George Boorujy

George Boorujy is an artist exploring our relationship to the environment, especially our interaction with and perception of wildlife. He has exhibited widely nationally and internationally and is represented by P.P.O.W. gallery in New York. He has had solo shows at P.P.O.W. gallery, the Baker Museum in Naples, Florida, and the Newhouse Center for Contemporary Art. He is a member of the fine arts faculty at the School of Visual Arts. He has created work for the Wildlife Conservation Society, the New York Parks Department, the Audubon Mural Project, the Labrea Tar Pits, and for over a decade illustrated the Birdwatch column for the Guardian UK. A recipient of a NYFA grant in painting and a fellowship at the Smack Mellon residency, George Boorujy is a graduate of the University of Miami and the School of Visual Arts. You can find his work at www.georgeboorujy.com and @georgeboorujy on Instagram.

Interview with George Boorujy

Questions by Andreana Donahue

Hi George. Have you always been interested in art-making? What are some early memories of your exposure to art or wildlife conservation while growing up in New Jersey?
I’ve always been making art, but I didn’t really have any exposure to art. We had the World Book encyclopedia and a book about Michelangelo. That’s about it for art. But my parents were very encouraging of us making stuff. Before I could read I would invent stories that my mom would write down and I would illustrate. She let me paint on my walls. I used to make little sculptures in the basement with a power grinder when I was like 7 years old.

I definitely wasn’t exposed to wildlife conservation, but there was a lot of wildlife around. New Jersey is the most densely populated state, but there is also an extreme density of wildlife. I think New Jersey really affected the way I see animals though, because the wildlife there is very obviously compromised by human development. It’s bittersweet. Some things eking out a living and some species thriving. But it made me attuned to the fallacy of “untouched” wilderness out West. Those landscapes have been incredibly altered and what we have presented as the “pure” American landscape is still a hold over from Manifest Destiny propaganda. I feel like the view from Dirty Jerz is somehow way more clear-eyed. 

While initially interested in marine biology, you ultimately decided to pursue a career as an artist. In what ways are these fields connected?
I think the arts and sciences are very tightly connected. As an artist or a scientist you’re investigating something you’re interested in with a given methodology. Had I stayed on the science track I would be using the scientific method. I’m interested in the same things, just using art as my investigating tool.

You’re currently based in Brooklyn. What are the most beneficial aspects of living and working in this community? Do you have access to any resources, archives, or collections in New York that you find to be invaluable?
Man, even though Brooklyn has been so gentrified, and I constantly feel like I’m being pushed out, there really is no other place I’ve ever encountered with such a density of amazing creative people. It’s a deep bench! And a community I’m really happy to be part of in whatever way I’m part of it. And not just artists. I’ve gotten to know so many scientists and because I’m somewhat in the bird world I’ve been lucky enough to have been able to have some access to the ornithology collection of the Museum of Natural History. This access and research has really informed my work and made it better.

Can you tell us about your workspace? What is your favorite time of day in the studio?
My studio is in a shared space in a building full of artists in Crown Heights. It’s a true community where we meet up, look at each other’s work, help each other move stuff, load kilns, etc… I love being there. My favorite time is whenever it’s sunny or late at night.

As a highly skilled painter, you create hyper-realistic depictions of various subjects - primarily North American animals - from an unfamiliar or unexpected perspective. Can you talk about your attraction to this approach and its time-consuming nature?
I want the viewer to truly see these animals for what they are, to “re-see” them as connected to us. And to see them for what they are on their own terms, and not a pre-set human idea of them. The level of detail is important for a few reasons. It’s a form of devotion and acknowledgement of the subject. Also I hope it slows the viewer down and helps them meditate on the image. Even if I’ve just hooked them with, “damn, how long did it take to make this?”

I tend to put them in unusual positions or somewhat confrontational positions so that the viewer has to adjust how they commonly see the animal. I often direct the gaze of the animal right at the viewer as well in order to try to make the act of looking less observational and more interactive, a back and forth.

