“HUMAN, NATURE” was exhibited at Garfield Artworks in Pittsburgh, PA in 2013.
Each wearable piece was performed by “live mannequins" wearing a tag on their wrist denoting title, materials, and price of each piece along with a short description. A red carpet leads viewers into a shadowy space to an interactive performance. A gentle breeze, a little incense, and a musical trio at the back of the gallery provide an atmosphere of wailing, echoing voices and irregular beats.
The first area viewers experience is the “Lion Pelt Rug”. A couch, two wingback chairs, and a marble coffee table make a classy and intentional parlor setting where the “Lion Pelt Rug” is covering a mannequin that is splayed in the center of the floor. The mannequin shifts his body and stretches through the duration of the performance. It is an eerie sight portraying both vitality and a commemoration of a lion’s death.
The tag reads: In remembrance of the 17 lions and other exotic animals massacred. May you rest in peace at our feet. On October 18th, 2011 in Zanesville, OH, the owner of an exotic zoo freed all of his animals and then shot himself. The sheriff ordered a shoot-to-kill policy for the escaped animals. 18 bengal tigers (only about 1,850 exist in the wild), 6 black bears, 2 grizzlies, 2 gray wolves, 1 macaque monkey, 1 baboon, 3 mountain lions, 9 male lions, and 8 lionesses. The loss of the 46 animals was insurmountable. The “Lion Pelt Rug” is made of recycled mink and rabbit fur coats, and it signifies how animals’ fur and bodies have become high-end trophies in our society. Rather than exalting their spirit and existence, humans have splayed them on the floor as a place to put our feet.
As viewers move through the installation space, they are met with “The Exaltation of the Animal Spirit & the Bleeding Minks” performed by four mannequins. The deadpan stare of “The Animal Spirit” is grotesquely angelic, and he is dressed meagerly in white beaver fur and light yellow paint. Presenting as a resurrected angel of death, it seems as if he could float away. Two lit candles drip wax upon his grip, and spotlight him in the dark room. He stands upon a pedestal above the three encircling “Bleeding Minks.” The “Bleeding Minks” writhe and wriggle beneath him. They wear discarded mink furs that have been altered. Bright red fringe shows along the hem and sleeves, and bloody paint dribbles from beneath their collars. The performers are painted with dark shades of blue, green, and purple to represent the suffering and martyrdom of the afflicted animals.
The tag of “The Exaltation of the Animal Spirit & the Bleeding Minks” reads: “Take, wear; this is my body, which is broken for you; this, do in remembrance of me.”
Mink pelts become pinstriped stoles thrown on the shoulders of a woman at the symphony. Furs are social indicators of class and wealth. Lest we forget the Mink. Their animal spirits ascend in suffering and forgiveness, though we do not often give homage. They have died for our fur coats.
“A Cat, a Mouse, and a Rabbit” continually moves throughout the installation interacting with all of the pieces and viewers. Mannequins are dressed as the iconic Minnie Mouse, Cat Woman, and a Playboy Bunny. Without these costumes, the performers would read as only the animals they are portraying. The cat stretched, purred, and rustled in the train of the wedding dress. She chased the mouse who was continually eating cheese while the scared rabbit hopped close to the wall and ran from viewers as well as the other performers.
The tag of this piece reads: For she is just a cat. For she is just a mouse. For she is just a rabbit. A cat, a mouse, and a rabbit can symbolize so much...sex? They are merely animals wearing human masks. Just watch, the mannequins have he roles of the animals, all else aside. They act as animals while wearing some of the most oversexed character costumes of our time: humans playing animals--modeling human clothing.
“Will You Undo Me Please?” is the last piece viewers experience in the installation. The bride stands on a 3’ platform facing away from the viewers, and her 20’ train cascades behind her onto the floor. The only other light source in the room is a projector pointed directly at the bride. Her white dress is illuminated with light shining through the gossamer and lace as it reflects off of sequins. Dried blood is evident on the dress and on the mannequin’s legs. The performer seems to be looking into an imaginary mirror and finding flaws in her face while continually fidgeting with her hands. The weight of the fabric upon the bride’s small stature prompts her to constantly adjust the dress. Her gaze searches for perfection and seems not to find it.
The tag reads: Eleven wedding dresses were fabricated into a single gown. Some had been displayed in shop windows, and others were hung on the walls of second-hand stores. A few had not made it out of the garment bag since their big day, as if they were held hostage in closets. These dresses have been worn. The post-wedding dress stands soiled before us. These satins are marred by branches, roadside debris, and oil puddles. Ten feet of the train were dragged away by a car while “the bride” ran across the street.
Wedding dresses hold memories. All of these dresses were worn by women promising their lives to others. Their blood, sweat, tears, and even their scent still lingers in the fabric. I used many dresses to recreate the materialistic utopia of the wedding dress. These dresses had been sitting in mildew and mothballs, or in a donation bin; their big days had passed. “Will You Undo Me Please?” embodies the day after the wed ding, after the virginal whiteness has been compromised and after the flowers have faded and browned. The spirit of the shut-away dress has been unveiled.