Lessons from a Multispecies Studio

Uncovering Ecological Understanding and Biophilia through Creative Reciprocity

Julie Andreyev

• Éditeur: Intellect Books
• Année: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781789384543
• Sujet: Art
• Sous-sujet: Art General

A highly original book in which the author proposes an expanded field of aesthetics, guided by her philosophy and approach to working, through the ways that philosophy can be manifested in art. She demonstrates the depth and complexity that she brings to her work through a sustained and committed relationship to working with animals across multiple projects.

The book tells real-world stories about the author's creative encounters – with animals, plant life, mineral beings and forest ecosystems – in her Vancouver-based interspecies art practice, Animal Lover, and how they shifted her outlook on the Earth and all of life. Each chapter presents a weaving together of personal reflection, interdisciplinary research, critical thought and art methods. The threads converge on this main point: the need to move away from anthropocentrism and towards ecological understanding, reciprocity and biophilia. The local journeys in each chapter are guided by more-than-human ways of knowing which provide an expanded sense of the world and an understanding of the imperative for action. This book is an invitation to readers to step into more-than-human worlds, re-sense life and re-think their relationship with the planet and all its inhabitants. It asks readers to slow down, look around and listen – and feel. Love for life is practised by all beings in their lively projects. It is what joins us together in the relational f lourishing that is the vital wondrous complexity of the Earth.

The Anthropocene is a term used to describe the geological era in which we live, marking the realization that humans have become such a force that we are affecting the Earth's air, lands, oceans, climate. At its core, in the modern Eurocentric societies that typify this era, is an entrenched worldview of nature as a means to fuel global capitalist-colonial systems. This anthropocentric worldview justifies the colonization and exploitation of ecosystems and nonhuman life, seen as 'resources' available for human expansion and prosperity, and readily available as free labour. The consequential outcomes are manifest in today's climate emergency and ecological degradations including animal slavery, industrial farming, over-fishing, deforestation and habitat loss, and the coming environmental collapse with its sixth mass extinction. Within recent decades, the sustainability of anthropocentric views have been called into question across disciplines. Lessons from a Multispecies Art Studio joins with these movements, and offers new applied approaches – from interspecies art – to help shape and evolve human outlooks, emotions and actions.

Primary readership will be research-creation academic artists working with animals, and researchers working around animals; more-than-human-animal activists; artists and emerging artists, as well as to art theorists and to those with a strong interest in environmental values.

1

Dogs

We and all animals with whom we share our time and space should be viewed as friends and partners in a joint venture where we enjoy an egalitarian give-and-take relationship.

–Marc Bekoff ¹

Go look at your dog. Go to him! Imagine his umwelt – and let him change your own.

–Alexandra Horowitz ²

Dog lessons

It was practically spring on 17 March 2004, but there were still patches of snow dotting the hills on the sides of the road. The air cooled as I ascended the Coquihalla Highway, my destination the toll-booth between Vancouver and Merritt, where I would meet Valerie. I brought along a small dog kennel because my plan was to put the puppy in it for the 90-minute return journey home. I approached the toll building, and found a place to park. I walked across the road to Valerie and we exchanged greetings. I gave her cash, and she handed me the pup. As I took him in my hands, I realized it was the first time I’d held a puppy. He was only 8 weeks old, but already strong. ‘He’s bigger than I thought!’ was all I could say, his warmth and softness already giving me an overwhelming sense of comfort.

He had no collar or jacket, his fine black fur the only thing between his skin and the cold air. I mentioned the kennel to Valerie. ‘Oh, he won’t be happy in there. He’ll probably cry’, she said. She explained that he was used to being close to her, and he would expect that of me. She reached into the back seat of her car and pulled out an old flannel shirt, something familiar for his transition to a new home. We parted, and the pup and I began our drive back to Vancouver. He curled up on the shirt in my lap, and I could feel his body relax as he fell asleep into a sense of trust. After a while, we pulled into a rest stop and he wandered around sniffing the grass. He did his business and I gave him a drink of water. He looked up at me, probably wondering who I was and what we were doing there. He allowed me to pick him up and continue the drive home.

FIGURE 1.1 Tom at 9 weeks old. Photo courtesy of Greg Snider.

As a child, I didn’t have a dog of my own. But when I was 6 or 7 years old, my older brother Alex got a dog. He was married and had an apartment a few blocks away. Soon after getting Sprinky, he was hired to teach at a school in New Zealand, so he and his wife had to move. He gave Sprinky to an elderly neighbour, Mrs Pettijon, who lived down the street from me. She called her Sprinkley. Most days after school and on weekends I’d go get Sprinky and bring her home to play with me in the backyard. I grew to love her and she became my best friend. When she was 4 or 5 years old, she developed a cancerous tumour on her forehead – probably caused by the flea collar she continuously wore, and she died shortly afterwards. I don’t remember grieving her death, but I do know that I avoided seeing her in those last days of her life. Probably the thought of her death was too much for me to bear. I didn’t develop any other friendships with dogs until much later. When I turned 41, the need for dog companionship unexpectedly surfaced again. I wanted to feel that special friendship of a canine, and continue growing up where I had left off.

It didn’t take much to convince my partner, Greg Snider, so we started researching breeds, discussing the size of certain dogs and their features. At the time, it didn’t occur to us to adopt a rescued dog, instead of purchasing one from a breeder. We were naïve, unaware of the many millions of existing dogs that needed homes.³ Instead, we based our decision on my allergies and our limited outdoor space. We settled on a miniature schnoodle puppy – a non-shedding schnauzer-poodle breed – that would grow to twenty or so pounds. A new puppy would need to be house-trained. For the first few weeks, they’d need access to the outdoors every two hours. Our tiny Japanese garden in the back of the house could accommodate this training, but for play and walks we’d use the park across the street and the neighbourhood.

