(Not An occasion)
works by HUnter l.v. elliott
collaborations included feature artists erin miller, noelle richard, nic skowron, and emma pavlik
Written on a brown paper bag of dried rose petals found in my childhood home, (Not An Occasion) accidentally yet poignantly expresses a holistic approach to living. No one needs an excuse to collect rose petals. No one needs an excuse to “bring out the good stuff.” To be alive is to be lucky, but with an asterisk. To be alive is not to feel one distinct emotion, or one experience at a time, but rather a multitude of complex experiences and emotions simultaneously. Forced to live within a world full of complexity, it’s so easy to become overwhelmed and overstimulated. Senses dull. It takes work to not lose direction or energy when things become more than one bargained for.
After moving to Kentucky, being isolated in a new area coinciding with the first year of covid, nature became a place for me to regain those senses, and that peace. Ironically, the woods and fields I frequented have a very different, but relatable complexity. So much happens there. So much that the plants and insects I have grown to love are often hard to notice. But while in nature, when looking for life, I remind myself to wait, and watch and listen, and inevitably textures split apart and I start seeing things move as tiny wonders reveal themselves.
The Oak
Gesso, oil on plywood panel, framed in White Oak (same as the tree depicted), cleat hanger
This painting is a depiction of an oak tree at the top of the Brushy Fork trail in Berea, KY. I had seen and appreciated this tree before, but after my father passed in the summer of 2021, I sat on this tree for hours, journaling, and drawing, just taking things in and letting them go. After that hugely therapeutic session, I descended the small mountain, on a different trail to the one I climbed up, which was so densely populated by spiders and spider webs, it forced me to take over an hour and a half longer to walk down than it should have, allowing the time to gently brush aside huge webs and spiders. This was their space, and this was my choice to take that path. This to me, was a perfect encapsulation of what grief was. You experience something, get to a cathartic and reflective spot, then you contend with it for much longer than you expect. There was no turning back at that point.
Blue Cohosh, Penny-royal, Parsley, Scotch Broom, Mugwort
Relief carving in Basswood, painted in oil
A carving I made and painted after the overturning of Roe Vs. Wade featuring abortifacient plants.
Funds from the sale from this work will support access to safe reproductive healthcare in Kentucky.
Funny Bone
Hand carved Silver Maple, pickling stain
How often are working people expected to “work their fingers to the bone?” How often are they praised for doing so, and proud that they have? How often has productivity been held in higher regard than the wellbeing of the person facilitating that productivity? As someone no longer in their 20s who works with their hands on a daily basis, labor and physical longevity are increasingly prevalent topics that are inseparable and must be contended with.
The pegboard motif, as with many of the other pieces in Not An Occasion, is used to symbolize utility, expectation, and order. By carving a humerus bone and drilling equally spaced holes reminiscent of pegboard, I’m referencing the deterioration that is forced upon us by sacrificing health for productivity, while making a tongue-in-cheek nod to the association between humorous and humerus, and how our sacrifice is funny, but not funny haha.
Laterality: R (June 9, 2022)
Hard maple, acrylic primer, oil paint, danish oil
Representation of a photo of the inside of my right eye.
Thorns
Hawthorn and locust thorns, Masonite, acrylic paint, wire
Thorns are highly specialized leaves that evolved into the form they are now. As a tree, such as a hawthorn, or honey locust, or black locust evolves, it finds what works and what doesn’t, and in that process in turn grew defense mechanisms such as thorns. As humans took more control over the trees that were planted in “our” environments, we loved the flowers of the locust but hated its defense mechanisms, so we selectively bred them away. We assimilated the tree to what we wanted, not what the tree was. As an extension of nature, we do this to ourselves. We try to change people into things they are not to placate ourselves, instead of letting us be who we are.
