a horse’s arse, what his two big Kelpies by the side of the M9 mean to me.

I’m telling him this because of an atrocious article about them written several years ago by the art critic of a London broadsheet. He’d dismissed them for being too accessible and for not possessing a sufficient degree of complexity. What he really seemed to be saying was that if too many of the plebs appreciate a piece of art then it must be aesthetically worthless.

“That article was snobbery: pure and simple,” says Mr Scott. “I had no way to respond without seeming petty. It was written to maintain a degree of superiority. I wondered if the writer had just seen pictures of them online and decided from his cosy wee office in London that they didn’t conform to his view of what public art should look like. It was metropolitan elitism.”

Had the critic paused to pursue some intellectual inquiry? Why were there two of them; why were they located here; why were they posed the way they were; why were they that type of horse? “He’s probably thinking: ‘If the taxi driver can appreciate it then it must be shite,’ says Mr Scott.

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I tell him that if I’m driving to Edinburgh, I always now take the M9 route past Falkirk because of those Kelpies and how they lift your spirits and that, no matter how frenetic your day has been, these big metal beasts bring tranquillity.

The Kelpies were unveiled ten years ago, although by the time he’d come to make them he was already gaining international recognition as an important public artist. It was these 98-foot steel twins - where the Forth and Clyde Canal begins - that brought him to wider public attention.

Not long after their completion he moved to the US; first to Philadelphia, then latterly to Los Angeles. “We exhibited the small-scale Kelpies in New York in 2014 and staged an exhibition in the city. It went really well and that experience made me consider working in the US. There was also a bit of mid-life ‘if we don’t try it now we never will’. I’d spent most of my working life in Glasgow and much as I love the city I felt it was time to shake things up.”

He’s currently in the closing stages of a 90ft x 30ft stainless steel piece for Minnesota United FC: a loon (the state bird of Minnesota and emblem of the team). He’s also working on something he calls “a rare, speculative piece”: a four-metre high Clydesdale horse sculpture.

“Most of my work is to commission but I’ve managed to eke out some time over the last couple of years to build this big girl. The difference between me and a gallery artist is that I now have to find a home for a two-tonne steel horse which will need a crane and a truck to move.”

Andy Scott is currently in the closing stages of a 90ft x 30ft stainless steel piece for Minnesota United FCAndy Scott is currently in the closing stages of a 90ft x 30ft stainless steel piece for Minnesota United FC (Image: free)

Distance hasn’t stopped interest from his homeland. He’s in discussions about two historical-themed pieces: one on the east coast of Scotland and the other on the west coast.

He hopes soon to be undertaking another piece of public art in Scotland. If the supercilious London art critic abjured the Kelpies he’ll be well and truly triggered by this one.

You see, Mr Scott – like me – is a lifelong aficionado of the music of AC/DC, both of us having first borne witness to their work at the Glasgow Apollo in 1978. The Herald announced last week that plans were afoot to commemorate Glasgow’s connection to one of the greatest bands in the history of rock 'n' roll.

Mr Scott lost no time in throwing his hammer and chisel into the ring to make an appropriate public engraving of the Young brothers – Angus and Malcolm – who founded AC/DC. He tweeted: “It’s about time. First saw them in the Apollo in 78. Think that’s why I’m half deaf now … but if they’re to get a statue, you know where to come.”

The Young brothers were born in Cranhill and spent their formative years in the shadow of the iconic square water-tower. “You could have Angus on Bon Scott’s shoulders, just the way they were during that 1978 concert at the Apollo,” said Mr Scott.

“Public art can be very serious and address important political and environmental issues, but it can also be fun. It can celebrate great characters and remind people of happy times like you and I had at the Apollo all those years ago. In amongst all the ‘worthy’ public statuary, you can also celebrate popular characters. The Young brothers are an amazing symbol of Glasgow’s verve and creativity.”

“When I saw your article, I thought: ‘I’d be up for that’. I was in my workshop here in LA and immediately stuck on some of their old albums. I can already see it taking shape and my hardest parts will be Angus’s Gibson SG and Malcolm’s Gretsch.”

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If you visit Cranhill, you’ll see several examples of Andy Scott’s work at the base of the water-tower: five intricate, water-themed metal sculptures of Poseidon, three sirens and a mermaid, plus a fish with a ring in its mouth, signifying Glasgow’s coat of arms.

“I did a lot of work in areas that might be called ‘disenfranchised’,” he says. “These were done in conjunction with local people and organisations. You have to understand that cuts to public spending might mean that they don’t get cleaned often and the surroundings aren’t well-maintained, but you’ve got to be philosophical. They did their job and brought a sense of encouragement and optimism to areas like Cranhill.

“We often did them on tiny budgets and there could be confusion over who is ultimately responsible for them. The money to make the art might come from various different sources.”

In Clackmannanshire where several of his works are located, there is a walking tour which visits them all. “At one point, Clackmannanshire had a very proactive local arts officer called Kathleen O’Neill who initiated several public artworks,” said Mr Scott. “They kept coming back to me because the local response was always very positive.”

Was it not frustrating having to deal with so many officials with different ideas of what the sculptures should look like? “That’s just the paradox of working in the public realm. You’re making artwork that local people want for their environment. It can’t be about me imposing something on them that I think will look good.

“I wasn’t making it for me; I was making it for them. I don’t have to look at it every day; they do. This was a very serious aspect of my work. The challenge has always been to make the objects that people wanted to live with and to enjoy every day, rather than me swanning about my studio and thinking: ‘Here you are; have this and just feel lucky you’ve got it’.

“I’m just delighted that most of them seemed to have gone down very well and they’re still standing and have had very few incidences of malicious treatment or vandalism. If the local people had said ‘what are you doing wasting your money on that’, they’d never have done the next one or the ones after that.”

The 30-metre high stainless steel Kelpies made by sculptor Andy Scott are accessible to the public 24 hours a day, allowing visitors to witness them lit up during the hours of darknessThe 30-metre high stainless steel Kelpies made by sculptor Andy Scott are accessible to the public 24 hours a day, allowing visitors to witness them lit up during the hours of darkness (Image: DEREK SKINNER)

The costs of making these large, bountiful pieces of art that are made to be seen and to be accessible for the many and not the few are formidable. Making public art is not a route to getting rich quick. You’re paying for a large workshop and all the overheads that come with it such as the gas and electricity and the utilities.

“When it comes to the actual sculpture itself, you’ve got the cost of all the materials,” he says. “If it’s a bronze piece, you’ve got to think about the foundry costs. Then you’ve got the trucks and the cranes to get it there and get it in the ground. You’ve got the structural engineers who have to certify everything so that it’s not going to blow over.

“Then, there might be issues around planning permission: so there’s bit of project management in there too. Then you’ve got the contracts and then all the consumables while you’re making the piece. You’ve got to pay your assistants and the guys that are working for you. Then you’ve got to actually make the damn thing. And somehow, after all of that, you’ve got to pay yourself.”

He tells me he’s now off to play AC/DC’s rather glorious 1978 album, Powerage. It’s a heavy metal classic, just like Andy Scott’s big horses.