Lots of Birds and Towering Displays at London Frieze Sculpture

When London Frieze closes Sunday, so does London Frieze Sculpture, an outdoor exhibition in Regent’s Park that opened in July. For visitors, this is a last chance to see this particularly global show; most of the galleries are Londoners, but the artists are from as far as South Korea, South Africa, Cuba and Zimbabwe.

It’s notably gender-equal; 10 of the 25 artists are women. And it feels cleverly organic: Aren’t these the sort of things — birds, tall columns, tiny buildings — you would expect to encounter in a stroll through a grand royal park?

Here are some highlights.

Oh, look, behind that moody French title, there’s a menacing dark gray vulture in a tree. Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset (Elmgreen is Danish; Dragset is Norwegian) have been using these nasty scavenger-predators in their work since 2012. It’s a stand-in for the critic, says Clare Lilley, the exhibition’s curator.

That means both the cultural critics and the ones inside our heads. Beyond that, the artists are “looking at who the vultures are in our society today, who benefits from the misfortunes of others, who benefits from chaos, war, destruction.”

But in the end, “the beauty of it is that it’s just so dark.” How you might know Elmgreen and Dragset: They did the acclaimed Prada-store installation in Marfa, Texas, fully stocked and permanently locked.

If you saw the film “Black Panther” and recognize Wakanda as a nation name, you have some idea of where Achiampong, a Ghanaian-British multidisciplinary artist, is coming from with his own Afro-Futurist narrative.

The Relic Traveller is his Pan-African, post-colonial character, and these are the 54-star banners from an imagined future that is, according to Frieze’s description, a dominant part of the world “informed by technology, agency and the body, and narratives of migration.”

We don’t have the space to give you the full titles of both these massive orange pieces, but “Walking Ship 40 Ton Standard Displacement” is part of one’s subtitle.

“They’re the feet of a machine that is designed to walk on riverbeds,” Lilley said. Luckily for Capper — at 31 one of the show’s youngest artists — he can get his raw material “in junkyards.”

Before he studied at the Royal College of Art, the London-born Capper trained as a welder.

Kimsooja of South Korea is really a performance artist; she rarely makes objects. Lilley loves this one, she says, because its polymer coating is “the closest that anyone’s ever gotten to mimicking the iridescence of an insect’s wing.”

If you’re lucky enough to visit at one of the times this tiny but tall pavilion (46 feet) is open, you can go inside to appreciate its mirrored floor and a feeling of “going deep into the earth and high into the sky.”

Kimsooja (whose name actually means needle woman) is looking at perspective through nanoscience.

Baldessari, the show’s oldest artist (born in California 87 years ago), has made an emperor penguin as tall as himself (6 foot 7) and as shiny as a sports car (it’s polyurethane, but it was cast in clay).

“It’s sort of a self-deprecating work,” said Lilley, who admires Baldessari for his decades of confounding exactly what it means to be an artist. The work is about “where you feel you are in the world, but at the same time there’s something a little bit silly about depicting yourself as a penguin.”

Maybe silliness is just what we need from our elder statesmen.

And even more birds! Emin’s birds are benevolent types, gazing down from 13-foot poles, as a memorial to David Tang, a socialite fashion entrepreneur who died last year.

This is a complete change of mood for London-born Emin, who made her name with confessional multimedia installations like “Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963-1995” and “Every Part of Me’s Bleeding.” This work, the show’s curator said, is a spot where people tend to slow down and reflect.

How would you like an adorable second home right in the middle of Regent’s Park? This piece, about one-third the size of a real house, gets its deliberately cartoonish look from neon color intensity and thick black outlines.

Woods, a British artist, did a collection of these in Folkestone, a port town, to remind us how many people desperately need a first home while others casually buy multiple residences. Visitors can’t go inside.

“Well, no, they don’t have any windows, there’s no glass, there’s no front door,” Woods told The Guardian last year. The idea was to do “a motif.”

These three almost-16-feet-tall painted bronze figures are not Hindu religious figures and not really a family grouping but “avatars of human psychology, the gods, the planets — they are djinns,” Kher told The Standard. She grew up in London but long ago returned to Delhi to live and work.