The Lure of the Fantastical and the Unknown
Words by Lisa Gwen, in conversation with the artist.
Visuals courtesy of the artist.
“Art is a communicative system […] using aesthetics instead of words to speak … What attracts us to look at a piece of art is the aesthetics, and aesthetics is attraction for attention.”
(Dahlia Zaidel, expert in the neuropsychology of art at the University of California, Los Angeles)
Looking through Patricia Piccinini’s portfolio is like stepping into wonderland; “curiouser and curiouser”, as Lewis Carroll famously wrote. Here, however, one won’t find any Mad Hatters, March Hares, hookah-smoking caterpillars perched on mushrooms, or White Rabbits donning a pocket-watch.
This is a different kind of wonderland. One, which is strangely, yet decidedly, alluring.
Attraction works in strange ways: we are generally drawn to, and compelled by that, or whom, we find aesthetically pleasing and appealing to varying degrees and based on a large number of factors. And yet, there is also an attraction for the unknown, for that which induces discomfort, for the unfathomable. And that is precisely where Piccinini’s work lies.
It sits (uncomfortably, at times) between reality and fantasy; between the safe, the given and the known, and boldly treads onto the imaginary and the obscure.
Piccinini’s hyper-realist anthropomorphic sculptures are often viewed and interpreted within a post-humanist conceptual framework. The semblance to and reliance on the known is always apparent, and her sculptural groups often combine or juxtapose chimeras with uncannily lifelike figures. The two co-exist harmoniously on one and the same plane, providing a poignant and powerful visual.
Piccinini explains how she is “interested in looking at these ideas which often revolve around where we draw lines between things, whether that is nature and culture, or people and animals or the artificial and the natural.
My position is that those boundaries tend to be artificial themselves and are usually set up in order to privilege one side of the relationship at the expense of the other. So, from that perspective, it makes sense that my work is always sliding between and conflating the real and the fantastical. It’s a really good way to tell a story that is both compelling and speculative but rooted in the real world.”
Interestingly, Piccinini likens the act of creation to giving birth: “I see myself very much as a mother. I am involved in giving artistic life to these creatures – imagining them into existence – trying to nurture them, but once they exist they start to interact with the world in ways I cannot control. They take on a life of their own.”
There have been many interpretations and analyses of Piccinini’s work, not just where the aesthetic of her work is concerned, but also in the emotions and sentiments triggered and elicited in viewers, spectators, and those engaging with her art. But what is her intention when presenting viewers with one of her fictional characters?
“I guess I want to start a conversation with the viewer. There are all these interesting ideas in the world, all these incredibly pressing problems, all these amazing possibilities. As an artist, I don’t have much control over how things work in the world, what governments and big companies do. However, I can be involved in helping people to see these issues and find other ways to think about them. I’m certainly not trying to scare people, but I would like to inspire them to think and act.”
Piccinini’s work is often viewed as a running commentary on genetic manipulation and biotechnological experimentation, together with the controversial ethical considerations that surround these issues and scientific advances. But to what extent?
“These are vital issues, and we all need to be thinking about them. I recently listened to Yuval Harari giving a talk at the World Economic Forum, and he was talking about how human data, especially biometric data, combined with our increasing ability to manipulate life itself, was leading to a massive turning point in human history. He made the point that we are often leaving it to the scientists and engineers involved to draw the ethical lines, but that engineers are not trained to be philosophers.
Their job is to solve the problems, not think through the implications of the solutions. His point was that we need a broader group of society to weigh in and think through these issues while there is still time to influence the outcome. I hope that my work can be part of that process, one of a large number of voices thinking about things from a variety of viewpoints.”
More than any other feature or characteristic of Piccinini’s chimeras, it is the eyes which are haunting, arresting, disarming… it is also the prevalent feature with which the viewer can readily identify. Which makes one wonder, whether this likeness is a purposeful and calculated choice.
“Yes, that is definitely a very conscious choice. The idea behind it comes from the ongoing narrative that emphasizes our imagined genetic connection to these creatures. My work is all about breaking down the idea that there is some sort of absolute distinction between humans and the other creatures around us. Genetic research shows us that we are much more like other animals than we are different.
However, human culture tried to build the idea that we are absolutely distinct, and therefore we don’t have to care about anything but ourselves, which in many ways is the root of our terrible relationship with the planet around us. Anyway, giving these creatures very human eyes remind us of this deep and real genetic link. It also makes it easier for viewers to connect with the creatures, to empathize with them and really listen to the stories of the work.”
Over the years, Piccinini’s work has been described as grotesque, yet endearing, eliciting a sense of attraction, but also a degree of revulsion – which is paradoxical in sentiment. Is this warranted or unfounded?
“I often think about the fact that we have a word to describe a fear of the ‘other’ – “xenophobia” – but we don’t have one for the opposite emotion. This both reflects and reinforces the human discomfort with those that are not the same as them. In many ways, I hope that my works can be that missing word, that word that describes the process of learning to love the one that you found strange and disconcerting at first. So, what you refer to is very much part of my work, but it is not so much a ‘contradiction’ as a process. I try to make my work strange enough that it might trigger our xenophobia but connected enough that it might make us question that response and go beyond it. If we can learn to do that with a work of art, then we can take the experience out into the real world.”
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