Pig Tool / Jacobs' Booth | NASTY Magazine

This interview delves into the creative process behind Pig Tool, exploring the origins of the project, the symbolism of the pig figure, and its connection to humanity’s relationship with animals. The artist discusses the use of ambiguous narratives, dark aesthetics, and intimate installations to provoke reflection on political, psychological, and emotional themes. Through collaboration with Tijs Lammar, founder of Jacob’s Booth and Maria Abramenko, the art curator, they transformed a confined space into a powerful artistic experience.

Regarding the exhibition space, when did the idea originate and what were the first steps that led you to conceive this project?

Tijs : The idea started with an intriguing existing structure at the entrance of my apartment. Originally designed in the 1950s as a platform for displaying oil barrels, the construction had a unique presence. Without overthinking, I decided to reactivate it. I removed the milk glass and built an enclosure around the original iron and wood elements, transforming it into what is now the booth. What drew me to it wasn’t just the space itself, but the history and the design by Jos Jacobs, the building’s owner in the ’50s. It felt natural to name it Jacobs’ Booth and build a clear concept around it. A curator selects a work, and we delve deeper into its context with an online presentation. I appreciate its openness—accessible 24/7—and the lack of a rigid rhythm. It’s flexible, quietly unfolding at its own pace.

Focusing on the pig figure in Pig Tool, what is the connection and transposition with the human sphere, and how does it relate to your previous works? What drives you to choose these specific identities in such a vast field of symbologies?

Uffe: The idea for the pig sculpture came out of a visit to an open air museum outside Copenhagen, one of the oldest and largest museums with relocated farm houses from the Nordic countries, dating back several centuries. It’s a place I’ve frequented a lot during my research for the We Walked the Earth project I did for the Danish pavilion at the Venice Biennale in 2022, and subsequently showed in different iterations in Copenhagen and Riga. Near the Faroe Islands house, I spotted something hanging inside a shed, an animal hide turned into a waterskin, a container for liquids. It is a very simple technique, but very effective. You gut the whole animal, leaving only the skin intact, then lash the open holes where the legs and head were. Then a tap is added. Waterskins have been used for centuries, in different regions in the world and made from different animals depending on the accessability, but this is the first time I saw one made from a pig and in a setting that felt real. The way this animal had been turned into a tool fascinated me, and I decided to work with this archaic imagery, adding more contemporary bits, like the aluminium fittings that replace the hooves, like some kind of cyborg. A remnant from a possible future scenario, much like the world I created with We Walked the Earth.

“It is a bundle of political, psychological and emotional topics, and my hope is that you experience all these things at once when you encounter the artwork”

“The booth’s character sets the tone, it’s out in the open and beyond my control, allowing it to take on a life of its own”

“The project is a dynamic interaction between the artist, curator, and the booth itself, a kind of creative triangle”

In terms of installation, what was the initial idea and vision you had? What did this space need to have that was different from previous exhibitions, and how do you stepped out from the usual standards?

Tijs: The vision was simple: one work, selected by a curator, in direct relation to the booth and the viewer, complemented by an in-depth online presentation. The booth’s character sets the tone—it’s out in the open and beyond my control, allowing it to take on a life of its own.

Uffe: Jacob’s Booth is rather a vitrine, a display case, more than a space you can walk into, and it has these wrought iron ornaments and wooden floor, which was just perfect for what I wanted to do. I worked with wrought iron before, one example being Universal Serial Bus, a two-part outdoor sculpture, with wrought iron, a USB plug with a circle of LED light and a pile of various dried animal intestines inside. I usually try to make my work sit seamlessly well with the context, so for Jacob’s Booth I painted the walls to make them look moldy, to bring everything together.

As reflected in your artistic imprint, there is always an interconnection between the story you tell and the personal story of each individual. When people encounter the space, what do you want them to take away? Do you want observers to read beyond the initial impact and apply it to their personal lives, social activism, and political engagement?

Uffe: There’s always an intention, or the beginning of a narrative in my work, leaving the artwork open, ambiguous or paradoxical. This root of this work stems from my concern about humans relationship to animals, whether it is the production of animals for consumption, the misunderstanding of the animal through projection of human values or the lack thereof or the inability to face the animal within ourselves. As such it is a bundle of political, psychological and emotional topics, and my hope is that you experience all these things at once when you encounter the artwork.

We live in a world with heightened protection even over what we observe, including censorship, filtered messages, and protection from real horrors. What do you believe this trend will lead to, and what drives you towards dark, gloomy, and triggering aesthetics? What impact do you hope to achieve?

Uffe: The governing of the individual, the protection from danger, also implicates that you should be afraid, that there is something to be afraid of. I don’t think it creates a useful reflection of the world we actually live in. The world is beautiful and gruesome at once. I’m not afraid to use strong images in my works, but that’s not the intention from the start. When I’m in the process, the need to address things directly often comes a little along the way. If it exists in the world, there is a necessity for it to also exist as a conversation in art, because that space can offer us a platform to process trauma or at least work with potential scenarios in a safe space. And this does not only apply to the visual arts, but also literature, film, theatre, computer games and many other forms of art, so I am also interested in expanding my work beyond the visual arts.

This was a collaborative project. Describe the interaction and mutual collaboration, the common ideas you wanted to emphasise, and the key points. Conversely, what did you have to revise the most, if anything?

Uffe: Well, on my part, I was curious about the idea of the single work, which Jacob’s Booth focuses on. Having done some large installations in art institutions recently, I found the street access and confinement of the space a liberating deviation from more recent work. The title of the show, PIG TOOL, reflects the claustrophobic feeling of the space, since it essentially just names the objects in the show – a pig and some tools – but also pointing out that the pig is a tool in itself. We did talk a lot about how to make the space work as a miniature installation, that looks a bit out of scale because of the lack of real world references. All in all, everything kind of made sense once the sculptures and the title was in place.

Tijs: The project is a dynamic interaction between the artist, curator, and the booth itself—a kind of creative triangle. Each show emerges from this exchange. It was an absolute privilege to have Uffe create an in-situ piece specifically for the booth and to collaborate with both him and Maria. Maria immediately recognised the booth’s potential for Uffe’s work, and Uffe developed a full installation that elevated the space. Their collaboration took this project to the next level, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their contributions.