We met at the artist's Hudson Street studio, the same street where I would find his beloved Wine Gums. Popular in the UK and Canada, you won't find these chewy little treats at your local bodega. I lucked out at the charming little shop Myers of Kewsick. It's worth mentioning that Wine Gums are said to have been the favorite sweets of Roald Dahl, author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
What follows is our conversation about Fernandes's work with safaris, historic houses, deer, "African" objects, and his recent participation in Round 27 at Project Row Houses in Houston, Texas.
What follows is our conversation about Fernandes's work with safaris, historic houses, deer, "African" objects, and his recent participation in Round 27 at Project Row Houses in Houston, Texas.
Brendan Fernandes: I feel very privileged to be part of Project Row Houses; they asked me to create an installation in one of the five houses. It came up with their new cycle, which is based on race and culture. All of my work deals with post-colonial identity, growing up in Kenya--or rather having been born in Kenya to an Indian family, raised in Canada, and now in the U.S.--there are many ideas of migration and displacement in my work. Hence, ideas of home making and home building for [my installation at] Project Row Houses, which is a site so specific to a particular community--these houses were/are built for lower income residents in this neighborhood. It made a lot of sense for me to think about what it means for this population to make home [along] with what it means for me to make home.
Being here in the US, now around Chinatown, and having just been part of the Whitney Independent Study Program, I have been really interested in street vendors and makeshift transportation devices from which they sell things that are “African.” It’s kind of strange, these objects that signify the African, the primitive, and exotic, being sold on the streets of New York. What does that mean? What does it mean for these vendors to sell them? These objects have come from a different place and how do they function now? Are they souvenirs? If so, souvenirs of what?
So, going back to Project Row Houses, I started drawing African masks in Adobe Illustrator. Right now [you see them on the computer screen] in the inverse, so whatever is black will be white and what is white will be black. They'll become vinyl decals or stickers for the two lengthwise walls of the house. I’m going to create a Victorian aesthetic with Victorian molding, trimming and wallpaper. In Victorian times many African objects were removed from their place of origin and taken somewhere else, so they functioned differently in their new space. I have been influenced by the different places I’ve lived and so this installation addresses displacement and movement. You’ll be surrounded by the masks when you walk in.In a sense these masks stickers are void. They are there, but they’re not there. They signify a [mythical or romanticized] Africa. Because they’re stickers, they become like a commodity of culture.
On the far most wall, looking down the hall, there will be a wall painted a safari green--a khaki kind of color--with text reading “Go Home.” I am referring to going home or “I want to go home” and also in a negative sense, like “go home, get out.” There is an open-endedness about the statement "go home" that can be interpreted in many ways. So those are the ideas that I'm playing with in my installation for Project Row Houses.
CC: Why did you choose to use vinyl? And white vinyl in particular?
BF: Well, in a lot of my work I deal with the idea of whiteness, and [specifically] refer to Franz Fanon's texts. Vinyl is an ephemeral-like material, because you can peel it. I’m referring to souvenirs. These masks are like souvenir stickers, like I LOVE YOU stickers. There’s no specificity about these masks. They just look like they’re African. You don’t know what the cultural purpose of them is or what they’re used for, so like souvenirs, they're objects that doesn’t necessarily have utilitarian purpose. The vinyl also goes back to pop references such as billboards, text-based media, and stuff that we see all the time. I also like the slickness of the vinyl. It looks like it can be reproduced over and over, which goes back to that cultural capital idea that these things exist only as cultural objects. They can be taken apart and/or forgotten.
CC: They’re disposable and we don’t think of objects as being disposable.
BF: No, and especially cultural objects. [As stickers] these masks have lost their specificity. Though, there’s a sense they become art objects in this installation. That’s why I’m interested in the mask sellers--they’re selling them on the streets of NY and sometimes outside of the major museums. It’s really interesting to me because they function as cultural objects [in one space] and as objects of commodification in another. I think that’s really interesting.
CC: Why did you choose to use vinyl? And white vinyl in particular?
