This particular project is the work of 8 months of creation and a "curing"process to attain the aging through time and weathering. This is a piece that was created in the open in which it endure several storms, extreme heat and wind all the time maintaining its structural integrity.

It is constructed from fallen branches, bound through tension with rope. A layer of found burlap acts as a first layer of skin coated with roofing tar. The head of the creature is also constructed of branches and burlap with a mixture of soil and moisten manure and finally coated in tar. Though it was never intended to carry a political statement, it was curious, that as I began the tarring process, the Gulf spill occurred adding a degree of poignancy.

Constructing "in the open" created a sense of place for the creature. It adapted to a life in the wild so to speak. But its true poetry was not realized until it was crated off to its exhibition place, an unfamiliar setting and it was forced to interact with the artificial. As if on cue, we placed it into position, it began to flay about, struggling with the slickness of the floor just like a hoofed animal, thrashing, it toppled over and cracked a limb. We did some quick repair, found a comfortable center of balance for it and anchored it with a leash where it remained peacefully tied throughout the remainder of the exhibition. However, this was never the intended home for the piece. As with all the pieces in the show, they were all destined for "release".

It was in the return to the open space that the true dialogue with this creature/object played out. I found a secluded clearing for it that was off any heavily traveled trails and left it to its own resources, with the intent of periodically checking up on it and documenting its lifespan. The first two weeks it remained relatively unmolested by the elements. A few patches of grass had rooted in the creases and folds. On the third visit, it had been overturn and the leash and concrete anchor had been smashed onto the chest cavity. I had to perform on the spot repairs, and supports. On the next visit, again it was found toppled over and this time violently attacked. The legs had been snapped and it appeared to have been kicked on it side.

Ironically, I had hoped for a dialogue with this thing and the open, but I was surprised at the ferocity of the response. What I now find myself engaged in is a conversation with an anonymous conversant/combatant, and in some respects, I have taken the role of the Other, That which does not respond. Its language is not cluttered in signage and abstraction, or acts of negation. It frustrates that form of discourse with mute persistence.

I will go back tomorrow and see if we have been left a message.