When you’re working meticulously with ink on paper, the application of each mark (or mistake) remains visible. How do you navigate the inherent risk of this particular medium? How would you describe your relationship with failure?
Failure, or its possibility, is a constant part of working with ink. But it’s important because it reinforces the ideas of decision and restraint in the work. I only include what I want in the image and leave out anything that I would consider “filler”. It’s a way to focus the lens but also leave room for the viewer to enter the image. Raw paper reads so differently than raw or primed canvas or panel. The negative spaces become more blank or fall away and it can help make the piece feel more open. With air or with interpretation.

I’ve recently started working with oil on canvas again though because I don’t want the viewer to be separated by glass from the surface of the piece. Also, that high wire act of ink on paper is tough! You can’t fix or change anything. And then that shuts down certain conversations you have with the piece while you’re working on it. I’ve dropped my brush before or straight up spilled ink right over a piece. On a quiet night you can still hear me screaming about some of those spills. Sometimes I can transform a mistake, Bob Ross style, into a rock or a twig that I hadn’t planned on. But sometimes it’s just trashed.

How important is research in the planning stages of your work? Can you walk us through your overall process?
The research on these suckers is deep. I read a ton. And there’s a lot of little things going on in these pieces that maybe only me and a few scientists would bother getting excited about. Things like allusions to where a piece might be set because of a certain species of bug, or a historical reference.

There’s no real photographic reference for the positions and situations I put the animals into. Unless I went full Audubon and shot them and strung them up. So often times I make little sculptures of the pieces and work from those. I’ve only shown the sculptures once as part of an exhibit that showed my process. I combine the sculptures with photos I shoot and photos from the internet. I teach animal anatomy so I’m decent at assembling things from my brain, and I also sketch A LOT to figure things out.

You seem to have a remarkably strong work ethic. What element of your studio practice do you see as the most challenging?
The biggest challenge is getting in enough and in enough unbroken stretches. I teach, I have kids. Finding multiple clear days in a row is tough.

Can you provide some insight into the ideas that inform the scale of your works on paper and the potential impact this has on the viewer’s experience?
A lot of the work is indeed pretty big. I want that reckoning with the subject. A bird blown up to person size, or larger, has a different impact on the viewer. It’s some sort of declaration of self, or re-establishment of the primacy of nature, and a movement away from a human centered point of view.

Generally, when I’ve done small pieces it’s when I want a sense of intimacy. Like a little piece I did of a deer giving birth with a radio collar on. It wouldn’t work in the same way if there were this giant amniotic sack splayed out and this antenna from the collar. It needed to be more of an investigation on the part of the viewer.

What is the significance of the mirror images that sometimes appear in your work, as in Thunderpumper Sugar and Juracan?
The main compositions of my pieces have always been really important, whether it’s a triangle or a cross or an X, etc… These shapes have a power all to their own. And I’ve always been drawn to symmetry. Off kilter symmetry actually. It forces a shift of focus, and when thinking of the environment and the climate crisis, we really need to shift our focus and see through a different lens. I wanted these pieces to also read sort of like masks.

You mentioned that lately you’ve “been thinking more broadly about climate change. And trying to think ‘post’ without making post-apocalyptic images.” Can you expand more on this idea?
When thinking about climate change and images, it’s easy to go to post-apocalyptic imagery. But we’ve had that imagery in movies, and increasingly in reality. Photos of refugees packed in rafts and the recent photos from Australia being a perfect example.

I’m interested in where we are headed, and what cults or religions will be borne of the climate chaos as a way for us to make sense of things. “Juracan” is the name of the god of chaos and disorder – or just the word for storms – among various indigenous peoples of the Caribbean. That word is the source of “hurricane”.  I pictured the painting “Juracan” as a murky representation of the face of a new god, or the rebirth of an old god called back in a time of tumult. It’s an exercise in trying to imagine something beyond just pure disaster, and an investigation into the possible psychology of people in the future. It’s also a way to process my own anxiety about the climate. I’m basically an atheist trying to talk to a new god or something.