BF: Well, in a lot of my work I deal with the idea of whiteness, and [specifically] refer to Franz Fanon's texts. Vinyl is an ephemeral-like material, because you can peel it. I’m referring to souvenirs. These masks are like souvenir stickers, like I LOVE YOU stickers. There’s no specificity about these masks. They just look like they’re African. You don’t know what the cultural purpose of them is or what they’re used for, so like souvenirs, they're objects that doesn’t necessarily have utilitarian purpose. The vinyl also goes back to pop references such as billboards, text-based media, and stuff that we see all the time. I also like the slickness of the vinyl. It looks like it can be reproduced over and over, which goes back to that cultural capital idea that these things exist only as cultural objects. They can be taken apart and/or forgotten.
CC: They’re disposable and we don’t think of objects as being disposable.
BF: No, and especially cultural objects. [As stickers] these masks have lost their specificity. Though, there’s a sense they become art objects in this installation. That’s why I’m interested in the mask sellers--they’re selling them on the streets of NY and sometimes outside of the major museums. It’s really interesting to me because they function as cultural objects [in one space] and as objects of commodification in another. I think that’s really interesting.
CC: Yes, I always notice the vendors outside of The Whitney and that is sometimes the most interesting juxtaposition, more so than the objects and exhibitions inside. What does the space of a museum signify and how are visitors taught to assign value to objects in vs. outside of that space.
BF: Yeah, I’m not saying that a museum has higher regard for these objects. They’re just resting there [as they do on the tables outside]. Another project that I’m doing is interviewing mask sellers and talking to them about the masks they sell, where they come from, who makes them and what they’re about. In that sense, I'm also questioning the sellers about how they came here [to the US], what they did previously. So, I'm getting a narrative from them and building upon that. Street vendors know so much about these objects, so its been really interesting to interview them and get their feedback. That’s a newer work and still in the process of being completed, but I’m really interested in their stories and where they get the masks they sell.
CC: It’s interesting that you’re doing these interviews, because provenance in museums seems to function in a different way with African objects than with others. That is, one doesn't or can't go back to the source, the mask or object maker often cannot be traced, but provenance really is a sort of documented narrative as is your project.
BF: Yeah, it’s interesting to me when I’ve interviewed some of the mask sellers (I need to go back and do more) in some cases they don’t know about the masks. What they're selling is a mixture of things that are “authentic" and then you also have the kitchsy, cheesy kinds of masks that you know are just being produced for tourism. I use that term "authentic" very loosely, because I think it's such a problematic word. What is authentic? I don’t know. Things can be authentic to themselves. You’re like, why is this mask $4.99 and this one is $400? Then value through dollar also becomes relegated, so authentic means more expensive, so it’s a weird kind of play.
BF: Yeah, I’m not saying that a museum has higher regard for these objects. They’re just resting there [as they do on the tables outside]. Another project that I’m doing is interviewing mask sellers and talking to them about the masks they sell, where they come from, who makes them and what they’re about. In that sense, I'm also questioning the sellers about how they came here [to the US], what they did previously. So, I'm getting a narrative from them and building upon that. Street vendors know so much about these objects, so its been really interesting to interview them and get their feedback. That’s a newer work and still in the process of being completed, but I’m really interested in their stories and where they get the masks they sell.
CC: It’s interesting that you’re doing these interviews, because provenance in museums seems to function in a different way with African objects than with others. That is, one doesn't or can't go back to the source, the mask or object maker often cannot be traced, but provenance really is a sort of documented narrative as is your project.
BF: Yeah, it’s interesting to me when I’ve interviewed some of the mask sellers (I need to go back and do more) in some cases they don’t know about the masks. What they're selling is a mixture of things that are “authentic" and then you also have the kitchsy, cheesy kinds of masks that you know are just being produced for tourism. I use that term "authentic" very loosely, because I think it's such a problematic word. What is authentic? I don’t know. Things can be authentic to themselves. You’re like, why is this mask $4.99 and this one is $400? Then value through dollar also becomes relegated, so authentic means more expensive, so it’s a weird kind of play.