We found Valerie online. She lived about a hundred miles away but we corresponded with her, and she sent us information about her two breeding dogs – a schnauzer and a schnoodle – and their puppies. She had a pen in her yard for the dogs and their pups. In the evenings, she’d bring everyone inside her home for warmth and safety. She quizzed us on our ability to care for a puppy, and what kind of outdoor space we had. Satisfied with our situation, she sent us pictures to decide which puppy we wanted. The pups were only 5 weeks old, and still dependent on their mom, so even if we chose one, we’d have to wait another three weeks until they were fully weaned. One photo was of a black puppy with a little white star on his chest. He looked directly at the camera with an inquisitive gaze. He was the one.

This chapter focuses on canine–human relationships for lessons in kinship and creativity. It includes my own personal experience with my companion dogs, and how they helped transform my home-life, the choices I made and the art work I produced. Our lived experiences inspired the first instances of my body of art called Animal Lover, and help shift my practice to the multispecies art and ecology research I’m doing today. In the studio, the dogs and I developed a system of two-way communications using touch, voice, facial expression, gesture and movement. We also developed an ethics of autonomy so the dogs could freely choose to participate in the emerging artwork. Making EPIC_Tom (2014–16) together inspired me to consider how art can offer more-than-human ways of knowing for public audiences.

Early days

After I returned home with the pup, Greg and I fed him and played with him. We let him roam around the house, showed him the Japanese garden in the back of the house and encouraged him to use it. After he got familiar with the space we prepared him for sleep. The few articles we’d read about dog training advocated against new puppies sleeping with their humans. They said that if the dog is kept apart, they would learn to be independent. So, Greg and I made a plywood pen, located by the front door and close to our bedroom, and furnished it with newspaper, a dog bed, blanket and soft toys. We put the puppy in the pen and headed to bed. After ten minutes, I heard whining and, within seconds, little feet running down the hall to the bedroom. The puppy found my side of the bed, stood up on his hind legs and reached up with his front paws towards me. That was my first lesson in canine communications. Clearly, he wanted to be with us and this desire motivated him to call out to us and, when we didn’t respond, make an effort to climb out of the pen to find us. Greg got up, added another board to the fence surrounding the pen, making it higher and more difficult to climb. We put the puppy back in and returned to bed.

He cried for hours. We tried to ignore him. I felt terrible – his first night away from his parents, in a new home and forced to be by himself. Greg and I hoped it would get easier. Finally, we all fell asleep.

The following night at bedtime, we put him back in the pen. He whined even louder than the previous night. After a few minutes, I heard a scratching sound and then little feet running down the hall to the bedroom. Despite his size, he’d managed to climb the half-metre tall fence. He came around to my side of the bed and sat there looking at me. I couldn’t stand the thought of rejecting him again and listening to his cries. So, I picked him up and made a little space by my pillow. I covered him with a light blanket, and he fell asleep. I stayed awake for a while listening to his soft rhythmic breathing. We were all much happier. Since then, he slept on the bed with us every night.

The next day, we named him Tom, after Thomas Bernhard – our favourite author at the time – and Mark Twain’s character Tom Sawyer. The name fit what we already knew about his critical attitude, tenacity and adventurous spirit.

In subsequent weeks, I kept Tom close. I’d even take him to class on the days I had to teach at the University.⁴ According to a sign on the door, ‘pets’ weren’t allowed in the building, but I brought him along anyway. I carried him in a bag that looked like a satchel and allowed him to be tucked away, hidden from view. In the classroom, I’d set the bag down on the desk and Tom would crawl out. The energy in the classroom would immediately relax. Any tension evaporated as the students became transfixed by his presence. They liked having him there, and he liked being in the class. He’d get passed around and cuddled, and then rest on a blanket on the desk. At lunch and during breaks, I’d take him outside to a nearby park and he’d walk around sniffing the plants and using the grass. Sometimes I’d visit the administrative assistants in the President’s office, and they’d stroke and admire him. He never barked or cried. It was clear that he enjoyed being near me and interacting with my students and colleagues. He became well socialized and accepting of all humans and this paid off later in life.

During his first year, his vitality expanded. He seemed to need continuous physical and cognitive challenges. If he wasn’t satisfactorily engaged, he’d take out his frustrations on objects around the house, or on me. He’d attack pillows, socks and shoes as though they were prey, pouncing on them, biting and giving them a quick shake. With his sharp baby teeth, he’d snap at the bottoms of my pants as I’d walk around the house, sometimes catching my ankle in the process. When I’d work in the Japanese garden, he’d ‘help’ by furiously digging holes around me. In the evening, when we’d let him out for a pee, he’d run tight circuits around the garden’s perimeter, dispelling any pent-up energy. Because of his perpetual liveliness, he was always hungry. Even after being fed, he’d sit and point with his nose at the kitchen counter, asking for more.⁵ That was my second lesson in canine communication. Tom was quite capable of communicating what he wanted, and letting me know if his emotional, cognitive and physical needs weren’t being met.

In order to channel his energy, we developed strength and skill-building activities. Some were beneficial, but others had a negative effect on his health. We attended puppy school where I learned to ask him to come, sit, heel and generally pay attention to me. At home, we taught him to go see Greg, or go see Julie. We taught him to get the mail, and bring the appropriate envelopes to Greg or myself as requested: give it to Greg or give it to Julie. He accommodated – mouth to hand. He even learned to anticipate our requests. When he’d hear the letter carrier put the mail through the slot, he’d run downstairs and retrieve the envelopes. We rewarded him with positive reinforcement, using verbal praise and small treats. In all our training sessions, we’d end on a well-accomplished task, a technique used to reinf...