Your work brings to mind the highly detailed observational paintings of Albrecht Durer and (of course) John James Audubon. Can you talk about the painters or naturalists who have most influenced you over the years?
My work definitely relates to Audubon and Durer. Weirdly I didn’t take a proper look at Audubon until after I was already making work that clearly referenced him. Once I took a proper look though, I loved him and understood his towering reputation. It’s so hard to say what artists have influenced me most because so much stuff is always filtering in. Naturalist writers like Peter Matthiessen have been huge influences. Artistically, my biggest influence has probably been Terrence Malick.

In Passenger at PPOW you included three drawings of passenger pigeons, marking the 100 year anniversary of their extinction. Can you share more about your ongoing interest in endangered species, and those that have already reached extinction as a direct result of human intervention?
It’s hard not to be moved by the reality of extinctions. And unfortunately the number of subjects for work like this is only piling up. It goes back to the idea of devotion and acknowledgment. As an artist you can bear witness, and on some level I just want to call attention, like, “this used to exist! Please give a shit!” Making work about this can be so maudlin. But I want people to see these things and know about them. Knowing about something is the first step to caring about something, and then in some tiny way you can hope that you make an impact. It’s all like shouting into the wind. But I guess that’s better than not trying to say anything at all? I don’t know.

Has your experience as an educator at SVA shifted your perspective or way of working? What is the best advice you’ve received from another artist or former professor?
I really like teaching. It’s so good to be connected with young artists who are figuring it all out and forming, and if I can do anything to help them figure it out that’s an honor. I learn a lot from them. The best advice I’ve gotten from older professors and artists is pretty cliché but really true – make what you feel compelled to make. I make the images I make because I want to see them. It’s that simple on some level. The other advice that’s been really helpful is that one’s career is not a straight line. There are serious ups and downs. And there’s no way you can control markets or trends, so you just need to have faith in what you make.

One thing that made me feel reassured when I was younger and starting my career – and this is really not talked about openly a lot – was the realization that a lot of young artists who seemed to be making it work effortlessly were independently wealthy, or had external support from some source. It was really freeing to realize I wasn’t necessarily doing anything wrong or incapable of figuring it out. I just wasn’t independently wealthy. And no shame on those who are, because a lot of independently wealthy people make awesome artwork. It’s the luck of the draw on that front. There’s so many things you can’t control in an art career. I do love what Jerry Saltz said about making an enemy of envy. You can’t compare yourself to others, it really is a losing game. You just gotta make your work.

Who are some contemporary artists you’re excited about right now?
There’s so much great art being made right now! It’s almost overwhelming. I have no idea where to start, and in no particular order: Kajahl, Jenny Kendler, Ryan Magyar, Allison Janae Hamilton, Kent Monkman, Robyn O’Neil, Sarah Peters, Scott Daniel Ellison, Letha Wilson, Rasmus Myrup, Paul Ganger. I could go on and on, but I’ll just stop.

Do you maintain any collections or live with other artists’ artwork?
I don’t have a ton of work from other artists. I collect the stuff you’d probably expect – rocks, feathers, random stuff I find in the woods. I have these really beautiful ceramic pieces by Yuko Inoue that I wake up looking at.

What have you been reading, watching, or listening to recently?
“The Uninhabitable Earth” by David Wallace-Wells (because I’m a fun guy!), “The Hidden Life of Trees” by Peter Wohlleben, “Go Tell it on the Mountain”, by James Baldwin, “Carry on, Jeeves” by P.G. Wodehouse. As far as TV, I’m kinda like a dry land farmer, I take what falls from the network heavens. It stresses me out that there’s so many things to choose from so I end up just watching reruns of Frasier and Seinfeld. But honestly, you could do worse. I love TV though. All kinds of TV from high brow to trashy as hell. I just don’t like choosing stuff. Fleabag was amazing though.

What’s next for you? Do you have any upcoming projects, exhibitions, events, or other news to share?
Two-person show with Theresa Bloise at Ortega y Gasset Projects opening on February 29th! Very excited to show with her, I’ve loved her work for a long time, and there’s a real conversation between what we make. Also I’m very excited to show at OyG because I really respect them and the wider artistic conversation that they’re part of.

Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with us!

To find out more about George and his work, check out his website.