With African objects, I think, there’s always a missing part of the narrative. If you’re asking specifically where it comes from or who made it, the artist or maker is not known, so these missing bits of information I also find to be interesting, especially when people are giving me or trying to create a narrative. It’s like what you were saying about archiving and knowing the full story…tracing the history. I also think that sometimes people don’t want to know that much [about the history of African objects], because not knowing, accepting the idea of a “heart of darkness” or Africa as this cultural monolith, is something that people still want.
CC: Well, yeah, it’s the basis for romanticization.
BF: And that’s why the safari is so important to my work as well. That romantic idea of the safari. On a safari, you’re going to see these unknown and foreign animals and you’re going to get this [unique] experience.
CC: Well, yeah, it’s the basis for romanticization.
BF: And that’s why the safari is so important to my work as well. That romantic idea of the safari. On a safari, you’re going to see these unknown and foreign animals and you’re going to get this [unique] experience.
I wrote my thesis about Kenyan hotels, specifically this one safari lodge, where it makes things very "exotic.” Your room may look like a Masai hut, but when you go inside it, it has a hot tub, shower, linens and all this stuff. So you have this idea that the tourist wants the exotic and primitive, but when it becomes too unfamiliar it almost like a retreat, it becomes too frightening, so you have to have your amenities that make it comfortable for you, though you still want the experience. I just find it weird that these simulations and mythologies of Africa still exist. When I moved [to Canada] as a child everyone would say oh this is the kid that’s come here from Africa and then I’d get questions like, “So did you have elephants in your backyard?” And I was like, “No, I lived in a city. I lived in a city.” And they would say, “They have cities in Africa?” It’s so strange, because those ideas still exist today and you would think that someone in the fifth grade would say these things to me, but no adults still ask me the same kinds of questions and I’m now 27 years old. I look at people like are you kidding? But it still exists and people still want to believe in those romanticized ideas.
CC: Obviously, you are trying to subvert these ideas and romantic notions. Have you found that some people don’t read far enough into it or, rather, do you worry about perpetuating the notion of primitivism?
BF: Yes, yes. I totally, totally get and understand that question. It’s something that's always there and comes up a lot in my work. I like to use subtle ways of breaking that space and making my audience think.
CC: Obviously, you are trying to subvert these ideas and romantic notions. Have you found that some people don’t read far enough into it or, rather, do you worry about perpetuating the notion of primitivism?
BF: Yes, yes. I totally, totally get and understand that question. It’s something that's always there and comes up a lot in my work. I like to use subtle ways of breaking that space and making my audience think.
For example, I did this piece, Unsettled, in London, Ontario in a space called Eldon House. It's the oldest house in London, Ontario and the Harris family [that owned it] moved to England from Ontario. In 1836 they went to Kenya on a hunting expedition. For me that was very strange that a family traveled at that time to go specifically to Kenya just for a hunting trip--for leisure. It is interesting, because the House addresses a certain kind of class, family structure, and specifically going hunting. So I went to this house, which is now part of a museum, which has a huge collection of African masks, heads, taxidermied skulls, and different types of things inside. For me, some of those things were very familiar because you see them in Africa. The house now functions as a museum where people go through on tours and hear about all of these objects, but no ever talks about where these things come from. They just say “These are African spears” or that the spears are from [a certain region].
I thought it was interesting that this family had the privilege to do this and I proposed to build an installation in their attic. I was interested in their attic, because it’s a space that already has this idea of being haunted. I brought in a number of artifacts that we had in my family house, objects that I collected from other people, and I asked an African art history professor if I could borrow from his mask collection. I moved the artifacts inside the attic and juxtaposed them with the Harris's original travel crates that they used to bring things back. I also moved in some contemporary packing boxes that are seen in a lot of my work.
