Deb Mansfield
One would be forgiven for assuming that there is an ecopolitical sentiment at play in Deb Mansfield’s latest exhibition, The Last Vestiges of Instinct. For example, The weight of a dark sky (2017) presents the viewer with a tiny, overworked, hand-cast copy of an antique polar bear figurine treading a perilously thin, ice-like dagger of metal jutting from the wall. It is difficult to extract the image of a polar bear from the discussion of climate change, and such a title does little to dissuade the viewer from going there, but to label these works as activism is to miss their subtlety and wider relevance. In its totality, this exhibition is a reminder that nature is a human construct. According to Mansfield, these works address a specific human experience, the sense that our animal nature is inherent yet indistinct, cloaked behind layers of reason and learned behavior. If this nature is the subject of the exhibition then even its containment within the gallery space serves as a jarring reminder of our unavoidably anthropocentric perspective, given that art galleries are one of the ultimate sites of human thought and activity.
Many of the works in the show reify the problematic distinction between humans and animals by pointing out the many ways in which we regard animals, whether as companions, entertainment, labour, or food. These categories are compellingly confused and put to question by three photo-tapestries of the style for which Mansfield is well-known. Each appropriates an image of a suspended animal: a dog slung in a harness in mid-air (the kind we see in news coverage of helicopter flood evacuations, one that elicits compassion and appreciation for ‘man’s best friend’)