Some trees grow thorns unprovoked. Other trees, when wounded, infected, or infested will produce their adapted leaves. The thorns poke through the bark and make a clear statement. From the equal grid of holes in the pegboard of this piece grows thorns, in defiance - a reaction - a protest of the treatment, in defense of boundaries. In defense of the idea of defense.
Fir Blossom (pine box variation, not made with pine)
Douglas fir, cleat with screw
This is a classic Toe Pincher coffin design, multiplied by eight around a single point, reminiscent of a flower. I wanted to take a classic design, unmistakable and impossible not to relate to death and I wanted to lighten it. Make it sweeter. If nothing else should be taken away from the last several years of my own experience, death is terribly sad for the living to think about, certainly, but it’s not something to fear, and not something to dread. As Gandalf said, “Death is just another path.”
What is in my hair? (collaboration with Erin Miller)
Silk, mulberry wood pulley, silk sandbag, shark teeth
Lucky
Masonite, acrylic paint, wear
Tool Wall
Cherry, linen, Masonite, acrylic, oil, wire
Not long ago, I had my first Tarot reading with a deck made to relate to Craft. During that reading, every card pulled was a “tool” card. Quite often I think about experiences and skills that I’ve accumulated as “tools in the toolbox.” Things to be used to make tasks easier, or more well-managed. This of course is not always applicable, and these experiences are not always the most useful things to take up space in what is certainly a toolbox with limited capacity. Sometimes the skills are learned less than correctly; sometimes an experience isn’t so useful at building, but each contextualizes the next.
My work frequently focuses on perceived utility. How useful are any of these objects to the average person at this time, in this place? How should utility be defined? What is the connection between utility, and productivity? How can I show nothingness to be useful? The art trope that takes a useful thing and makes it unusable just leaves so much unsaid and can start and end with that act. I want to avoid this. I try not to make as a gimmick. I make work for therapy, to work through ideas, learn skills,and for laughs. This piece has aspects of all of the above. By taking objects and putting them all in the same scale I’m orienting them together, into an odd grid of like-minded eccentrics. Though the scale and material of these items have been homogenized, that doesn’t change how they work. It doesn’t change their own, unique characteristics. I think of these objects in two ways: as things that exist, their futures not yet determined by their form, but also as representations of their identities and their uses. Symbols of experiences, memories, locations, ideas, and dreams.
Assembly guide for Tool Wall, drawn by Noelle Richard (IG)
triptych, ink on paper
statement from Noelle Richard:
questions to ponder: what is the purpose of a diagram for something that's already been made? how much can a set of instructions guarantee a particular outcome? how can we (artists, craftspeople) make art that is accessible? is imitation the highest form of flattery? corporations and institutions are already stealing from artists and craftspeople, so what if we gave out instructions so at least our work could be accurately reproduced?
this drawing provides (most of) the necessary views and measurements to reproduce and assemble tool wall. though the technical style of the drawing denotes pure utility, the small handmade objects bring their playfulness and humor to the front. through intensely, mathematically studying each tiny piece of for this drawing, i found a deeper, new appreciation for Hunter's approach to craft and art, how he mixed amulets with more traditional tools with domestic or even nostalgic objects. illustrating each of the 30+ objects of tool wall was an unexpected look in the mirror: the process revealed some of my own unconscious perspectives on the objects i surround myself with. if you were to recreate this piece using the assembly guide, i think you would create something more indicative of your own relationship with objects and craft than a simple reproduction of tool wall. consider this drawing a prompt to ponder the objects in your life and the labor of the people involved in their creation.
Untitled (axe)
Ash, cast wood glue, apple wood
Bowl with lid
Vessel: Burnt ash, wax, cob web, the spider that spun it (died of natural causes)
Shelf: Silver maple, oak, screws
Pegboard (ash and chestnut)
Chestnut wood, ash wood, wire hanging hardware
The American Chestnut was once the most plentiful tree in America. Its near-extinction, not so far removed from our current time, is echoed by the Ash. Ash is a common, but doomed tree that is quickly being destroyed by the emerald ash borer, an insect that was accidentally introduced by human involvement which we are incapable of stopping, we are merely slowing the spread.