So, going back to that question of whether I’m perpetuating some of the ideas, if you only spent five minutes in this space, you might only get that. When docents would give tours, people would come into the attic and just walk through the space. All of my contemporary boxes were mechanized with motors, so every five minutes they would go off and start to shake and create this vibration--everything started to shake. The artifacts would start to shiver and the boxes would start to fall and then everything would just stop. I always try to do something like that in a space so that people have to stop and think about what’s happening—they automatically start to question. I try to create subtle interruptions, but one that has a bit of a punch. I wanted to play on this idea that these objects were unhappy, they want to go home, they’re unsettled.I thought it was interesting that this family had the privilege to do this and I proposed to build an installation in their attic. I was interested in their attic, because it’s a space that already has this idea of being haunted. I brought in a number of artifacts that we had in my family house, objects that I collected from other people, and I asked an African art history professor if I could borrow from his mask collection. I moved the artifacts inside the attic and juxtaposed them with the Harris's original travel crates that they used to bring things back. I also moved in some contemporary packing boxes that are seen in a lot of my work.
CC: I generally find attics to be scary spaces, so if that happened I would run out of that installation with a quickness. Did you scare anyone with that installation?
BF: [Laughs] Yes, but that’s what I wanted. You know that mythology of Africa being about “voodoo,” so I played on the stereotype, but subverted it to work in my favor to create, I hope, a dialog. As an artist, that’s what I’m supposed to do, to create a visual language that people understand.
CC: These contemporary packing boxes: is the graphic/information on them standard or are these boxes something that you’ve created?
BF: I’ve picked them specifically. I use a lot of boxes in my work and I’m very specific about the kind of box I need or use. I like this one, because all of the original traveling crates [at Eldon House] have original branding from the places they've traveled. The contemporary boxes that I moved in is a sign of intervention or that something is happening. I usually use clean boxes, but these have the Canadian maple leaf stamped on them. I like that sort of branding.
Also, these artifacts would never have been shipped in these kinds of [cardboard] boxes, so there are these other subtle clues that something is taking place...if you spend the time to look at it and question where these objects are from. [As I mentioned], some of these artifacts are mine. People know that I use such artifacts, so they will say to me, “I have all of these things from my trip to Africa. Do you want them?" I get some of the weirdest things, some are really amazing and others are like cheesy plates and such. I’m interested in that though. What is the souvenir of Africa? Is it the postcard image, the African mask, the cheesy souvenir plate? I think that will come out in future projects, getting people to archive and bring in their African objects to see how I can work with them.
CC: You speak of the image of Africa as souvenir. What is the image of Africa for you, having left there when you were young, having a family in India, and having lived in Canada?
BF: Well, specifically Kenya—that’s home, that’s our home. We’ve never been to India. Four generations of my family have lived in Kenya. I do think that if I go back to Kenya, I will definitely be very different and the place will be very different too. There is this kindred spirit to it as home. It's sort of our base. Even though I left at the age of nine, I have so many memories of the place and it has definitely influenced me. My art practice is based in [Kenya] and it influences how I think about my identity, who I am, and where I’m from. My family still speaks Swahili and certain traditions still exist for us. Again, it’s home but so is India. India is a home that I know, but have never been to. It’s sort of a weird space, because Canada is also home for me--I’ve been “North Americanized.” All of these locations function as places to that I can be from, but they are also places that I’m not from. I’ve never been to India, I’m not a Black African, and I’m a minority in Canada. That’s why in my work I like that liminality, a space in which things can be one thing and something else. Going back to Eldon House, the boxes are part of the whole space, but when the boxes start to move it breaks that space and when they stop it goes back to just being the attic again. I like playing with that.
CC: You speak of the image of Africa as souvenir. What is the image of Africa for you, having left there when you were young, having a family in India, and having lived in Canada?
