Whimsical and surreal works of art aim to explore interdependence in nature in the exhibition Nature鈥檚 Toolbox, in Chicago
, The Field Museum, Chicago, until 2 December
THE giant bat heads look like idols that might line the walls of a macabre cathedral. Yet at the same time, these dark, mottled sculptures by long-time collaborators are cute. The effect is simultaneously charming and troubling.
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That鈥檚 a fitting first impression of the exhibition now showing at The in Chicago. More than a year in the making, the show features works of art by 30 artists, each exploring the interdependence of nature 鈥� and in particular the way humans affect biodiversity. 鈥淭here鈥檚 an implicit call to action,鈥� says Alesha Martinez of , the group, based in Oakland, California, that curated the exhibition.
Take 鈥荣 installation, part of her . Since 1999, Ozawa has created several sculptures using a fraction of the hundreds of billions of single-use chopsticks, or waribashi, discarded every year. She works wonders with this waste, crafting striking sculptures held together by only gravity and friction.
Each new iteration employs some 90,000 chopsticks and takes shape in situ, evolving with each additional handful. Anemones and other organic forms are recurring motifs. 鈥淚鈥檓 sort of playing with that while I鈥檓 working on it,鈥� Ozawa says.
Ozawa鈥檚 construction for Nature鈥檚 Toolbox looks like a 2-metre-high tornado unravelling as it touches the ground, its swirl tapering off into the installation platform. In one sense the medium is the message: sushi enthusiasts might feel they have created a monster.
From real to imagined disaster; evokes a grim future in her gorgeous photographs depicting miniature dioramas that create scenes from post-apocalyptic cities. In one, shown above, a natural history museum鈥檚 own showcases remain intact while the surrounding walls crumble. The exhibit is surreal, yet urgently relatable in its overall message.
鈥荣 has a similar haunting quality as Ozawa鈥檚 and Nix鈥檚 work. Anker dips sea sponges in porcelain, uses an air hose to refine details, and then burns off the organic material. She then adorns the resulting 鈥済host of sponge鈥� casts with 3D printed silver-leaf figurines modelled on neurons and animal brains.
Anker鈥檚 artistic interests follow her intellectual curiosity. 鈥淪cience is in the databank of art,鈥� she says. 鈥淓cology especially is no longer just in the textbook. It鈥檚 in the public domain.鈥�
鈥淪cience is the databank of art. Ecology especially is no longer just in the textbook. It鈥檚 in the public domain鈥�
Biota, which debuted last year in Istanbul, Turkey, reflects on the relationship between sponges and neuroscience. It鈥檚 a stroke of biological irony that organisms with no nervous system resemble that pinnacle of neurological evolution, the human brain.
Some artists take a different tack and use humour in their work. Isabella Rossellini鈥檚 films delve amusingly into the sex lives of insects, while capture our conflicting veneration and destruction of nature with brightly painted casts of dinosaur bones 鈥� a whimsical nod to evolution鈥檚 morbid engines: extinction and death.
Our work 鈥渋s a way of talking about our own fears and plagues鈥� says Kahn, peering into a porthole in the back of one of his bat heads. Inside, moths dangle daintily from strings 鈥� a vignette of the animal鈥檚 dreams. 鈥淚t鈥檚 beautiful and ugly at the same time.鈥�
The black humour in Kahn and Selesnick鈥檚 works provides a bridge to the guilty admiration with which we approach the natural world. Their exhibit reminds us not only of our outsized environmental impact, but also our subservience to the world that sustains us.