Sunday 3 July 2011

interview: polly morgan

Interviewed for LINE Magazine, Venice Biennale edition
First Published: Sunday 3rd July, www.avirtualbiennale.tumblr.com












The flying machine work, Departures, revolves around quite a romantic, Victorian idea - one that now appears quaint and laughable, but at the same time understandable. Do you want to resurrect these kind of ideas simply to see them realised in some way; using art because it is the only way they could be realised?
In a way, that work was made in homage to the inventor, who was only exploring the most obvious avenue when it came to making a transportation machine. I also found it curious the way the birds appeared to be free of the cage, the man imprisoned, yet really they were still enslaved as their wings were being harnessed in order to liberate the traveller. 

The use of the maypole aesthetic in Burials is a new introduction to your work - why were you drawn to the juxtaposition of theme with the dead birds?
A maypole is sometimes said to be a fertility ritual, a celebration of new life. Birds too are often used as symbols of freedom yet by turning the ribbons of the maypole into the bandages of a mummy and by using dead birds to ‘bury’ the figure, I was trying to turn this on its head. 
It seems a natural choice that you use taxidermy in order to preserve the moment between death and decay, but there is a fixation upon taxidermy as something within itself; that it speaks for itself. So, a lot of the articles that have been written about your work simply focus on its place within the new found fashion for taxidermy, despite the fact that your presentations significantly differ from the Victorian ideas of the medium. Is this something that you struggle with - that the use of taxidermy is often seen before anything else within your work?
Yes, I do often find it frustrating that my work isn’t simply viewed as ‘sculpture.’ I am often still called a taxidermist, yet my working practice differs wildly from most taxidermists and I operate within the art-world. I think people find it hard to see past the taxidermy in a way they do with other materials; clay, stone etc., to simply view the work as sculpture. Also, the press like to grab attention and the title ‘taxidermist’ is much more attention-grabbing than ‘sculptor.’
You seem to value the use of craft within contemporary art, claiming that awe is important when faced with a piece of art. Is it in this respect that taxidermy is so important to your work - in that is a very difficult skill? Or, does it find more relevance in the messages you want to portray?
I just felt more engaged with taxidermy as a material than any other. Animals endlessly intrigue me and it is a way of utilising them without interfering in their lives. I didn’t set out to tackle a different medium, or to be a ‘craftsperson’, I think I’m quite a tactile person and like to literally get my hands dirty and see something from conception to creation. I also learnt more about the biology of creatures than I ever did in school. It is a difficult subject to tire of. 
There is also something very subtle about your work; it is understood quietly, through small inflections of the animal’s bodies. Do you think of the taxidermic animal as a vehicle for presenting human states? 
I don’t know about that. I just think that as humans we are primed to have a visceral response to animals; we either want to look after them, harness their skills or kill them. It is almost difficult not to make something interesting out of an animal body. My struggle now is not to be lazy and to push myself further than just presenting a dead animal and letting it do all the work for me.
Would you ever consider working with human matter and debris where viable?
I have never been tempted to. I don’t know why. I don’t think I would like to identify with my subject in this way. 
With the fairly recent re-emergence of taxidermy, it has been established as a medium which runs between fine art and interior design. Your work specifically has found popularity in the notion of ‘household items’, and it is possible to buy original taxidermy pieces on your website. Do you find interest in this notion of death becoming a commodity - is it something you expected when you first began working with the medium?
I don’t think it is death that is becoming a commodity. I actually think we are more sensitive to animals now than ever before; we have always wanted to possess them. Only we realise more and more how unreasonable this is. Taxidermy is a wonderful way of owning an animal without infringing on its liberty. 
Within your practice, do your ideas come before the use of taxidermy? Or, do you attribute ideas to the animals you have and wish to use in certain situations? In essence, which comes first: the animals or the ideas?
It used to be the animals; I didn’t have many in stock and was just so inspired by the look of a creature. Now it is more the other way round, which I think is the way it should be. I think it would be lazy for me to continue the way I started; now I work harder to find the right animals and to have more ambitious ideas that aren’t always possible to realise instantly. It is a slower and more thoughtful process.
There is a balance of darkness and humour in the pieces you present; a bird in a spoon, a fox in a champagne glass. Is this to usurp the idea of death in a way, to ridicule it? 
I think it’s more that I like the juxtaposition of uncommon elements. I like my art to be something new, never seen before. Or, at least seen before but presented in a different light. I don’t, therefore, want to replicate the natural habitat of an animal or I think people won’t really examine it; they have seen that too many times. 

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