Untitled (collaboration with Emma Pavlik)
Mixed media
Tiny Treasures (collaboration with Erin Miller)
Mulberry wood, hand-spun glow in the dark yarn, shark teeth, 3 whiskers from Dirk the cat
Pine Box
Pine, glue
A classic reference to humble existence, and humbler endings, Pine Box, with its outline of an unfolded Toe-Pincher coffin is a playful deconstruction of an object that represents death. This time in our global history is marred by trauma and loss. My own personal experience over the last couple years saw the loss of a parent, and some time before that, the loss of a close friend. I was lucky that it took so long for me to experience grief in an intimate, enduring way. So many lose people close to them so much earlier. And without hesitation, I can say that these experiences have significantly impacted me, in ways that I can only begin to express.
This work is a way of expressing the deconstruction and analysis that comes after a loss, in learning to accept and embrace mortality and in navigating grief. When looking at the piece, it’s impossible not to look through it. It’s solid, yet light and delicate. It can be stepped through and around. It can move with wind and it can break. Yet it is present, and will continue to be present. After my father passed, the funeral director explained grief as a hole in the floor that you can’t cover, or fix. That you just have to live with it, and learn to navigate around it. You acknowledge it, you walk around it, and you just carry on. This piece is wide open, permeable, and present.
Recliner
Cast wood glue (Titebond III)
Marked For Removal (collaboration with Nic Skowron)
Mixed media on cherry wood
Removed and Replanted (Collaboration with Nic Skowron)
Mixed media on pegboard
Safe Passage
Mullberry wood, linen (reaches from floor to outside vent near ceiling)
I wanted a symbol of invitation, of travel, though the creatures wouldn’t need it. I wanted the idea of the invitation to be known by visitors in their own right. I want to imply the joining of others to the party.
Passenger
Plywood, maple, screws, motor, batteries, wire
I’ve taken to foraging sticks and stems for brush-making. In doing so, I collected enough that I didn’t do anything with many of them for long periods of time. Months after I collected a particular batch of sticks, I started hearing clicking and scraping coming from…somewhere. A week went by, and I had no idea of where or what was making these intermittent sounds. Some sort of electrical malfunction? Was there something in the walls? Then a leg poked out of one of the sticks.
There is life everywhere, and that’s how it needs to be. A healthy ecosystem supports so much, and supports us. The idea of a pest, and the term, is a cruel notion. Certainly, there are insects and animals that can be detrimental to an ecosystem that is out of balance, but so are humans. We are that pest that scratches its way through that bark to startle what’s around it. My initial “eek” and my case of “the willies,” was misplaced on that insect that I obviously stole away from its home for my own purposes.
The closer one looks for life, the more one finds, and I decided to translate that into an object unquestioningly found in a gallery. Here sits an empty pedestal, rough in appearance, with signs of use, and if just walking by may seem odd, but inert. Pay attention though, and the object exposes itself more and more. Within the pedestal is a motor, fitted with pieces of wire that slowly scrape the inside. The result is a slow, irregular, unsettling sound of clawing and rattling. Tom Waits’s “What’s He Building In There” comes to mind, in which the listener is put into the position of a suspicious neighbor, convincing themselves that there is and unknown dangerous presence nearby, but without any real evidence to corroborate the motives of the subject except the viewer’s own paranoia.
The Treeline From Morningside
Oil on gesso on walnut
This is a representation of the view from my apartment window from when I first moved to Kentucky. From that spot I struggled with what to do, where to go, who I wanted to be in this new place, while being comforted by the natural world.
Plugs
Oil on masonite peg board panel
This was the first piece that I worked on with the pegboard motif. It is a depiction of the plugs placed within the holes of the board after they had been painted on and removed. The plugs were then placed in non-corresponding holes.