Matt D McCarthy

  The figures on environmental destruction and extinction quoted by the artist Mark Dion were the initial catalyst for this work. Further research revealed the alarming rate at which insects and other invertebrates were becoming extinct. I discovered Internet sites that dealt in vast numbers of insect specimens, these often arranged as symmetrical patterns in tawdry box frames. It saddened me that such beautiful creatures were disappearing at such a rate, many killed simply for display as novelties. Some of these species will be lost forever.
In common with much of my previous work, this piece is fundamentally autobiographical. The work is concerned with my emotional response to loss, rather than loss itself, and uses a particular childhood memory as a basis for this. The work is a metaphor for loss and alienation in all its guises. There is a hidden narrative concerning my fascination with the natural world, in this instance the insects I knew and cherished as a boy in Gloucestershire. Much to my mother’s distaste, I would often be found with pockets full of earwigs or collections of things in jam jars and matchboxes. Those childhood days are long gone. My parents have gone, and I have since lost a brother, partners and friends. I no longer have any real connection with Gloucestershire, having moved to Oxfordshire when I was eleven years old.
I wanted the figures to be representational, but magnified to pet size, in part playing ‘Devil’s Advocate’ for those people that detest insects, but also to magnify their forms rather than their ‘decorative’ colouration. I did not want to make ‘conceptual’ figures, although the installation as a whole is a concept. There was no point making the insects life-size; they had to be enlarged for visual impact, and to occupy the space.
The more I considered insect species, the more I questioned people’s responses to them. If asked, many self-professed animal lovers would say that they disliked and feared insects, but their reasons for such revulsion would be largely irrational. Cats and dogs often display aggressive or repulsive behaviours that are tolerated because they are (relatively) domesticated, cuddly mammals. Of course, there are problem insects; tsetse flies, mosquitoes, ticks, midges and other biting flies are carriers of serious disease, whilst locusts, grasshoppers and some caterpillars can devastate crops. Not all insects are benevolent, but that is true of any species.Personally, for example, I seem especially attractive to biting insects, particularly mosquitoes, midges and fleas, all of which will bite me at every opportunity. Nevertheless, the majority of insects are harmless, elusive creatures, apparently alien and unlovable, the underdogs of the natural world; a part of me identifies with that.
As the work progressed, my sense of personal identification with the creatures I was making increased. I began to recall events during adolescence when I felt alienated, when I started to experience some of the realities of life, experiences that culminated in my becoming at variance with the world. I went to a predominately middle class grammar-cum-boarding school, where my shyness and introversion put me at odds with what was expected of me. An unhealthy emphasis on sport, the school’s army cadet force and church services only served to increase my alienation. I was bullied by teachers, and became a rebel by default because I did not fit anywhere. I did not want to fit into ‘their’ world. My only outlets for creativity at school were English language and literature. There were no facilities for art. I hated the place.
When I first outlined my ideas for this work, my tutor said “it’s about animal exploitation?” and at first glance, I suppose it looked as if it was. From the very beginning though, I had a definite sense of wanting to capture the spirit of that happy childhood place, of ‘genius loci’. I wanted the work to refer to the landscape of my childhood in some way, not just the external landscape, but my  ’inner landscape’ also. They were days of carefree innocence, when I had no real worries about anything of real importance. It was a time when everything was right with the world that I occupied, when I had no understanding of mortality or loss, not just physical loss, but the loss of innocence and naivety.
It was important that the figures were a part of a whole picture. The idea was to create a supernatural tableau, a Surrealist scene in three dimensions. The work is a larger-than-life reference to that carefree time, a scene reminiscent of a number of things, perhaps a children’s book illustration, or one of the school ‘Nativity Scenes’ that were so credibly attractive as a small boy. I wanted the pieces to be white, to have a ghostly, dreamlike quality. The symbolic associations with white as a sign of purity, peace and innocence were a consideration too.
The bed serves several purposes within the context of the piece. I wanted to emphasise the supernaturalism of the insects by showing them in a situation of extreme normality, so an everyday room setting seemed appropriate. I thought too about the symbolic significance of beds as places where we sleep, dream, conceive and die. This bed required a cover of some sort, and by referring to a vivid childhood fantasy, I was then able to realise the landscape idea. I remembered being in bed as a child, looking down at the peaks and troughs in the cover, and imagining it as a dwarfed landscape of hills and valleys that I was towering over like a giant, or flying over like a bird. 
With this image in mind, I made a few quick drawings, and took digital photographs of pieces of fabric that I had dyed and manipulated in various ways. These images were then altered in ‘Photoshop’ to help achieve some idea of how the piece might look. My first tentative ideas for the landscape were too much like paintings, and lacked refinement or subtlety. I experimented with sewn textural techniques and sprayed colours, but I wanted the landscape to be more ephemeral, like a ghostly memory. I eventually settled on a shadow-quilting technique to create the stylised aerial view of field boundaries, clumps of trees and the river Severn. I liked the suggestion of distance and detachment from the land, of being rootless and alien.
At this stage, I felt that it would be interesting to include some text that referred to the childhood insect hunting and subsequent sense of loss, so the quote from Alan Bennett was pertinent. I decided that this quote should be at the foot of the bed. The pillow was included for a number of reasons. I wanted something to help balance the head and foot of the bed, but more significantly, I was concerned that the choice of materials and subject matter were bordering on the comfortably romantic, something I hadn’t intended, and which I was keen to sabotage. I felt that the statement, ‘relaxing the specimens’ would work; the implied fatalism in the phrase introduces an element of discomfort to an otherwise nostalgic scene.The pillow was a natural choice of object for the head of the bed, and the text echoes and balances the statement at the foot. 
