Wyrd Encounters: Jonathan Baldock @ Jupiter Artland

I intrude on their meeting. Like entering an unfamiliar pub for the first time, I anticipate the locals might turn round and survey me, but to my relief, most seem too interested in each other to notice my arrival. This room is much grander, with high ceilings and plaster cast decadence that swirls towards a chandelier centrepiece. Beside a marble fireplace a penguin with human hands for feet gestures towards me, but the acknowledgement is welcoming. He holds my gaze with ice lolly blue eyes, suggesting without words that I should join them. Seated at the far end of the room, they give newcomers time to make their decision, without expectation or judgement.

They are polite but not shrinking. There is no attempt to conduct business in secret, and the collective is visible as a whole from outside, colour spilling out of the window. The group sits in pairs, facing inwards. It is unclear if this circular meeting is a tea party or conjuring, support group or council. Each couple seems prepared to confess (anonymously) or decide (collectively). Aware that I am without a partner, I slot myself in between the giraffes with an odd number of heads, hoping the addition of mine might make things even. 

Around me sit mythical creatures pulled from a common imaginary. Ancient Greek allegories told by gift shop toys, memories of a Kellogg’s cereal advert intermingle with Hans Christian Andersen fairytales. These beings have grown with disregard to scale or the expectations of others, chickens tower over penguins, cat noses sit above unicorn horns, mice reach the height of giraffes. Reptile, bird or mammal, they are united in their difference. Fur, feathers and scales all the same hessian skin, thick and versatile. Cut from the same cloth. Human parts emerge from stuffed fabric; ears, face, nose, feet. Fleshy extremities scanned into a mechanical womb, born layer by layer, then returned to clay and the body. Hand stitched on to beings that hope to make solid some parts of themselves. Their permanent state is transitional, almost human, almost animal, always becoming.

WYRD by Jonathan Baldock. Photo: Neil Hanna

The snails arrive last, departing opposite ways to circumambulate the group, meeting again behind the spindly legs of the chickens. A circle made from salt would be fatal to their slug bodies, so instead protection is cast in slime. Two giant cats with glass eyes and clown fish skin have faces at the end of their tales. A tongue protrudes from one bearded mouth, an o shape is made by the other. Dogs with ribbon tied under their chin and powder paint feet, both unsettling and sweet, splay out on a crochet blanket. Lizards with human tongues too short to reach the ground rely instead on each other for survival. Their backs read like a vintage postcard, yellow fabric cut in cursive font. Let’s go outside. Animal habitat or lyrical retaliation; pop music echoes of an oppressive past. George Michael dressed up as a police officer leads a choreographed dance in a public toilet. Under his feet illuminated squares change colour with the beat, mirror balls descend from air vents, urinals rotate in glistening chrome. Authority mocked in disco lighting, camp resistance.
 
Back to nature, just human nature. These beings are not concerned with Biblical floods or Darwinian order, knowing neither doctrine nor theory can rewrite the experience of living. The hum of group chatter trails off as the snails begin to narrate. Got no friends in high places. I hold my breath and listen, guttural sounds emerge more like song than speaking. Two tiny heads shrunk down and singing, a perfect replica of their creator and his love. We make God in the image of ourselves. They accept my presence without question and I exhale, the meeting begins.

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Jonathan Baldock: WYRD, Jupiter Artland, until 28 Sep, 10am-5pm, part of Edinburgh Art Festival