Wings of rebirth

Hanna Antonsson, a Swedish artist based in Gothenburg, transforms the remnants of roadkill and car parts into evocative sculptures that challenge our perceptions of life, death, and rebirth. With a background in photography and a fascination with the natural world, Antonsson’s work blends taxidermy with elements of technology, creating hybrid forms that tell stories of a post-humanist coexistence. Her Auto Wing collection, among other works, invites viewers to reflect on the collision between nature and machine, offering a poignant commentary on sustainability and the future of art.

hube: Glass, car tyres, feathers. These are the words that can describe your recent work. The pieces from your Auto wing collection are like portals to a world where nature teaches machines the art of flight. What inspired you to create them? 

Hanna Antonsson: One way or another, I’ve always worked with animals in my art. I have my base in photography and have always stopped to photograph a run-over squirrel or badger by the roadside. Being close to a wild animal and seeing its fur or feathers has always been magical for me. I think it’s the child in me who used to conduct elaborate funerals in our garden for the birds that had struck the windows. At some point, I started to collect them to incorporate them into planned photoshoots in more controlled environments, eventually focusing solely on birds.

When I went to pick up these roadkill birds, I inevitably became affected by the very substantial human-inflicted death in front of me. On the same roadsides where I found dead birds, there would also be remnants of car parts, like worn-out tyres or a crushed bumper. It made me think about the afterlife of the bird but also the crushed car, more as an object rather than the person driving it. So, I started to fuse these two materials to create an alternative afterlife for them as a hybrid. Now I explore these materials in different shapes and forms.

h: Wings, symbols of freedom and flight, soar boldly in your artwork, from photography to sculpture. Why do wings hold such great artistic significance for you?

HA: It started as a fascination with the shape wings have. I love flower petals, scales and the shapes of bugs. I have the same feeling for big construction site machines, metal skeleton constructions and robot arms. In many ways, a bird wing has a little of all of these traits in one. I just love the intricate patterns of a feather and how it works for the animal in flight. It’s basically just awe for nature. When I first started working with it, I opened up a broad world of different symbolic meanings. The wing as a symbol feels almost seared into the human consciousness and has had cultural significance from ancient Egypt to Goodyear tyres.

h: With such pieces as Waiting talarias I & II and Hermes, art becomes wearable poetry. How does the synergy between fashion and art unfold in your creations, and how does functionality add depth to their beauty?

HA: These works are inspired by what Hermès, from Greek mythology, wore. Since he is the messenger, he is depicted as having many wings on his attire to symbolise his inhuman speed. I created the first pair of shoes kind of by accident when playing around in the studio. I realised the Greek mythology reference while trying to figure out what my creation reminded me of. I don’t know anything about fashion, but it’s fascinating to fantasise about what mythological beings would dress like in 2024. In my mind, someone like Hermès would most likely be a sporty guy with worn-out running shoes.

h: Each material in your art whispers tales of its own journey – it had a purpose before it was art. How do you intertwine these narratives into your creations, infusing them with layers of meaning and history?

HA: Part of my sculptural work is to use the material’s embedded past purpose to juxtapose and create a new imagined afterlife for them as one. Merging birds that, for me, symbolise life with cars symbolising decay and playing with objects is at the core of my artistic practice. I love to use taxidermy because it is made to, and will always be charged with its past. I use worn-out or demolished car parts because everyone knows what they were up to before ending up in my hands. That’s what gives it power. Pairing the wings with a wheel gives them, at least in our human minds, movement and an afterlife. Adding movement, without the possibility of actually getting anywhere, also gives them a restless, sad, but fierce atmosphere.

h: Your art sparks fires of contemplation about the dance between humanity, technology, and the wild. How do you see your creations as torchbearers in conversations about sustainability, innovation, and the pulse of art’s tomorrow?

HA: I’m cynical enough to realise my art doesn’t make much of a difference for wildlife. But I do know it starts conversations about it, and that’s good enough. It’s insane how much roadkill there is because of motor-driven vehicles. I find dead animals because of this so regularly here in Sweden, and apparently, it’s just a price we pay to drive our cars. It’s hardly ever spoken about as an issue. If I can be the roadkill spokesperson, I’ll gladly take that torch.

h: If you could collaborate with anyone, living or not, who would it be and why? What would you want to create together? 

HA: David Attenborough would be super inspiring. With his expertise, maybe we could revive an extinct bird together.

h: Where do you see your artistic journey taking you in the future? 

HA: I want to get back to my photography again. I haven’t picked up the camera very much in the past couple of years, and I miss the language I have in that medium. I’ve worked on combining my sculpture and photography for a while, and I’m still trying to make it work conceptually. I also want to make bigger installations. I’ve been working my way up from small to medium-sized works, but now I want to push myself towards creating large-scale pieces, incorporating more complicated moving patterns than I use now.