Dog-Rabbit Series — Aluminum, Bronze Sculptures
— Design, Fabrication and Photography
Lost wax casting and sandcasting.
The ambivalence of Dog-Rabbit is central to its existence as an object. Are they about to kiss or bite one another? Is Dog Rabbit a dog, or a rabbit? What is signified to you? Perhaps the way the expressions on their faces are interpreted reflects your own inner state of mind. Perhaps you are imparting your own myth of conflict or intimacy on Dog-Rabbit. The first iteration of Dog-Rabbit is cast iron. It is the beginning of my thinking through the way lack is structured for myself by creating objects.
When I first carved the sand block version of Dog Rabbit I was surrounded by the smell of coke (refined coal). I had about half an hour to dig into a shallow, tileshaped mold and an intertwined Dog-Rabbit came to mind. It has a porosity that Dog-Rabbit no.1 does not; while we are once again confronted with the ambiguity of Dog-Rabbit as a species, there is something about its flatness that more explicitly reads as a kind of graphic or sign (perhaps my graphic design background emerges here). Are those teeth or bars? What causes them to be bound to one another? I see the chains and intertwining of Dog-Rabbit with its counterpart as an expression of solidarity. That we are connected to our friends, our (chosen) families, our neighbours, our colleagues in our mutual struggle for liberation. Love binds us, whether that love is resistance or desire for the other.
Oftentimes iron and aluminum are melted down from other objects - car wheels, bicycle parts, bath tubs, radiators, and old sculptures that other artists have abandoned. When time is marked by the next pour, you begin to look at the world in a different way: what found objects can you scavenge; what textures and patinas can you replicate? You begin to take into account roadside drainage grids, structural beams: you begin to look at and move through the city in a different way. The raw materials for Dog-Rabbit are inextricably tied to the bridges, the railroad tracks, the mines, the hands and economic forces that smelt and extract the iron it is made of. When I walked into the Carnegie Museum of Art for the first time, I was drawn to the hissing static of a small CRT television playing the Mon Valley Trilogy by Tony Buba. Buba's films made me realize steel mills aren't only embedded in the physical landscape of the city, but they are also sites of neoliberal economic myth making, labour struggles, racial inequality and environmental racism. Therefore Dog-Rabbit cannot be extricated from the political economy of steel, of the steelworker. Part of learning to work with the metal for me is about understanding the distinctive spatial relations it creates between the artist, the worker, and the city.
When I first carved the sand block version of Dog Rabbit I was surrounded by the smell of coke (refined coal). I had about half an hour to dig into a shallow, tileshaped mold and an intertwined Dog-Rabbit came to mind. It has a porosity that Dog-Rabbit no.1 does not; while we are once again confronted with the ambiguity of Dog-Rabbit as a species, there is something about its flatness that more explicitly reads as a kind of graphic or sign (perhaps my graphic design background emerges here). Are those teeth or bars? What causes them to be bound to one another? I see the chains and intertwining of Dog-Rabbit with its counterpart as an expression of solidarity. That we are connected to our friends, our (chosen) families, our neighbours, our colleagues in our mutual struggle for liberation. Love binds us, whether that love is resistance or desire for the other.
Oftentimes iron and aluminum are melted down from other objects - car wheels, bicycle parts, bath tubs, radiators, and old sculptures that other artists have abandoned. When time is marked by the next pour, you begin to look at the world in a different way: what found objects can you scavenge; what textures and patinas can you replicate? You begin to take into account roadside drainage grids, structural beams: you begin to look at and move through the city in a different way. The raw materials for Dog-Rabbit are inextricably tied to the bridges, the railroad tracks, the mines, the hands and economic forces that smelt and extract the iron it is made of. When I walked into the Carnegie Museum of Art for the first time, I was drawn to the hissing static of a small CRT television playing the Mon Valley Trilogy by Tony Buba. Buba's films made me realize steel mills aren't only embedded in the physical landscape of the city, but they are also sites of neoliberal economic myth making, labour struggles, racial inequality and environmental racism. Therefore Dog-Rabbit cannot be extricated from the political economy of steel, of the steelworker. Part of learning to work with the metal for me is about understanding the distinctive spatial relations it creates between the artist, the worker, and the city.
The success of a pour is not dependent on any one person. It is a coordinated dance and exchange of roles to ensure pieces are cast safely. It is also (arguably) non-hierarchical: everyone has an important role to play. Pours are not formal wine and dine events; the attire is workwear and people don steel toed boots. Often there are potlucks, sometimes a fire everyone gathers around, and pieces are 'cracked' open the next day with much excitement. Tools and supplies are shared by all. If it's an aluminum or iron pour, usually the cost to participate is free - thus I predominantly meet working class artists. Pours are spectacles (fire!), but it is different from the spectacle of a gallery opening, or the public performance taking place in a white room or a museum. Usually, pours happen outdoors in proximity to artist studios/workspaces. The act of pouring is itself a process of research: gaging the temperature and flow of metal, operating the furnace, discovering issues with spruing or some other stage of the casting process. Experimenting.
The skill sharing and troubleshooting between people in foundries and at pours is vital to the research process: their experiences, stories, and approaches form the fabric of this community. Much of what they know is not written down, knowledge is often passed orally. All of this activity lies outside more established spheres of influence in the art world - there is no distinction between high and low brow art, "established" or newer artists. Everyone's contribution is celebrated and welcomed with equal excitement. Dog-Rabbit exists because of them. It takes a village to breathe life into Dog-Rabbit, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
The skill sharing and troubleshooting between people in foundries and at pours is vital to the research process: their experiences, stories, and approaches form the fabric of this community. Much of what they know is not written down, knowledge is often passed orally. All of this activity lies outside more established spheres of influence in the art world - there is no distinction between high and low brow art, "established" or newer artists. Everyone's contribution is celebrated and welcomed with equal excitement. Dog-Rabbit exists because of them. It takes a village to breathe life into Dog-Rabbit, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
