aul Stout is putting the finishing touches on his mortuary of artificial grass. Sleek blades of black metal stagger in sporadic spurts, rising in response to internal sensory motors. Situated in a cavernous room, the piece completes “The New American Landscape,” three separate bodies of work linked by concepts of simulation and representation. The exhibit, which will have its opening reception on Oct. 17 at the Salt Lake Art Center, addresses relationships between animals, natural history and technology, focusing particularly on the issue of taxidermy.

“It’s meant to poke fun at anthropomorphism—this idea that we inadvertently superimpose human desires and interests on this alien other,” Stout says.

The artist and assistant professor at the U’s College of Fine Arts isn’t attempting to place any value judgments on this phenomenon. Stout only wants to reorient the public’s awareness regarding our human connection to nature.

“It raises ambiguity and it raises more questions than answers,” he says.

A supreme eye for materials characterizes his work. Wood, plastic, glass, earth, styrofoam, magnesium, rubber, aluminum, steel, brass, electronics and the mounted noses of various mammals are all featured in “The New American Landscape.” For those unaccustomed to staring at carcasses enclosed in bulbous cases, the question of intent is immediately raised. Is this exhibit meant to be ironic? Or is the perpetrator a sadist with a penchant for preserved bodies?

“I don’t take one particular stance. The things I’ve done in there can exist in many different frames,” Stout says. “They are funny, but they’re also kind of morose and sad. They are utopian, but also dystopian all at the same time.”

	Motorized blades of grass rise and fall and glass-encased objects are preserved for art's sake in Paul Stout's "The New American Landscape."

Although most people might cringe at the sight of a mouse trapped in the vessel of its demise, the reaction is only due to the infrequency with which they encounter death preserved. Stout’s creations are not gratuitously grotesque because he’s not aiming to sensationalize or exploit his subjects. He is merely fascinated by the desire to immortalize inanimate objects. The piece “Squirrel Death Masks” involves three tiny skulls cloaked in white plaster. A catalog toting references for taxidermy inspired it. The catalog’s back cover included a memorial for what Stout assumes was a family pet—dedicated to a squirrel named Sissy.

“I thought it was a very strange combination of things—that this animal existed both as a pet, not something you would eat or sell—but at the same time they were selling images of the squirrel and the death mask as a product,” Stout says.

Perhaps the boldest comment on anthropomorphic tendencies is “The Twenty States of Desire: The Postures of Deer, Antelope, and Goat Nostril from Ennui to Ecstacy,” a row of isolated noses tacked to circular, brightly colored plaques. The rainbow of disembodied figures emits a loss of identity. It’s difficult to establish a definite link between each nose and its proposed owner, for once grouped with 19 others, its significance morphs into something else. Stout believes that taxidermy falls into the category of trophy collecting. Each one is focused entirely on fulfilling internal need—an outlet for pride, remorse, memory and legacy.

However, the end product is not Stout’s prime concern. “An art piece without ideas is just as bad as an art piece that’s only ideas,” Stout says. “The materials, the concept…everything has to work together as a unit.”

The first segment of “The New American Landscape” began in 1997. It’s difficult for Stout to recall its initial components, for the seeds of ideas have since been transformed. “I think I’ve just explored further tangents on the same subject,” he says.

The first piece that Stout ever displayed was salvaged from a garbage can. His high school art teacher had the foresight to recognize adept skill where he saw none. “She entered it in the county fair an it won all sorts of prizes,” Stout says.

Although the experience was certainly rewarding, his career did not head straight for aesthetic refinement. He spent many years as a carpenter and blacksmith’s apprentice. It was during that apprenticeship that Stout started to entertain the possibility of turning his craft into art. “Once you start making the objects for other people, you realize the possibilities and the way we just look at things as existing for us without realizing how they got there,” he says. Following this re-evaluation, Stout proceeded to generate various forays into expanding sculpture.

Many of the works in “The New American Landscape” are outfitted with computer-controlled devices, a feature that necessitated knowledge of intricate hard-wiring. Stout learned how to construct a circuit board for the purpose of bringing his subjects to life. “I think in many ways, art’s job is to work with technology and representation—especially with three-dimensional art,” he says. In addition to honing his technical skills, Stout dove into a collection of eclectic literature. Some of the books used for research include Electrifying America, Edison’s Eye and In Advance of Landing: Folk Concepts of Outer Space, the latter of which explores America’s subcultural obsession with extraterrestrial life.

“I think that humans instinctively look for patterns—it’s part of our base survival instincts,” Stout says. “Given the absence of needing to use those base instincts, we look for patterns in other things.”

It seems that the search for new frontiers—destiny in unchartered zones—has manifested in a strange crossroads between exploration and preservation. Stout is taking notes from the edge.

“The New American Landscape” runs through Jan. 4. An opening reception will be held on Friday, Oct. 17 from 6 to 9 p.m. The Salt Lake Art Center is located at 20 S. West Temple.
jamie@red-mag.com