Context Is Key
Popular Western sculptures contrast sharply with artist’s grotesque early work
Story by Thalia Coulter
Rob Eis’ German shepherd Mia stands in front of a Feats of Strength figure in 2015. // Photo courtesy of Rob Eis
“The museum is a school,” reads an 8-by-8-foot plaque mounted next to the entrance to Western Washington University’s art museum, the Western Gallery. “The artist learns to communicate, the public learns to make connections.”
Just minutes away from the Gallery lies a bronze sculpture collection called Feats of Strength, made up of seven unassuming “little guys” that have opened a complex dialogue about art, artists, audiences, and the degrees of separation between them.
Once upon a time, Western faculty member Rob Eis would stop to take photos of his beloved German Shepherds, Leo and Mia, posed with the cartoonish figures. Now, he looks back on those photos through a different lens.
It all started on a trip to New York City in 2015, when Eis and his girlfriend Kari Neumeyer noticed some familiar-looking little guys in a Manhattan subway station. A bit of research revealed the sculptures were indeed by the same artist: Tom Otterness.
Upon returning to Bellingham, Neumeyer dug deeper and made a startling discovery. “You’re probably not going to want to hear about this,” Eis recalled Neumeyer saying.
“That’s when she kind of laid it on me,” Eis said.
In 1977, as a young artist in the punk scene, Otterness adopted a dog from a shelter, chained it to a stake and shot it on camera. The resulting, aptly titled “Shot Dog Film” played on loop in a Times Square theater, outside of which Otterness had stationed a hired photographer to “assault” the audience with flashing cameras as they stormed out of the theater. On Christmas of 1978, the film played on Manhattan Cable TV, replacing the regularly scheduled children’s programming.
Otterness’s intention in creating “Shot Dog Film” was, in his own words, “the most aggressive way I could think of to show a film, the most damaging thing that I could do to the audience.”
Such intentions were not atypical of the avant-garde 70s punk art movement, which was often characterized by horror and shock value.
“It was the punk period. Everybody was being nasty and ethics [were] not to be considered,” said Hafthor Yngvason, director of the Western Gallery.
The general consensus — even among punk artists of the time — is that “Shot Dog Film” went too far. Even the groundbreaking 1978 Punk Art exhibition, widely recognized among punk artists as the first of its kind, decided against featuring the film.
While there was initial outrage following the release of “Shot Dog Film,” broader criticism was short-lived, and the now-72-year-old Otterness went on to lead a wildly successful career. In 2002, the New York Times wrote that he “may be the world’s best public sculptor.”
Today, Otterness’s cartoonish sculptures adorn public spaces around the world, begging the question: How do we balance accountability with the opportunity for reconciliation and reinvention?
“It’s not enough to say ‘I’m sorry.’ You have to change and do something constructive,” Yngvason said.
Three decades after creating “Shot Dog Film,” Otterness made an attempt at reconciliation, issuing an apology in response to rising pressure.
“It was an indefensible act that I am deeply sorry for. Many of us have experienced profound emotional turmoil and despair. Few have made the mistake I made. I hope people can find it in their hearts to forgive me,” Otterness told the Brooklyn Daily Eagle in 2007.
Otterness did not respond to Klipsun’s request for comment.
Animal rights advocates, unsatisfied with Otterness’s apology, have requested that he take tangible action. The artist has yet to take accountability in response to calls for donating a portion of his commissions to animal rights groups.
In 2011, outcry from animal rights groups led the San Francisco Arts Commission to terminate a $750,000 contract with Otterness. However, he retained a $700,000 contract for another San Francisco commission in the same year.
Removing Feats of Strength is not the answer, in Eis’s opinion. Instead, he suggested it would be reasonable for Western to request that Otterness make amends by donating a portion of his commission to Whatcom County animal shelters.
“If he did something to help shelter animals in Whatcom County, it would demonstrate that a hurtful act doesn’t have to define you forever. A generous act to make amends can show growth and maturity,” Eis wrote in an email.
