Somebody asked me recently if I had washed my father’s clothes before using them in the sculptures,’” she says. “I didn’t. They still contain his cells.”
These meat sculptures, part of an early series entitled Actus Reus, which is Latin for “guilty act,” were followed by Nature Made Flesh, a project started by Kostianovsky after the death
f her father. Instead of butchered animals with leaking guts and protruding bones, she created colorful tree stumps formed mainly from her father’s old clothing. There is a surreal quality to these works. The sculptures are clear likenesses of felled trees, but they are rendered in bright colors that lend an almost whimsical feeling to the works. Here, a tree is killed, its life cut short, but the pastel palette of yellows, purples, pinks, and blues imbues it with a feeling of vitality. “The project grew out of my desire to give him some type of physical presence in the world beyond the extent of his life,” Kostianovsky says of her late father.
The title Nature Made Flesh is striking in its reference to flesh despite no obvious bodily representation. These trees are wounded—severed at the trunk—but there is no visible human corpse. As with much of her work, there are layers to uncover, and “flesh” ultimately refers back to her father. “Somebody asked me recently if I had washed my father’s clothes before using them in the sculptures,” she says. “I didn’t. They still contain his cells.” Here, loss is symbolized by the destruction of nature, underscoring the relationship between humanity and the environment. The trees, explains Kostianovsky, “anthropomorphize the landscape and highlight a common materiality among all living things.” It’s a double entendre, hinting not only at loss of a loved one, but also at the violence humans bring about against nature. Her upcycling of materials is also an act against the rampant consumerism of our culture and its environmental effects, a topic that has long been of interest.
Throughout all of Kostianovsky’s work, there is a nod to the capriciousness of life. Trees can be felled and turned to stumps; birds, cows, and pigs can be shot and hung from their feet. Yet recently she tends towards hope. Tropical Abattoir, Kostianovsky’s latest series, features her signature dangling meat carcasses, but with a surprising variation. In the cavities of these deceased animals are bright tropical scenes. The fleshy pinks and reds of the dead bodies are blended with the bright greens, blues, and yellows of a tropical jungle. Birds nest in the cavities as they would in a tree and vines climb the sides and generate flowers. Titles like “Seeded Belly,” “Heal the World” and “Cow Turns into a Landscape” underscore this idea of renewal and rehabilitation. Her works are not only recycled objects in and of themselves, but now include nods to natural regeneration. Instead of a dangling carcass that has reached the end of the line, we see a body that is home to new life, its folds hosting diverse and colorful flora and fauna. “The concept,” explains Kostianovsky, “is to transform the carcass from a site of pure carnage into a receptacle of new life that sprouts out of it—almost like a utopian environment.”