BF: Well, specifically Kenya—that’s home, that’s our home. We’ve never been to India. Four generations of my family have lived in Kenya. I do think that if I go back to Kenya, I will definitely be very different and the place will be very different too. There is this kindred spirit to it as home. It's sort of our base. Even though I left at the age of nine, I have so many memories of the place and it has definitely influenced me. My art practice is based in [Kenya] and it influences how I think about my identity, who I am, and where I’m from. My family still speaks Swahili and certain traditions still exist for us. Again, it’s home but so is India. India is a home that I know, but have never been to. It’s sort of a weird space, because Canada is also home for me--I’ve been “North Americanized.” All of these locations function as places to that I can be from, but they are also places that I’m not from. I’ve never been to India, I’m not a Black African, and I’m a minority in Canada. That’s why in my work I like that liminality, a space in which things can be one thing and something else. Going back to Eldon House, the boxes are part of the whole space, but when the boxes start to move it breaks that space and when they stop it goes back to just being the attic again. I like playing with that.
CC: Let’s talk about your work with safaris.
BF: Sure. I think the safari is an interesting metaphor for me in terms of culture, history, and history of identity, partly because the safari is a creation. Going back to this idea of the exotic and primitive: the safari as wildlife, following the hunt, going to see the kill, those ideas are what we always see in the portrayal of what Africa. We are bombarded by media sources that will portray things in like National Geographic and the tourism industry to entice people to visit. It’s not just this North American thing, because the tourist industry in Kenya also perpetuates these ideas; tourism is the industry that brings most of the money to the country. Yes, you want to show that you are a progressive, modern nation, but at the same time you do want these other ideas perpetuated, because it’s a way of creating income and resources for the country. I’m interested in how these ideas are perpetuated through the media, which becomes the safari. Growing up in Kenya, we spent a lot of time on safari, because my dad worked for the tourism industry, hence the influence. I find it interesting that I can use these kinds of tropes, these kinds of stereotypes, and, again, play with and question them.
BF: Sure. I think the safari is an interesting metaphor for me in terms of culture, history, and history of identity, partly because the safari is a creation. Going back to this idea of the exotic and primitive: the safari as wildlife, following the hunt, going to see the kill, those ideas are what we always see in the portrayal of what Africa. We are bombarded by media sources that will portray things in like National Geographic and the tourism industry to entice people to visit. It’s not just this North American thing, because the tourist industry in Kenya also perpetuates these ideas; tourism is the industry that brings most of the money to the country. Yes, you want to show that you are a progressive, modern nation, but at the same time you do want these other ideas perpetuated, because it’s a way of creating income and resources for the country. I’m interested in how these ideas are perpetuated through the media, which becomes the safari. Growing up in Kenya, we spent a lot of time on safari, because my dad worked for the tourism industry, hence the influence. I find it interesting that I can use these kinds of tropes, these kinds of stereotypes, and, again, play with and question them.
The newest work that I’ve done is a video called Slow Kill in which I’ve taken footage from a National Geographic documetary. It’s 24 seconds of footage and I’ve slowed it down to still images, within which the still image becomes a slide show. It’s almost 5 hours long. There are 1400 images and each image gets 24 seconds before it moves to the next one. I’m thinking about this idea of taking [travel] photographs and bringing them back [home]. Twenty-four seconds is really important, because 24 still images make 1 second of moving imagery.
I reference Laura Maulvey who talks about the death of film and the moving image. This actual footage of a lion killing a buffalo [underscroes] this idea of death upon death. Roland Barthes in Camera Lucida talks about the still image, the photographic image, in terms of death as well. As soon as you take the still image--snapshot or photograph--you’re already going through a mourning process. You’ve already taken it and it doesn’t exist anymore. I’m thinking about that in terms of holiday or vacation photographs [on safari], as those become your memories. At the same time, there’s “the kill” which refers to one animal killing another animal. When one takes an image [of the kill], they’re already looking back, so in Slow Kill then there is death, upon death, upon death.
When you go to Kenya, the tourism industry always talks about "the kill." You have to see the kill, and if you don’t see [it] you haven’t had a real "African" experience. What does it mean to see one animal kill another animal? I’m interested in why we’re so interested in this [ as human beings]. Why do we need to see this gruesome sort of scene? If you look at many documentaries that are based on safari, especially those based in Kenya, you will always see this portrayed like documentary melodrama, like it’s something you need to see. It is this weird primitive thing. Where does it take us as human beings? My piece is very social-political commentary on “the kill,” especially in thinking about today's society, where we are right now, the wars we’re fighting, and why we’re fighting them. There's also a wall component to Slow Kill. It's a quote from the narrator of this National Geographic documentary and it reads, “There’s an air of desperation now.”
