Alastair Dickson is a sculptor working out of the Gibraltar Centre for the Arts on the Toronto Islands. He works with found objects to create mixed media sculptures that cannot help but draw spectators in. The Strand had the pleasure of sitting down with him in his studio in late July.
The Strand: How has COVID-19 impacted your art?
Alastair Dickson: COVID has certainly given me more time to get back into the studio and work. Last fall, I had planned an exhibition at the Riviera restaurant. My wife suggested an online exhibit instead. That ended up quite successful. I sold more than half of the pieces in the exhibit.
What kind of person do you envision purchasing your pieces?
I really don’t have an ideal person in mind. What I’m trying to create is something that works on many levels. Humour does play a big part in what I do, but I like to counteract that with the dark. I work with broken things that have a damaged quality and try to find a balance in any number of things. Of course, I don’t like things to be too obvious, and, at times, I work with accidents. The essence of what I do is play. Shape is very important to the language of sculpture. My goal is to try to engage with the person trying to look and see things they may not have noticed before. I try to take my pieces as far as I can by seeing what works and what doesn’t work, by working with things that are opposites.
I try to find the fun in darkness. I don’t know why and I’m not that interested in the “why.” In art college, I was deeply concerned with the “why” to the point that I stopped making stuff. I decided to try guitar building, but stopped because it was too stressful. As a perfectionist, I was always left disappointed because you can never create “perfect.” I got over this when I realized that the meaning doesn’t matter. So, I throw things together, and look at things, and move things around. I’ve cannibalised pieces, sawn them in half—things may or may not just work together. My art is strange but not repulsive.
What are you working on now?
Right now, I concentrate on my corkheads. I’m thinking of giving some of them a name and a short biography to go along with the exhibit. If it were to get too long, it would become a script. I don’t have the energy to pursue the stories. But because I mainly do it for me, it makes it totally different.
Tell me more about the corkheads.
It’s a throwaway thing, readily available, it’s great to carve, and a great thing in itself; I don’t have to invest a lot of time. I started making them for a Christmas boutique on the Island. They were originally just brooches in a batch of 25. Since then, I’ve done various batches and I try to make every one different. It’s always quite simple. I got a whole set of plastic birds coming soon. They may make them on their heads.
I’ve noticed a great deal of your pieces incorporate faces. Why do you enjoy working with them?
The human face is just a series of shapes. An eye is anything circular. I can put together anything and make an expression; a look for questioning or bemused.
Tell me about your studio space.
A certain type of artist likes to be in their studio. There is a monastic element to it—the constant working on what you enjoy which can create a distraction from the actual job at hand. It creates a paradox. So, balance in life and at work becomes important in these spaces.
How do you find objects?
I don’t collect very much—it has to be special for me to do so. It’s mostly people handing them to me, and I take them to my studio. I did buy a nice set of doll heads that were quite expensive, but they were so beautiful. Some things are too difficult to work with, but sometimes you don’t want to let things go. So, I wait for things to have their perfect companion. I even use my son’s old binky toys in some of my photographs.
Does your interest in music influence your pieces?
No, my approach is more improvisatory. I did create those two pieces sitting behind you. I was gifted these old guitars and used their necks on those old metal toolboxes. I had to fasten a rod into the bodies so they would work. The perfectionism in me made me realize not to attempt things that make me feel stressed. It’s not about not being able to do it, but about the anxiety of making them perfect.
Do you have any advice for young, aspiring artists?
It comes down to finding the right fit; finding the right thing. In college, I learned that art fashion changes, so I’m surprised I’m making art today—that I found something I’m happy making. Really, I’m lucky. If you want to do it, you will. Sure, you can create good conditions for yourself, but people punish themselves too much, and conditions will change with age. Have as much fun as possible. Try to be open. Play. Experiment. Fun is so maligned. It’s not so serious even if you’re a serious artist. Find your balance with fun.
Describe your art in three words.
Colourful small art.
You can currently view Dickson’s statues at the Brutish Museum gallery box, located at 9 Channel Avenue, Ward’s Island, Toronto, or visit his website at https://www.alastairdickson.com/.
