A Journey Through Nature’s Shadows

Terence Hannum discusses the interplay of life, decay, and technology in his captivating sculptures

Terence Hannum explores psychoactive plants in his sculptures, discussing mortality, technology, and the uncanny, blending art and nature into immersive experiences.

Renowned for his evocative exploration of the intersection between nature and existence, Terence Hannum’s artistic practice seamlessly blends the realms of sculpture, painting, and technology. With an innovative approach that employs 3D modelling and printing, Hannum’s work vividly captures the essence of psychoactive and poisonous plants, inviting viewers to ponder themes of mortality, transformation, and the uncanny. His installations are not merely static displays but living entities that infiltrate and interact with their surroundings, creating immersive environments that challenge our perceptions of life and decay.

Hannum delves into the inspirations behind his thought-provoking sculptures and the creative processes that inform his unique installations. He reflects on how science fiction influences his artistic vision and the ways in which he manipulates materials and lighting to evoke an otherworldly quality in his work. Join us as we explore the mind of an artist who is reshaping our understanding of botanical forms and their implications for existence, inviting us to confront the delicate balance between beauty and decay.

Terence Hannum creates significant works that provoke introspection and challenge our conception of existence through his skillful blending of technology and nature.

What drew you to explore the themes of psychoactive and poisonous plants in your sculptures, and how do they relate to concepts of existence and mortality?

I was drawn to psychoactive and poisonous plants in sculpture mainly through my paintings. I had been painting these plants and then was teaching 3D modelling and decided to try and generate some sculptures with the technology. I thought it could be a good way to have say, a base of forms—leaves, stems, buds, flowers—that could grow as the installation grew. The work relates to existence and mortality in a few ways, one coming out of a still life tradition in the paintings always points to this frozen moment in time, often works would incorporate flowers that do not bloom at the same time, or bugs and elements of decay. However, the sculptures, to me kind of grow, and take over spaces infiltrating the architecture. In a way, it is more a comment on our existence, fleeting, overtaken by plants, and decay.

Can you describe your creative process when modelling your pieces in 3D software? How does this technology influence the final outcome of your work?

I tend to break down whatever I am trying to model, sometimes it is a very specific flower—jimsonweed or foxglove—or I am mutating or allowing the process to reign over botanical accuracy. My process tends to break down the form, sculpting a petal or flower, then sculpting a leaf or stem and then combing them into different configurations. I tend to start small and combine multiple sculptures into one. It really is beholden to the technology, mainly the 3D printing process, sometimes I don’t know until it is complete if it works. I may need to tweak it or the supports are too robust.

In what ways do science fiction and botany intersect in your artistic practice, and how do they inform the design and presentation of your installations?

I am a huge fan of science fiction, to me it is uncanny, and the genre can allow us to talk about one thing while addressing another. Be it Jeff VanderMeer’s “Annihilation” or classics like “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” or “Day of the Triffids” I think it allows us to read it as is but have beneath it like a larger discussion. For me it is a way of maybe addressing climate change, for example, plants that are translucent, not needing sunlight to photosynthesize, these exist in nature anyway, but like what about changing botanical characteristics to make plants parasitic and hostile to our existence.

The installation features translucent flowers with delicate lighting—how do you choose the materials and lighting to enhance the “alien qualities” of your work?

This is really the experiment; I make a lot of small prototypes to see how the material will work and then try different lighting. The shadows kind of make the work. Having them come out of white walls and be translucent or iridescent, or glow-in-the-dark kind of gives them this otherworldly quality that I find important. So I experiment a lot with filament or resins and how they appear.

How does your homage to Invasion of the Body Snatchers inform the conceptual and visual elements of your installations, particularly in relation to themes of transformation and reality?

I always found the ideas in Jack Finney’s book interesting but probably best expressed in the Kaufman film from 1978. I always loved that every piece of plant life became suspect. And how so many things in the background helped reinforce the idea of this invasion of corrupted doubles. So to me, it was more, what is the real one, the one who transformed or the original host who is discarded. I also liked the invented pods and plant life in the film.

With your diverse exhibition history, how do you adapt your work for different gallery spaces, and what impact do you hope your installations have on the audience?

I tend to think of each exhibition as unique, so the architecture of the space both inside and out is fair game for the installation. If I am proposing something, I may focus on a specific unique architectural attribute, like work hanging from the ceiling or continuing outside. For me, the impact I would hope for is one of the uncanny, organic sculptural forms overtaking architecture, glowing or feeling like they assist in the decay of the building. That is what I am going for.

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