In the insect collecting world, ‘relaxing a specimen’ is a chemical process that softens the insects enough to allow the wings and legs to be manipulated for display. The word ‘relaxation’ obviously ties in with the bedroom scene, but the statement also raises questions. Are the insects the specimens, or the child whose bed it is? What is being relaxed, and for what reason? Perhaps the relaxation refers to complacency, or the unknowingness of innocence. 
As the work progressed, nuances of interpretation that I had not consciously intended became apparent to me.  It struck me how grave-like the bed and pillow appeared; all I could see was a grave and headstone, a memorial to the ‘lost’ boy. 
I chose to use fabric for this work for several reasons. When I first considered making the insects, I wasn’t sure that it was technically possible, as some of them are quite complex forms. I was not able to find any patterns, either in the libraries, or on the Internet, so the logistics of creating a three dimensional form from a sheet of fabric was a daunting prospect. I liked the challenge, and knew that I had to attempt it. I did not want to use any textured or coloured fabrics, and I consciously avoided fancy embroidery stitches or exotic fabrics. The important thing for me was that the fabric should be manipulated, not the stitching. If a piece required a textural effect, such as the corrugatations on the beetle for example, then I would create it, rather than use needle-cord or corduroy. I didn’t want any fussy embroidery or ‘pretty’ fabrics, as they are not appropriate to what I am making.
I took something of a purist approach to what I was doing, which meant that everything that could be sewn, was sewn, rather than use fabric adhesives. I wanted to extend my making skills, and I had to devise my own methods for some of the processes involved. 
I have explored different techniques for this work. The quilted text was a new departure for me, as I was not certain that I had the technical ability to do it. It turned out to be less complicated than I first thought, although I did have to make certain compromises. Thick wadding would have given much more clearly defined text, but would have been harder to quilt without the fabric bunching. For this reason I used the lightest weight wadding, which resulted in cleanly defined edges, but quilted text that was a little too indistinct for my liking. I gave emphasis to the text by staining it with a weak solution of cold tea. 
Fabric is an excellent medium to work with, and is appropriate for this work. There is a playful element here, and the possibility that the insect figures might be seen as soft toys is apposite given that the piece refers to a childhood scene. Once again, Claes Oldenburg’s work is undoubtedly an influence in what I do, but my soft sculptural work here is not concerned with Oldenburg’s oft quoted ‘dynamic of flaccidity’. If anything, I wanted to create an illusion of rigid solidity, to exert my will over a medium that is intrinsically neither rigid nor solid.
The pillow and cover were partly influenced by Tracy Emin’s appliquéd work. Of all her work, I find the appliquéd textile pieces the most engaging, and feel that they successfully cross the ‘art versus craft’ division. I have ruminated over the ‘is it art or craft?’ question for too long; it is a pointless exercise really, as there will always be disagreement about it. I believe fabric has as much potential as any other sculptural medium. I was also asked if a sewing machine is a sculptural tool. I would argue that it is, in the same way that an arc-welder is to metal, or a band saw is to wood. A sewing machine is purely a mechanical means of joining the components one is working with. 
I feel that I do not have to justify fabric as a medium so much as justify the things I make with it. Is this work just model making, for example? No, it is not. If I wanted to make models, they would be accurate scale copies, and in no way stylised, as is the case with these pieces. Models would be made for showing in an entirely different context. Does it follow that figurative sculptures in other media are simply model making? The ‘is it art’ debate keeps the critics well occupied, and is a conundrum to which there is no definitive answer. 
I was asked if people would be able to ‘read’ this work. I concede that viewers might look at this work in complete bewilderment, before finally giving up and reading the accompanying statement; if that is the case, am I then supposed to feel that this work has failed as an artistic statement? Perhaps it has failed as a statement, but I would argue that not understanding the intended meaning when confronted with an artwork is frequently the rule, rather than the exception. I proffer this as an observation, not an excuse.I am rarely happy with my work as a ’statement’, often questioning my rationale for pursuing certain lines of thought. I try to avoid the obvious, but at times I suspect that my ’sideways thinking’ is too oblique, perhaps bordering on the unhinged! My ultimate aim is to create strong visual statements that are memorable, interpretable, and display a level of technical skill. With this work, I feel that I’ve achieved two of those aims, but whether it is understood is not for me to say. I hope that people will react positively to this work, perhaps identify with it in some way, even though they might not fully understand it. Although this work is autobiographical, I think there are elements that some viewers will identify with.
In conclusion, I know that what I have assembled here treads on dangerous ground, in as much as the figures are representational, and as such may be dismissed as little more than models. I wanted to make representational pieces, but to use them in a metaphorical, surrealist context.
Abstract and conceptual art interest me greatly, but it is a route I’ve been wary of exploring. There is sameness to so much abstract art that arouses suspicion in me. I am interested in using fabric to create abstract three-dimensional forms, but unsure as to how I might approach it. I am certainly keen to explore the sculptural possibilities of combining fabric with other media. I don’t want to be pigeon holed as someone who only works with fabric. I have the ability to use other media, and miss working with ceramics and wood, for example. There is plenty of room for experiment. I am giving serious thought to these possibilities.