I do not attempt to recreate things in nature, but to translate the feelings and thoughts I have while surrounded by wilderness into a physical manifestation of my emotional and intellectual self. I yearn for the feeling of finding new organisms which the knowledge of adulthood hasn't yet spoiled, the wonder in seeing things purely for their form and beauty, and the awe of discovering their interconnection with the world around them. This manifests in the way I work, as I thrive on the unpredictable results from processes that allow me an uncontrolled freedom, and choose installation as the necessary format for display. The industrial backbone of my home town and family's history has become an unavoidable context.
My installations are malleable and do not begin or end in any one place but continuously grow as I collect knowledge, skills, tools, experiences, and painstakingly gather and grow materials such as beeswax, seeds and hulls, moss, sands, skins and furs, clay, igneous rocks, minerals, and sounds.
I have been collecting since early childhood, and it is impossible for me to pass by rocks or the layer of black sand found on certain lakes, amongst other things, without gathering. It is comforting, week after week, canoe trip after canoe trip, hunted animal after hunted animal, year after year, to slowly add to my collection. I have been mentally attributing a value which is of the same importance as monetary value to the various items I collect. This is somewhat relative to distances travelled, time intervals between collection, and niceties or beauty, but seems to relate most directly to how I felt at the moment of collection.
Creating ambiguous organisms inhibits preconceived knowledge, symbolism, hatred, love, fear, et cetera normally felt when encountering a lifeform – when stumbling upon my work, the ambiguity and unknowing-feeling allows for a clarity which does not typically occur in reality when living a detached (from the wilderness, new experiences) lifestyle. In regards to ambiguity, I generally mean the characteristics and habits/habitats of the organisms I create, such as whether they are terrestrial or aquatic. The longer I spend on certain ones the more my mind elaborates on their biology, which is why I am constantly producing new forms. I have created my own taxonomy for each, but prefer to keep that to myself.
The handbuilt ceramic and beeswax organisms with furs, skins, bones, quills, feathers and eggs become something new, something beyond a traditional taxidermied species, which may be identified by a pocket field guide – this opens the viewer to seeing beyond the use of ‘dead animal parts’. As part of an ambiguous organism, the use of furs, etc does not serve as a typical memento mori, but instead gives life and movement. At the same time, the reminder of mortality strengthens the evocative notions of abundant life and evolution symbolized by egg-laying and fertilization (many of my organisms have what looks to most people like roe in their bellies, or are protecting or scavenging for it).
The installation spaces, or contexts, that I create for my organisms evolved out of some of my strongest memories and thoughts of natural history museums, industrial wastelands, ‘life after humans’, sterile spaces, cabinets of curiosity, the mines, steel mills and factories my family worked in, lakes and quarries I have scuba dived, and the overwhelming backcountry of the Canadian shield. Just the thought that caves, the bottom of the ocean, within a rotting tree, clinging to the surface of the exposed rock of the shield, any place where you yourself couldn’t last for very long at all, intricate lifeforms are thriving. These are places we have only recently looked for life, which makes them a frontier of sorts, allowing me the freedom to create and be inspired in the ways of my youth that I yearn for.
I do not desire to, nor can I, revert to my childhood, nor am I attempting to work from my childhood perspective – I accept determinism (over free-will), and upon revisiting many of the places, both physically and mentally, where I learned and experienced and sucked up information as a kid, an overwhelming sense of self succumbs me. The countless hours spent outside foraging, fishing, looking, brought me to where and who I am.
My installations are malleable and do not begin or end in any one place but continuously grow as I collect knowledge, skills, tools, experiences, and painstakingly gather and grow materials such as beeswax, seeds and hulls, moss, sands, skins and furs, clay, igneous rocks, minerals, and sounds.
I have been collecting since early childhood, and it is impossible for me to pass by rocks or the layer of black sand found on certain lakes, amongst other things, without gathering. It is comforting, week after week, canoe trip after canoe trip, hunted animal after hunted animal, year after year, to slowly add to my collection. I have been mentally attributing a value which is of the same importance as monetary value to the various items I collect. This is somewhat relative to distances travelled, time intervals between collection, and niceties or beauty, but seems to relate most directly to how I felt at the moment of collection.
Creating ambiguous organisms inhibits preconceived knowledge, symbolism, hatred, love, fear, et cetera normally felt when encountering a lifeform – when stumbling upon my work, the ambiguity and unknowing-feeling allows for a clarity which does not typically occur in reality when living a detached (from the wilderness, new experiences) lifestyle. In regards to ambiguity, I generally mean the characteristics and habits/habitats of the organisms I create, such as whether they are terrestrial or aquatic. The longer I spend on certain ones the more my mind elaborates on their biology, which is why I am constantly producing new forms. I have created my own taxonomy for each, but prefer to keep that to myself.
The handbuilt ceramic and beeswax organisms with furs, skins, bones, quills, feathers and eggs become something new, something beyond a traditional taxidermied species, which may be identified by a pocket field guide – this opens the viewer to seeing beyond the use of ‘dead animal parts’. As part of an ambiguous organism, the use of furs, etc does not serve as a typical memento mori, but instead gives life and movement. At the same time, the reminder of mortality strengthens the evocative notions of abundant life and evolution symbolized by egg-laying and fertilization (many of my organisms have what looks to most people like roe in their bellies, or are protecting or scavenging for it).
The installation spaces, or contexts, that I create for my organisms evolved out of some of my strongest memories and thoughts of natural history museums, industrial wastelands, ‘life after humans’, sterile spaces, cabinets of curiosity, the mines, steel mills and factories my family worked in, lakes and quarries I have scuba dived, and the overwhelming backcountry of the Canadian shield. Just the thought that caves, the bottom of the ocean, within a rotting tree, clinging to the surface of the exposed rock of the shield, any place where you yourself couldn’t last for very long at all, intricate lifeforms are thriving. These are places we have only recently looked for life, which makes them a frontier of sorts, allowing me the freedom to create and be inspired in the ways of my youth that I yearn for.
I do not desire to, nor can I, revert to my childhood, nor am I attempting to work from my childhood perspective – I accept determinism (over free-will), and upon revisiting many of the places, both physically and mentally, where I learned and experienced and sucked up information as a kid, an overwhelming sense of self succumbs me. The countless hours spent outside foraging, fishing, looking, brought me to where and who I am.
