Death is something that confines us upon our birth, and it has been said that our cradles stand in our graves. Death emerges at birth, and is the personification of the great destroyer of life, commonly represented as a skeleton holding a scythe. For Missoula artist Michael deMeng, the concept of mortality makes his life more fulfilling and virtuous, and is soundly ingrained and inextricably woven into his artwork.
Michael deMeng
Not spooked by dying, death intrigues deMeng. More specifically, it is death’s widespread influence on the living, not the mysteries surrounding our own individual extinction or termination, that actually pulls at his curiosity. “I’m pretty fascinated by how it affects us in our everyday lives,” says deMeng during our interview. “Americans pretend to be immortal and don’t acknowledge death—that’s interesting as well. They seem to treat death like a monstrous obstacle which can be kept at bay.”
His artistic creations represent a genre of work known as assemblage, which is the art of making compositions consisting of the arrangement of miscellaneous objects or found materials. The essence of deMeng’s art, roughly speaking, emanates from his finding and using abandoned and seemingly valueless objects (those that previously had a definite purpose or role, but no longer are prized or important), then modifying them and, ultimately, giving such belongings new functions.
Discarded things—like sardine cans, Beefeater gin bottles, and Hot Wheels racing cars—are given brand new importance and implications; with deMeng’s art, you’re no longer actually looking at the original item, you’re seeing repurposed life. Forsaken materials find unlikely usefulness in his work, and are recombined with unexpected devices, as “a form of rebirth from the ashes into new life and new meaning," says deMeng.
“To me, it’s symbolic of mortality and the entire life cycle. These forms, like our own bodies, which are discarded at death and lose their function, evolve into something new. These assemblages are metaphors for the evolutions and revolutions of existence: from life to death to rebirth; from new to old to renew; from construction to destruction to reconstruction.”
While the bedrock of deMeng’s work is in his using randomly found objects and putting them together aesthetically, such imaginative assertions also come with inherent meanings and possess an energetic symbolic presence. His art is all about radical changes: “It is about the transformation of the common into the sacred," says deMeng. "These forms are examinations of the world in perpetual flux, where meaning and function are ever-changing.”
Art of Michael deMeng
While not an obsession, he says, the notion of mortality filters through all of his creations quite comprehensively. Physical, familiar objects—like a Mr. Potato Head, a bowling pin, even a Pez dispenser—are retailored into seemingly hallowed shrines. The randomness of these disparate objects establishes new meaning, and a venerated association, forming something that’s seemingly spiritual; the randomness builds its own intrigue.
These shrines, to deMeng, become a way of reaching beyond the physical, into other unrevealed worlds. DeMeng’s visitation to and engrossment with shrines in Latin America formed the inspirational foundation for Missoula’s Festival of the Dead.
DeMeng started the Festival of the Dead in the early 1990s, after returning from Mexico and attending such celebrations in that country. He vividly remembers the manner in which Latin American people appreciated and revered death: Cemeteries, places of old bones and decay, resembled waves of life brimming with laughing and singing—and the tombstones he saw were surrounded by candles, toys, and figurines, and decorated with paintings and murals.
Such feelings and displays are indicative of the Latin American humorous outlook toward death—a cat-and-mouse–type facetiousness, with death depicted as a playful character you try to dodge—an attitude, he believes to be much different than in the United States. “Here it’s as if nobody is supposed to die," says deMeng. "And we have a pop culture that exudes young looks, young bodies, and a stay-young-or-else-you-are-going-to-be-forgotten mentality.”
DeMeng is a 1990 BFA graduate of Montana State University and the recipient of many accolades, including the Liquitex Excellence in Art award in 1999. He teaches classes at major art shows—including Artfest in Washington and Art Unraveled in Arizona—and will be holding workshops scattered around the globe, from Seattle to Tuscany, in 2006.
Assemblage Art of Michael deMeng
DeMeng’s art supplies are pretty bare bone: nuts and bolts taken for free at garage sales, acrylic paints, fiberglass resin, and his much-preferred Liquid Nails sealant. He encourages his students to create art with the kind of stuff that most people wouldn’t ordinarily consider making art with. Smaller objects or items that can be broken down are the most appropriate, and he keeps a communal pile of doodads for students to share. Students are told to bring found objects and various accessories to use on their shrines. And when he says bring anything, well, he really means anything: jewelry, price tags, watch or computer parts, fake flowers, shoelaces, fake eyelashes, etc.
In terms of “good junk,” deMeng loves decrepit typewriters because they contain so many interior parts; he finds contemporary junk less internally intriguing. Although still rummaging alleys and loading docks for new objects, he has a well-founded enough reputation for wanting good junk that items come directly deposited to his front door.
Recently, a pair of UPS boxes arrived on the same day from two different students—one package was crowded with gears and other machine parts, the other was teeming with old, ornate door handles. To deMeng, discarded items are valid, and there are inherently aesthetic shapes to be discovered in junk piles. It’s not the function of the object that’s important, it’s the aesthetics.
Brian D'Ambrosio - Brian D'Ambrosio is the author of more than 500 published articles and seven books, including From Haikus to Hatmaking: A Year in the Life ...