Eis added that mounting a plaque noting Otterness’s donation near the sculptures would help viewers appreciate the artwork despite the artist’s history.
“When you look at what he has done since, as a mature artist over the last 50 years, that is just the exact opposite to this video,” Yngvason said. “His early work can stand and his later work can stand. They are so different; he basically goes against everything he had proposed as a young person.”
In his career as a public sculptor, Otterness became known for his works exploring the human experience through whimsical cartoonish figures. Sarah Clark-Langager, Yngvason’s predecessor as Gallery director who held the position from 1988 to 2014, wrote about Western’s nationally-renowned Outdoor Sculpture Collection in her book “Sculpture in Place: A Campus as Site.”
“Otterness has put his figures in complex scenarios of human behavior ranging from themes of birth and death, time, labor and money, class struggles, to engaging in battles of good and evil,” Clark-Langager wrote.
The Western Gallery’s website description of Feats of Strength is an excerpt from Clark-Langager’s book: “[Otterness] embraces the fantasy scale of Disney and Looney Tune Cartoons, but places the viewer not in front of a distant cinema screen but rather seats them directly at tables or in tablescapes.”
Neither “Sculpture in Place” nor the Gallery website make any mention of Otterness’s heavily criticized “Shot Dog Film.” When Eis shared his discovery of the film with coworkers, many expressed surprise.
“I see so many dogs on campus and know so many dog lovers who work on campus, and to not have any knowledge, I just feel kind of duped,” Eis said.
Yngvason and Zoë Fejeran, Western’s museum educator, both acknowledge that the general Western community may not be aware of Otterness’s punk work.
“I have gotten exposure to this because I was an art history student,” Fejeran said. “Lots of folks haven’t, and it is jarring and really troubling.”
Fejeran’s priority, however, is not the historical context of Otterness’s actions in the 70s, but rather educating the community about the artworks in Western’s collection. She emphasized she is not speaking on behalf of the Gallery, but voicing her personal opinion.
“Teaching about [Feats of Strength] by Tom Otterness is what I’m concerned with: communicating his intent behind those sculptures rather than speaking to the entirety of an artist’s past or professional career,” Fejeran said.
Fejeran sees herself as having a responsibility to encourage learning, citing the Gallery’s motto, “the museum is a school.”
“I can always promote doing research and looking into artists that you may find interesting,” Fejeran said. “Understanding those artists’ different phases of their career, maybe what they were influenced by.”
So, who researched Otterness before commissioning Feats of Strength? Well, it’s complicated.
The Western Gallery oversees the Outdoor Sculpture Collection, and the Gallery director serves as its curator. The Gallery director is also responsible for adhering to Western’s policy regarding art acquisition and the maintenance of inventory and cost records.
Klipsun was unable to locate records of the transaction with Otterness, but we do know that Feats of Strength was commissioned in 1999 under Clark-Langager’s term as Gallery director as part of the Washington State Arts Commission’s Art in Public Places Program.
This program, outlined in Washington State Legislature, requires 0.5% of state-funded construction costs to be allocated to the acquisition of art.
Completed artworks belong to the Washington State Arts Commission’s State Art Collection.
The Art in Public Places Program manager oversees this process, and artists are selected by an independent panel of five to seven people. In Western’s case, the Gallery director works closely with the Washington State Arts Commission throughout the acquisition process.
It’s unclear who put the final stamp of approval on Otterness’s 1999 commission, but the sculptures ultimately proved to be an iconic addition to Western’s campus despite their creator’s past. Strong as they may be, the little guys can’t go back to 1977 and rewrite history. They can, however, inspire curiosity and promote transparency and accountability.
As Western’s acclaimed art collection continues to grow, we must consider how our community’s values are reflected in public art installations. At its best, art can evoke emotion, promote curiosity and open dialogues. In other cases, it can take lives, traumatize audiences and leave a lasting stain on an artist’s reputation.
As Eis put it, “People say, ‘Oh, that happened in 1977, why are you still bringing that up?’ We’re bringing it up because it’s a permanent thing here. This sculpture isn’t going away.”
So we might as well get used to talking about it.