Meditations on Hunting, 2014-2017
After preserving and studying my own food waste in Sweet Corruptions, I wanted to go backwards in the food sequence and investigate the parts of the meal and the worlds out of which they come (air, water, soil). Doing so seemed like another step in exploring the literal meaning of ecology as “earth’s household.” I realized I had to hunt for food.
I wanted to attempt what I had previously thought impossible—learn to use a gun, hunt, prepare the meat, and taxidermy the specimens. Inevitably, these processes forced me to confront all of the parts of earth’s household. One can’t hunt without becoming entirely aware of all the parts--everything that makes up an environment. So simultaneous with the investigation of food through hunting, I categorized, identified and preserved all the other parts of my surroundings as well (the flora and fauna on my block in Manhattan, my land in NH, and the area around my studio in NYC.) Meditations on Hunting exists against the backdrop of, and as an early phase within, this much larger taxonomy project. While Sweet Corruptions dealt with the physical manifestation of my food waste, Meditations on Hunting confronted the physical properties of my environment. Air, water and food are took on new meaning as they related to the natural environment during the hunt, and as I tried to understand how creatures move through the woods and water, being aware of time, incremental shifts in weather, wind, smells, flora, my own body.
Meditations on Hunting included watercolors that came directly out of the hunting experience. There are some that encompass the larger context and backdrop of the taxonomy project. Much of the work for this project was made in and around my floating research station in New Hampshire, where I live part of the year. But some of it also came from other locations where I’ve had hunting experiences with new mentors who helped me hone my skills. These experiences have been important and have informed my process.
“Over the course of the few hours at sunrise and sunset, the world separated out into all these parts—and I came to understand, over time, which animals and plants were sharing my space. It was as if everything had its own track. I’d see a bird fly by, not knowing what it was. But then I’d hear a sound, then a bird again and would know it was a kingfisher. Even the way the trees blew in the wind and the sound they made versus the cattails or the water moving from the muskrat rather than the ducks, became particular and important. On several occasions I felt that my own self, my body, was a void--an absence within this larger network of sounds and movement patterns.”
I wanted to attempt what I had previously thought impossible—learn to use a gun, hunt, prepare the meat, and taxidermy the specimens. Inevitably, these processes forced me to confront all of the parts of earth’s household. One can’t hunt without becoming entirely aware of all the parts--everything that makes up an environment. So simultaneous with the investigation of food through hunting, I categorized, identified and preserved all the other parts of my surroundings as well (the flora and fauna on my block in Manhattan, my land in NH, and the area around my studio in NYC.) Meditations on Hunting exists against the backdrop of, and as an early phase within, this much larger taxonomy project. While Sweet Corruptions dealt with the physical manifestation of my food waste, Meditations on Hunting confronted the physical properties of my environment. Air, water and food are took on new meaning as they related to the natural environment during the hunt, and as I tried to understand how creatures move through the woods and water, being aware of time, incremental shifts in weather, wind, smells, flora, my own body.
Meditations on Hunting included watercolors that came directly out of the hunting experience. There are some that encompass the larger context and backdrop of the taxonomy project. Much of the work for this project was made in and around my floating research station in New Hampshire, where I live part of the year. But some of it also came from other locations where I’ve had hunting experiences with new mentors who helped me hone my skills. These experiences have been important and have informed my process.
“Over the course of the few hours at sunrise and sunset, the world separated out into all these parts—and I came to understand, over time, which animals and plants were sharing my space. It was as if everything had its own track. I’d see a bird fly by, not knowing what it was. But then I’d hear a sound, then a bird again and would know it was a kingfisher. Even the way the trees blew in the wind and the sound they made versus the cattails or the water moving from the muskrat rather than the ducks, became particular and important. On several occasions I felt that my own self, my body, was a void--an absence within this larger network of sounds and movement patterns.”