CC: Is this your first work with film?
BF: Yes, this is my first video piece. I’ve done other, smaller works with video, but nothing that I’ve spent so much time researching and creating. Video is becoming a new medium for me and I’m looking forward to doing other projects with video.
CC: Did you begin your BFA degree attached to a particular medium?
BF: It’s so funny that you ask, because [earlier] today I was looking at works that I did in my BFA days and, yes, I was a painter. I find that most artists start out as painters. Looking at my early paintings that I made as an undergraduate, which was in like 1998, I can still see ideas [that I’m working with today]. I was painting in a weird sort of way where it was painting, but it wasn’t painting. I did a lot of works using Kenyan textiles sewn together with Indian saris and then I painted on top of them. Those works were sort of interesting because I was interested in specific designs made through colonization, which were available for sale in Kenya. Something like the paisley pattern would come across. There is one work for which I created a zebra stencil to refer to the cars one sees on safaris. I painted the zebra stripes with car automotive paint.
CC: Speaking of similarities to early work, there is again a gloss and slickness to the surface of the deer in Shelter Unit, as in the slickness of your vinyl masks. Why did you use ceramic in this case?
When you go to Kenya, the tourism industry always talks about "the kill." You have to see the kill, and if you don’t see [it] you haven’t had a real "African" experience. What does it mean to see one animal kill another animal? I’m interested in why we’re so interested in this [ as human beings]. Why do we need to see this gruesome sort of scene? If you look at many documentaries that are based on safari, especially those based in Kenya, you will always see this portrayed like documentary melodrama, like it’s something you need to see. It is this weird primitive thing. Where does it take us as human beings? My piece is very social-political commentary on “the kill,” especially in thinking about today's society, where we are right now, the wars we’re fighting, and why we’re fighting them. There's also a wall component to Slow Kill. It's a quote from the narrator of this National Geographic documentary and it reads, “There’s an air of desperation now.”
CC: Is this your first work with film?
BF: Yes, this is my first video piece. I’ve done other, smaller works with video, but nothing that I’ve spent so much time researching and creating. Video is becoming a new medium for me and I’m looking forward to doing other projects with video.
CC: Did you begin your BFA degree attached to a particular medium?
BF: It’s so funny that you ask, because [earlier] today I was looking at works that I did in my BFA days and, yes, I was a painter. I find that most artists start out as painters. Looking at my early paintings that I made as an undergraduate, which was in like 1998, I can still see ideas [that I’m working with today]. I was painting in a weird sort of way where it was painting, but it wasn’t painting. I did a lot of works using Kenyan textiles sewn together with Indian saris and then I painted on top of them. Those works were sort of interesting because I was interested in specific designs made through colonization, which were available for sale in Kenya. Something like the paisley pattern would come across. There is one work for which I created a zebra stencil to refer to the cars one sees on safaris. I painted the zebra stripes with car automotive paint.
CC: Speaking of similarities to early work, there is again a gloss and slickness to the surface of the deer in Shelter Unit, as in the slickness of your vinyl masks. Why did you use ceramic in this case?
BF: I think, with the ceramic deer in “Shelter Unit” (and I also did “Natural Refuge” with ceramic deer) I use the female deer as a marker of unknowing. With the female deer, there are species in Africa, India, Canada, [but across the board] the female deer without the horns has a sort of uniform profile. I cast these deer myself, and for me they look very kitsch and mass produced, [which works because] I wanted to create this warehouse like space where all of the boxes appear to have exploded. The ceramic deer are making home in this space; the deer fit [snuggly] into these boxes. The boxes are again very specific to this project. The slick surface of the deer is because I wanted them to appear somewhat precious. This narrative I created is one of travel and fragility.
The deer are moving and there’s this feeling that they're vulnerable, but want to make a home. Home signifies safety and stability, so what functions as safety or nesting ground for these ceramic deer is plastic wrap and shredded paper. The box becomes the home. The slickness of the deer, the shine, again goes back to mass production—they look very clean and generic. The white surface again refers to Frantz Fanon, and also the idea that in being white they become ambivalent. People will say that they really like my lambs, deer, foxes or coyotes, so they appear as these hybrid [yet indistinct] creatures. When you remove coloration they become void and can be different things.
CC: Let’s fast forward to Neo Primitivism (2007), where we see deer wearing white African masks. What are the differences between what you’re doing here with whiteness versus your earlier work?
BF: The difference is that I’m using mass produced, life-sized hunting decoy. These deer are very small, the size of deer you might see in your garden. This piece refers to a specific kind of deer, a North American deer. This fake deer is used to entice and attract a real deer so it can be killed. The decoy looks very cheesy and fake, and there’s this weird presence of a plastic deer. There have been times when I’m in my studio and thought someone was looking at me, but it was just these deer. By making a mold of a real African, Kenyan Masai mask, I’m referencing the cheap plastic children’s party mask. The mask looses cultural specificity and becomes only a signifier of the [actual] Masai mask. The original function of the decoy no longer exists—the deer is identifiable. A mask is supposed to hide identity, so [with this work] I’m interested in hiding identity, finding identity, and what identity is. The mask is supposed to cover up and allow you to be kind of ambivalent.
The deer look sort of strange when I installed them. They looked confused and panicked [in mass], almost like they can’t see with the mask on—a confusion of identity.
CC: They remind me of satyrs. They have a similar presence about them when you see them. When I see them from the front, I want to engage them on some human level, but when I see the rest of the body I say to myself, oh that’s a creature not a human-- it confuses communication. So I was wondering if you created these with the satyr in mind?
BF: It’s funny because I started doing these drawings that are about hybridity, technology, and the satyr of Greek mythology. I digitally render these in Adobe Illustrator. I’m drawing animals from National Geographic magazine, specifically Kenyan animals, although sometimes found in Africa in general. I’m removing the heads of the [real] animals and then replacing it with an African artifact.
I was looking at old Audubon books where he would render animals that had come back to England and various places (when there were no cameras) and the books would describe the animal. My work is about where these animals came from. Is this animal from the future or the past? “Neo Primitivism” sort of became a three-dimensional version of these drawings. I've given the drawings the Latin name of the animal and then the name of the mask [or object], so they have these long [scientific] titles. I really like these. I think it’s a different working process for me. Eventually, I want to create a book on the format of Audubon.
CC: Why have you chosen to render these using Illustrator as opposed to pencil or pen and paper?
BF: Oh yeah. It actually takes so much more time to do them in Adobe. They look hand rendered, because in Adobe you can use the pen or pencil tool. I don’t use a tablet, I use my mouse and that makes it even harder.
CC: Why have you chosen to render these using Illustrator as opposed to pencil or pen and paper?
BF: Oh yeah. It actually takes so much more time to do them in Adobe. They look hand rendered, because in Adobe you can use the pen or pencil tool. I don’t use a tablet, I use my mouse and that makes it even harder.
Michael Snow, a prominent Canadian artist, was asking me why I don’t just draw them and make it so much easier for myself. He said that there’s some perversity to this work. I said, “Thank you.” [laughing] I took it as a compliment. Again, I’m playing with this idea of the work being one thing and something else; they’re digitally rendered but they look hand rendered. I’m also interested in the fact that they can be reproduced. It removes that quality of the precious object. They're editioned, but they’re not one-offs.
In the future, I’m interested in exploring this idea of art multiples and gift giving outside of the [established art] space. At one point, I do want to have all of these in a space with a computer and printer to print out your own as a take-away.
In the future, I’m interested in exploring this idea of art multiples and gift giving outside of the [established art] space. At one point, I do want to have all of these in a space with a computer and printer to print out your own as a take-away.
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